The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul
Douglas Adams
When a passenger check-in desk at TermiTnawlo, Heathrow Airport,shot up through the roof engulfed in a ball of orange flame the usual peaple tried to claim responsibility. First the
IRA, then the PLO and the Gas Board. Even British Nuclear Fuels rushed out a statement to the eftfheactt the situation was
completelyunder control, that it was a one in a million chance, that there was hardly any radioactive leakatagaell, andthat the site of the explosion would make a nice location
for a day out with the kids and a picnic, before finally having to admit that it wasn't actually anything twoitdhothem at
all.
No rational cause could be found for the explosion - it was simply designated an act of god. But, thDiinrk Gently,
whichGod? And why? What God would be hanging around Terminal
Two ofHeathrowAirport trying to chatch the 15.37 toOslo .
Funnier than _Psycho_... more chilling than _Jeeves Takes Charge_... shorter than _Waanrd Peace_... the newDirk Gently novel, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul.

Douglas Adamsis the best-selling author of the _Hitch
Hiker_ books: _The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the
Galaxy, The Restaurant at_ _the End of the Universe, Life, the Universe and Everything, So_ _Long, and Thanks for All the Fish_, and _Mostly Harmless_.
The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has appeared in more forms than one might reasonably expect, moof swt hich flatly contradicteach other. It has appeared as a BBC radio series
(its original form), a BBC TV seriess,oartlsl of different records,cassettes, and CD's, a computer game, and also, apotheotically, a bath towel. A seroifesgraphic novels is currentlyin preparation, and the motion-picture version is confidently expected any decade now.
He is also the author of the DGierkntly books, _Dirk Gently's__Holistic Detective Agency _and_ The Long Dark Tea-Time of the_ _Soul_. Hecurisrently working on another book in this series.
He has also written _The Deeper Meaning of Liff_ with
John Lloydand, most recently, the travel and wildlife book
_Last_ _Chance to See_, with Mark CarwardHinee.is makingmore TV programmes these days and also frequently lectures on computers and semi-extinct parrots.
He lives partly in Islington,London , partlyPrionvence,
France, but mostly in airport bookstalls. Also by Douglas Adams in Pan Books

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
Life, the Universe and Everything
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish
Mostly Harmless
Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
The Deeper Meaning of Liff (With John Lloyd) Last Chance to See (With Mark Carwardine)
*Douglas Adams. The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul*
Pan Books in association with William HeinemannFor Jane
This book was written and typeset on an Apple Macintaonsdh II
anApple LaserWriter II NTX. The word processing software was
FullWrite Professional from Ashton Tate. The fnal prooafnindg
photosetting was done by The Last Word, London SW6.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I would like to say an enormous thank you to my amazing and wonderful editor, Sue Freestone.
Her help, supportc, riticism, encouragement. enthusiasm
andsandwiches have been beyond measure. I also owe thanks and
apologies to Sophie, James and Vivian who saw so lihtteler of
during the final weeks of work.

Chapter 1
It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the expression "as pretty as an airport".
Airports are ugly. Somaere very ugly. Some attain a degreeof ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This uglinesasrises because airports ane full of peoplewho are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed inMurmansk (Murmanskairpisortthe onlyknown exception to this otherwise infallible rule), and architects have on the whole triedreftloect this in their designs.
They have sought to highlight the tiredness and crossness motif with brutal shapes and nerve jangclionlgours, to make effortlessthe business of separating the traveller for ever
from his or her luggage or loved ones, to confuse the traveller with arrows that appear to point atwtihnedows, distant tie
racks,or the current position of Ursa Minor in the night sky, and wherever possible to expose pthluembing on the grounds
thatit is functional, and conceal the location of the
departure gates, presumably on the grounds that they are not.
Caught in the middle of a sea of hazy light saenadofa
hazy noise, Kate Schechter stood and doubted.
All the way out ofLondon to Heathrow she had suffered

from doubt. She was naostuperstitious person, or even a religiousperson. she was simply someone who was not at all sure she should be flying toNorway .shBeutwas finding it increasinglyeasy to believe that God, if there was a God, and if it was remotely possible that any godbleiikneg who could
orderthe disposition of particles at the creation of the
Universe would also be interested in directing troanffitche
M4,did not want her to fly toNorway either. All the trouble with the tickets, finding a next-door neighboulrootko after
thecat, then finding the cat so it could be looked after by the next-door neighbour, thseudden leak in the roof, the missingwallet, the weather, the unexpected death of the
next-door neighbour, the pregnancy of the cat - it atlhlehad
semblanceof an orchestrated campaign of obstruction which had begun to assume godlike proportions.
Even the taxi-driver - when shhaed eventually found a
taxi-had said, "Norway? What you want to go there for?" And when she hadn't instantslyaid, "'The aurora borealis!" or
"Fjords!"but had looked doubtful for a moment and bitten her lip, he had said, "I know, I bet it's some dbraloggkieng you outthere. Tell you what, tell him to stuff it. Go to
Tenerife."
There was an idea. Tenerife.
Or even, she dared to think for a fleeting second, home.

She had stared dumbly out of the taxi window
angtrhye
tanglesof traffic and thought that however cold and miserable
the weather was here, that was nothing to what it would be like inNorway .
Or, indeed, at home. Home would bc abaosuitcebound as Norwayright now. Icebound, and punctuated with geysers of steam bursting out of the grnund, catchintgheinfrigid air anddissipating bctween the glacial cliff faces of Sixth
Avenue.
A quick glance at the itinerary Kate phuardsued in the
courseof her thirty years would reveal her without any doubt to be a New Yorker. For though she had lived city vtheery little,most of her life had been spent at a constant distance from it.Los Angeles ,San Francisco ,Europe , aapnedriod of distractedwandering around South America five years ago following the loss of her newly mamed husband, LukaeN, einw Yorktaxihailing accident.
She enjoyed the notion thatNew York was home, and that
she missed it, but in fact the only thing she really missed was pizza. And not just any old pizza, but the spoizrtzaotfhey
broughtto your door if you phoned them up and asked them to.
That was the only real pizza. Pizza that you had toagnod
sitat a table staring at red paper napkins for wasn't real
out
pizza however much extra pepperoni and anchovy they put on it. Londonwas the place she liked living in maopsat,rt, of
course,from the pizza problem, which drove her crazy. Why

would no one deliver pizza? Why did no one underthstaatnidt wasfundamental to the whole nature of pizza that it amved at your front door in a hot cardboard box? Thastliythoeured it
outof greaseproof paper and ate it in folded slices in front of the TVW? hat was the fundamental flaw in the stupid,
stuck-up,sluggardly English that they couldn't grasp this simpleprinciple? For some odd reason it was the one frustrationshe could never learn simply to live with and accept, and about oncaemonth or so she would get very
depressed,phone a pizza restaurant, order the biggest, most
lavish pizza she could describe - pizza with an extraonpizza
it, essentially - and then, sweetly, ask them to deliver it. "To what?"
"Deliver. Let me give you the address - "
"I don't understand. Aren't you going to come and pick it up?"
"No. Aren't you going to deliver? My address - " "Er, we don't do that, miss."
"Don't do what?" "Er, deliver. . ."
"You _don't deliver_? Am I _hearing you correctly_... ?"
The exchange would quickly degenerate into an ugly
slanging match which would leave her feeling drained and shaky, but much, much betttehre following morning. In all other

respects she was one of the most sweet-natured people you could hope to meet.
But today was testing her to the limit.
There had been terrible traffic jams on the motorway, and when the distant flash of blue lights macdlearitthat the
causewas an accident somewhere ahead of them Kate had become more tense and had stared fixedly out oof ththeer window as
eventually they had crawled past it.
The taxi-driver had been bad-tempered when at last he had dropped her off because she didn't haverigthhet money, and therewas a lot of disgruntled hunting through tight trouser pockets before he was eventually able to find chfaonrgheer.
Theatmosphere was heavy and thundery and now, standing in the middle of the main check-in concourse at Terminal Two, Heathrow Airport, she could not find the check-in desk for her flight to
Oslo.
She stood very still for a momebnret,athing calmly and deeply and trying not to think of Jean-Philippe.
Jean-Philippe was, as the taxi-driver had correctly
guessed, the reason why she was going toNorway w, absuatlso thereason why she was convinced thatNorway was not at all a good place for her to go. Thinking ofthheirmefore made her
head oscillate and it seemed best not to think about him at all
but simply to go toNorway as if that was where she happened to begoing anyway. She would then be terribly surprised to bump
into him at whatever hotel it was he had wornitttehne card

that was tucked into the side pocket of her handbag.
In fact she would be surprised to find him there anyway. What she would be much more likely to find mweasssaage from himsaying that he had been unexpectedly called away to Guatemala,Seoul orTenerife and that he wocualdll her from
there. Jean-Philippe was the most continually absent person she had ever met. In this he was the culmination of a series. Since shehad lost Luke to the great yellow Chevrolet she had been oddly dependent on the rather vacant emotions that a succession of self-absorbed men had inspired in her.
She tried to shut all this out of her mind, andsheuvt en
hereyes for a second. She wished that when she opened them again there would be a sign in front osfayhinegr "This way forNorway" which she could simply follow without needing to thinkabout it or anything else ever again. This, she
reflected,in a continuation of her earlier train of thought, was presumably how religiongsot started, and must be the reasonwhy so many sects hang around airports looking for converts. Theyknow that people there are at their most vulnerableand perplexed, and ready to accept any kind of guidance.
Kate opened her eyes again and was, of course, disappointed.But then a second or two later there was a momentary parting in a long surging wavceroosfs Germans in
inexplicableyellow polo shirts and through it she had a brief

glimpse of the check-in desk forOslo . Lugging her gabrmagent
on to her shoulder, she made her way towards it.
There was just one other person before her in the line at the desk and he, it turned out, was having troorupbelerhaps making it.
He was a large man, impressively large and well-built -
even expertly built - but he was also definitely odd-looking in
a way that Kate couldn't quite deal with. She couldn't even say
what iwt
as that was odd about him, only that she was
immediatelyinclined not to include him on her list of things
to think about at the moment. She remembered reading an article which had explained that the cenptrraolcessing unit of the
humanbrain only had seven memory registers, which meant that
if you had seven things in your mind at the same titmhenand
thoughtof something else, orte of the other seven would instantly drop out.
In quick succession she thought about whethernootrshe waslikely to catch the plane, about whether it was just her imagination that the day was a particularly blooondey, about
airline staff who smile charmingly and are breathtakingly rude, aboutDuty Free shops which are able to charge much lower prices than ordinary shops but - mysteriou- sdlyon't, about whetheror not she felt a magazine article about airports
coming on which might help pay for the trip, about whheerther
garmentbag would hurt less on her other shoulder and finally,
inspite of all her intentions to the contrary, about

Jean-Philippe,who was another set of at lest seven subtopics all to himself.
The man standing arguing in front of her popped oruigt ht
of her mind.
It was only the announcement on the airport Tannoy of the last call for her flight toOswlohichforced her attention
back to the situation in front of her.
The large man was making trouble about the fact that he hadn't been given a first class seat reservatiohna.dIjtust transpiredthat the reason for this was that he didn't in fact have a first class ticket.
Kate's spirits sank to the very bottomheorfbeing and
began to prowl around there making a low growling noise. It now transpired that the man in front of her didn't
actually have a ticket at all, and the argumentbetghaen to rangefreely and angrily over such topics as the physical appearance of the airline :heck-in ghierlr, qualities as a person,theories about her ancestors, speculations as to what surprises the future mighat ve in store for her and the
airlinefor which she worked, and finally lit by chance on the happy subject of the man's credit card.
He didn't have one.
Further discussions ensued, and had dto with cheques, and why the airline did not accept them.
Kate took a long, slow, murderous look at her watch.

"Excuse me," she said, interrupting the transactions. "Is this going to take long? I have to catch theOslo flight."
"I'm just dealing with thgisentleman," said the girl, "I'll be with you in just one second."
Kate nodded, and politely allowed just one second to go by.
"It's just that the flight's abotoutleave," she said
then."I have one bag, I have my ticket, I have a reservation. It'll take about thirty seconds. I hate to interbrutpIt',d
hateeven more to miss my flight for the sake of thirty
seconds. That's thirty actual seconds,
tnhoirtty `just one'
seconds, which could keep us here all night."
The check-in girl turned the full glare on her lipgloss on
to Kateb, ut before she could speak the large blond man looked round, and the effect of his face was a little disconcerting.
"I, too," he said in a slow, angry Nordic voice, t"owish
fly toOslo ."
Kate stared at him. He looked thoroughly out of place in an airport, or rather, the airplootked thoroughly out of
place around him.
"Well," she said, "the way we're stacked up at the moment it looks like neither of us is going to mCakaen iwt.e just
sort this one out? What's the hold-up?"
The check-in girl smiled her charming, dead smile and said, "The airline does not acccehpetques, as a matter of company policy."

"Well I do," said Kate, slapping down her own credit card. "Chargethe gentleman's ticket to this, and I'll take a cheque from him.
"OK?" she added to the big man, wwhaos looking at her withslow surprise. His eyes were large and blue and conveyed the impression that they had looked laott oaf glaciers in
their time. They were extraordinarily arrogant and also muddled.
"OK?" she repeated briskly. "My namiseKate Schechter.
Two `c's, two `h's, two `e's and also a `t', an `r' and an `s'. Providedthey're all there the bank won't be fussy about the order they come in. They never seem to know themselves."
The man very slowly inclined his head a little towards her in a rough bow aocfknowledgement. He thanked her for her kindness,courtesy and some Norwegian word that was lost on her, said that it was a long wsihniclee he had encountered
anythingof the kind, that she was a woman of spirit and some
other Norwegian word, and that he was indebted to hearl.soHe
added, as an afterthought, that he had no cheque-book. "Right!" said Kate, determined not to be deflected from
her course. She fished in her handbaga fpoier ce of paper,
tooka pen from the check-in counter, scribbled on the paper and thrust it at him.
"That's my address," she said, "send tmhee money. Hock
your fur coat if you have to. Just send it me. OK? I'm taking a

flyer on trusting you."
The big man took the scrap of paper, read the few words on it withimmense slowness, then folded it with elaborate care
and put it into the pocket of his coat. Again he tboohweerd
very slightly.
Kate suddenly realised that the check-in girl was silently waitingfor her pen back to fill in the credit card form. She pushed it back at her in annoyance, handed over hetricokwetn
and imposed on herself an icy calm.
The airport Tannoy announced the departure of their flight.
"May I see your passports, please?" said the girl unhunriedly.
Kate handed hers over, but the big man didn't have one. "You _what_?" exclaimed Kate. The airline girl simply
stoppedmoving at all and stared quietly at a random point on
her desk waiting for someone else to make a move. It wasn't her problem.
The man repeated angrily that he didn't haavpeassport. Heshouted it and banged his fist on the counter so hard that it was slightly dented by the force of the blow.
Kate picked up her ticket, hpearssport and her credit
card and hoisted her garment bag back up on to her shoulder. "This is when I get off," she said, and simply walked
away. She felt that she had made eevfefroyrt a human being
could possibly be expected to make to catch her plane, but that

itwas not to be. She would send a message to Jean-Philippe saying that she could not be there, and it wprooubladbly sit
in a slot next to his message to her saying why he could not be there either. For once they would be equally absent.
For the time being she would go and cool off. She set off in search of first a newspaper and stohmene coffee, and by
dintof following the appropriate signs was unable to locate
either. She was then unable to find a working phonewfhriochm
tosend a message, and decided to give up on the airport altogether. Just get out, she told herself, find a taxi, and go back home.
She threaded her way back across ct heck-in concourse,
andhad almost made it to the exit when she happened to glance back at the check-in desk that had defeated herw, aasnjdust
intime to see it shoot up through the roof engulfed in a ball of orange flame.
As she lay beneath a pile of rubibnlep,ain, darkness, andchoking dust, trying to find sensation in her limbs, she was at least relieved to able to think that she hadn't
merely been imagining that this was a bad day. So thinking, she passed out.
Chapter 2
The usual people tried to claim responsibility.

