His voice trailed off as he started to sketch ideas and equations in a small notebook. I watched the Nextahedron fall and rock and jiggle across the floor until it fell against a roll of wire.

'On a more serious note,' confided Polly, putting down her tea, 'you could help us identify some of the devices in the workshop. Since both Mycroft and I have taken the Big Blank you might be able to help.'

'I'll try,' I said, looking around the room at the bizarre devices. 'That one over there guesses how many pips there are in an unopened orange, the one with the horn is an Olfactrograph for measuring smells, and the small box thing there can change gold into lead.'

'What's the point of that?'

'I'm not entirely sure.'

Polly made notes against her inventory and I spent the next ten minutes trying to name as many of Mycroft's inventions as I could. It wasn't easy. He didn't tell me everything.

'I'm not sure what this one is, either,' I said, pointing at a small machine about the size of a telephone directory lying on a workbench.

'Oddly enough,' replied Polly, 'this is one we do have a name for. It's an ovinator.'

'How do you know if you can't remember?'

'Because,' said Mycroft, who had finished his notes and now rejoined us, 'it has "ovinator" engraved on the case just there. We think it's either a device for making eggs without the need of a chicken, or for making chickens without the need of an egg. Or something else entirely. Here, I'll switch it on.'

Mycroft flicked a switch and a small red light came on.

'Is that it?'

'Yes,' replied Polly, staring at the small and very unexciting metallic box thoughtfully.

'No sign of any eggs or chickens,' I observed.

'None at all.' Mycroft sighed. 'It might just be a machine for making a red light come on. Drat my lost memory! Which reminds me: any idea which device actually is the memory eraser?'

We looked around the workshop at the odd-looking and mostly anonymous contraptions. Any one of them may have been used to erase memories, but then any one of them may have been a device for coring apples, too.

We stood in silence for a moment.

'I still think you ought to have Smudger on defence,' said Polly, who was probably the biggest croquet fan in the house.

'You're probably right,' I said, suddenly feeling that it would be easier just to go with the flow. 'Uncle?'

'Polly knows best,' he replied. 'I'm a bit tired. Who wants to watch Name That Fruit on the telly?'

We all agreed that it would be a relaxing way to end the day and I found myself watching the nauseating quiz show for the first time in my life. I realised just how bad it was halfway through, and went to bed, temples aching.

The hunt for At Long Last Lust had been going on all morning but with little success. Kaine had almost two years' head start on us. Of the one hundred copies in the print run, sixty-two had changed hands within the past eighteen months. Initially they had been for modest sums of a thousand pounds or so, but there is nothing like a mystery buyer with deep pockets to push up the price and the last copy sold was for ?720,000 at Agatha's Auction House — an unprecedented sum, even for a pre-war Farquitt.

The likelihood of finding a copy of Lust was looking increasingly slim. I called Farquitt's agent, who said that the author's entire library had been confiscated and the septuagenarian author questioned at length about pro-Danish political activism before being released. Even a visit to the Library of Farquitt in Didcot didn't bear any fruit — their original manuscript of At Long Last Lust and a signed copy had both been seized by 'government agents' nearly eighteen months before. The librarian met us in the sculpted marble hall and, after telling us not to talk so loudly, reported that representative copies of all Farquitt's works were packed and ready for removal 'as soon as we wanted'. Bowden responded that we'd be heading towards the border just as soon as we finalised the details. He didn't look at me as he said it but I knew what he was thinking — I still needed to figure out a way to get us across the border.

We drove back to the LiteraTecs' office in silence, and as soon as we got in I called Landen. My wedding ring, which had been appearing and disappearing all morning, had been solid for a good twenty minutes.

'Yo, Thursday!' he said enthusiastically. 'What happened to you yesterday? We were talking and you just went quiet.'

'Something came up.'

'Why don't you come round for lunch? I've got fish fingers, beans and peas — with mashed banana and cream for pudding.'

'Have you been discussing the menu with Friday?'

'Whatever made you think that?'

'I'd love to, Land. But you're still a bit existentially unstable at the moment, so I'd only end up embarrassing myself in front of your parents again — and I've got to go and meet someone to talk about Shakespeares.'

'Anyone I know?'

'Bartholomew Stiggins.'

'The Neanderthal?'

'Yes.'

'Hope you like beetles. Call me when I exist next. I lo—'

The line went dead. My wedding ring had gone again too.

I listened to the dial tone for a moment, tapping the receiver thoughtfully on my forehead.

'I love you too, Land,' I said softly.

'Your Welsh contact?' asked Bowden, walking up with a fax from the Karen Blixen Appreciation Society.

'Not exactly.'

'New players for the Superhoop, then?'

'If only. Goliath and Kaine have frightened every player in the country except Penelope Hrah, who'll play for food and doesn't care what anyone says, thinks or does.'

'Didn't she have a leg torn off during the Newport Strikers versus Dartmoor Wanderers semi-final a few years back?'

'I'm in no position to be choosy, Bowd. If I put her on back-hoop defence she can just growl at anyone who comes close. Ready for lunch?'

The Neanderthal population of Swindon numbered about three hundred and they all lived in a small village to the west known as 'The Nation'. Because of their tool-using prowess, they were just given six acres of land, water and sewage points and told to get on with it, as if they needed to be asked, which they didn't.

The Neanderthals were not human nor descendants of ours, but cousins. They had evolved at the same time as us, then been forced into extinction when they failed to compete successfully with the more aggressive human. Brought back to life by Goliath Bioengineering in the late thirties and early forties, they were as much a part of modern life as dodos or mammoths. And since they had been sequenced by Goliath, each individual was actually owned by the corporation. A less than generous 'buy-back' scheme to be able to purchase oneself hadn't been well received.