He flipped the chart again. This time it read: 'Enhanced Features'.

'Firstly, UltraWord™ is wholly reverse compatible with all existing novels, plays and poetry. Furthermore, new books written with this system will offer bonus features that will enhance and delight.'

'I say,' asked Bradshaw slowly, 'how do you hope to improve a book?'

'Let me give you an example,' replied Libris enthusiastically. 'In books that we know at present, dialogue has to be dedicated to the people who are talking as the reader has no idea who is speaking from the words alone. This can be tricky if we want a large scene with many people talking to one another — it's very easy to get bogged down in the "… said George", "… replied Michael", "… added Paul" and suchlike; with the UltraWord™ Enhanced Character Identification™, a reader will have no trouble placing who is speaking to whom without all those tedious dialogue markers. In addition, UltraWord™ will be bundled with PlotPotPlus™, which gives the reader a potted précis if they are lost or have put the book down unfinished for a few months or more. Other options will be ReadZip™, PageGlow™ and three music tracks.'

'How will the reader get these new features to work?' asked Lady Cavendish.

'There will be a preferences page inserted just after the frontispiece.'

'Touch sensitive?' I asked.

'No,' replied Libris excitedly, 'read sensitive. Words that know when they are being read. On the preferences page you can also select WordClot™, which adjusts the vocabulary to the reader — no more difficult words, or, if you like difficult words, you can increase the vocabulary complexity.'

There was silence as everyone took this in.

'But to get back to your point, Lady Cavendish, a lot of people reject fiction because they find reading tedious and slow. At present levels the fastest throughput we can manage is about six words per second. With UltraWord™ we will have the technology to quadruple the uptake — something that will be very attractive to new readers.'

'Cards on the table and all that, Libris,' said Bradshaw in a loud voice. 'Technology is all very well but unless we get it absolutely right, it could turn out to be a debacle of the highest order.'

'You didn't like the ISBN positioning system either, Commander,' replied Libris, 'yet book navigation has never been easier.'

They stared at one another until a loud belch rent the air. It was Falstaff.

'I have lived,' he said, getting to his feet with a great deal of effort, 'through much in my time; some good, some bad — I was witness to the great vowel shift, and remember fondly those better days when puns, fat people and foreigners were funny beyond all. I saw the novel rise and the epic poem fall, I remember when you could get blind drunk, eat yourself ill and still have change for a whore out of sixpence. I remember when water would kill you and spirits would save you; I remember—'

'Is there a point to all this?' asked Libris testily.

'Ah!' replied Falstaff, trying to figure out where he was going with his speech. 'Oh, yes. I was there for the much-heralded Version 4 upgrade in 1841. "Change the way we read for ever," quoth the Council of Genres. And what happened? The Deep Text Crash. Almost everything by Euripides, Aeschylus and Sophocles gone for ever — and we created grammasites.'

'It was never proven that Version 4 created the grammasites, Sir John—'

'Come, come, Libris, have you dried your brain? I was there. I saw it. I know.'

Libris put up his hands.

'I didn't come here to argue, Sir John — I just want to stick to the facts. Anyhow, UltraWord™ is incompatible with grammasites; text will be locked — they'll have nothing to feed on.'

'You hope, sir.'

'We know,' replied Libris firmly, adding more slowly: 'Listen, Version 4 was a big mistake, we freely admit that — which is why we have taken so long to design and rigorously test UltraWord™. It is no small boast that we call it the Ultimate Reading Experience.'

He paused for a moment.

'It's here to stay, ladies and gentlemen — so get used to it.'

He expected another attack from Falstaff but King Hal's old friend had sat down and was shaking his head sadly. No one else added anything.

Libris took a step back and looked at the Bellman, who tingled his bell.

'Well, thank you all for listening to WordMaster Libris' presentation, and I would like to thank him for coming here today to tell us all about it.'

He started to clap his hands and we joined in — with the notable exceptions of Falstaff and Bradshaw.

'Presentation booklets will be available shortly,' said the Bellman. 'Individual assignments will be given out in ten minutes. And remember: let's be careful out there. That's it. Session's over.'

And he tingled his bell once more.

Libris stepped down from the dais and melted away before Bradshaw had a chance to question him further. Miss Havisham rested her hand on his shoulder. Bradshaw was the only man to whom I had ever seen Miss Havisham show any friendliness at all. Born of a long working association, I think.

'I'm too long in the tooth for this game, Havisham, old girl,' he muttered.

'You and me both, Trafford. But who'd teach the young ones?'

She nodded in my direction. I hadn't been described as 'young' for over a decade.

'I'm spent, Estella,' said Bradshaw sadly. 'No more new technology for me. I'm going back to my own book for good. At least I won't have to put up with all this nonsense in Bradshaw of the Congo. Goodbye, old girl.'

'Goodbye, Commander — send my regards to Mrs Bradshaw.'

'Thank you. And to you, too. Miss … I'm sorry, what was your name again?'

'Thursday Next.'

'Of course it is. Well, toodle-oo.'

And he smiled, tipped his pith helmet and was gone.

'Dear old Bradshaw.' Miss Havisham smiled. 'He's retired about twelve times a year since 1938. I expect we'll see him again next week.'

'Ah!' muttered the Bellman as he approached. 'Havisham and Next.'

He consulted his clipboard for a moment.

'You "weren't in the Outland on another land speed attempt, were you?'

'Me?' replied Havisham. 'Of course not!'

'Well,' murmured the Bellman, not believing her for an instant, 'the Council of Genres have told me that any Jurisfiction staff found abusing their privileges will be dealt with severely.'

'How severely?'

'Very severely.'

'They wouldn't dare,' replied Havisham haughtily. 'Now, what have you got for us?'

'You're chairing the Wuthering Heights rage counselling session.'

'I've done my six sessions,' replied Havisham. 'It's Falstaff's turn.'

'Now that's not true, is it?' replied the Bellman, 'You're only on your third. Changing counsellors every week is not the best way to do it. Everyone has to take their turn, Miss Havisham, even you.'

She sighed. 'Very well.'

'Good. Better not keep them waiting!'

The Bellman departed rapidly before Havisham could answer. She stood silently for a moment, a bit like a volcano deciding whether to erupt or not. After a few moments her eyes flicked to mine.

'Was that a smile?' she snapped.

'No, Miss Havisham,' I replied, trying to hide my inner amusement that someone like her would try to counsel anyone about anything — especially rage.

'Please do tell me what you think is so very funny,' she demanded. 'I really am very keen to know.'

'It was a smile,' I said carefully, 'of surprise.'

'Was it now?' she replied. 'Well, before you get the mistaken belief that I am somehow concerned about the feelings of such a pathetic bunch of characters, let's make it clear that I was ordered to do this job — same as being drafted on to Heathcliff Protection Duty. I'd sooner he were dead, personally speaking — but orders are orders. Fetch me a tea and meet me at my table.'