The ice shard in his chest would eventually melt into something resembling thrill, but for now it remained cold and sharp — Bragi was scared. Which, he realised, was faintly absurd; for despite his youthful looks he was a grown man, not a naughty schoolboy.

Startled at the hand on his shoulder, Bragi blinked wide-eyed from the light up to Mr Kirke, who looked like he had a plan up his sleeve. It was… a dangerous plan. And an amusing one. For when the fellow mimicked the rasping annoyance of a framed curmudgeon, it was Bragi’s turn to stifle a chuckle (which he did manage to stifle — thank heaven).

He held his breath.