First the IRA, then the PLO and the Gas Board. Even
British Nuclear Fuels rushed out a statement to the effect that the situation was completely under control, that ita wonase
ina million chance, that there was hardly any radioactive
leakage at all, and that the site of the explosion would make a nice location for a day out with the kids and a bpeifconriec,
finallyhaving to admit that it wasn't actually anything to do with them at all.
No cause could be found for the explosion.
It seemed to have happened spontaneously aonfdits own freewill. Explanations were advanced, but most of these were simply phrases which restated the problemdififnerent words, alongthe same principles which had given the world "metal fatigue". In facat, very similar phrase was invented to
accountfor the sudden transition of wood, metal, plastic and concrete into an explosivceondition, which was "non-linear catastrophic sWctural exasperation", or to put it another way - asa junior cabinet minister did on television the following
night in a phrase which was to haunt the restcoarfeehris-
the check-in desk had just got "fundamentally fed up with being where it was".
As in all such disastrous events, estimates of the casualties varied wildly. Thesytarted at forty-seven dead,
eighty-nineseriously injured, went up to sixty-three dead, a
hundred and thirty injured, and rose as high as one hundred and seventeendead before the figures started to be revised

downwardsonce more. The final figures revealed that once all the people who could be accounted for had abceceonunted for,
in fact no one had been killed at all. A small number of people werein hospital suffering from cuts and bruises and varying
degrees of traumatised shock, but that, unless anyhoandeany information about anybody actually being missing, was that.
This was yet another inexplicable aspect to the whole
affair. The force of the explosion had been enough to raeduce
largepart of the front of Terminal Two to rubble, and yet everyone inside the building hsaodmehow either fallen very luckily,or been shielded from one piece of falling masonry by another, or had the shock of the exploasbiosnorbed by their luggage.All in all, very little luggage had survived at all.
There were questions asked in Parliament abthoiust, but not very interesting ones.
It was a couple of days before Kate Schechter became aware of anyof these things, or indeed of anything at all in the
outside world.
She passed the time quietly in a world of her own in which she was surrounded as far as the eye could seeoldwcitahbin trunksfull of past memories in which she rummaged with great curiosity, and sometimes bewilderment. Or,leaatst, about a
tenth of the cabin trunks were full of vivid, and often painful
or uncomfortable memories of her past life; the other

nine-tenths were full of penguins, which surprised her. Insofar as she recognised at all that she dwreaasming, she realised
thatshe must be exploring her own subconscious mind. She had heard it said that humans are suppoosneldy to use about a
tenthof their brains, and that no one was very clear what the other nine-tenths were for, but she had certanienvlyer heard
it suggested that they were used for storing penguins. Gradually the trunks, the memories and the penguins began
to grow indistinct, to become all wahnitde swimmy, then to becomelike walls that were all white and swimmy, and finally to become walls that were merely white, or ratyheelrlowa ish,
greenish kind of off-white, and to enclose her in a small room. The room was in semi-darkness. A bedside light was on but
turned down low, and the light from a street lamp found its way between the grey curtains atnhdrew sodium patterns on the oppositewall. She became dimly aware of the shadowed shape of her own body lying under the white, turned-down asnhdeetthe
pale,neat blankets. She stared at it for a nervous while, checking that it looked right before she tried, tentatively, to
move any part of it. She tried her right hand, ansedemtheadt
tobe fine. A little stiff and aching, but the fingers all responded, and alsleemed to be of the right length and thickness,and to bend in the right places and in the right directions.
She panicked briefly when she couldn't immediatleolcyate
herleft hand, but then she found it lying across her stomach

and nagging at her in some odd way. It took her a second or two of concentration to put together a number of rdaitshteurbing
feelingsand realise that there was a needle bandaged into her
arm. This shook her quite badly. From the needle there snaked a long thin transparent pipe that glistened yellowly in the light
from the street lamp and hung in a gceunrtllefrom a thick plasticbag suspended from a tall metal stand. An array of
horrors briefly assailed her in respect of this apparbautut s,
shepeered dimly at the bag and saw the words "Dextro-Saline". She made herself calm down again laydquietly for a few
moments before continuing her exploration.
Her ribcage seemed undamaged. Bruised and tender, but
there was no shaiper pain anywhere to suggest that anything was broken. Her hips and thighs ached and were stifrfe, vbeuatled
no serious hurt. She flexed
the muscles down her right leg and then her left. She rather fancied that her left ankle was sprained.
In other words, she told herself, swhaes perfectly all
right.So what was she doing here in what she could tell from the septic colour of the paint was clearly a hospital?
She sat up impatiently, and immediately rejoined the penguins for an entertaining few minutes.
The next time she came round she treated herself with a little more care, and lay quietly, feeling gently nauseous.
She poked gingerly at her memory of what had happeItned.

was dark and blotchy and came at her in sick, greasy waves like theNorth Sea. Lumpy things jumbled themselves out of it and
slowly arranged themselves into a heaving airport. aTirhpeort wassour and ached in her head, and in the middle of it, pulsing like a migraine, was the memory of a momwehnirtl'isng splurge of light.
It became suddenly very clear to her that the check-in
concourse of Terminal Two at Heathrow Airport had been hit by a meteorite. Silhouetted in the flare was futhre-coated figure
of a big man who must have caught the full force of it and been reducedinstantly to a cloud of atoms that were free to go as
they pleased. The thought caused a deep and hsohruriddder to gothrough her. He had been infuriating and arrogant, but she had liked him in an odd way. Thhaedrebeen something oddly noble in his perverse bloody-mindedness. Or maybe, she realised, she liked to think that such perverse
bloody-mindednesswas noble because it reminded her of herself
trying to order pizza to be delivered in an alien,
ahnodstile
non-pizza-delivering world. Nobleness was one word for making a fussabout the trivial inevitabilities of life, but there were
others.
She felt a sudden surge of faenadr loneliness, but it quicklyebbed away and left her feeling much more composed, relaxed, and wanting to go to the lavatory.
According to her watch it was shortly after three o'clock,
and according to everything else it was night-time.shSohueld

probablycall a nurse and let the world know she had come round. There was a window in the side wall of thethrouogmh whichshe could see a dim corridor in which stood a stretcher trolley and a tall black oxygen bottle, but which was otherwise empty. Things were very quiet out there.
Peering around her in the small room she saw a
white-paintedplywood cupboard, a couple of tubular steel and vinylchairs lurking quietly in the shadows, and a
white-paintedplywood bedside cabinet which supported a small
bowl with a single banana in it. On the other
tshideebeodf
stood her drip stand. Set into the wall on that side of the bed was a metal plate with a couple of black knobs and a set of old bakeliteheadphones hanging from it, and wound around the
tubular side pillar of the bedhead was a cable with a bell push attached to it, which she fingered, tahnedn decided not to
push.
She was fine. She could find her own way about. Slowly, a little woozily, she pushed herself up on to her
elbows, and slid her legs out from under the sheeotsn atond
thefloor, which was cold to her feet. She could tell almost immediately that she shouldn't be doing this because every part of her feet was sending back streamms eosfsages telling her exactlywhat every tiniest bit of the floor that they touched
felt like, as if it was a strange and worryingthtehilnikge
ofwhich they had never encountered before. Nevertheless she

sat on the edge of the bed and made her feet thaeccfelopot r
as something they were just going to have to get used to. Ttte hospital had put her into a large, baggy, striped
thing. It wasn't merely baggy, she decided on examining it more closely, it actually was a bag. A bag of looseanbdluwehite stripedcotton. It opened up the back and let in chilly night draughts. Perfunctory sleeves flopped half-way dohwenr arms. Shemoved her arms around in the light, examining the skin,
rubbing it and pinching it, especially around the bandage which held her drip needle in place. Normally her arms were lithe and the skin was firm and suppTloen. ight, however, they looked
likebits of chickens. Briefly she smoothed each forearm with her other hand, and then looked up again, purposefully.
She reached out and gripped the drip stand and, because it
wobbled slightly less than she did, she was able
ittotouse
pull herself slowly to her feet. She stood there, her tall slim figuretrembling, and after a few seconds she held the drip stand away at a bent arm's length, liskheepaherd holding a
crook.
She had not made it to Norway, but she was at least standing up.
The drip stand rolleodn four small and independently
perverse wheels which behaved like four screaming children in a supermarket, but nevertheless Kate was able to propel it to the doorahead of her. Walking increased her sense of wooziness,
but also increased her resolnvoet to give in to it. She

reachedthe door, opened it, and pushing the drip stand out ahead of her, looked out into the corridor.
To her left the corridor ended in a coupslewionfg-doors withcircular porthole windows, which seemed to lead into a larger area, an open ward perhaps. Torighhetr a number of smallerdoors opened off the corridor as it continued on for a short distance before turningshaarp corner. One of those doorswould probably be the lavatory. The others? Well, she would find out as she looked for the lavatory.
The first twowere cupboards. The third was slightly
bigger and had a chair in it and therefor probably counted as a roomsince most people don't like to sit in cupboards, even
nurses, who have
dtoo a lot of things that most people
wouldn'tlike to. It also had a stack of styro beakers, a lot of semi-congealed coffee creamer and an eldceorlfyfee maker,
all sitting on top of a small table together and seeping grimly over a copy of the _Evening Standard_.
Kate picked up the dark, damp paper and tried to reconstruct some of her missing dfaryosm it. However, what withher own wobbly condition making it difficult to read, and
the droopily stuck-together condition of the newspaper, she was able to glean little more ththaen fact that no one could
really say for certain what had happened. It seemed that no one hadbeen seriously hurt, but that an employee of one of the
airlines was still unaccounted for. The incidentnhoawd been

officially classified as an "Act of God".
"Nice one, God," thought Kate. She put down the remains of the paper and closed the door behind her.
The next door she tried was another small side ward like
her own. There was a bedside table and a single binanthaena
fruit bowl.
The bed was clearly occupied. She pulled the door to quickly, but she did not pull it quickly enoUungfho.rtunately something oddhad caught her attention, but although she had noticed it, she coutd not immediatsealy what it was. She stoodthere with the door half closed, staring at the door, knowing that she should not look again,kannodwing that she would.
Carefully she eased the door back open again.
The room was darkly shadowed and chilly. The chilliness did not give her a good feeling about the occupant boefd.the
Shelistened. The silence didn't sound too good either. It
wasn't the silence of healthy deep sleep, it was the silence of nothing but a little distant traffic noise.
She hesitated for a long while, silhouetted in the doorway,looking and listening. She wondered about the sheer
bulk of the occupant of the bed and how cold he was with just a thin blanket pulled over him. Nteoxthe bed was a small
tubular-leggedvinyl bucket chair which was rather overwhelmed
by the huge nnd heavy fur coat draped over it, and Kate thought that the coat should more properly be draped ovebredthaend

its cold occupant.
At last, walking as softly and cautiously as she could,
she moved into the room and over to the bed. Shelosotkoiondg downat the face of the big, Nordic man. Though cold, and though his eyes were shut, his face was frowning slightly as if he was still rather worried about something. sTtrhuisck Kate
as being almost infinitely sad. In life the man had had the air ofsomeone who was beset by huge, if somewhat puzzling, difficulties, and the appearance that he had almost immediately found things beyond this life that were a bother to him as well was miserable to contemplate.
She was astonished that he appearedbetoso unscathed.
Hisskin was totally unmarked. It was rugged and healthy - or rather had been healthy until very recently. Clionsprection showeda network of fine lines which suggested that he was
older than the mid-thirtieshse had originally assumed. He couldeven have been a very fit and healthy man in his late forties.
Standing against the walbl,y the door, was something
unexpected. It was a large Coca-Cola vending machine. It didn't lookas if it had been installed there: it wasn't plugged in
and it had a small neat sticker on it explathinaitnigt was
temporarilyout of order. It looked as if it had simply been
left there inadvenently by someone who
pwraosbably even now
walkingaround wondering which room he had left it in. Its

large red and white wavy panel stared glaisnstiolythe room anddid not explain itself. The only thing the machine communicated to the outside world was tthhearte was a slot intowhich coins of a variety of denominations might be
inserted, and an aperture to which a variety of difcfearnesnt
wouldbe delivered if the machine was working, which it was
not. There was also an
solleddge-hammer leaning against it
which was, in its own way, odd.
Faintness began to creep over Kate, the room began to develop a slight spin, and there was some restless ruisntling
the cabin trunks of her mind.
Then she realised that the rustling wasn't simply her imagination. There was a distinct noise in the roohmeav- ya, beating, scratching noise, a muffled fluttering. The noise rose
andfell like the wind, but in her dazed and woozy state, Kate could not at first tell where the nwoaissecoming from. At
last her gaze fell on the curtains. She stared at them with the worriedfrown of a drunk trying to work out why the door is dancing. The sound was coming frtohme curtains. She walked uncertainlytowards them and pulled them apart. A huge eagle with circles tattooed on its wings was clattearnindgbeating againstthe window, staring in with great yellow eyes and
pecking wildly at the glass.
Kate staggered back, turned and tried to heave herself out of the room. At the endthoefcorridor the porthole doors swungopen and two figures came through them. Hands rushed

