We watched as they entered the smoking lounge. We quickly tiptoed across the hall floor and found ourselves at the ornate door. I counted to three and we burst in.

‘Thursday! My dear girl, how predictable!’

I stared. Hades was sitting in a large armchair, smiling at us. Mycroft and Jane were looking dejected on a chaise-longue with Felix8 behind them holding two machine-pistols trained on Bowden and me. In front of them all was the Prose Portal. I cursed myself for being so stupid. I could sense Hades was here; did I suppose he could not do the same with me?

‘Drop your weapons, please,’ said Felix8. He was too close to Mycroft and Jane to risk a shot; the last time we met he had died as I watched. I said the first thing that popped into my head.

‘Haven’t I seen your face somewhere before?’

He ignored me.

‘Your guns, please.’

‘And let you shoot us like dodos? No way. We’re keeping them.’

Felix8 didn’t move. Our weapons were by our side and his were pointing straight at us. It wouldn’t be much of a contest.

‘You seem surprised that I was expecting you,’ said Hades with a slight smile.

‘You could say that.’

‘The stakes have changed, Miss Next. I thought my ten million ransom was a lot of money but I was approached by someone who would give me ten times that for your uncle’s machine alone.’

Mycroft shuffled unhappily. He had long ago ceased to complain, knowing it to be useless. He now looked forward only to the short visits he was permitted to Polly.

‘If that is the case,’ I said slowly, ‘then you can return Jane to the book.’

Hades thought for a minute.

‘Why not? But first, I want you to meet someone.’

A door opened to the left of us and Jack Schitt walked in. He was flanked by three of his men and they were all carrying plasma rifles. The situation, I noted, was on the whole less than favourable. I muttered an apology to Bowden then said:

‘Goliath? Here, in Wales?’

‘No doors are closed to the Corporation, Miss Next. We come and go as we please.’

Schitt sat down on a faded red upholstered chair and pulled out a cigar.

‘Siding with criminals, Mr Schitt? Is that what Goliath does these days?’

‘It’s a relativist argument, Miss Next—desperate situations require desperate measures. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But listen, we have a great deal of money at our disposal and Acheron is willing to be generous in the use of Mr Next’s notable invention.’

‘And that is?’

‘Ever seen one of these?’ asked Schitt, waving the stubby weapon he held at us both.

‘It’s a plasma rifle.’

‘Correct. A one-man portable piece of field artillery, firing supercharged quanta of pure energy. It will cut through a foot of armour plate at a hundred yards; I think you will agree it is the high ground for land forces anywhere.’

‘If Goliath can deliver—‘ put in Bowden.

‘It’s a mite more complicated than that, Officer Cable,’ replied Schitt. ‘You see—it doesn’t work. Almost a billion dollars of funding and the bloody thing doesn’t work. Worse than that, it has recently been proved that it will never work; this sort of technology is quite impossible.’

‘But the Crimea is on the brink of war!’ I exclaimed angrily. ‘What happens when the Russians realise that the new technology is all bluff?’

‘But they won’t,’ replied Schitt. ‘The technology might be impossible out here but it isn’t impossible in there.’

He patted the large book that was the Prose Portal and looked at Mycroft’s genetically engineered bookworms. They were on Rest & Recuperation at present in their goldfish bowl; they had just digested a recent meal of prepositions and were happily farting out apostrophes and ampersands; the air was heav’y with th’em & Schitt held up a book whose title was clearly visible. It read: The Plasma Rifle in War. I looked at Mycroft, who nodded miserably.

‘That’s right, Mis’s Next.’

Schitt smiled & tapped the cover with the back of his hand.

‘In he’re the Pla’sma Rifle work’s perf&ectly. All we ha’ve to do is open’ the book with the Pros’e Portal, bring out the we’apons & is’sue them. It’s the ultimate weapon, Mis’s’ Next.’

But he wasn’t referring to the plasma rifle. He was pointing to the Prose Portal. The bookworms responded by belching out large quantities of unnecessary capitalisations.

