The automatic writing persisted into Kitty's teens. Mrs Jones took her to a neurologist, a psychologist, and finally, a psychiatrist, who suggested (as Bart Hayfue had) that Kitty had a split personality. He prescribed drugs, but Mrs Jones wouldn't have it; apart from periods of scribbling in a trance, Kitty was normal. Her antics upset n.o.body, so they left her to it, hoping she'd grow out of it, like acne.

She didn't though; she made frequent visits to the British Museum where she learnt to read hieroglyphics properly. The curator was amazed at how quickly she picked it up, but, as Kitty tells Sam, "I wasn't learning a new language, I was remembering my old one." Sam can hardly dismiss this. Hadn't she picked up the witch doctor's notebook, chanted in Motu and understood every word?

Let's return to the present. Lola is hanging her monkey out to dry on the rigging. Kitty is emptying the soapy water. Sam is reflecting on Kitty's story and is prompted to ask: "But where does the automatic writing come from?"

According to Kitty, this universe contains psychic ether which stores information from the past, present and the future. Our ancestors could access it using natural energies that we have lost touch with.

"You haven't lost touch with the spirits though have you, Kitty?"

Kitty wipes her hands on her long, dark hair and falls to her knees. "They've abandoned me!"

She'd tried to contact them. She tried when she thought Sam had died in the fire; she'd asked the spirits if the baby's soul was at peace. But they hadn't replied.

"That's because I wasn't dead!" says Sam. "Ask them where my parents are ... please?"

Kitty shakes her head. "If nothing happens, you'll think I'm a fraud. You'll be disappointed and cry."

"The last time I cried was over a b.u.t.terfly," says Sam. "And that was a waste of tears because it was the start of something good, so I don't cry any more."

"You shouldn't hold back your tears," says Kitty. "They might set the magic in motion. Tears are strong stuff. They're full of comicals."

"Chemicals? Then I'll save them for a special occasion."

There's a pause and Sam is about to ask "What is magic?" but she surprises herself and asks a far more personal question. "Kitty, may I see your face?"

Kitty doesn't let her mask slip but her ears move up a notch, suggesting that her real eyebrows are raised in horror. She runs below deck and battens down the hatches. Sam feels bad for asking. "Was I rude, Lola? I didn't mean to be. Only I'm sure Kitty's hiding something from me." She calls through the hatch. "Kitty, come back. I'm sorry. You don't have to show me your face."

"I don't have a face. It melted in the fire."

Sam calls to her again. "It can't be worse than Aunt Candy's. She wears a mask made from powder and lipstick, but I can see straight through it. Her real face looks like an unmade bed. Kitty, at least you have lovely hair!"

Flattery gets her nowhere; Kitty stays where she is for the rest of the day. Sam a.s.sumes she's gone to sleep, so, to pa.s.s the time, she practises making sailor's knots with Lola. By late afternoon the washing has dried. Lola fetches it down and folds it, then forages for foliage to build a new nest at the top of the mast. Sam climbs after her and they curl up together in the bowl of leaves and fall asleep.

Sam dreams again. She sees John Tabuh wheeling his magic box through a vast desert. He's being stalked by a sphinx, which steers him into an oasis. In the middle of the oasis, there's a man sitting cross-legged on a mat under a yellow stripy umbrella between two stone crocodiles. He holds a ball in his palm. In front of him are three cups; one red, one green, one black. He says to John Tabuh, "Oh, young magician (for I know you are a magician), watch as I place this ball under one of these cups. Now I will move the cups. If you can guess which one the ball is under, you may keep it; put it in your mouth, it will slake your thirst. If you guess wrong, one of my crocodiles will eat you and the other will eat your wife (for I know she's inside the box!)."

John Tabuh knows the cup and ball trick but, for some reason, he chooses the wrong cup and Sam, who also knows the trick shouts, "No, Daddy!" in her sleep.

Down below, someone is calling "Sam! Saaaam!" It's Kitty; she has come out of hiding. She's waving a piece of paper covered in hieroglyphics, which, loosely translated, say that they must visit a cross-legged man who sits in the shadow of the sphinx. It seems that the spirits have broken their silence.

Sam must go to Egypt.

HOW TO HEAL WITH HERBS.

ALOE VERA.

For healing wounds and burns

ECHINACEA.

Helps to prevent colds and flu

FENNEL.

A tonic for the digestive system

FEVERFEW.

Reduces fevers and headaches

GARLIC.

Anti-viral and anti-fungal. Kills intestinal parasites

OREGANO.

Good for chesty coughs and asthma

THE PILGRIMS.

