“No!” I cry. “That’s impossible!”

“I’m afraid it is not only possible—it is true,” Lord Loss insists. “You were unfortunate with the worlds you visited, although it may not have been mere misfortune. Cadaver is roguish. He might have chosen those worlds deliberately.”

My heart’s pounding. Five or six years! All the children my age who I knew in Paskinston will be adults now. Mum and Dad must think we’re both dead. They’ll have grieved and moved on with their lives. If I return with Art, the pair of us looking no older than we did on the day we disappeared…

“Don’t think about it,” Dervish hisses. “He’s probably lying. He wants to destroy your confidence.”

“I am not in the habit of lying!” Lord Loss booms, just the slightest hint of anger in his otherwise morbid tone. “In fact, I have never told a lie, have I, Beranabus?”

“So it’s said,” Beranabus mutters.

“Whatever,” Dervish sniffs.

“Dervish is right.” Sharmila smiles at me. “Do not think about it. There is a price to pay for coming into this universe. If it is the loss of five or six years… what of it? The important thing is that we return with your brother. Yes?”

“I guess so,” I mumble unhappily. “But—”

“Don’t start with ‘buts’,” Dervish warns me. “You’ll be ‘butting’ all night if you do.” He squints up at the silvery sky. “If they have nights here.”

Lord Loss watches me, a malicious twinkle in his red eyes. As he’s studying me, the demons on the other side of the moat begin to fidget and mutter. They’re growing impatient. Lord Loss throws a cold glance at them. “I think it will be better if we continue our discussions inside. Less distractions, hmmm?”

Beranabus tenses. “Do I have your word that no harm will befall us in there?”

“I promise that I will not injure you—or allow anyone else to—while we are discussing whatever it is that brought you here. Once those discussions have concluded…” He grins like a corpse.

“We could make a sneak attack, grab Cadaver and the child,” Shark whispers. “Kernel could open a window for us.”

“Not quickly enough,” Beranabus murmurs. “If we anger Lord Loss, and he sets his familiars on us, with orders to kill…” He looks at the ranks of demons. Shakes his head. “Very well,” he says to Lord Loss. “We accept your generous offer, with many thanks but no sense of obligation.”

Lord Loss nods slowly, then turns and glides back into his castle, Cadaver hurrying ahead of him with Art, perhaps afraid we’ll hurl ourselves at him once the demon master’s back is turned.

Beranabus crawls towards the drawbridge, cutting across the vertical wall of the castle. I’m reminded of a scene in a Dracula film I saw once. If only vampires were all I had to worry about!

Sharmila is next to cross, followed by Dervish, then Nadia, still softly chanting the words of a spell. Shark motions for me to go ahead, covering my back, in case any of the demons on the other side of the moat attack. I smile my thanks, take one last look at the turrets and towers of the castle, trying to recall why they look so familiar. Then I focus on the drawbridge and drag my way across the wall of webs towards my meeting with the terrible monster who rules within.

AT HOME WITH LORD LOSS

We trail from one enormous room to another. The rooms are so cavernous, I feel like an ant. The ceilings are all high overhead (a few don’t even have ceilings, but open up to the sky), the walls so far apart that you could fit a couple of good-sized houses between them. There’s not much in the way of furniture or fittings, but the few pieces I spot—chairs, a statue, a dry fountain—are all made of webs.

It’s hot inside and gets hotter the further in we move. I’m soon sweating through my T-shirt. The others are uncomfortable too, pulling at their clothes, trying to breathe more freely. Dervish removes his jacket again, starts to tie it round his waist, then just dumps it. His spikes are drooping from the heat.

Lord Loss doesn’t look back. Glides silently, smoothly, following after Cadaver and Art. It’s hard to contain myself. I want to dash ahead of the demon master and grab my brother. But I can’t. This is Lord Loss’ home. I have to respect his rules. I’m not sure what he’d do to me if I didn’t, but I’m certain it wouldn’t be pleasant.

We enter a room filled with chess sets perched on webby pillars. Ordinary sets, like you’d find in any toyshop. The pieces in different positions on the various boards, as if games were being played on them before we arrived.

Dervish freezes when he sees the chess sets. He takes a few steps away from the rest of us, staring around the room. Then looks at Lord Loss with an entirely new expression. “You!” he croaks. “I know you now. You’re the one who…”

“Yes,” Lord Loss says, pausing to look back. “I knew you were a Grady as soon as I smelt you. The stench of your family cannot be disguised. But I didn’t wish to announce myself, in case you had not heard of me.”

Dervish is trembling. He starts to say something but Beranabus cuts in. “This is not the time to have a discussion about your family’s curse.”

“You know about the curse?” Dervish says sharply.

“Evidently.”

“And you know about…?” He nods at Lord Loss.

“I’d heard the rumours.”

The rest of us look at each other blankly, no idea what this is about. Only Nadia pays no attention, still muttering her spell, gaze fixed on Lord Loss.

“We could play a game if you wish,” Lord Loss says eagerly. “A practice match. A chance for us to test each other, in case we ever have to play for real.”

Dervish glances at the chess boards, then shakes his head. “That will never happen. I won’t have children. I refuse to subject them to the curse, to have them live in fear as I have.”

“Noble intentions,” Lord Loss murmurs. “But one should not tempt fate by saying never. Perhaps circumstances will conspire against you. Maybe your brother will reproduce…”

“If Cal has kids, he’ll account for them himself,” Dervish says stiffly.

Lord Loss inclines his head slightly, turns and carries on, further into the castle, out of the room of chess sets. We follow, Dervish visibly shaken, looking over his shoulder at the boards like a man who’s seen a ghost.

We come to a room even larger than the rest. A huge spider-shaped throne in the centre, made of webs. A chandelier overhead, again woven from webs, with naked flames flickering in place of candles or light bulbs. Objects from my world are strewn across the floor—items of clothing, a tennis ball, walking sticks, the skeleton of some large animal, toys, more chess sets, scattered bones. A portrait of Lord Loss on the wall behind the throne, painted in the style of Vincent Van Gogh.

Lord Loss glides to the throne, over the legs which jut out of its base, up to the seat which is set in the body of the spider. He lowers himself on to it, so he can look down on us like a king upon his subjects. Cadaver sits on one of the legs to the left of the throne, playing with Art, holding him up on his knees, then letting him drop and catching him.

The demon master raises a hand to stop us about ten or twelve feet away from the throne. Smiles imperiously, then waves the hand at the room in general. “What do you think of my humble abode?”

“Not what I’d choose,” Beranabus says. He nods at some of the objects on the floor. “The remains of previous guests?”

“Mementoes,” Lord Loss says. He gestures at a knife, which rises from the floor and floats into his mangled hand. It’s not like the knives in our kitchen at home—this is more of a small sword. Lord Loss turns it around a few times, smiling at Beranabus. “You should recognise this. It was yours once.”

Beranabus’ face is stone. “I’m not interested in the past or your mementoes.”