He had summoned every ounce of power he possessed and had been unable to reopen the tunnel to the outside world. His efforts were futile. He felt as if he had been given the task of putting the whole of the ocean in a teacup. The babies were all crying now, and William wondered if the crackle of energy from his thwarted spell had upset them.

He crouched amongst them and, unsure of what to do next, began to sing a lullaby that his Mother had sung to him when he was small.

His voice was terrible. He had been kicked out of the choir at prep school the moment his voice had changed from pure soprano to yowling hyena. Yet, he sang regardless, and miracle of miracles, the babies quieted. Two or three of them even fell asleep. Well, he thought, perhaps my voice isn't so terrible, after all. That choirmaster had been a bit of a jealous one, really, hadn't he?