towards her as she becamhoepelessly entangled in the drip stand and began slowly to spin towards the floor.
She was unconscious as they carefully laid her back in her
bed. She was unconscious half an hour later when a disturbingly shortfigure in a worryingly long white doctor's coat arrived, wheeled the big maanway on a stretcher trolley and then
returned after a few minutes for the Coca-Cola machine. She woke a few hours later with a wintry sun seeping
through the window. The day looked very quiet and ordinary, but
Kate was still shaking.
Chapter 3
The same sun later broke in through the upper windows of a house in North London and struck the peacefully sleeping figure of a man.
The room in which he slept was laarngde bedraggled and didnot much benefit from the sudden intrusion of light. The sun crept slowly across the bedclothes, as if nerovfowushat itmight find amongst them, slunk down the side of the bed, movedin a rather startled way across some objects it encounteredon the floor, toyed nervously with a couple of motes of dust, lit briefly on a stuffed fruitbat hanging in the corner, and fled.
This was about as big an appearance as the sun ever put in

here, and it lasted for about an hour or so, duringtiwmheich
the sleeping figure scarcely stirred.
At eleven o'clock the phone rang, and still the figure did
not responda, ny more than it had responded when the phone had rung at twenty-five to seven in the morning, again at twenty to seven, again atet n to seven, and again for ten minutes continuouslystarting at five to seven, after which it has
settled into a long and significant silence, disturbed boynly
thebraying of police sirens in a nearby street at around nine o'clock, the delivery of a large eighteenth-century dual manual harpsichord at around nine-fifteen, and the collectiosnamofe
by bailiffs at a little after ten. This was a not uncommon sort ofoccurrence- the people concerned were accustomed to finding the keyunder the doormat, and the man in the bed was
accustomedto sleeping through it. You would probably not say that he was sleeping the sleep of theujnulests,s you meant
thejust asleep, but it was certainly the sleep of someone who was not fooling about when he climbed into bednigohft and turned off the light.
The room was not a room to elevate the soul. Louis XIV, to pick aname at random, would not have liked it, would have
found it not sunny enough, and insufficiently fumllirorofrs.
Hewould have desired someone to pick up the socks, put the
records away, and maybe burn the place down. Michelangelo would have been distressed bitys proponions, which were neither
loftynor shaped by any noticeable inner harmony or symmetry,

other than that all parts of the room were pretty emquuacllhy
fullof old coffee mugs, shoes and brimming ashtrays, most of which were now sharing their tasks with each oTtherw. alls werepainted in almost precisely that shade of green which Raffaello Sanzio would have bitten off his roigwhnt hand at thewrist rather than use, and Hercules, on seeing the room, would probably have returned half an hour alarmtered with a navigableriver. It was, in short, a dump, and was likely to remain so for as long arsemitained in the custody of Mr
Svlad, or "Dirk", Gently, né Cjelli. At last Gently stirred.
The sheets and blankets were pulled up tightly around his
head, but from somewhere half way down the length of tahe bed
handslowly emerged from under the bedclothes and its fingers felt their way in little tappminogvements along the floor. Workingfrom experience, they neatly circumvented a bowl of sornethingvery nasty that had been sitting there since
Michaelmas,and eventually happened upon a half-empty pack of untipped Gauloises and a box of matches. fTinhgers shook a crumpledwhite tube free of the pack, seized it and the box of matches, and then started to poakwe ay through the sheets tangledtogether at the top of the bed, like a magician
prodding at a handkerchief from which he intendresletaose a flock of doves.
The cigarette was at last inserted into the hole. The

cigarette was lit. For a while the bed aitpspeelfared to be smokingthe cigarette in great heaving drags. It coughed long, loud and shudderingly and then began at labsrteatothe in a moremeasured rhythm. In this way, Dirk Gently achieved consciousness.
He lay there for a while feeling a terrible sense of worry and guilt about something weighing on his shouldersw. iHsheed hecould forget about it, and promptly did. He levered himself out of bed and a few minutes later padded downstairs.
The mail on the doormat consisted of the uthsuinagls: a
rude letter threatening to take away his American Express card, aninvitation to apply for an American Express card, and a few bills of the more hysterical and unrealistic typec.ouHledn't understandwhy they kept sending them. The cost of the postage seemed merely to be good money thrown after badsh. oHoke his
head in wonderment at the malevolent incompetence of the world, threwthe mail away, entered the kitchen and approached the
fridge with caution.
It stood in the corner.
The kitchen was large and shrouded idneeap gloom that wasnot relieved, only turned yellow, by the action of switching on the light. Dirk squatdteodwn in front of the
fridgeand carefully examined the edge of the door. He found what he was looking for. In facftouhned more than he was looking for.
Near the bottom of the door, across the narrow gap which

separated the door from the main body of the fridge, which held the strip of grey insulating rubber, lay a shinugmlean hair.
Itwas stuck there with dried saliva. That he had expected. He had stuck it there himself three days earlierhaadndchecked
it on several occasions since then. What he had not expected to fine was a second hair.
He frowned at it in alarm. A _second_ hair?
It was stuck across the gap in the same way as the first
one, only this hair was near the top of the fridge door, and he had not put it there. He peered at it closely, and even went so far as to go and open the old shutters oknitcthheen windows
to let some extra light in upon the scene.
The daylight shouldered its way in like a squad of
poiicemen, and did a
oloft_what's-all-this_ing around
theroom which, like the bedroom, would have presented anyone of an aesthetic disposition with difficulties. Like most of the rooms inDirk's house it was large, looming and utterly
dishevelled. It simply sneered at anyone's attempts to tidy it, sneeredat them and brushed them aside like one of the small pile of deaadnd disheartened flies that lay beneath the
window, on top of a pile of old pizza boxes.
The light revealed the second hair for what it was - a grey hair at root, dyed a vivid metoarlalincge. Dirk pursed
hislips and thought very deeply. He didn't need to think hard
in order to realise who the hair belonged to -wtahseorenly

oneperson who regularly entered the kitchen looking as if her head had been used for extracting metal oxides ifnrdoumstrial
waste- but he did have seriously to consider the implications of the discovery that she had been plasteringhahirearcross
the door of his fridge.
It meant that the silently waged conflict between himself andhis cleaning lady had escalated to a new and more frightening level.It was now, Dirk reckoned, fully three
months since this fridge door had been opened, and each of them was grimly determined not to be the one to ofpiresnt. Tithe
fridgeno longer merely stood there in the comer of the kitchen, it actually lurked. Dirk could quite clereamrlyember
theday on which the thing had started lurking. It was about a week ago, when Dirk had traiesdimple subterfuge to trick
Elena- the old bat's name was Elena, pronounced to rhyme with
cleaner, which was an irony that Dirk now no longer re-lished
intoopening the fridge door. The subterfuge had been deftly deflected and had nearly rebounded horribly on Dirk.
He had resorted to the strateogfygoing to the local
mini-market to buy a few simple groceries. Nothing contentious
- alittle milk, some eggs, some bacon, a carton or two of chocolate custard and a simple half-pouonfdbutter. He had leftthem, innocently, on top of the fridge as if to say, "Oh,
when you have a moment, perhaps you could pop these inside..." When he had returned that evening his heart bounded to see
that they were no longer on top of the fridge. Theygownee!re

Theyhad not been merely moved aside or put on a shelf, they
were nowhere to be seen. She must finally have capituanladted
put them away. In the fridge. And she would surely have cleaned itout once it was actually open. For the first and only time
his heart swelled with warmth and gratitude towards her, and he was about to fling open the door otfhitnhgein relief and
triumphwhen an eighth sense (at the last count, Dirk reckoned he had eleven) warned him tovebrey, very careful, and to considerfirst where Elena might have put the cleared out
contents of the fridge.
A nameless doubt gnawed at his mind as he moved noiselesslytowards the garbage bin beneath the sink. Holding his breath, he opened the lid and looked.
There, nestling in the folds of the fresh black bin liner, were his eggs, his bacon, his chocolate custard ansdimhpilse
half-poundof butter. Two milk bottles stood rinsed and neatly lined up by the sink into which their conhtaedntpsresumably
been poured.
She had thrown it away.
Rather than open the fridge door, she had thrown his food away. Helooked round slowly at the grimy, squat, white monolith,and that was the exact moment at which he realised without a shadow of a dotuhbatt his fridge had now begun seriously to lurk.
He made himself a stiff black coffee and sat, slightly

trembling. He had not even looked directly at the sinhke, but
knew that he must unconsciously have noticed the two clean milk bottlesthere, and some busy part of his mind had been alarmed
by them.
The next day he had explained all this away to himself. He was becomingneedlessly paranoiac. It had surely been an
innocentor careless mistake on Elena's part. She had probably been brooding distractedly on her soantt'sack of bronchitis peevishnessor homosexuality or whatever it was that regularly prevented her from either turning up, or from having noticeable effectwhen she did. She was Italian and probably had
absent-mindedly mistaken his food for garbage. But the business with the hair changed all that. It
established beyond all possible douthbat t she knew exactly whatshe was doing. She was under no circumstamces going to open the fridge door until he had opened it firsht,e wanads
under no circumstances going to open the fridge until she had. Obviously she had not noticed his hair, otherwise it would
have been her most effective course simply to pull it off, thus tricking him into thinking she had opened the fridge. He shuuld presumably now remove her hair in the hope of pulling that same trickon her, but even as he sat there he knew that somehow
that wouldn't work, and that they were locked into a tightening spiral of non-fridge-openintghat would lead them both to
madness or perdition.
He wondered if he could hire someone to come and open the

fridge.
No. He was noint a position to hire anybody to do
anything.He was not even in a position to pay Elena for the last three weeks. The only reason he didn'thearstko leave
wasthat sacking somebody inevitably involved paying them off, and this he was in no position to do. His secretary had finally left him on her own initiative and gooffnteo do something reprehensiblein the travel business. Dirk had attempted to
cast scon on her preferring monotony of pay over- "_Regularity_ of pay," she had calmly corrected him.
- over job satisfaction.
She had nearly said",Over _what_?", but at that
momentshe realised that if she said that she would have to
listen to his reply, which would be bound to infuriate her into arguing back. It occurred to her for thetimfirestthat the
onlyway of escaping was just not to get drawn into these arguments. If she simply did not respondtitmhies, then she
was free to leave. She tried it. She felt a sudden freedom. She left.A week later, in much the same mood, she married an
airline cabin steward called Smith.
Dirk had kicked her desk over, and then had to puipck it
himself later when she didn't come back.
The detective business was currently as brisk as the tomb. Nobody,it seemed, wished to have anything detected. He had recently, to make ends meet, taken up doing palminisdtrryag

onThursday evenings, but he wasn't comfortable with it. He could have withstood it - the hateful, abject humiliation of it all was something to whihceh had, in different ways, now becomeaccustomed, and he was quite anonymous in his little
tent in the back garden of the pub - he could have withstood it
all if he hadn't been so horribly, excruciatingly agtoiot.d
Itmade him break out in a sweat of self loathing. He tried by every means to cheat, to fake, to be deliberately and cynically bad, but whatever fakery he triedintrooduce always failed
and he invariably ended up being right.
His worst moment had come about as a result of the poor woman from Oxfordshiie who had come in to see himeveonnineg.
Being in something of a waggish mood, he had suggested that she shouldkeep an eye on her husband, who, judging by her mamage
line, looked to be a bit of a flighty type. It tranthsaptired
her husband was in fact a fighter pilot, and that his plane had beenlost in an exerrise over the North Sea only a fortnight earlier.
Dirk had been flustered by this and had soothed
meaninglessly at her. He was certain, he said, that her husband wouldbe restored to her in the fullness of time, that all
would be well, and that all manner of things would baendwell
so on. The woman said that she thought this was not very likely seeingas the world record for staying alive in the North Sea
was rather less than an hour, and since no trace of her husband
had been found in two weeks it seemed fanciful to imthaagtine

hewas anything other than stone dead, and she was trying to get used to the idea, thank you very much. Shiet rsaathider
tartly.
Dirk had lost all control at this point and started to babble.
He said that it was very clear from reading her hands that
the great sum of money
hshaed coming to her would be no
consolationto her for the loss of her dear, dear husband, but
that at least it might comfort her to know that he haodn gone
tothat great something or other in the sky, that he was floatingon the fleeciest of white clouds, looking very handsomein his new set of wings, and that he was terribly sorry to be talking such appalling drivelshbeuht ad caught
himrather by surprise. Would she care for some tea, or some vodka, or some soup?
The woman demurred. She said she hoandly wandered into thetent by accident, she had been looking for the lavatories, and what was that about the money?
"Complete gibberish," Dirk had explained. He wasgrienat difficulties,what with having the falsetto to keep up. "I was making it up as I went along," he "sPalieda.se allow me to
tendermy most profound apologies for intruding so clumsily on your private grief, and to escort you to, er, or rather, direct you to the, well, what I can only in the circumstances call the
lavatory, which is out of the tent and on the left."

