Henry and the Guardians of the Lost. Jenny Nimmo

hadn’t been cleared away. The table was strewn with boxes of cereal, jams, butter and a rack of toast.

      Mrs Reed popped her head round the door and said, ‘Help yourself, Henry. Peter and Penny have gone to school.’

      ‘Have you seen my cat?’ asked Henry.

      ‘Not a whisker,’ said Mrs Reed. It was difficult to tell if she was joking.

      After a large bowl of cereal and several pieces of toast, Henry was just wondering what to drink when Mrs Reed looked in again and asked, ‘How old are you, Henry? The headmaster will want to know.’

      Henry reached for the orange juice. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Am I going to school?’

      ‘Just a thought.’ Mrs Reed gave him her cool smile. ‘We have to find something for you to do, don’t we, until . . .?’ She seemed unable to finish her sentence.

      Until what? Henry wondered. How long am I going to be here?

      ‘Nine?’ asked Mrs Reed impatiently. ‘Ten? Have you forgotten how old you are?’

      Henry couldn’t see the point of lying. His brain was older than a ten-year-old’s. She would think he was small for his age. Nothing more. ‘Twelve,’ he said quickly.

      ‘Ah.’ Mrs Reed retreated.

      After breakfast Henry wandered into the hall. What was he to do with himself ? The Reeds didn’t appear to own a television set or a radio, or even an electronic game. He was about to mount the stairs when Mrs Reed came out of a bedroom. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a book to read,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the headmaster in a minute. Don’t leave the house, will you?’

      ‘I want to look for my cat,’ said Henry.

      ‘Don’t leave the house,’ Mrs Reed said harshly. ‘The cat will come back.’

      Henry went into the sitting room. The shelves were full of rather dull-looking books. Henry pulled out a heavy volume entitled, Sailing Ships of the World. Some of the ships popped up when the book was laid flat on the table. He was admiring a sixteenth-century galleon when Mrs Reed made her phone call from the hall. There was something quiet and sly in her tone. Henry could only make out the occasional word. He assumed she felt awkward explaining his small size, and didn’t want him to overhear.

      The phone call ended and Mrs Reed went back upstairs to where the baby was screaming.

      For several minutes Henry continued to admire the Tudor galleon, observing the construction of the sails and the multitude of ropes and knots. A sudden tap on the window made him look round. Enkidu was outside, staring in at him from the sill.

      Henry jumped up. ‘Enkidu!’ he mouthed. He walked slowly and stealthily into the hall, then crept to the back door, opened it quietly, turned and closed it. The latch clicked but the sound was drowned by the loud shouting of the baby.

      As soon as Henry tried to grab Enkidu, the big cat leapt off the sill and bounded across the lawn.

      ‘Enkidu!’ Henry whispered as he gave chase.

      Enkidu jumped over the gate. Henry opened it and ran through. The big cat waited while Henry closed the gate behind him. He found himself in a narrow, muddy lane. Enkidu immediately took off again, but at a more sedate pace. Henry trotted after him.

      They were passing a patch of waste-ground between Number Five and Number Four when Henry heard the heavy tramp of iron-studded boots. He stopped and glanced up at the road. The footsteps ceased. Curious to know where the henchmen had stopped, Henry crept through the long grass, dodging behind small bushes and leafless trees. Enkidu kept close to his heels.

      At last Henry had a view of the gate to Number Five. Two henchmen stood before it, their faces concealed by their helmets. They were consulting a notebook. The man holding the notebook nodded and opened the gate. They marched up to the front door, and Henry heard the loud rat-tat of the door knocker. He caught the sound of a door opening, and a murmur of voices. The door closed.

      The next moment Henry was startled to hear his name being called. All over the house. He saw the bedroom window open, and Mrs Reed lean out, shouting his name.

      With sudden and chilling certainty Henry knew that Mrs Reed had not phoned the headmaster. She had called the henchmen. Why? Were they connected to the villains his aunt was so worried about? Was there no safety anywhere?

      He couldn’t return to Number Five. Ever.

      ‘It’s just you and me now, Enkidu,’ Henry said quietly.

      Henry knew all about fear. When the shocking change to his life had occurred he had been so frightened he thought he would never recover. But he did, thanks to his cousin. Charlie had been crossing the great hall when Henry had arrived from the past, breathless, shocked and very scared. Charlie had hidden Henry. He had rescued and protected him, and then become his greatest friend. Henry wished Charlie was beside him now.

      Mrs Reed was still calling Henry’s name as he crept back to the lane. Once there, Enkidu took off again. This time the big cat sped away so fast Henry almost lost sight of him. The lane twisted and turned and Henry couldn’t keep the flying ball of fur in sight. But he dared not call out. He came to a fork in the lane. On the left it carried on behind the houses, on the right a narrow track led into a dark wood.

      Henry peered into the wood. He could see nothing but giant trees, twisted moss-covered roots and fallen branches wrapped in ivy. Enkidu sat on the track, just inside the wood.

      ‘Enkidu, are you sure about this?’ asked Henry. He couldn’t go back to the cafe. Henchmen might be lurking there.

      The big cat turned and began to bound up the track. This time Henry didn’t give chase. Wherever the track led, Enkidu obviously wanted him to follow. Henry paced slowly between the trees. If only he had found his aunt’s note sooner. She must have written it when he was outside feeding Enkidu. He remembered she had straightened his anorak when she stood up to leave. Why couldn’t she have told him what would happen? He wouldn’t have protested. But then again, perhaps he would have done.

      ‘Good day!’ The voice was a shrill, strangled sound.

      There was no one on the track ahead of him, or behind. ‘Hullo!’ said Henry.

      ‘Toast and jam!’ The sound floated in the air.

      Henry looked up. A ghostly white shape dipped and hovered through the upper branches. He ran beneath it, his eyes never leaving the flying shape. The next moment he almost fell over Enkidu, who was also gazing at the white thing.

      ‘A bird!’ Henry declared, as the ghost came to rest on a branch above them.

      A white bird. ‘Ask where the white bird flies,’ his aunt had told him.

      ‘A thousand times good-night,’ said the bird.

      ‘A cockatoo!’ Henry glanced at Enkidu. He seemed mesmerised by the bird.

      ‘You were following it,’ said Henry.

      The cockatoo took off and they followed. Henry noticed that the trees around them were larger and darker. This was no wood. It was a forest. An ancient forest where small, unseen creatures moved through the shadows. He could hear a rustling, pattering, scuffling and, sometimes, a light flapping of wings.

      A forest without end, thought Henry. He was in a foreign country, a timeless place. On they went, on and on into the darkness.

      ‘You and me, and a cockatoo,’ Henry told Enkidu and, in spite of their tricky situation, he smiled to himself.

      At that moment he would have liked to rest on a welcoming pile of leaves, but the trees had begun to thin a little, and in the distance