We returned to the elevator and Miss Havisham pressed the twenty-sixth sub-basement button. We were going back into the Well.

'Good,' she said. 'Now that's out of the way we can get on. Perkins and Mathias we can safely say were murdered; Snell might as well have been. We are still waiting for Godot and someone tried to kill you with an exploding hat. As an apprentice you have limited powers; as a full member of Jurisfiction you can do a lot more. You must be on your guard!'

'But why?'

'Because I don't want you dead and if you know what's good for you, neither do you.'

'No, I mean why is someone trying to kill me?'

'I wish I knew.'

'Let's suppose,' I said, 'that Deane isn't just missing — that he may have been murdered. Is there a link between Perkins, Deane, Mathias and myself?'

'None that I can think of,' said Miss Havisham after a great deal of thought, 'but if we consider that Mathias may have been killed because he was a witness, and that one of your Outlander friends may be trying to kill you, then that narrows the list to Perkins and Deane. And there is a link between those two.'

'Yes?'

'Harris Tweed, myself, Perkins and Deane were all given an UltraWord™ book to test.'

'I didn't know that.'

'No one did. I can only tell you now because you are a full agent — didn't you hear what was in the pledge?'

'I see,' I said slowly. 'What's UltraWord™ like?'

'As Libris states: "The ultimate reading experience". The first thing that hits you is the music and colour.'

'What about the new plots?'

'I didn't see that,' confessed Miss Havisham as the elevator doors opened. 'We were all given a copy of The Little Prince updated with the new operating system — but Pageglow™, WordBuddy™, PlotPotPlus™ and ReadZip™ are all quite dazzling in their simplicity.'

'That's good.'

'But something just doesn't seem right.'

'That's not so good.'

We walked along the corridor to where the Text Sea opened out in front of us, the roof of the corridor lifting higher and higher until it had no discernible end, just swirling patterns of punctuation forming into angry storm clouds. At the dockside scrawltrawlers rode gently at their moorings while the day's wordcatch was auctioned off at the dockside.

'Like what? A problem with the system?'

'I wish I knew,' said Miss Havisham, 'but try as I might I couldn't make the book do anything it shouldn't. In BOOK V7.2 you could force an uncommanded translation into Esperanto by subjecting the book to a high "G" manoeuvre. In BOOK V6.3 the verb "to eat" conflicted with any description of a pangolin and caused utter mayhem with the tenses. I've tried everything to get UltraWord™ to fail but it's steady as a rock.'

We walked beyond the harbour to where large pipes spewed jumbled letters back into the Text Sea amidst a strong smell of rubber.[22]

'That's where the words end up when you erase them in the Outland,' mentioned Miss Havisham as we strolled past. 'Anything the matter?'

'Junk footnoterphones again,' I muttered, trying to screen the rubbish out. 'A scam of some sort, I think. What makes you believe anything is the trouble with UltraWord™?'

'Perkins called me the night before he died. He said he had a surprising discovery but didn't want to talk over the footnoterphone.'

'Was it about UltraWord™?'

Havisham shrugged.

'To be truthful, I don't know. It's possible — but it could have been about Deane just as easily.'

The road petered out into a beach formed by shards of broken letters. This was where novels met their end. Beneath the leaden skies the books — here taking the appearance of seven-storey buildings — were cast high upon the shore, any plot devices and settings of any use torn out to be sold as salvage. The remaining hulks were then pulled to pieces by Generics working in teams with nothing more high tech than crowbars, cutting torches and chains, stripping the old novel back into words which were tipped into the sea by wheelbarrow gangs, the words dissolving back into letters, their meaning burning off into a slight bluish haze that collected at the foreshore.

We arrived at the copy of The Squire of High Potternews. It looked dark and sombre here on the shore of the Text Sea. If anyone tried to find their copy in the Outland they would have a great deal of trouble; when Text Grand Central withdraw a book, they really mean it.

The book was resting on its end and was slightly open. A large tape had been run round the outside that read: 'Jurisfiction, do not cross'.

'Looking for something?'

It was Harris Tweed and Uriah Hope; they jumped down from the book and looked at us curiously.

'Good evening, Harris,' said Miss Havisham. 'We were trying to find Deane.'

'Me too. Have a look around if you wish but I'm damned if I can find a single clue as to his whereabouts.'

'Has anyone tried to kill you recently?' I asked.

'Me?' replied Harris. 'No. Why, should they?'

I told him about the UltraWord™ connection.

'It's possible that there might be a link,' he mused, 'but I gave UltraWord™ the fullest test; it seemed to work extremely well no matter what I did! Do you have any idea what Perkins had discovered?'

'We don't know he found anything wrong at all,' said Havisham.

Harris thought for a moment.

'I think we should definitely keep this to ourselves,' he said at last, 'and take great care what we do. If Deane is about and had anything to do with Perkins' death, he might be after you or me next.'

Havisham agreed, told me to go and see Professor Plum to ascertain whether he could shed any more light on the failed Eject-O-Hat and vanished after telling me she had an urgent appointment to keep. When she had gone, Harris said to me:

'Keep an eye on the old girl, won't you?'

I promised I would and made my way back towards the elevators, deep in thought.

'Ah!' said Plum as I walked into his office. 'Miss Next — good news and bad news.'

'Better give me the bad news first.'

Plum took off his spectacles and polished them.

'The Eject-O-Hat. I've pulled the records and traced the manufacturing process all the way back to the original milliner; it seems that over a hundred people have been involved in its manufacture, modification and overhaul schedules. Fifteen years is a long service life for an Eject-O-Hat. Add the people with the know-how and we've got a short list of about six hundred.'

'A broad net.'

'I'm afraid so.'

I went to the window and looked out. Two peacocks were strutting across the lawn.

'What was the good news?'

'You know Miss Scarlett at Records?'

'Yes?'

'We're getting married on Tuesday.'