‘Any’thing That The Hu’man Imagination Can Think Up, We Can Reproduce. I Look At The Port’al as Les’s Of A Gateway To A Million World’s, But More Like A Three Dim’ensional P’hotocopier. With It We Can Ma’ke Anything We Want; Even Another Portal—a H&held Version. Chri’stmas Every Day, Miss Next.’

‘More Death In The Cr’imea; I Ho’pe You Can Sleep Well At Night, Schitt.’

‘On The Co’ntrary, Miss’ Next. Russia Will Roll Over & Piss” Over Itself When It Witnesse’s The Power Of Stonk. The Czar Will Permanently Cede The Peninsula To England; a New Riviera, Won’t That be nice?’

‘Nice? Sun Lounger’s & High-Rise Hotel’s? Built On L& That Will Be Dem&ed Back Half a Century From Now? You’re Not S’olving Anything, Schitt, Merely Delaying It. When The Russian’s Have a Plasma Rifle Of Their Own, Then What?’

Jack Schitt was unrepentant.

‘Oh, Don’t Worry About That, Miss Next, I’ll Charge The’m Twice What I”ll Charge The Eng’lish Government!’

‘Hear, Hear!’ put in Hades, who was deeply impressed by Schitt’s total absence of scruples so far.

‘A Hundred Million’ Dollars Fo’r The Portal, Thursday,’ added Hades excitedly, ‘& a 50% Cut On Every’thing That’ Comes Out Of It!’

‘A Lackey For The Goliath Corpor’ation, Acheron? That Doesn’t Sound Like You At All.’

Hades’ cheek quivered but he fought it, answering:

‘Out Of Small Acorn’s, Thur’sday…’

Schitt looked at him suspiciously. He nodded to one of his men, who levelled a small anti-tank gun at Hades.

‘Hade’s, The Instructio’n Manual.’

‘Please!’ pleaded Mycroft. ‘You’re Upsetting The Wor’ms! They’re Starting to hy-phe-nate!’

‘Shut-up, My-croft,’ snapped Schitt. ‘Ha-de’s, please, The In-Struc-tion Man-ual.’

‘Man-ual, My De’ar Chap?’

‘Yes, Mr Hade’s. Ev-en You Will Not be Im-Pervious To My Associate’s Small Artillery Piece. You Have My-croft’s Manual For The Por-tal & The Po-em In Which You Have Im-pris-oned Mrs Next. Give-Them-To-Me.’

‘No, Mr—Schitt. Give Me The Gun—‘

But Schitt didn’t flicker; the power that had stolen Snood and countless other people’s reason had no effect on Schitt’s dark soul. Hades’ face fell. He had not come across someone like Schitt before; not since the first Felix, anyhow. He laughed.

‘You Dare To Dou-ble—Cross-Me?’

‘Sure I Do. If I Did-n’t You’d Have No Res’-pect From Me & That’s No Basis’ For A Work-able Part-ner-ship.’

Hades dodged in front of the Prose Portal.

‘& To Think We Were All Get-ti’ng A-long So Well, Too—!’ he exclaimed, placing the original manuscript of Jane Eyre back into the machine and adding the bookworms, who settled down, stopped farting, belching and hyphenating and got to work.

‘Really!’ continued Hades. ‘I expected better from you, I must say. I almost thought I had found someone who could be a partner.’

‘But you’d want it all, Hades,’ replied Schitt. ‘Sooner or later and most probably sooner.’

‘True, very true.’

Hades nodded to Felix8 who immediately started shooting. Bowden and I were directly in his line of fire; there was no way he could miss. My heart leaped but strangely the first bullet slowed and stopped in midair three inches from my chest. It was the initial volley of a deadly procession that snaked lazily all the way back to Felix8’s weapon, its muzzle now a frozen chrysanthemum of fire. I looked across at Bowden, who was also in line for a slug; the shiny bullet had stopped a foot from his head. But he was not stirring. Indeed, the whole room was not stirring. My father, for once, had arrived at precisely the right moment.