‘Here for Miss Next—SpecOps.’

I cursed Mrs Scroggins as she replied:

‘Fourth floor, second on the left!’

The fire escape was out front in full view of SpecOps and Goliath, so I ran all the way back upstairs to my flat, only to find that in my hurry I had locked myself out. There was nowhere to hide except behind a potted rubber plant about seven sizes too small, so I pushed open the letterbox and hissed:

‘Pickwick!’

She wandered out into the hall from the living room and stared at me, head cocked on one side.

‘Good. Now listen. I know that Landen said you were really bright and if you don’t do this I’m going to be looped and you’re going to be put in a zoo. Now, I need you to find my keys.’

Pickwick stared at me dubiously, took two steps closer and then relaxed and plocked a bit.

‘Yes, yes, it’s me. All the marshmallows you can eat, Pickers, but I need my keys. My keys.’

Pickwick obediently stood on one leg.

‘Shit,’ I muttered.

‘Ah, Next!’ said a voice behind me. I rested my head against the door and let the letterbox snap shut.

‘Hello, Cordelia,’ I said softly without turning round.

‘Well, you have been giving us the runaround, haven’t you?’

I paused, turned and stood up. But Cordelia wasn’t with any other SpecOps types—she was with a man and his young daughter, the winners of her competition. Perhaps things were not quite as bad as I thought. I put my arm around her shoulder and walked her out of earshot.

‘Cordelia—’

‘Dilly.’

‘Dilly—’

‘Yes, Thurs?’

‘What’s the word over at SpecOps?’

‘Well, darling,’ answered Cordelia, ‘the order for your arrest is still only within SpecOps—Flanker is hoping you’ll give yourself up. Goliath are telling anyone who will listen that you stole some highly sensitive industrial secrets.’

‘It’s all bullshit, Cordelia.’

‘I know that, Thursday. But I’ve a job to do—are you going to meet my people now?’

I agreed, and we returned to where the two of them were looking at a brochure for the Gravitube.

‘Thursday Next, this is David Graham and his daughter, Molly.’

I shook hands with David; Molly stared at me dubiously from behind his leg, clutching a soft toy.

‘I’d invite you in for a coffee,’ I explained, ‘but I’ve locked myself out.’

David rummaged in his pocket and produced a set of keys.

‘Are these yours? I found them on the path outside.’

‘I don’t think that’s very likely.’

But they were my keys—a set I had lost a few days earlier. I unlocked the door.

‘Come on in. That’s Pickwick. Stay away from the windows; there are a few people I don’t want to meet outside.’

They shut the door behind them. Molly, overcoming her initial shyness, stared at Pickwick, who stared back.

‘Plock,’ said Pickwick.

‘Dodo,’ said Molly.

Pickwick grasped Molly by the cuff and led her into the kitchen to show off her egg.

‘What do you do, David?’ I asked as I looked out of the kitchen window. I needn’t have worried; the two cars and their occupants were in the same place.

‘I’m a fund-raiser,’ he replied. ‘I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged.

‘Dunno. Interested to see the sort of person who can travel around in books, I guess.’

‘Ah,’ I replied absently, pausing to consider just how wholly unlikely it was that Cordelia’s guest had found my keys when other passing residents had missed them.

‘Can I ask you a question, Miss Next?’ asked David.

‘Call me Thursday. Hang on a minute.’

I nipped into the living room to fetch the entroposcope and shook it as I walked back in.

‘Well, Thursday,’ continued David, ‘I was wondering—’

‘Shit!’ I exclaimed, looking at the swirling pattern within the rice and lentils. ‘It’s happening again!’

‘Your dodo says she’s hungry,’ observed Molly.

‘It’s a scam for a marshmallow. Cordelia, would you give Molly a marshmallow to feed to Pickwick? They’re on top of the fridge.’

Cordelia put down her bag and reached up for the glass jar.

‘Sorry, David, you were saying?’

‘Here it is. How did—’

But I wasn’t listening. There was someone sitting on the wall at the entrance to the apartment block. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in slightly garish clothes and was reading a fashion magazine.

‘Aornis?’ I whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’

The figure turned to look at me as I said the words and my scalp prickled. It was her, no doubt about it. She smiled, waved and pointed to her watch.

‘It’s her,’ I mumbled. ‘Goddamned sonofabitch—it’s her!’

‘—and that’s my question,’ concluded David.

‘I’m sorry, David, I wasn’t listening.’

I shook the entroposcope but the pulses were no more patterned than before—whatever the danger was, we weren’t quite there yet.

‘You had a question, David?’

‘Yes,’ he said, slightly annoyed, ‘I was wondering—’

‘Look out!’ I shouted, but it was too late. The glass marshmallow jar had slipped from Cordelia’s grasp and fell heavily on the worktop—right on top of the small evidence bag full of the pink goo from beyond the end of the world. The jar didn’t break, but the bag did, and Cordelia, myself and David were sprayed in gooey slime. David got the worst of it—a huge gob went right in his face.

‘Ugh!’

‘Here,’ I said, handing him a Seven Wonders of Swindon tea towel, ‘use this.’

‘What is that gick?’ asked Cordelia, dabbing at her clothes with a damp cloth.

‘I wish I knew.’

But David licked his lips and said:

‘I’ll tell you what this is. It’s Dream Topping.’

‘Dream Topping?’ I queried. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Strawberry flavour. Know it anywhere.’

I put a finger in the goo and tasted it. No mistake, it was Dream Topping. If only forensics had looked at the big picture instead of staring at molecules, they might have figured it out for themselves. But it got me thinking.

‘Dream Topping,’ I wondered out loud, looking at my watch. There were eighty-seven minutes of life left on the planet. ‘How could the world turn to Dream Topping?’

‘It’s the sort of thing,’ piped up David, ‘that Mycroft might know.’

‘You,’ I said, pointing a finger at the pudding-covered individual, ‘are a genius.’

What had Mycroft said? Tiny nanomachines barely bigger than a cell building food protein out of nothing more than garbage? Banoffee pie from landfills? Perhaps there was going to be an accident. After all, what stopped nanomachines from making banoffee pie once they had started? I looked out of the window. Aornis had gone.

‘Do you have a car?’ I asked.

‘Sure,’ said David.

‘You’re going to have to take me over to ConStuff. Dilly, I need your clothes.’

Cordelia looked suspicious.

‘Why?’

‘I’ve got watchers. Three in, three out—they’ll think I’m you.’

‘No way on earth,’ replied Cordelia indignantly, ‘unless you agree to do all my interviews and press junkets.’

‘At my first appearance I’ll have my head lopped off by Goliath or SpecOps—or both.’

‘Perhaps that’s so,’ replied Cordelia slowly, ‘but I’d be a fool to pass on an opportunity as good as this. All the interviews and appearances I request for a year.’

‘Two months, Cordelia.’

‘Six.’

‘Three.’

She sighed. ‘Okay. Three months—but you have to do The Thursday Next Workout Video and talk to Harry about The Eyre Affair film project.’

‘Deal.’

So Cordelia and I switched clothes. It felt very odd to be wearing her large pink sweater, short black skirt and high heels.

‘Don’t forget the Peruvian love beads,’ said Cordelia, ‘and my gun. Here.’

Molly and Pickwick were playing hide-and-seek in the living room but were soon rounded up.

‘Excuse me, Miss Flakk,’ said David in a slightly indignant tone. ‘You promised I could ask Miss Next a question.’