Dirk had been cast down by this encounbtuetr,was then utterlyhorrified a few days later when he discovered that the
very following morning the unfonunate woman had learnt that she had won £250,000 on the Premium Bonds. He spsevet ralhours thatnight standing on the roof of his house, shaking his fist
at the dark sky and shouti"nSgt,op it!" until a neighbour
complained to the police that he couldn't sleep. The police had comeround in a screaming squad car and woken up the rest of the neighbourhood as well.
Today, this morning, Dirk sat in khiitschen and stared
dejectedly at his fridge. The bloody-minded ebullience which he usually relied on to carry him through the day had been knocked out of him in its very opening moments by the business with the fridge.His will sat imprisoned in it, locked up by a single
hair.
What he needed, he thought, was a client. Please, hGeod,
thought,if there is a god, any god, bring me a client. Just a simple client, the simpltehre better. Credulous and rich.
Someonelike that chap yesterday. He tapped his fingers on the table.
The problem was that the more credulothues client, the moreDirk fell foul at the end of his own better nature, which was constantly rearing up aenmd barrassing him at the most inopportunemoments. Dirk frequently threatened to hurl his
better nature to the ground and kneel on its windbpuitpiet ,

usuallymanaged to get the better of him by dressing itself up as guilt and self loathing, in which guise it tchorouwld him
right out of the ring.
Credulous and rich. Just so that he could pay off some, perhaps even just one, of the mpororeminent and sensational bills.He lit a cigarette. The smoke curled upwards in the moming light and attached itself to the ceiling.
Like that chap yesterday. . . He paused.
The chap yesterday. . . The world held its breath.
Quietly and gently there settled on him the knowledge that something,somewhere, was ghastly. Something was terribly
wrong.
There was a disaster hanging silently in the air around him waiting for him to notice it. His knees tingled.
What he needed, he had been thinking, was a client. He had
been thinking that as a matter of habit. It was wahlwatayhse
thoughtat this time of the morning. What he had forgotten was that he had one.
He stared wildly at his watcNhe. arly eleven-thirty. He
shookhis head to try and clear the silent ringing between his ears, then made a hysterical lunge for hiasnhdahtis great
leather coat that hung behind the door.
Fifteen seconds later he left the house, five hours late

but moving fast.
Chapter 4
A minute or two later Dirk paustoedconsider his best strategy.Rather than arrive five hours late and flustered it
would be better all round if he were to arrive five hours and a few extra minutes late, but triumphantly in command.
"Pray God I am not too soon!" would be a good opening line as he swept in, but it needed a fgoolloodw-through as well,
and he wasn't sure what it should be.
Perhaps it would save time if he went back to get his car, but thenagain it was only a short distance, and he had a tremendous propensity for getting lost when drivTinhgis. was largelybecause of his method of "Zen" navigation, which was simply to find any car that looked as if it knewitwwhaesre
goingand follow it. The results were more often surprising than successful, but he felt it was worth tihtefsoarke of
the few occasions when it was both.
Furthermore he was not at all certain that his car was working.
It was an elderly Jaguar, built at that very sptiemcieal
inthe company's history when they were making cars which had to stop for repairs more often than ntheeded to stop for
petrol,and frequently needed to rest for months between
outings. He was, however, certain, now thactamhee to think

aboutit, that the car didn't have any petrol and furthermore
he did not have any cash or valid plastic to enable him to fill it up.
He abandoned that line of thought as wholly fruitless. He stopped to buy naewspaper while he thought things
over.The clock in the newsagent's said eleven thirty-five.
Damn damn, damn. He toyed with the idea of simply drothpeping
case.Just walking away and forgetting about it. Having some lunch. The whole thing was frauwghitth difficulties in any
event.Or rather it was fraught with one particular difficulty
which was that of keeping a straight face. The wholewtahsing
completeand utter nonsense. The client was clearly loopy and Dirk would not have considered taking the case exfocrepotne very important thing.
Three hundred pounds a day plus expenses.
The client had agreed to it just like that. And when Dirk had started his usual speech to the etfhfeact this methods,
involving as they did the fundamental interconnectedness of all things,often led to expenses that might appear to the
untutored eye to be somewhat tangential to the mathtearndin, theclient had simply waved the matter aside as trifling. Dirk liked that in a client.
The only thing the client had insisted upotnheinmidst
ofthis almost superhuman fit of reasonableness was that Dirk had to be there, absolutely had, had, habde tthoere ready,

functioningand alert, without fail, without even the merest smidgen of an inkling of failure, at six-thirty in the morning. Absolute.
Well, he was just going to have to see reaabsoount that
as well. Six-thirty was clearly a preposterous time and he, the client,obviously hadn't meantit seriously. A civilised
six-thirty for twelve noon was almost certainly what hien had
mind,and if he wanted to cut up rough about it, Dirk would haveno option but to start handing out some serious statistics.Nobody got murdered before lunch. But nobody. People weren't up to it. You needed a good tloungceht both
the blood-sugar and bloodlust levels up. Dirk had the figures to prove it.
Did he, Anstey (the client's name was Anstey, an odd, intense man in his mid-thirties wsittahring eyes, a narrow yellowtie and one of the big houses in Lupton Road; Dirk
hadn't actually liked him very much and thought he looked as if
he was trying to swallow a fish), did he know that c6en7t per
of allknown murderers, who expressed a preference, had had liver and bacon for lunch? And that ano2t2heprer cent had beentorn between either a prawn biryani or an omelette? That dispensed with 89 per cent of the threatstraot kae, and by
thetime you had further discounted the salad eaters and the turkey and ham sandwich munchers and statroteldook at the
numberof people who would contemplate such a course of action
without any lunch at all, then you were well into the realms of

negligibility and bordering on fantasy.
After two-thirty, but nearer to throe'eclock, was when
youhad to start being on your guard. Seriously. Even on good days. Evenwhen you weren't receiving death threats from strangegigantic men with green eyes, you had to watch people like a hawk after the lunching hour. The really dangtiemroeus
wasafter four o'clockish, when the streets began to fill up with marauding packs of publishers aangdents, maddened with fettucineand kir and baying for cabs. Those were the times
that tested men's souls. Six-thirty in the morning? Fiot.rget
Dirk had.
With his resolve well stiffened Dirk stepped back out of the newsagent's into the nippy airtheofstreet and strode
off.
"Ah, I expect you'll be wanting to pay for that paper, then, won't you, Mr Dirk, sir?" sthaeidnewsagent, trotting gently after him.
"Ah, Bates," said Dirk loftily, "you and your expectations. Always expecting this and expecting tMhaat.y I recommendserenity to you? A life that is burdened with expectationsis a heavy life. Its fruit is sorrow and
disappointment. Learn to be one with the joy of the moment." "I thirtk it's twenty pence that one, sir," said Bates,
tranquilly.
"Tell you what I'll do, Bates, seeing as it's youy.ouDo

have a pen on you at all? A simple ball-point will suffice." Bates produced one from an inner pocket and handed it to
Dirk, who then tore off the corner of the opnapwehrich the pricewas printed and scribbled "IOU" above it. He handed the scrap of paper to the newsagent.
"Shall I put this with the others, then, sir?"
"Put it wherever it will give you the grejaotyes,tdear
Bates,I would want you to put it nowhere less. For now, dear man, farewell."
"I expect you'll be wanting to give me back my pen as well
Mr Dirk."
"When the times are propitious for such a transacmtioyn,
dearBates," said Dirk, "you may depend upon it. For the moment, higher purposes call it. Joy, Bates, greatBjaotyes. , please let go of it."
After one last listless tug, the little man shrugged and padded back towards his shop.
"I expect I'll be seeing you latheer,n, Mr Dirk," he called out over his shoulder, without enthusiasm.
Dirk gave a gracious bow of his head to the man's
retreating back, and then hurried on, opening the newspaat per
the horoscope page as he did so.
"Virtually evervthing you decide today will be wrong," it said bluntly.
Dirk slapped the paper shut with a grunt. He did not for a
second hold with the notion that great whirling luomf rposck

light years away knew something about your day that you didn't. Itjust so happened that "The Great Zaganza" was an old friend
of his who knew when Dirk's birthday was, and always hwisrote
column deliberately to wind him up. The paper's circulation had droppedby nearly a twelfth since he had taken over doing the horoscope, and only Dirk and The Great Zaganza knew why.
He hurried on, flapping his way quickly throtuhgehrest
of the paper. As usual, there was nothing interesting. A lot of stuffabout the search for Janice Smith, the missing airline
girl from Heathrow, and how she could possibly have disappeared just like that. They printed the latest pictuhreer,owf hich
wason a swing with pigtails, aged six. Her father, a Mr Jim
Pearce, was quoted as saying it was quite a good likbeuntess,
shehad grown up a lot now and was usually in better focus. Impatiently, Dirk tucked the paper unhdiesrarm and strode onwards, his thoughts on a much more interesting topic.
Three hundred pounds a day. Plus expenses.
He wondered how long he could reasonably expect to sustain in MrAnstey his strange delusions that he was about to be murdered by a seven foot tall, shaggy-haired creature with huge green eyes and horns, who habitually watvheindgs at him: a contractwritten in some incomprehensible language and signed
with a splash of blood, and also a kisncdytohfe. The other
notable feature of this creature was that no one other than his client had been able to see it, which Mr Anstey dismissed as

a trick of the light.
Three days? Four? Dirk didn't think he'd be able to manage a whole week with a straight face, but healrweadsy looking
at something like a grand for his trouble. And he would stick a newfridge down on the list of tangential but non-negotiable expenses. That would be a gooonde. Getting the old fridge
thrown out was definitely part of the interconnectedness of all things.
He began to whistle at the thought of simply getting someone to come round and ctharet thing away, turned into
Lupton Road and was surprised at all the police cars there. And theambulance. He didn't like them being there. It didn't feel
right. It didn't sit comfortabinlyhis mind alongside his visions of a new fridge.
Chapter 5
Dirk knew Lupton Road. It was a wide tree-lined affair, withlarge late-Victorian terraces which stood tall and
sturdilyand resented police cars. Resented them if they tumed
up in numbers, that is, and if their lights were flaTsheing.
inhabitants of Lupton Road liked to see a nice, well-turned-out singlepolice car patrolling up and down the street in a
cheerful and robust manner - it kept propvearltuyes cheerful androbust too. But the moment the lights started flashing in
that knuckle-whitening blue, they cast their pallor not only on

the neatly pointed bricks that they flashed across, but also on the very values those bricks represented.
Anxious faces peered from behind the glass of neighbouring windows, and were irradiated by the blue strobes.
There were three of them, thrpeoelice cars left askew
across the road in a way that transcended mere parking. It sent outa massive signal to the world saying that the law was here now taking charge of thingans,d that anyone who just had
normal,good and cheerful business to conduct in Lupton Road could just fuck off.
Dirk hurried up the road, sweat prickaint ghim beneath
hisheavy leather coat. A police constable loomed up ahead of him with his arms spread out, playing at being baarsrtioepr,
butDirk swept him aside in a torrent of words to which the constable was unable to come up with a rgeosopdonse off the top of his head. Dirk sped on to the house.
At the door another policeman stopped him, and Dirk was
about to wave an expired Marks and Spencer chargeatchairmd
with a deft little flick of the wrist that he had practised for hoursin front of a mirror on those long evenings when nothing much else was on, when the officer suddenly said, "Hey, is your name Gently?"
Dirk blinked at him warilHy.e made a slight grunting noisethat could be either "yes" or "no" depending on the
circumstances.

"Because the Chief has been looking for you." "Has he?" said Dirk.
"I recognised you from his description," said otfhfiecer looking him up and down with a slight smirk.
"In fact," continued the officer, "he's been using your
name in a manner that some might find highly offensive. He even sent Big Bob the Finder off in a car to finIdcaynoute.ll
thathe didn't find you from the fact that you're looking
reasonably well. Lot of people get found by Big Bob the Finder,
they come in a bit wobbly. Just about able to help
ouus rwith
enquiriesbut that's about all. You'd better go in. Rather you than me," he added quietly.
Dirk glanced at the house. The stripped-pine shutters were
closed across all the windows. Though in all other respects the
house seemed well cared for, groomed
ainstotate of clean,
well-pointed aftluence, the closed shutters seemed to convey an air of sudden devastation.
Oddly, there seemed to be music coming from the basement, or rather, just a single disjointed phroafstehumping music
being repeated over and over again. It sounded as if the stylus hadgot stuck in the groove of a record, and Dirk wondered why no one had turned it off, or at least nudgestdyluthsealong
so that the record could continue. The song seemed very vaguely familiarand Dirk guessed that he had probably heard it on the radio recently, though he couldn't placeThite. fragment of
lyric seemed to be something like:

_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i -_ " and so on.
"You'll be wanting to go down to the basemseanitd,"the officerimpassively, as if that was the last thing that anyone in their right mind would be wanting to do.
Dirk nodded to him curtly and hurried up the stetphse to
front door, which was standing slightly ajar. He shook his head and clenched his shoulders to try and stop his brain
fluttering.
He went in.
The hallway spoke of prosperity imposed aotnaste that hadoriginally been formed by student living. The floors were stripped boards heavily polyurethanetdh,e walls white with
Greekrugs hung on them, but expensive Greek rugs. Dirk would be prepared to bet (though probanbolyt to pay up) that a thoroughsearch of the house would reveal, amongst who knew what other dark secrets, five hundBrerditish Telecom shares
anda set of Dylan albums that was complete up to _Blood on the Tracks_.
Another policeman was standinign the hall. He looked
terriblyyoung, and he was leaning very slightly back against

the wall, staring at the floor and holdinghelhmiset against hisstomach. His face was pale and shiny. He looked at Dirk blankly, and nodded faintly thine direction of the stairs
leading down.
Up the stairs came the repeated sound:
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-"_
Dirk was trembling with a rage that was barging around
inside him loooking for something to hit or throttle. He wished that he could hotly deny that any of thishiswfault, but
until anybody tried to assert that it was, he couldn't. "How long have you been here?" he said curtly.
The young policeman had to gather himself together to answer.
"We arrived about half-hour ago," he repliineda thick voice. "Hell of a morning. Rushing around."
"Don't tell me about rushing around," said Dirk,
completely meaninglessly. He launched himself down the stars.
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-"_
At the bottom there was a narrow corridor. mTahine door offit was heavily cracked and hanging off its hinges. It
opened into a large double room. Dirk was about to enter when a figure emerged from it and stood barring his way.
"I hate the fact that this case has gotmyixoeud up in
it," said the figure, "I hate it very much. Tell me what you've

got to do with it so I know exactly what it is I'm hating." Dirk stared at the neat, thin face in astonishment.
"Gilks?" he said.
"Don't stand there looking like a startled whatsisname,
what are those things what aren't seals? Much worse than seals. Big blubbery things. Dugongs. Don't stand there lookinga like
startleddugong. Why has that..." Gilks pointed into the room behind him, "why has that. . .man in theryeougront ame and teIephone number on an envelope full uf money?"
"How m..." started Dirk. "How, may I ask, do you come to be here, Gilks? What ayroeu doing so far from the Fens?
Surprised you find it dank enough for you here." "Three hundred pounds," said Gilks. "Why?"
"Perhaps you would allow me to speak to my client," said
Dirk.
"Your client, eh?" said Gilks grimly. "Yes. All right. Why
don't you speak to him? I'd be interested to hear what you have to say." He stood back stiffly, and waved Dirk into the room.
Dirk gathered his thoughts and entered the room in a state of controlled composure which lasted for just over a second.
Most of his client was sitting quieintlya comfortable chairin front of the hi-fi. The chair was placed in the optimal listening position - about twice as far fbroamckthe speakersas the distance between them, which is generally
considered to be ideal for stereo imaging.

