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Midnight’s den. The roots of the tree were in the ground and the tree was alive. Planks of wood had been fitted round the tree to form a table, and there were several chairs carved from fallen oak around this table. On the table was a shallow copper bowl filled with green water.
    There was nothing else in the room but a straw mattress and a broom.
    Jack’s mother wasted no time. She told of what had happened that day, and how Jack had not come home these twelve hours gone, and of her fears that Jack had been kidnapped.
    Mother Midnight sat down, and passed her hands over the copper bowl. She seemed to fall into a kind of trance as the green water clouded over and swirled and steamed with strange colours and mists.
    Then, like a vision in the water, was Jack’s face. His mother cried out, putting her hand to her mouth. She could see the stone bed and the stone window and the moon like a pale stone outside. And there was her beloved boy.
    ‘He is not harmed,’ said Mother Midnight.
    ‘Who has taken him?’
    ‘That I cannot tell you, for I am forbidden by a power stronger than mine own.’
    ‘Then the danger is great!’
    ‘His spirit is strong and clear,’ said Mother Midnight. ‘I can feel him strong and clear.’
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘You must search for him and find him yourself.’
    ‘I have the magnet.’
    Jack’s mother took the magnet out of its leather bag, and she had a glove belonging to Jack. She passed them over to Mother Midnight, who sat muttering over them and turning them in her old scarred hands.
    ‘Now it is charged,’ she said. ‘Now the magnet will be drawn to the boy as if to metal.’
    ‘Is it witchcraft that has him?’ asked Jack’s mother.
    ‘It is a dark power,’ said Mother Midnight, ‘and more you shall not know until more you shall know.’
    The fire hissed and spat like a cat. The water in the bowl settled and became still and green once more.
    Jack’s mother stood up, stooping under the ceiling of mud and branches, and leaving money on the table, she left without speaking. The magnet had a heat to it now, and she felt it pulling her towards Lambeth.
    She didn’t notice a very small black dog following her.

I n the dead of night Jack woke up. The light of the moon was shining directly on his face and across the floor towards the door. Jack swung out of bed and pulled on his jacket and shoes.
    He tried the door. It was locked, but Jack knew what to do. His own father had been a master blacksmith, and before he died he had given Jack an iron tool with blades and picks and pokes and prongs that were all folded together, as many as you could count. The bit of iron didn’t look like much unless you opened it out – it looked like something for picking stones out of horses’ hooves, or paring your nails, or gouging a hole in a block of wood, but that was a good thing because it meant that no one wanted to steal it.
    Very quietly Jack jigged the iron tool in the lock. There was a sharp click and the door opened. In a second Jack was out of the room and down the stone stairs.
    At the third turn of the stairs, Jack saw a door half open, and the low light of a lantern burning. There was a noise. Jack hesitated, poised as a cat, and crept along the wall. He could see no shadow moving on the floor of the room, so he guessed that someone was sleeping in there. Jack took a deep breath, held his breath, and crossed the opening of the door.
    He could not help glancing inside, and what he saw stopped him in astonishment.
    It was the room of the Creature(s).
    A bed was sawn in two, and each lay snoring in his and her own half. Each had half a pillow, with the straw stuffing falling out, and half a blanket with the threads unravelling. By each half a bed was half a table and on each half a table burned half a tallow candle.
    By the window was a chair split down the middle, and over the back of one half of the chair were his clothes, and over the back of the other half of the chair were