'Does he have any family?' I asked.

'Snell was a loner detective, Miss Next,' explained the doctor. 'Perkins was his only family.'

'Is it safe to go up to him?'

'Yes — but be prepared for some mispelings.'

I sat by his bed while Havisham stood and spoke quietly with the doctor. Snell lay on his back and was breathing with small shallow gasps, the pulse on his neck racing — it wouldn't be long before the vyrus took him away and he knew it. I leaned closer and held his hand through the sheeting. His complexion was pail, his breething laboured, his skein covered in painful and unsightly green pastilles. As I wotched, his dry slips tried to foam worlds but all he could torque was ninsense.

'Thirsty!' he squeeked. 'Wode — Cone, udder whirled — doughnut Trieste—!'

He grisped my arm with his fungers, made one last stringled cry before feeling bakwards, his life force deported from his pathotic misspelled boddy.

'He was a fine operative,' said Havisham as the doctor pulled the sheep over his head.

'What will happen to the Perkins & Snell series?'

'I'm not sure,' she replied softly. 'Demolished, saved with new Generics — I don't know.'

'What ho!' exclaimed Bradshaw, appearing from nowhere. 'Is he—?'

'I'm afraid so,' replied Havisham.

'Snell was one of the best,' murmured Bradshaw sadly. 'Did he say anything before he died?'

'Nothing coherent.'

'Hmm. The Bellman wanted a report on his death as soon as possible. What do you think?'

He handed Havisham a sheet of paper and she read:

'Minotaur escapes, finds captor, eats captor, captor dies. Horse mispeled in struggle. Colleague dies attempting rescue. Minotaur escapes.'

She turned over the piece of paper but it was blank on the other side.

'That's it?'

'I didn't want it to get boring,' replied Bradshaw, 'and the Bellman wanted it as simple as possible. I think he's got Libris breathing down his neck. The investigation of a Jurisfiction agent so close to the launch of UltraWord™ will make the Council of Genres jittery as hell.'

Miss Havisham handed the report back to Bradshaw.

'Perhaps, Commander, you should lose that report in the pending tray.'

'This sort of stuff happens in fiction all the time,' he replied. 'Do you have any evidence that it was not accidental?'

'The key to the padlock wasn't on its hook,' I murmured.

'Well spotted,' replied Miss Havisham.

'Skulduggery?' Bradshaw hissed excitedly.

'I fervently hope not,' she returned. 'Just delay the findings for a few days — we should see if Miss Next's observational skills hold up to scrutiny.'

'Righty-oh!' replied Bradshaw. 'I'll see what I can do!'

And he vanished. We were left alone in the corridor, the bunk beds of the DanverClones stretching off to the distance in both directions.

'It might be nothing, Miss Havisham, but—'

She put her fingers to her lips. Havisham's eyes, usually resolute and fixed, had, for a brief moment, seemed troubled. I said nothing but inwardly I felt worried. Up until now I had thought Havisham feared nothing.

She looked at her watch.

'Go to the bun shop in Little Dorrit, would you? I'll have a doughnut and a coffee. Put it on my tab and get something for yourself.'

'Thank you. Where shall we meet?'

'Mill on the Floss, page five twenty-three, in twenty minutes.'

'Assignment?'

'Yes,' she replied, deep in thought. 'Some damn meddling fool told Lucy Deane that Stephen and not Philip will be boating with Maggie — she may try to stop them. Twenty minutes, and not the jam doughnuts, the ones with the pink icing, yes?'

Thirty-two minutes later I was inside Mill on the Floss, on the banks of a river next to Miss Havisham, who was observing a couple in a boat. The woman was dark skinned with a jet-black coronet of hair, was lying on a cloak with a parasol above her as a man rowed her gently downriver. He was perhaps five and twenty years old, quite striking, and with short dark hair that stood erect, not unlike a crop of corn. They were talking earnestly to one another. I passed Miss Havisham a cup of coffee and a paper bag full of doughnuts.

'Stephen and Maggie?' I asked, indicating the couple as we walked along the path by the river.

'Yes,' she replied. 'As you know, Lucy and Stephen are a hair's breadth from engagement. Stephen and Maggie's indiscretion in this boat causes Lucy Deane no end of distress. I told you to get the ones with pink icing.'

She had been looking in the bag.

'They'd run out.'

'Ah.'

We kept a wary eye on the couple in the boat as I tried to remember what actually happened in Mill on the Floss.

'They agree to elope, don't they?'

'Agree to — but don't. Stephen is being an idiot and Maggie should know better. Lucy is meant to be shopping in Lindum with her father and Aunt Tulliver but she gave them the slip an hour ago.'

We walked on for a few more minutes. The story seemed to be following the correct path with no intervention of Lucy's we could see. Although we couldn't make out the words, the sound of Maggie and Stephen's voices carried across the water.

Miss Havisham took a bite of her doughnut.

'I noticed the missing key too,' she said after a pause. 'It was pushed under a workbench. It was murder. Murder … by minotaur.'

She shivered.

'Why didn't you tell Bradshaw?' I asked. 'Surely the murder of a Jurisfiction operative warrants an investigation?'

She stared at me hard and then looked at the couple in the boat again.

'You don't understand, do you? The Sword of the Zenobians is code-word-protected.'

'Only Jurisfiction agents can get in and out,' I murmured.

'Whoever killed Perkins and Mathias was Jurisfiction,' she went on. 'And that's what frightens me. A rogue agent.'

We walked on in silence, digesting this fact.

'But why would anyone want to kill Perkins and a talkiag horse?'

'I think Mathias just got in the way.'

'And Perkins?'

'Not just Perkins. Whoever killed him tried to get someone else that day.'

I thought for a moment and a sudden chill came over me.

'My Eject-O-Hat. It failed.'

Miss Havisham produced the Homburg from a carrier bag, slightly squashed from where several Mrs Danvers had trodden on it. The frayed cord looking as though it might have been cut.

'Take this to Professor Plum at JurisTech and have him look at it. I'd like to be sure.'

'But … but why am I a threat?' I asked.

'I don't know,' admitted Miss Havisham. 'You are the most junior member of Jurisflction and arguably the least threatening — you can't even bookjump without moving your lips, for goodness' sake!'

I didn't need reminding but I saw her point.

'So what happens now?' I asked at length.

'We have to assume whoever killed him might try again. You are to be on your guard. Wait— There she is!'

We had walked over a small rise and were slightly ahead of the boat. A young woman was lying on the ground in a most unladylike fashion, pointing a sniper's rifle towards the small skiff that had just come into view. I crept cautiously forward; she was so intent on her task that she didn't notice me until I was close enough to grab her. She was a slight thing and her strugglings, whilst energetic, were soon overcome. I secured her in an armlock as Havisham unloaded the rifle. Maggie and Stephen, unaware of the danger, drifted softly past on their way to Mudport.

'Where did you get this?' asked Havisham, holding up the rifle.

'I don't have to say anything,' replied the angelic-looking girl in a soft voice. 'I was only going to knock a hole in the boat, honestly I was!'

'Sure you were. You can let go, Thursday.'

I relaxed my grip and she stepped back, pulling at her clothes to straighten them after our brief tussle. I checked her for any other weapons but found nothing.