He seemed generally to be casual and relaxed with his legs crossed and a half-finished cup of coffeetheonsmall table besidehim. Distressingly, though, his head was sitting neatly
on the middle of the record which was revoolvninthge hi-fi turntable,with the tone arm snuggling up against the neck and constantly being deflected back into the sagmroeove. As the headrevolved it seemed once every 1.8 seconds or so to shoot Dirk a reproachful glance, as if to say, "See what happens when you don't turn up on time like I asked you toi,t"wtohuenld
sweep on round to the wall, round, round, and back to the front again with more reproach.
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-"_
The room swayed a little around Dirk, and he put his hand out against the wall to steady it.
"Was there any particulasrervice you were engaged to
provide for your client?" said Gilks behind him, very quietly. "Oh, er, just a small matter," said Dirk weakly. "Nothing connected with all this. No, he, er, didn't mention any of this
kind of thing at all. Well, loocka,n Isee you're busy, I
think I'd better just collect my fee and leave. You say he left it out for me?"
Having said this, Dirk sat heavily on a small bentwood chair standing behind him, and broke it.
Gilks hauled him back to his feet again,parnodpped him
against the wall. Briefly he left the room, then came back with

asmall jug of water and a glass on a tray. He poured some water into the glass, took it to Dirk and threw it at him.
"Better?"
"No," spluttered Dirk, "can't you at least turn the record off?"
"That"s forensic's jobC. an't touch anything till the
clever dicks have been. Maybe that's them now. Go out on to the patioand get some air. Chain yourself to the railing and beat yourself up a little, I'm pushed for time mAysnedlf.try to
look less green, will you? It's not your colour."
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-"_
Gilks turned round, looking tired and cross, and was about
to goout and up the stairs to meet the newcomers whose voices could be heard up on gthroeund floor, when he paused and
watched the head revolving patiently on its heavy platter for a few seconds.
"You know," he said at last, "these smart-alec show-off suicides really make me tired. They only do it to annoy."
"_Suicide_?" said Dirk.
Gilks glanced round at him.
"Windows secured with iron bars half inacnh thick," he said."Door locked from the inside with the key still in the lock. Furniture piled against the insidetheofdoor. French
windowsto the patio locked with mortice door bolts. No signs

of a tunnel. If it wmausrder then the murderer must have
stopped to do a damn fine job of glazing on the way out. Except that all the putty's old nnd painted over.
"No. Nobody's left this room, and nobody's broken into it except for us, and I'm pretty sure we didn't do it.
"I haven't time to fiddle around thoins one. Obviously suicide;and just done to be difficult. I've half a mind to do
the deceased for wasting police time. Tell you whast,a"idh,e
glancingat his watch, "you've got ten minutes. If you come up with a plausible explanation of how he did it that I can put in my report, I'll let you keep the evidence in the envelope minus
20 per cent compensation to me for the emotional weaterarand
involved in not punching you in the mouth."
Dirk wondered for a moment whether or not to mention the visits his client claimed to have received frostmranage and
violent green-eyed, fur-clad giant who regularly emerged out of nowherebellowing about contracts and obligations and waving a three foot glittering-edged scythe, bduetcided, on balance,
no.
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-"_
He was seething at himself at last. He had not been able to seethe at himself properly otvheer death of his client
becauseit was too huge and horrific a burden to bear. But now he had been humiliated Gbyilks, and found himself in too
wobblyand disturbed a state to fight back, so he was able to

seethe at himself about that.
He turned sharply away from his tormentor andhimlestelf out into the patio garden to be alone with his seethings.
The patio was a small, paved, west-facing area at the rear whichwas largely deprived of light, cut off as it was by the high back wall of the hoaunsed by the high wall of some industrialbuilding that backed on to the rear. In the middle
of it stoodf,or who knew what possible reason, a stone
sundial. If any light at aIl fell on the sundial you would know thatit was pretty close to noon, GMT. Other than that, birds perched on it. A few plants sulked in pots.
Dirk jabbed a cigarette in his mouth and baulrontt of the end of it fiercely.
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-"_ still nagged from inside the house.
Neat garden walls separated the patio on either tsroidme
the gardens of neighbouring houses. The one to the left was the samesize as this one, the one to the right extended a little
further, benefiting from the fact that the indusbturildling finishedflush with the intervening garden wall. There was an air of well-kemptness. Nothing grand, nothfilnagshy, just a
sensethat all was well and that upkeep on the houses was no problem. The house to the right, in particular, looked as if it
had had its brickwork repointed quite recently, and its windows

reglossed.
Dirk took a large gulp aoirf and stood for a second
staringup into what could be seen of the sky, which was grey andhazy. A single dark speck was wheeling against the
underside of the clouds. Dirk watched this for a while, glad of anyfocus for his thoughts other than the horrors of the room
he had just left. He was vaguely awacreomoifngs and goings within the room, of a certain amount of tape-measuring
happening, of a feeling that photographs were being tanedn,
that severed-head-removal activities were taking place.
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick i-_
_ "Don't pi - "_
Somebody at last picked it up, the nagging repetition was at last hushed, and now the gentle sound doisftaant television
floated peacefully on the noontime air.
Dirk, however, was having a great deal of difficulty in
taking it all in. He was much more aware of taking a succession of huge swimmy whacks to the head, which weraesstahuelts of
guilt.It was not the normal background-noise type of guilt that comes from just being alive thisintfoarthe twentieth century,and which Dirk was usually fairly adept at dealing with. It waasn actual stunning sense of, "this specific terriblething is specifically and terribly my fault". All the
normal mental moves wouldn't let him get out of the path of the
huge pendulum.

_Wham_ it came again, _whizz, whama_g,ain and again,
_wham_
_wham, wham_.
He tried to remember any of the details of what his late client(_wham, wham_) had said (_wham_) to him (_wham_),but it was (_wham_) virtually impossible (_wham_) with all this whamming taking place
(_wham_). The man had said (_wham_) that (Dirk took a deepbreath) (_wham_) he was being pursued (_wham_)
by (_wham_) a large, hairy, green-eyed monster arwmiethd
a scythe.
_ Wham!_
Dirk had secretly smiled to himself about this.
_ Whim, wham, whim, wham, whim, wham!_ And had thought, "What a silly man."
_ Whim, whim, whim, whim, wham!_
A scythe (_whom_), and a contract (_wham_).
He hadn't known, or even had the faintest idea as to what the contract was for.
"Of course," Dirk had thought (_wham_).
But he had a vague feeling that it might have something to do with a potato. Thewreas a bit of a complicated story

attached to that (_whim, whim, whim_).
Dirk had nodded seriously at this point (_wham_), and made areassuring tick (_wham_) on a pad which he kept on his desk(_wham_) for the express purpose of making reassuringticks on (_wham, wham, wham_). He had prided himselfat that moment on having managed to convey the impressionthat he had made a tick in a small box marked "Potatoes".
_ Wham, wham, wham, wham_
Mr Anstey had said hweould explain further about the potatoes when Dirk arrived to carry out his task.
And Dirk had promised (_whom_), easily (_wham_), casually (_wham_), with an airy wave of his hand (_wham,
wham,wham_), to be there at six-thirty in the morning
(_wham_), because the contract (_wham_)
dfeulel at
seven o'clock.
Dirk remembered having made another tick in a notional
"Potato contract falls due at 7.00 a.m." box. (_Wh_...)
He couldn't handle all this whamming any more. He couldn't blame himself for what had happened. Well, he coulcdo. uOrsfe
he could. He did. It was, in fact, his fault (_wham_). The pointwas that he couldn't continue to blame himself for what
had happened and think clearly about it, which he was togoing
have to do. He would have to dig this horrible thing
(_wham_) up by the roots, and if he was going to be fit to do that he had somehow to divest himself (_whamt_hi)s of

whamming.
A huge wave of anger surged over him as he contemplated his predicament and the tangled distress of his lifhe.atHede
this neat patio. He hated all this sundial stuff, and all these neatlypainted windows, all these hideously trim roofs. He
wanted to blame it all on the paintwork rather than on himself, on the revoltingltyidy patio paving-stones, on the sheer
disgusting abomination of the neatly repointed brickwork. "Excuse me..."
"What?" He whirled round, caught unawares by this intrusion into his private raging of a quiet polite voice.
"Are you connected with...?" The woman indicaatelldthe unpleasantnessand the lower-ground-floorness and the horrible sort of policeness of things next doohrertowith a little floatingmovement of her wrist. Her wrist wore a red bracelet which matched the frames of her glasses. Shelowokaisng over thegarden wall from the house on the right, with an air of stightly anxious distaste.
Dirk glared at her speechlessly. She lookaebdout forty- somethingish and neat, with an instant and unmistakable quality of advertising about her.
She gave a troubled sigh.
"I know it's probably all very terrible and everything," she said, "but do you think it will take longo?nlyWcealled inthe police because the noise of that ghastly record was

driving us up the wall. It's all a bit..."
She gave him a look of silaepnpt eal, and Dirk decided thatit could all be her fault. She could, as far as he was concerned, take the blame for everythwinhgile he sorted it
out. She deserved it; if only for wearing a bracelet like that. Without a word, he turned his back on her, and took his
fury back inside the house wherbeegitan rapidly to freeze into something hard and efficient.
"Gilks!" he said. "Your smart-alec suicide theory. I like it. It works for me. And I think I see hoclwevethrebastard pulled it off. Bring me pen. Bring me paper."
He sat down with a flourish at the cherrywood farmhouse
table which occupied the centre of the rear portion of the room and deftly sketched out a schemeevoefnts which involved a
number of household or kitchen implements, a swinging, weighted lightfitting, some very precise timing, and hinged on the
vital fact that the record turntable was Japanese.
"That should keep your forensic chahpasppy," said Dirk
briskly to Gilks. The forensic chaps glanced at it, took in its salientpoints and liked them. They were simple, implausible, and of exactly that nature which a coroner who thliekesadme sortof holidays in Marbella which they did would be sure to relish.
"Unless," said Dirk casually, "you are interesitnedthe notionthat the deceased had entered into some kind of
diabolicalcontract with a supernatural agency for which

payment was now being exacted?"
The forensic chaps glanced at each other and shook their heads. There was a strong sense from them that the mworansing
wearingon and that this kind of talk was only introducing
unnecessary complications into a case which otherwise cboeuld
well behind them before lunch.
Dirk made a satisfied shrug, peeled off his share of the evidence and, with a final nod to the constabulary, hmisade
way back upstairs.
As he reached the hallway, it suddenly became apparent to him that the gentle sounds of day-time television whihchadhe
heardfrom out in the garden had previously been masked from inside by the insistesnotund of the record stuck in its
groove.
He was surprised now to realise that they were in fact
coming from somewhere upstairs in this house. With a quick look round to see that he was not observed he osntotohde bottom
stepof the staircase leading to the upstairs floors of the house and glanced up them in surprise.
Chapter 6
The stairs were carpeted with a tastefully austere matting
type of substance. Dirk quietly made his way up them, past some tastefully dried large things inpoat that stood on the

firstlanding, and looked into the rooms on the first floor. They, too, were tasteful and dried.
The larger of the twboedrooms was the only one that showedany signs of current use. It had clearly been designed to allow the morninligght to play on delicately arranged
flowersand duvets stuffed with something like hay, but there was a feeling that socks and used shahveinagds were instead beginningto gather the room into their grip. There was a
distinct absence of anything female in the room - the same sort of absence that a missing picture leaves behind aitwoalnl.
Therewas an air of tension and of sadness and of things needing to be cleaned out from under the bed.
The bathroom, which opened out from it, ahagdold disc hungon the wall in front of the lavatory, for sales of five
hundred thousand copies of a record called Hot Potato by a band called Pugilism and the Third Autistic Cuckoo. Dirk had a vague recollection of having reapdart of an interview with the
leaderof the band (there were only two of them, and one of
them was the leader) in a Sunday paper. He had been asked about their name, and he had said that there was an interesting story
about it, though it turned out not to be. "It can mean whatever people want-it to mean," he had added awsithhrug from the
sofa of his manager's office somewhere off Oxford Street. Dirk remembered visualising the journalist nodding
politely and writing this dowAn.vile knot had formed in
Dirk's stomach which he had eventually softened with gin.

"_Hot Potato_... " thought Dirk. It suddenly occurred
to himlooking at the gold disc hanging in its red frame, that the record on which the late Mr Anstey's head hadpebrecehned was obviously this one. Hot Potato. Don't pick it up.
What could that mean?
Whatever people wanted it to mean, Dirk thought with bed grace.
The other thing that he remembered now about the interview was that Pain (the leader of PugilismthaendThird Autistic
Cuckoo was called Pain) claimed to have written the lyrics down moreor less verbatim from a conversation which he or somebody had overheard in a cafe or a sauna or an aeroplane or something likethat. Dirk wondered how the originators of the
conversationwould feel to hear their words being repeated in the circumstances in which he had just heard them.
He peered more closely at the label in the coefnthree
goldrecord. At the top of the label it said simply, "ARRGH!", while underneath the actual title were the wrcitreerds'its -
"Paignton, Mulville, Anstey".
Mulville was presumably the member of Pugilism and the
Third Autistic Cuckoo who wasn't the leader. And Geoff Anstey's inclusion on the writing credits of a major-selling swinagsle
probablywhat had paid for this house. When Anstey had talked about the contract having something to do with _Potato_ he
had assumed that Dirk knew what he meant. And he, Diraks, had

easilyassumed that Anstey was blithering. lt was very easy to assume that someone who was talking about green-emyoendsters with scythes was also blithering when he talked about potatoes.
Dirk sighed to himself with deep uneasiness. He took a
dislike to the neat way the trophy was hanging on thaendwall
adjustedit a little so that it hung at a more humane and untidy angle. Doing this caused an envelopfealltout from behindthe frame and flutter towards the floor. Dirk tried unsuccessfully to catch it. With an unfit ghreunbtent over and picked the thing up.
It was a largish, cream envelope of rich, heavy paper, roughly slit open at one end, and resealed Sweliltohtape. In
fact it looked as if it had been opened and resealed with fresh layers of tape many times, an impression which was borne out by thenumber of names to which the envelope had in its time been addressed - eacshuccessively crossed out and replaced by
another.
The last name on it was that of Geoff Anstey. At least Dirk assumed it was the last name because it woanslythoene thathad not been crossed out, and crossed out heavily. Dirk peered at some of the other names, trying to make them out.
Some memory was stirred by a couple of the names whehich
could just about discern, but he needed to examine the envelope muchmore closely. He had been meaning to buy himself a
magnifying glass ever since he had become a detectiveh,adbut
nevergot around to it. He also did not possess a penknife, so

reluctantly he decided that the most prudent course was to tuck the envelope away for the moment in one of the dreeceepsesres
of his coat and examine it later in privacy.
He glanced quickly behind the frame of the gold disc to
see if any other goodies might emerge but was disappointed, and so he quit the bathroom arnesdumed his exploration of the
house.
The other bedroom was neat and soulless. Unused. A pine
bed, a duvet and an old battered chest of drawers that had been revived by being plunged intovaat of acid were its main
features.Dirk pulled the door of it closed behind him, and started to ascend thsemall, wobbly, white-painted stairway thatled up to an attic from which the sounds of Bugs Bunny could be heard.
At the top of the stairs was a minute landing which opened
on one side into a bathroom so small that it would best be used by standing outside and sticking iinttwo hichever limb you
wantedto wash. The door to it was kept ajar by a length of greenhosepipe which trailed from the cold tap of the
wash-basin,out of the bathroom, across the landing and into the only other room here at the top of the house.
It was an attic room with a sevepreitlcyhed roof which
offered only a few spots where a person of anything approaching average height could stand up.
Dirk stood hunched in the doorway and surveyed its