Egypt is a big place. You could search your entire lifetime for a man sitting under a stripy umbrella and never find him. Ah, but say you're in possession of the witch doctor's notebook; all you have to do is study the list of names and, if you have the gift, your eyes will be drawn to his portrait, complete with stone crocodiles. He's called Yerba Hufat and he lives in the Black Desert.

"If the sand's black, the umbrella should be easy enough to spot," announces Sam confidently, snapping the notebook shut.

Kitty harumphs. "Not if it's a black umbrella."

"It's yellow," Sam insists. "It was yellow in my dream."

"What if the sand isn't black?" says Kitty. "Say it's yellow. We'll never find him."

She doesn't seem very keen on going to Egypt. Sam thought she'd jump at the chance; it's where her people came from, isn't it?

"I should have gone years ago," replies Kitty. "But John Tabuh arrived, so I put it off."

"So why not go now?"

There are problems. Although Kitty's an excellent sailor a skill she learnt from her adoptive father the barge would never make it to Egypt. Anyway, what would they do for money?

"We could sail the barge to France and sell it," suggests Sam. "Then we could afford to hire a car, drive it through Italy and pick up a good boat from there."

"All that travelling ... my weak heart," mumbles Kitty.

She's stalling for some reason, but Sam has made up her mind. "If you won't come, I'll go on my own. I'll find a way, I always do." She goes down into the fo'c'sle to pack her belongings: 1. Clothes 2. Witch doctor's pouch 3. Divining rod 4. Witch's cord 5. Protective oil 6. Mr Fraye's coin 7. Various magic tricks 8. Sh.e.l.l locket...

Oh no! Where's the locket? Sam put it under her pillow last night; but it's gone.

"Lola, where's my locket?" she cries. "Look in the other pillowcase."

Unfortunately, Lola's pillowcase has been worn thin by so many cats' claws it explodes in a puff of feathers, just as Kitty walks in.

"What are you doing?" She sneezes so violently, her mask blasts forward and she has to clamp the chin down.

"Looking for my locket, then we're leaving," says Sam.

Kitty nods her head, then, in a voice that even Lola doesn't recognize, she says, "Fey Ra wants to go home."

It could be the voice of the priestess or a ventriloquist, but whoever it is, Kitty has changed her mind. She's coming to Egypt after all. Sam is relieved. She's an independent girl but there are certain things she needs an adult for, such as selling barges and hiring cars. Besides, it will be more fun with all three of them.

"Kitty, that's brilliant! But what about your heart?"

"Still beating... Any sign of your locket?"

It has to be here somewhere. They turn the barge upside down but it's vanished. In a final attempt to find it, Sam tries the divining rod. It points at Lola, but a thorough search through her fur reveals nothing.

The pa.s.sage to France goes without a hitch. They manage to sail the creaking barge across the Channel, through the French ca.n.a.ls and up the river without springing a leak, falling overboard or capsizing. It's a slow haul but, finally, they reach their destination and dock at Biarritz, near the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains.

The plan is to shop for supplies then put the barge up for sale to fund their trip, but Lola has fallen ill. She's been off her food for days. Sam thought it was just seasickness but now she's rolling around on dry land, coughing and clutching her stomach.

"Maybe she has a purr ball," says Kitty.

Sam isn't sure if apes get fur b.a.l.l.s, but she knows cats eat gra.s.s to cure themselves, so she puts Lola into a wheelchair and strolls along the mountain track to look for suitable herbs. Ruth Abafey had told her about the healing benefits of certain plants and she drew them in the witch doctor's notebook; but none of them looked like any of the flowers growing here. It's no good, she'll have to take Lola to see a vet. She's trying to remember the French for "My orang-utan is sick", when the silence is broken by the arrival of a truck full of invalids, coughing, wheezing and complaining. They are pilgrims on their way to Lourdes.

"Is there a vet in Lourdes?" Sam asks.

"You don't need a vet," booms the driver. "You need a miracle. Hop in!"

"I'm not sick," explains Sam. "It's my orang-utan."

The driver turns to his pa.s.sengers, who are twitching and groaning. "Anybody know if the Blessed Virgin heals apes? Speak up! I can't hear you."

"Oh," says a woman covered in boils, "the holy water didn't cure your deafness then?"

"It did! It's just that everyone's mumbling."

"That's because we're ill!" moan the pilgrims.

They look so sick, Sam's reluctant to go with them. The driver bangs on his steering wheel. "Get a move on, love. Time is money."

She and Lola squeeze in between a man with a twitch and a woman with warts. Afraid that she'll catch something, Sam dabs protective oil on her wrists. The pilgrims seize on it immediately.