'I see him.'

We abandoned the car and trotted to keep up with the scruffy figure dressed in only a blanket. It was just bad luck that he glanced furtively behind and spotted us. He darted across the street. I don't know whether his lank and uncut hair had got in his eyes, or he had forgotten about traffic during his stay in the Dark Ages, but he didn't look where he was going and ran straight in front of a bus. His head cracked the windscreen and his bony body was thrown sideways on to the pavement with a thump. Joffy and I were first on the scene. A younger man might have survived relatively unscathed, but Zvlkx, his body weakened through poor diet and disease, didn't stand much of a chance. He was coughing and crawling with all the strength he could muster towards the entrance of the nearest shop.

'Easy, Your Grace,' murmured Joffy, laying a hand on his shoulder and stopping him moving. 'You're going to be all right.'

'Bollocks,' said Zvlkx in a state of exasperation, 'bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. :Survived the plague to get hit by a sodding number twenty-three bus. Bollocks.'

'What did he say?'

'He's annoyed.'

'Who are you?' I said. 'Are you ChronoGuard?'

His eyes flicked across to mine and he groaned. Not only dying, but dying and rumbled.

He made another attempt to reach the doorway and collapsed.

'Someone call for an ambulance!' yelled out Joffy

'It's too late for that,' Zvlkx muttered. 'Too late for me, too late for all of us. This wasn't how it toas meant to turn out; time is out of joint — anb it wan't be for me to set it right. Joffy, take this and use it wisely as I would not have done. Bury me in the grounds of my cathedral — and don't tell them who I was. I lived a sinner but I'd like to die a saint, Oh, and if a fat slapper named Shirley tells you I promised her a thousand quid, she's a bloody liar.'

He coughed again, shivered for a moment and stopped moving. I placed my hand on his grimy neck but could feel no pulse.

'What did he say?'

'Something about an overweight lady named Shirley, time being out of joint — and using his Revealments as I see fit.'

'What did he mean by that? That his Revealment is not going to come true?'

'I don't know — but he handed me this.'

It was Zvlkx's Book of Revealments. Joffy flicked through the yellowed pages, which outlined in Old English every supposed prophecy he had made, next to an anthmetic sum of some sort. Joffy closed Zvlkx's eyes and placed his jacket over the dead saint's head. A crowd had gathered, including a policeman, who took charge. Joffy hid the book and we stood to one side as the blare of an ambulance started up in the distance. The owner of the shop had come out and told us that tramps dying on his doorstep was bad for business but changed his mind when he found out who it was.

'My goodness!' he said in a respectful tone. 'Imagine a real live saint honouring us with his death on our doorstep!'

I nudged Joffy and pointed at the shopfront. It was a betting shop.

'Typical!' snorted Joffy. 'If he hadn't died trying to get to the bookie's it would have been the brothel. The only reason I knew he wouldn't be at the pub is because it's not opening time.'

Startled, I looked at my watch. It was 10.50. Cindy. I had been thinking about St Zvlkx so much I had forgotten all about her. I backed into the doorway and glanced around. No sign of her, of course, but then she was the best. I thought at first that the fact a crowd had gathered was good, as she would be unlikely to want to kill innocent people, but changed my mind when I realised that Cindy's creed of respect for innocent life could be written in very large letters on the back of a matchbox. I had to get away from the crowd in case someone else was hurt. I dashed off up Commercial Road and was approaching the corner with Granville Street when I stopped abruptly. Cindy had walked around the corner. My hand automatically closed around the butt of my gun but I paused, all of a sudden uncertain. She was not alone. She had Spike with her.

'Well!' said Spike, looking beyond me to the melee in the street behind me. 'What's going on here?'

'The death of Zvlkx, Spike.'

I was staring at Cindy, who stared back at me. I could see only one of her hands. The other was hidden in her handbag. She had failed twice — how far would she go to kill me? In broad daylight with her husband as witness? I was standing awkwardly with my hand on my automatic but it was still in its holster. I had to trust my father. He had been right about her on the previous attempt. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at her. There was a gasp from several passers-by, who scattered.

'Thursday?' yelled Spike. 'What the hell is going on? Put that down!'

'No, Spike. Cindy isn't a librarian, she's the Windowmaker.'

Spike looked at me, then at his petite wife, and laughed.

'Cindy, an assasin? You're joking!'

'She's delusional and I'm frightened, Spikey,' whimpered Cindy, in her best pathetic girlie voice. 'I don't know what she's talking about. I've never even held a gun!'

'Very slowly take your hand out of your handbag, Cindy.'

But it was Spike who made the next move. He pulled out his gun and pointed it — at me.

'Put the gun down, Thurs. I've always liked you but I have no problem making this choice.'

I bit my lip but didn't stop staring at Cindy.

'Ever wondered why she was paid cash to do those freelance library jobs? Why her brother works for the CIA? Why her parents were killed by police marksmen? Have you ever heard of librarians being killed by the police?'

'There's an explanation for it all, Spikey!' whined Cindy. 'Kill her! She's mad!'

I saw her game now. She wasn't even going to do the job herself. In broad daylight, her husband pulls the trigger and it's all legal: a good man defending his wife. She was good. She was the best. She was the Windowmaker. A contract with her and you're deader than corduroy.

'She has a contract out on me, Spike. Already tried to kill me on two occasions—!'

'Put down the gun, Thursday!'

'Spikey, I'm frightened!'

'Cindy, I want to see both your hands!'

'DROP THE GUN, Thursday!'

We had reached an impasse. As I stood there with Spike pointing a gun at my head and with me pointing my gun at Cindy's, I realised this was quite possibly the worst situation to be in. If I lowered my gun, Cindy would kill me. If I didn't lower my gun, Spike would kill me. If I killed Cindy, Spike would kill me. Try as I might, I couldn't think of a scenario that didn't end in my own death. Tricky, to say the least. And it was then that the grand piano fell on her.

I'd never heard a piano falling thirty feet on to concrete before, but it was exactly as I imagined. A sort of musical concussion that reverberated around the street. As chance would have it the piano — a Steinway baby, I learned later — missed us all. It was the stool that hit Cindy, and she went down like a sack of coal. One look at her and we both knew it was bad. A serious head wound and a badly broken neck. It was a time of mixed emotions for Spike. Grief and shock at the accident but also realisation that I had been right — still clasped in Cindy's hand was a silenced .38 revolver.

'No!' yelled Spike, placing his hand gently upon her pale cheek. 'Not again!'

Cindy groaned weakly as the policeman who had been dealing with St Zvlkx rushed up with two paramedics at his side.

'You should have told me,' Spike muttered, refusing to look at me, his powerful shoulders quivering slightly as tears rolled down his cheeks.

'I'm so sorry, Spike.'

He didn't reply but moved aside so the paramedics could try to stabilise her.

'Who is she?' asked the policeman. 'In fact, who are you two?'