contents, nervous of what he might find amongst them. There was a general grunginess about the place. The curtains cwloesred
andlittle light made it past them into the room, which was otherwiseilluminated only by the flickering glow of an
animated rabbit. An unmade bed with dank, screwed-up sheets was pushedunder a particularly low angle of the ceiling. Part of
the walls and the more nearly vertical surfaces ocfeiltihneg were covered with pictures crudely cut out of magazines.
There didn't seem to be any common theme or purpose behind the cuttingsA. s well as a couple of pictures of flashy German
cars and the odd bra advertisement, thweerere also a badly
torn picture of a fruit flan, part of an advertisement for life insuranceand other random fragments which suggested they had been selected and arranged with a dull, bovine indiffertoence
anymeaning that any of them might have or effect they might achieve.
The hosepipe curled across the floor alendd around the sideof an elderly armchair pulled up in front of the television set.
The rabbit rampaged. The glow of his rampagings plaoyned
thefrayed edges of the armchair. Bugs was wrestling with the controls of an aeroplane whiwchas plunging to the ground. Suddenlyhe saw a button marked "Autopilot" and pressed it. A
cupboard opened and a robot pilot clambered out, tookloookne
atthe situation and baled out. The plane hurtled on towards
the ground but, luckily, ran out of fuelbejfuosrte reaching

it and so the rabbit was saved.
Dirk could also see the top of a head.
The hair of this head was dark, matted and greasy. Dirk watched it for a long, uneasy mombeenfot re advancing slowly
into the room to see what, if anything, it was attached to. His reliefat discovering, as he rounded the armchair, that the
head was, after all, attached to a libvoindgy was a little marredby the sight of the living body to which it was attached.
Slumped in the armchair was a boy.
He was probably about thirteen or fourteaennd, although hedidn't look ill in any specific physical way, he was
definitely not a well person. His hair sagged on hishihsead,
headsagged on his shoulders, and he lay in the armchair in a
sort of limp, crumpled way, as if he'd been hurled there from a passing train. He was dressed merely in a cheap lejaacthkeert
and sleeping-bag.
Dirk stared at him.
Who was he? What was a boy doing here watching television
in a house where someone had just been decapitated? Did he know what had happened? Did Gilks know abhoimut? Had Gilks even
bothered to come up here? It was, after all, several flights of stairs for a busy policeman with a tricky suicide on his hands.
After Dirk had been standing there for twenty seconds or
so, the boy's eyes climbed up towards
fhaiimle,d utterly to

acknowledgehim in any way at all, and then dropped again and locked back on to the rabbit.
Dirk was unused to making quite such a minuscule impact on anybody. He checked to sbuere that he did have his huge
leather coat and his absurd red hat on and that he was properly and dramatically silhouetted by the light of the doorway.
He felt momentarily deflated and said, "Er... " by way of self introduction, but it didn't get btohye's attention. He
didn'tlike this. The kid was deliberately and maliciously watching television at him. He frowned. Thweares a kind of steamytension building in the room it seemed to Dirk, a kind of difficult, hissing quality to the whaoirleof the place
whichhe did not know how to respond to. It rose in intensity and then suddenly ended with an abrupt cwlihcikch made Dirk start.
The boy unwound himself like a slow, fat snake, leaned sideways over the fsairde of the armchair and made some elaborateunseen preparations which clearly involved, as Dirk now realised, an electric kettle. When he resuhmiseedarlier splayedposture it was with the addition of a plastic pot clutched in hirsight hand, from which he forked rubbery
strands of steaming gunk into his mouth.
The rabbit brought his affairs to a conclusion and gave way to a jeering comedian wwhioshed the viewers to buy a certainbrand of lager on the basis of nothing better than his own hardly disinterested say-so.

Dirk felt that it was timtoemake a slightly greater
impression on the proceedings than he had so far managed to do. He stepped forward dinectly into the boy's line of sight.
"Kid," Dirk said in a tone that he hoped would sound firm but gentle and not in any way at all patronising or affected or gauche, "I need to know who - "
He was distracted at that moment by sitghhet which met himfrom the new position in which he was standing. On the other side otfhe armchair there was a large, half full
catering-size box of Pot Noodles, a large, half full
catering-size box of Mars Bars, a dheamlf olished pyramid of cansof soft drink, and the end of the hosepipe. The hosepipe ended in a plastic tnaopzzle, and was obviously used for
refilling the kettle.
Dirk had simply been going to ask the boy who he was, but seen from this angle the family resemblawncaes unmistakable.
Hewas clearly the son of the lately decapitated Geoffrey
Anstey. Perhaps this behaviour was just his way of dealing with shock. Or perhaps he really didn't know whathahpapdened. Or perhaps he...
Dirk hardly liked to think.
In fact he was finding it hard to think clearly while the television beside him was, boenhalf of a toothpaste
manufacturing company, trying to worry him deeply about some of
the things which might be going on in his mouth.

"OK," he said, "I don't like to disturb you at what I know must be a difficult and distressing time for you, but I need to know firsot f all if you actually realise that this is a
difficult and distressing time for you." Nothing.
All right, thoughDt irk, time for a little judicious
toughness.He leant back against the wall, stuck his hands in hispockets in an OK-if-that's-the-way-you-want-to-play-it manner,stared moodily at the floor for a few seconds, then swung his head up and thleet boy have a hard look right
between the eyes.
"I have to tell you, kid," he said tersely, "your father's dead."
This might have worked if it hadn't been for a very popular andlong-running commercial which started at that moment.It seemed to Dirk to be a particularly astounding example of the genre.
The opening sequence showed the angel Lucifer being hurled
from heaven into the pit of hell where he then labyumoinnga
lakeuntil a passing demon amved and gave him a can of a fizzy soft drink called _s_H_adesL_.ucifer took it and
tried it. He greedily guzzled the whole contents of the can and then tumed to camera, slipped on some Porsche design
sunglasses, said, "Now we're _reallcyo_okin'!" and lay backbasking in the glow of the burning coals being heaped
around him.

At that poinat n impossibly deep and growly American voice,which sounded as if it had itself crawled from the pit of hel1, or at least fromSohao basement drinking club to
whichit was keen to return as soon as possible to marinade itself into shape for the next voice-over, said, "_s_H_ades_.The Drink from Hell... " and the can
revolved a little to obscure the initial "_asn_d",thus spell "Hades".
The theology of this seemed a little confused, reflected
Dirk, but what was one tiny extra droplet of misinformination
such a raging torrent?
Lucifer then mugged at the camera again and said, "I could really_fall_ for this stuff... " and just in case the
viewer had been renderecdompletely insensate by all these
goings-on, the opening shot of Lucifer being hurled from heaven was briefly replayed in order to emphasise the word "fall".
The boy's attention was entirely captivated by this.
Dirk squatted down in between the boy and the screen. "Listen to me," he began.
The boy craned his neck round to look past Dirk at the
screen. He had to redistribute his limbs in the choaridrerin
tobe able to do this and continue to fork Pot Noodle into himself.
"Listen," insisted Dirk again.
Dirk felt he was beginning bteo in serious danger of

losingthe upper hand in the situation. It wasn't merely that the boy's attention was on the television, it wansothiantg
elseseemed to have any meaning or independent existence for
him at all. Dirk was merely a featureless object in thoef
way
the television. The boy seemed to bear him no malice, he merely wished to see past him.
"Look, can we turn this off for a moment?" Dirk said, and he tried not to make it sound testy.
The boy did not respond. Maybe there was a slight
stiffeningof the shoulders, maybe it was a shrug. Dirk turned around and was at a loss to find which button ttoo ptuursnh
thetelevision off. The whoIe control pane seemed to be
dedicated to the single purpose of keeping itself tuornne-d
therewas no single button marked "on" or "off". Eventually Dirk simply disconnected the set from the power sonktehte wall and turned back to the boy, who broke his nose.
Dirk felt his septum crunching from the terrific impact of the boy'sforehead as they both toppled heavily backwards against the set, but the noise of the bbroenaeking, and the noiseof his own cry of pain as it broke was completely obliterated by the howling screams of rtahgaet erupted from theboy's throat. Dirk flailed helplessly to try and protect
himself from the fury of the onslaught, but the boy wtoaps on
withhis elbow in Dirk's eye, his knees pounding first on
Dirk's ribcaget,hen his jaw and then on Dirk's already traumatisednose, as he scrambled over him to reconnect the

power to the television. He then settled back comforitnatboly
thearmchair and watched with a moody and unsettled eye as the picture reassembled itself.
"You could at least have waited for the news," heinsaid
a dull voice.
Dirk gaped at him. He sat huddled on the floor, coddling his bleeding nose in his hands, and gat ethde monstrously disinterested creature.
"Whhfff. . . fffmmm. . . nnggh ! " he protested, and then gave up for the time being, while he probendosheisfor the damage.
There was definitely a wobbly bit that clicked nastily
between his fingers, and the whole thing seemed suddenbley to
ahorribly unfamiliar shape. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it uphistoface. Blood spread easily through it. He staggered to his feet, brushed aside
non-existent offers of help, stomped out of the raonodminto thetiny bathroom. There, he yanked the hosepipe angrily off
the tap, found a towel, soaked it in cold water and toheld it
hisface for a minute or two until the flow of blood gradually slowed to a trickle and stopped. He starehdimasetlf in the mirror.His nosewas quite definitely leaning at a slightly
rakish angle. He tried bravely to siht,ibftut not bravely enough.It hurt abominably, so he contented himself with
dabbing at it a little more withwtehtetowel and swearing

quietly.
Then he stood there for a second or two longer, leaning against the basin, breathinhgeavily, and practising saying
"All right!" fiercely into the mirror. It came out as
"Aww-bwigh!" andlacked any real authority. When he felt sufficientlybraced, or at least as braced as he was likely to
feel in the immediate future, he turned and stalked grimly back into the den of the beast.
The beast was sitting quietly absorbing neowf ssome of theexciting and stimulating game shows that the evening held
in store for the determined viewer, and did not look up as Dirk re-entered.
Dirk walked brisklyover to the window and drew the
curtains sharply back, half hoping that the beast might shrivel upshrieking if exposed to daylight, but other than wrinkling
up its nose, it did not react. A sdhadkow flapped briefly
acrossthe window, but the angle was such that Dirk could not see what caused it.
He turned and faced the boy-beast. The midday news
bulletin was starting on television, and the boy seemed somehow alittle more open, a little more receptive to the world
outside the flickering coloured rectangHlee. glanced up at
Dirk with a sour, tired look. "Whaddayawananyway?" he said.
"I ted you whad I wad," said Dirk, fiercely but
hopelessly, "I wad...hag od a bobed...I gnow thad faith!"

Dirk's attention had switched suddenly thtoe television screen,where a rather more up-to-date photograph of the missing airline check-in girl was being shown.
"Whadayadoingere?" said the boy.
"Jjchhhhh!" said Dirk, and perched himself down on the arm of the chair, peering intently at the facteheosncreen. It
hadbeen taken about a year ago, before the girl had learnt about corporate lipgloss. She had frizhzayir and a frumpy,
put-upon look.
"Whoareyou? Wassgoinon?" insisted the boy. "Loog, chuddub," snapped Dirk, "I'b tryid to wodge
dthith!"
The newscaster said that the polipcreofessed themselves
tobe mystified by the fact that there was no trace of Janice
Smith at the scene of the incident. They explathinaet dthere
wasa limit to the number of times they could search the same buildings, and appealed for anyone who might have a ctloue as
her whereabouts to come forward.
"Thadth by segradry! Thadth Mith Pearth!" exclaimed Dirk in astonishment.
The boy was not interesteind Dirk's ex-secnetary, and
gaveup trying to atttact Dirk's attention. He wriggled out of the sleeping-bag and sloped off to the bathroom.
Dirk sat staring at thteelevision, bewildered that he
hadn'trealised before who the missing girl was. Still, there

was no reason why he should have dhoenere, aliced. Marriage hadchanged her name, and this was the first time they had
shown a photograph that actually identified her. So fhaardhe
takenno real interest in the strange incident at the airport, but now it demanded his attention.
The explosion was now officialdlyesignated an "Act of
God".
But, thought Dirk, what god? And why?
What god would be hanging around Terminal Two of fieathrow
Aitport trying to catch the 15.37 flight to Oslo?
After the miserable lassitude of the last few weeks, he suddenlyhad a great deal that required his immediate
attention.He frowned in deep thought for a few moments, and hardly noticed when the beast-boy snuck biancaknd snuggled backinto his sleeping-bag just in time for the advertisements
to start. The first one showed how a perfoercdtilnyary stock cubecould form the natural focus of a normal, happy family life.
Dirk leapt to his feet, but even as he was abosuttartto
questioningthe boy again his heart sank as he looked at him. The beast was far away, sunk back in his dark, flickering lair, and Dirk did not feel inclineddistoturb him again at the
moment.
He contented himself with barking at the unresponding child that he would bbaeck, and bustled heavily down the stairs, his big leather coat flapping madly behind him.

In the hallway he encountered the loathed Gilks once more. "What happened to you?" said the policeman sharply,
catching sight of Dirk's bruised and bulging nose. "Ondly whad you dold me," said Dirk, innocen"tIlyb.ead
bythelf ub."
Gilks demanded to know what he had been doing, and Dirk generously explained that there waaswitness upstairs with
some interesting information to impart. He suggested that Gilks goand have a word with him, but that it would be best if he turned off the television first.
Gilks nodded curtly. He started to go upsttahires, but
Dirk stopped him.
"Doedth eddydthig dthrike you adth dthraydge aboud dthidth houdth?" he said.
"What did you say?" said Gilks in irritation. "Subbthig dthraydge," said Dirk.
"Something _what_?" "Dthraydge!" insisted Dirk. "Strange?"
"Dthadth right, dthraydge."
Gilks shrugged. "Like what?" he said.
"Id dtheemdth to be cobbleedly dthouledth." "Completely what?"
"Dthouledth!" he tried again. "Thoul-leth! I dthigg
dthadth dverry idderedthigg!"

