Henry and the Guardians of the Lost. Jenny Nimmo

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      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 Henry could see tall wrought-iron gates. Beyond the gates there was a grey stone building with many steeply angled roofs and even a tower.

      ‘Where have you brought me?’ Henry muttered. Enkidu ran to the gates.

      There was nothing welcoming about the old neglected-looking house but, for some reason, Henry felt drawn to it. He took a few paces towards the ornate rusted gates. A bell pull hung from a pillar on one side, its iron handle encrusted with lichen.

      Henry went right up to the gates. He saw that part of the pattern at the top was formed from letters. There was a T, an L and an H. The other letters were rusted and misshapen but when Henry screwed up his eyes they became clearer. He made out a word, then another and another. An unmistakable name: ‘The Littles’ House’. And there was the white bird, perched on the porch roof.

      Was this the place Pearl had meant him to come to? It looked deserted. What was he supposed to do now?

      Before he could decide an ancient front door began to open. Even from the gate Henry could see the scratches and deep scars in the wood. He imagined soldiers kicking and battering the door in some long-ago battle.

      There was a creaking and a shuddering, then a white-haired man appeared in the entrance. Henry found that he couldn’t move. The man wore a white shirt, a long leather waistcoat and green velvet knee-breeches. He began to approach Henry along a mossy, paved walk. On either side thistles and tangled briars reached to the man’s waist. He arrived at the gate and stared at Henry through the curling iron-work. He was short and wide and his face had a weathered tan. His eyes were a curious yellow, his lashes long and white.

      ‘Spy or rover?’ asked the man.

      Henry stood his ground. ‘If I was a spy I wouldn’t tell you, would I?’

      ‘Suit yourself.’ The man turned away.

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