With that he doffed his hat politely, and swept oonf out
thehouse and up the street, where an eagle swooped out of the sky at him and came within a whiskcearuosifng him to fall
undera 73 bus on its way south. For the next twenty minutes, hideous yells and screams emanated from theflotoopr of the
housein Lupton Road, and caused much tension among the
neighbours. The ambulance took away the upper and lower remains of Mr Anstey and also a policeman with a bleedingFofar cae.
short while after this, there was quietness.
Then another police car drew up outside the house. A lot o "Bob'shere" type of remarks floated from the house, as an extremely large and burly policeman heaved himselfofotuhte
car and bustled up the steps. A few minutes and a great deal of screamingand yelling later he re-emerged also clutching his
face, and drove off in deep dudgeon, squealing hisintyares
violent and unnecessary manner.
Twenty minutes later a van arrived from which emerged another policeman carrying a tipnoycket television set. He
entered the house, and re-emerged a short while later leading a docile thirteen-year-old boy, who was content with his new toy. Once all policemen had departed, save for the single squad
car which remained parked outside to keep watch on the house, a large,hairy, green-eyed figure emerged from its hiding place
behind one of the molecules in the large basement room. It propped its scythe against one of htih-fei speakers,
dippeda long, gnarled finger in the almost congealed pool of

blood that had collected on the deck of the turnstmabelaer,ed thefinger across the bottom of a sheet of thick, yellowing paper,and then disappeared off into a dark and hidden otherworldwhistling a strange and vicious tune and returning only briefly to collect its scythe.
Chapter 7
A little earlier in the morning, at a comfortable distance from all these events, set actoma fortable distance from a wellproponionedwindow through which cool mid-morning light was streaming, lay an elderly one-eyed manwinhitae bed. A newspaper sat like a half-collapsed tent on the floor, where it
had been hurled two minutes before, at shortly aher ten o'clock by the clock on the bedside table.
The room was not large, but was furnished in excessively
bland good taste, as if it were a room in an exppernivsaivtee
hospitalor clinic, which is exactly what it was - the
Woodshead Hospital, set in its own small but well-kempt grounds on the outskirts ofsmaall but well-kempt village in the
Cotswolds.
The man was awake but not glad to be.
His skin was very delicately old, like finely stretched, translucent parchmentd, elicately freckled. His exquisitely frailhands lay slightly curled on the pure white linen sheets

and quivered very faintly.
His name was variously given as OMdrwin, or Wodin, or Odin.He was - is - a god, and furthermore he was that least good of all gods to be alongsidcer,osas god. His one eye
glinted.
He was cross because of what he had been reading in the newspapers, which was that another god had bcuetetning loose andmaking anuisance of himself. It didn't say that in the papers, of courseI.t didn't say, "God cuts loose, makes nuisanceof himself in airport," it merely described the
resulting devastation and was at a loss to drawmeaannyingful conclusions from it.
The story had been deeply unsatisfactory in all sorts of ways, on account of its perplexing inconclusiveness, its goingnowhereness and the irritating (from the newspapers' point
of view) lack of any good solid carriage. There was of course a mystery attached ttohe lack of carnage, but a newspaper
preferreda good whack of carnage to a mere mystery any day of
the week.
Odin, however, had no such difficulty in knowing
waast
goingon. The accounts had "Thor" written all over them in
letters much too big for anyone other than another gsoeed. to
He had thrown this morning's paper aside in irritation, and was nowtrying to concentrate on his relaxation exercises in order
to avoid getting too disturbed about all Tthhiess.e involved
breathingin in a certain way and breathing out in a certain

other way and were good for his blood pressuresoaonnd. It
was not as if he was about to die or anything - ha! - but there wasno doubt that at his time of life - ha! - he preferred to
take things easy and look after himself. Best of all he liked to sleep.
Sleeping was a very important activity for hHime .liked tosleep for longish periods, great swathes of time. Merely sleeping overnight was not taking bthuesiness seriously. He enjoyeda good night's sleep and wouldn't miss one for the world,but he didn't regard it as anything even half approachingenough. He liked to be asleep by half past eleven in the morning if possible, antdhaitf could come directly
after a nice leisurely lie-in then so much the better. A little lightbreakfast and a quick trip to the bathroom while fresh linen was applied to his bedreailsly all the astivity he
likedto undertake, and he took care that it didn't jangle the sleepiness outof him and thus disturb his afternoon of napping.Sometimes he was able to spend an entire week asleep, and this he regarded aasgood snooze. He had also slept
through the whole of 1986 and hadn't missed it.
But he knew to his deep disgruntlement that he would shortly have to arise and underta seacred and irritating trust.Sacred, because it was godlike, or at least involved gods, and irritating because tohfe particular god that it involved.

Sneakily, he twitched the curtains at a distance, using nothing but his divine will. He sighed heaHvielyn. eeded to
thinkand, what was more, it was time for his morning visit to the bathroom.
He rang for the orderly.
The orderly arrived promptliyn his well-pressed loose greentunic, good-morninged cheerfully, and bustled around
locating bedroom slippers and dressing-gown. He helped Odin out of bed, which was a little like rolling a stuffed crow out of a
box, and escorted himslowly to the bathroom. Odin walked stiffly,like a head hung between two heavy stilts draped in striped Viyella and white towelling. The orderly kOnedwin as MrOdwin, and didn't realise that he was a god, which was
something that Odin tended to keep quiet about, and wished that
Thor would too.
Thor was the God of Thunder and, frankly, alcikte it.
Itwas inappropriate. He seemed unwilling, or unable, or maybe just too stupid to understand or accept...Odin stopped himself.
He sensed that he was beginning mentally to rant. He would have to consider calmly what next to do about Thorh,eawndas on
his way to the right place for a good think.
As soon as Odin had completed his stately hobble to the bathroom door, two nurses hurried in satnridpped and remade thebed with immense precision, patting down the fresh linen, pulling it taut, turning it and tucking it. One noufrstehse,
clearlythe senior, was plump and matronly, the other younger,

darker and more generally bird-like. The newspaper wwhaisked offthe tloor and neatly refolded, the floor was briskly Hoovered,the curtains hooked back, the flowers and the untouchedfruit replaced with fresh flowers and fresh fruit
that would, like everpyiece of fruit before them, remain untouched.
When after a little while the old god's morning ablutions
had been completed and the bathroom door reopened, the room had been transformed. The actual differences were tinyc,ouorfse,
butthe effect was of a subtle but magical transformation into
something cool and fresh. Odin nodded in quiet satisfatcotion
seeit. He made a little show of inspecting the bed, like a monarch inspecting a line of soldiers.
"Is it well tucked?" he askiendhis old and whispery voice.
"It is very well tucked, Mr Odwin," said the senior nurse with an obsequious beam.
"Is it neatly turned?" It clearly was. This mwearsely a ritual.
"Turned very neatly indeed, Mr Odwin," said the nurse, "I
supervised the turning down of the sheets myself." "I'm glad of that, Sister Bailey, very glsaadi,d" Odin.
"Youhave a fine eye for a trimly turned fold. It alarms me to know what I shall do without you."
"Well, I'm not aboutto go anywhere, Mr Odwin," said

Sister Bailey, oozing happy reassurance.
"But you won't last for ever, Sister Bailey," said Odin.
It was a remark that puzzled Sister Bailey on the times she had heard it, because of its apparent extreme callousness.
"Sure, and none of us lasts for over, Mr Odwin,s"aisdhe
gentlyas she and the other nurse between them managed the
difficult task of lifting Odin back into hed while keheipsing
dignity intact.
"You're Irish aren't you, Sister Bailey?" he asked, once he was properly settled.
"I am indeed so, Mr Odwin."
"Knew an Irishman once. Finn something. Told mloet oaf stuffI didn't need to know. Never told me about the linen. Still know now."
He nodded curtly atht is memory and lowered his head stifflyback on to the firmly plumped up pillows and ran the back of his finely freckled haonvder the folded-back linen sheet.Quite simply he was in love with linen. Clean, lightly starched, white Irish linepnr,essed, folded, tucked - the
wordsthemselves were almost a litany of desire for him. In
centuries nothing had obsessed him
morovedhim so much as
linennow did. He could not for the life of him understand how he could ever have cared for anything else.
Linen.
And sleep. Sleep and linen. Sleep in linen. Sleep. Sister Bailey regarded himwith a sort of proprietary

fondness.She did not know that he was a god as such, in fact she thought he was probably an old film prodourcNerazi war criminal.Certainly he had an accent she couldn't quite place
and his careless civilithyi,s natural selfishness and his
obsessionwith personal hygiene spoke of a past that was rich with horrors.
If she could have been transported to where she mseigeht
hersecretive patient enthroned, warrior father of the wamor
Gods of Asgard, she would not have been surprised. Tnhoatt is
quitetrue, in fact. She would have been startled quite out of her wits. But she would at least have recogtnhiaset dit was consistentwith the qualities she perceived in him, once she
had recovered from thsehock of discovering that virtually everythingthe human race had ever chosen to believe in was
true. Or that it continued to be true long after the human race particularly needed it to be true any more.
Odin dismissed hismedical attendants with a gesture, havingfirst asked for his personal assistant to be found and sent to him once more.
This caused Sister Bailey to tighten her lips jvuestrya
little. She did not like Mr Odwin's personal assistant, general factotum, manservant,call him what you will. His eyes were malevolent, he made her jump, and she strongly suspected him of making unspeakabie suggestions to her nurses dutrhinegir tea
breaks.

He had what Sister Bailey supposed was what people meant by an olive complexion, in that it was extraordinarily close to
being green. Sister Bailey was convinced that it warsighntot
at all.
She was of course the last person to judge somebody by the colourof their skin - or if not absolutely the last, she had
at least done it as recentlyyeassterday afternoon when an Africandiplomat had been brought in to have some gallstones removed and she had conceived an instant resentment of him. She didn't like him. She couldsna'ty exactly what it was she
didn'tlike about him, because she was a nurse, not a
taxi-driver, and she wouldn't let
phersonal feelings show
for an instant. She was much too professional, much too good at herjob, and treated everyone with a more or less equal
efficient and cheerful courtesy, evesnh,e thought - and a
profound iciness settled on her at this point - even Mr Rag. "Mr Rag" was the name of Mr Odwin's personal assistant.
There was nothing she could do about it. It whaser npolat ce tocriticise Mr Odwin's personal arrangements. But if it had
been her business, which it wasn't, then she would greatly have
preferred it, and not just for herself, but for Mr Oodwnin's
well-beingas well, which was the important thing, if he could haveemployed someone who didn't give her the absolute
heebie-jeebies, that was all.
She thought no more about it, merely went to look for him. She hadbeen relieved to discover when she came on duty this

morning that Mr Rag had left the premisepsrethveious night,
buthad then, with a keen sense of disappointment, spotted him returning about an hour or so ago.
She found him exactly where he was not supposed tHoebe.
was squatting on one of the seats in the visitors' waiting-room wearingwhat looked horribly like a soiled and discarded
doctor's gown that was much too big for him. Not only that, but he was playing a thinly unmusical tune on a spoirpte othfat
hehad obviously carved out of a large disposable hypodermic syringe which he absolutely should not have had.
He glanced up at her with his quick, dancing eyes, grinned and continued to tootle and squeak, only significantly louder.
Sister Bailey ran through in her mind all the tthhiantgs
it was completely pointless to say about either the roat or the syringe,or about him being in the visitors' room frightening,
or preparing to frighten, the visitors. She ksnheewwouldn't beable to stand the air of injured innocence with which he
would reply, or the preposterous absurdity of his answHers.
onlycourse was simply to let it pass and just get him away from the room and out of the way as quickly as possible.
"Mr Odwin would like to see you," she said.triSehdeto jamsome of her normal lilting quality into her voice, but it just wouldn't go. She wished his eyes woulddsatnocping like that.Apart from finding it highly disturbing from both a
medical and aesthetic point of view she also could not help but

be piqued by the impressioncoint veyed that there were at leastthirty-seven things in the room more interesting than her.
He gazed at her in this disconcertminagnner for a few
seconds then, muttering that there was no peace for the wicked, not even the extremely wicked, he pushed past Sister Bailey and skedaddledup the corridor to receive instructions from his
lord and master, quicklbye, fore his lord and master fell asleep.
Chapter 8
By the end of the morning Kate had discharged herself from hospital. There were some initial difficulties involved in this becausefirst the ward sister and then the doctor in charge of Kate's case were adamant that she was in no fit state to leave. She had only just emerged fro minaor coma and she needed
care, she needed -
"Pizza - " insisted Kate.
- rest, she needed -
"- my own home, and fresh air. The air in here is horrible. It smells like a vacuum cleaner's armpit."
- further medication, and should definiterelymain under observationfor another day or so until they were satisfied that she had made a full recovery.
At least, they were fairly adamant. During ctohuerse of

themorning Kate demanded and got a telephone and started trying to order pizza to be delivered to her Swhaerdp.honed
around all of the least co-operative pizza restaurants she knew inLondon, harangued them, then made some noisily unsuccessful
attempts to muster a motorbike to roam around the WesatndEnd
tryand pick up for her an American Hot with a list of additionalpeppers and mushrooms and cheeses which the controllerof the courier service refused even to attempt to
remember, and after an hour or so of this sort of behaviour the objectionsto Kate discharging herself from the hospital
gradually fell away like petals from an autumn rose. And so, a little after lunchtime, she was standing on a
bleak West London street feeling weak and shakyin bcuhtarge
of herself. She had with her the empty, tattered remains of the garmentbag which she had refused to relinquish, and also a
small scrap of paper in her puwrshei,ch had a single name scribbled on it.
She hailed a taxi and sat in the back with her eyes closed most ofthe way back to her home in Primrose Hill. She climbed up the stairs and let herself intotohpe-rtloor flat. There
wereten messages on her answering machine, which she simply erased without listening to.
She threw open the window in her bedroom and mfoormaent ortwo leaned out of it at the rather dangerous and awkward
angle which allowed her to see a patch of theItpwaraks.a

smallcomer patch, with just a couple of plane trees standing in it. The backs of some of the intervening hforaumseesd it, orrather, just failed totally to obscure it, and made it very personal and private to Kate in a way wahvicahst, sweeping vista would not have been.
On one occasion she had gone to this corner of the park and walked around the invisible perimeter that maorkuetdthe limitsof what she could see, and had come very close to feeling that this was her own domain. She hadpeavtteend the planetrees in a proprietorial sort of way, and had then sat
beneath them watching the sun going down over London - over its badly spoiled skyline and its non-delivering prizezsataurants
- andhad come away with a profound sense of something or other, though she wasn't quite certwaihnat. Still, she had toldherself, these days she should feel grateful for a
profound sense of anything at all, however unspecific. She hauled herself in from the window, lewftidiet open
inspite of the chill of the outside air, padded through into the small bathroom and ran the bIatthw.as a bath of the sprawling Edwardian type which took up a wonderfully
disproportionate amount of the space available, and encompassed most of the rest of the room with cream-painted pipes. The taps
seethed. As soon as the room was sufficiently full of tosteam
bewarm, Kate undressed and then went and opened the large bathroom cupboard.
She felt faintly embarrassed bthye sheer profusion of

thingsshe had for putting in baths, but she was for some reason incapable of passing any chemistheorrb shop without goingin to be seduced by some glass-stoppered bottle of
something blue or green or orange and oily that was supposed to restore the natural balance of some vague substancedidshne't
even know she was supposed to have in her pores. She paused, trying to choose.
Something pink? Something with extra Vitamin B? Vitamin B12? B13? Just the number of thiwngiths different types of VitaminB in them was an embarrassment of choice in itself. There were powders as well as oils, tubes of gel,paecvkeents
of some kind of pungent smelling seed that was meant to be good for some obscure part of you in some arcane way.
How about some of the green crystals? One day, she had told herself in the past, she would not even btroytihnegrto choose,but would simply put a bit of everything in. When she really felt in need of it. She rather thothuagthttoday was
theday, and with a sudden reviving rush of pleasure she set about puaing a drop or two of everything icnupthbeoard into
the seething bath until it was confused with mingling, muddying colours and verging on the glutinous to touch.
She turned off the taps, went to her handbag for a moment, then returnedand lowered herself into the bath, where she lay with her eyes closed, breathing slowly for fully thmreineutes
beforeat last turning her attention to the scrap of paper she

had brought with her from the hospital.
It had one word on it, and it was a worhdadshderagged outof an oddly reluctant young nurse who had taken her temperature that morning.
Kate had questioned her about the
mbiagn. The big man
whomshe had encountered at the airport, whose body she had seen in a nearby side ward in the early hours of the night.
"Oh no," the nurse had said, "he wasn't dead. Hejuswt as
in some sort of coma."
Could she see him? Kate had asked. What was his name? She had tried to ask idly, in passing as it were, which
was a difficult trick to pull off awtihthermometer in her mouth,and she wasn't at all certain she had succeeded. The
nurse had said that she couldn't really say, she wreaasllny't
meantto talk about other patients. And anyway, the man wasn't
there any more, he had been taken somewhere else. They had sent an ambulance to collect him and take him somewhere else.
This had taken Kate considerably by surprise.
Where had they taken him? What was this special place? But the nurse had been unwilling to say anything much amnodrea,
secondor two later had been summoned away by the Sister. The only word the nurse had said was thethoant eKate had then
scribbled down on the piece of paper she was now looking at. The word was "Woodshead".
Now that she was more relaxed she had a feeling that the
name was familiar to her in sowmaey, though she could not

remember where she had heard it.
The instant she remembered, she could not stay in the bath any longerb, ut got out and made straight for the telephone, pausing only briefly to shower all the gunk off her.
Chapter 9
The big man awoke and tried to look upc, obuuldt hardly
raise his head. He tried to sit up but couldn't do that either. Hefelt as if he'd been stuck to the floor with superglue and after a few seconds he discovered mthoest astounding reason
for this.
He jerked his head up violently, yanking out great tufts of yellow hair which stayed painfully stuck toflotohre, and lookedaround him. He was in what appeared to be a derelict warehouse, probably an upper floor judging by the wintry sky he could see creeping past the grimy, shattered windows.
The ceilings were high anhdung with cobwebs built by
spiderswho did not seem to mind that most of what they caught was crumbling plaster and dust. They were supportepdillbayrs madefrom upright steel joists on which the dirty old cream
paint was bubbled and flaking, and thesteurninstood on a floorof battered old oak on to which he had clearly been glued. Extending out for a foot or intwaorough oval all
aroundhis naked body the floor glistened darkly and dully.

Thin, nostril-cleaning fumes rose from it. He could not believe it. He roared with rage, tried to wriggle and shake himself but succeeded only in tugging painfully at his wskhienre it was
stuck fast to the oak planks.
This had to be the old man's doing.
He threw his head back hard against the floor in a blow
that cracked the boards and made his ears sing. He roared again and took some furious satisfaction in making as mhoupcehless, stupidnoise as he could. He roared until the steel pillars
rang and the cracked remaionfsthe windows shattered into finershards. Then, as he threw his head angrily from one side to the other hceaught sight of his sledge-hammer leaning
against the wall a few feet from him, heaved it up into the air witha word, and sent it hurtling round the great space,
beating and clanging on every pillar untilwthhoele building reverberated like a mad gong.
Another word and the hammer flew back at him, missed his head by a hand's-width and punched stradigohwt n through the floor, shattering the wood and the plaster below.
In the darker space beneath him the hammer spun, and swung round in a slow heavy parabola as bits of plaster fell about it and rattledon the concrete floor below. Then it gathered a
violent momentum anhdurtled back up through the ceiling,
smacking up a stack of startled splinters as it punched through another oak floorboard a hand's-width from the soles of the big man's feet.

It soared up into the air, hung there for a moment as if its weight had suddenly vanishethde, n, deftly flicking its
short handle up above its head, it drove hard back down through thetloor again - then up again, then down again, punching
holes in a splintered ring around its master until, with a long heavy groan, the whole oval section of punctured floor gave way and plunged, twisting, through tahier. It shattered itself
againstthe floor below amidst a rain of plaster debris, from which the figure othfe big man then emerged, staggering,
flappingat the dusty air and coughing. His back, his arms and
his legs were still covered with great splintered hunokaskof
flooring,but at least he was able to move. He leant the flat
of his hands against the wall and violently coughed some of the dast from his lungs.
As he turned backh,is hammer danced out of the air towardshim, then suddenly evaded his grasp and skidded
joyfully off across the floor striking sparks from the concrete with its great head, flipped up paanrdked itself against a
nearby pillar at a jaunty angle.
In front of him the shape of a large Coca-Cola vending machine loomed through the settling cloud of dustr.egHaerded itwith the gravest suspicion and worry. It stood there with a sort of glazed, blank look toanidt, had a note from his
fatherstuck on the front panel saying whatever he was doing,
stop it. Iwt as signed "You-know-who", but this had been

crossedout and first the word "Odin" and then in larger letters "Your Father" had been substituted. Ondeivner ceased tomake absolutely clear his view of his son's intellectual
accomplishments. The big man tore the note off and stared at it in anger. A postscript added darkly "Remember Wales. dYono'ut wantto go through all that again." He screwed the note up and
hurled it out of the nearest window, where the wind whitipped
upand away. For a moment he thought he heard an odd squeaking noise, but it was probably just the blustering owfintdheas
it whistled between the nearby derelict buildings.
He turned and walked to the window and stared out of it in a belligerenst ulk. Glued to the floor. At his age. What the
devil was that supposed to mean? "Kyeoeupr head down," was whathe guessed. "If you don't keep it down, I'll have to keep it down for youT."hat was what it meant. "Stick to the
ground."
He remembered now the old man saying exactly that to him at the time of all the unpleasantness with the Phafingthotmer jet."Why can't you just stick to the ground?" he had said. He could imagine the old miannhis soft-headed benign malice
thinking it very funny to make the lesson so literal.
Rage began to rumble menacingly inside him but he pushed
it down hard. Very worrying things had recently begun happening when he got angry and he had a bad feeling, looking back at the Coca-Cola vending machine, that another of those wveorryrying
things must have just happened. He stared at it and fretted.

He felt ill.
He had felt ill a lot of late, and he found it impossible
to discharge what were left of his godly duties when he felt he was suffering froma sort of continual low-grade flu. He
experienced headaches, dizzy spells, guilt and all the sorts of ailments that were featured so often in television
advertisements. He even suffered terrifying blackowuthsenever the great rage gripped him.
He always used to have such a wonderful time getting angry. Great gusts of marvellous anger would hhimurlthrough life.He felt huge. He felt flooded with power and light and energy. He had always been provided with such wondtherinfugls toget angry about - immense acts of provocation or betrayal, people hidingthe AtIantic ocean in his helmet, dropping continentson him or getting drunk and pretending to be trees.
Stuff you could really work up a rage about and hit Itnhings.
shorthe had felt good about being a Thunder God. Now suddeniy it washeadaches, nervous tension, nameless anxieties and
guilt.These were new experiences for a god, and not pleasant ones.
"You look ridiculous!"
The voice screeched out and affected Thor like fingernails scratched across a blackboard lodged in the back obfrahinis. Itwas a mean voice, a spiteful, jeering voice, a cheap white
nylon shirt of a voice, a shiny-trousered pencil moustache of a

voice, a voice, in short, which Thor did notHleikreacted verybadly to it at the best of times, and was particularly provoked to have to hear it while standing naked minidtdhle ofa decrepit warehouse with large sections of an oak floor still stuck to his back.
He spun round angrily. He wanted to be able torotuunrdn
calmlyand with crushing dignity, but no such strategy ever worked with this creature, and since he, Thor, woonulyldend upfeeling humiliated and ridiculous whatever postune he
adopted, he might as well go with one he felt comfortable with.
"Toe Rag!" he roared, yanked his hammer spinning thineto
airand hurled it with immense, stunning force at the small creature who was squatting complacently in the shadoonwtsop of a small heap of rubble, leaning forward a little.
Toe Rag caught the hammer and placed it neatly on top of the pile of Thor's clothes that lay nehxitmt.oHe grinned, andallowed a stray shaft of sunlight to glitter on one of his
teeth. These things don't happen by accident. Toe Rag had spent some time while Thor was unconscious workinghowut long it wouldtake him to recover, then industriously moving the pile
of rubble to exactly this spot, checkinghetihgeht and then calculatingthe exact angle at which to lean. As a provocateur he regarded himself as a professional.
"Did you do this to me?" roared Thor. "Did you - "
Thor searched for any way of saying "glue me to the floor" that didn't sound like "glue me to floor"e,vbenuttually the

pause got too long and he had to give up.
"- glue me to the floor?" he demanded at last. He wished he hadn't asked such a stupid question.
"Don't even answer that!" he added angrily wanisdhed he hadn'tsaid that either. He stamped his foot and shook the foundations of the building a little just to make the point. He
wasn't certain what the point was, but he felt hthaadt toit
be made. Some dust settled gently around him.
Toe Rag watched him with his dancing, glittering eyes. "I merely carry out the instructions given to me by your father," he said in a grotesque parody of obsequiousness.
"It seems to me," said Tho"trh,at the instructions my
fatherhas been giving since you entered his service have been very odd. I think you have some kind ogfriepvoiln him. I don'tknow what kind of evil grip it is, but it's definitely a grip, and it's definitely..." synonyms failed him "...evil," he concluded.
Toe Rag reacted like an iguana to whsomeone had just complained about the wine.
"Me?" he protested. "How can I possibly have a grip on
your father? Odin is the greatest of the Gods of AsgarId, and
am his devoted servant in all things. Odin says, `Do this,' and
Ido it. Odin says, `Go there,' and I go there. Odin says, `Go and get my big stupid son out of hospital before he acnayuses
moretrouble, and then, I don't know, glue him to the floor or

something,' and I do exactly as he asks. I am mtheeremlyost humbleof functionaries. However small or menial the task, Odin's bidding is what I am there to perform."
Thor was not sufficiently subtle a student of human nature
or, for that matter, divine or goblin nattourbee,
able to
arguethat this was in fact a very powerful grip to hold over
anybody, particularly a fallible and pampered old godj.usHt e
knew that it was all wrong.
"Well then," he shouted, "take this message back to my
father, Odin. Tell him that I, Thor, the God of Thunder, demand to meet him. And not in his damhnoesdpital either! I'm not
goingto hang about reading magazines and looking at fruit while he has his bed changed! Tell him that tThehoGr,od of Thunder,will meet Odin, the Father of the Gods of Asgard, tonight, at the Challenging Hour in the Halls of Asgard!"
"Again?" said Toe Rag, with a sly glance sidewataythse
Coca-Cola vending machine.
"Er, yes," said Thor. "Yes!" he repeated in a rage. "Again!"
Toe Rag made a tiny sigh, such as one who felt resigned to carrying out the bidding aotfemperamental simpleton might
make,and said, "Well, I'll tell him. I don't suppose he will be best pleased."
"It is no matter of yours whether he is pleoarsneodt!" shoutedThor, disturbing the foundations of the building once
more. "This is between my fatahnedr myself! You may think

yourselfvery clever, Toe Rag, and you may think that I am not
- "
Toe Rag archedan eyebrow. He had prepared for this moment.He stayed silent and merely let the stray beatn of sunlight glint on his dancing eyes. It awsailsence of the
most profound eloquence.
"I may not know what you'to up to, Toe Rag, I may not know a lotof things, but I do know one thing. I know that I am
Thor, the God of Thunder, and that I will not be made a fool of by a goblin!"
"Well," said Toe Rag with a light grin, "when you know two things I expect you'll be twice as clever. Remember to put your clothes on before you go out." He gestured casually at the pile beside him and departed.
Chapter 10
The trouble with the sort of shop that tsheilnlgss like
magnifying glasses and penknives is that they tend also to sell all kinds of other fascinating things, like the quite
extraordinary device with which Dirk eventuaelmlyerged after havingbeen hopelessly unable to decide between the knife with
the built-in Philips screwdriver, toothpick and ball-ppoeinnt
andthe one with the 13-tooth gristle saw and the tig-welded
rivets.

The magnifying glasses had held him in thrall sfhoor rat while, particularly the 25-diopter, high-index,
vacuumdeposited, gold-coated glass model with the integral handle and mount and thneotchless seal glazing, butht en Dirk had
happened to catch sight of a small electronic I Ching calculator and he was lost.
He had never before even guessed at the existencseucohf
athing. And to be able to move from total ignorance of
something to total desire for it, and then actually totheown
thingall within the space of about forty seconds was, for
Dirk, something of an epiphany.
The electronic I Ching calculator was badly maItdhe.ad
probably been manufactured in whichever of the South-East Asian countrieswas busy tooling up to do to South Korea what South Korea was busy doing to Japan. GteIuchenology had obviously notprogressed in that country to the point where things could
be successfully held together withAiltr.eady the back had
half fallen off and needed to be stuck back on with Sellotape. It was much like an ordinary pocket calculator, except
that the LCD screen was a little larger than usual, in order to
accommodate the abridged judgements of King Wen on eatchhe of
sixty-four hexagrams, and also the commentaries of his son, the
Duke of Chou, on each of the lines of each hexagram. These were unusualtexts to see marching across the display of a pocket
calculator, particularly as they had been translafrtoemd
the
Chinesevia the Japanese and seemed to have enjoyed many

adventures on the way.
The device also functioned as an ordinary calculabtuotr,
only to a limited degree. It could handle any calculation which returned an answer of anything up to "4".
"1+1" it could manage ("2"), and "1+2" ("3") and "2+2" ("4") or "tan 74" ("3.4874145b")u,t anything above "4" it representedmerely as "A Suffusion of Yellow". Dirk was not certain if this was a programming erroarn oinrsight beyond
his ability to fathom, but he was crazy about it anyway, enough to hand over £20 of ready cash for the thing.
"Thank you, sir," said the proprietor. "It's a nice piece that. I think you'll be happy with it."
"I ab," said Dirk.
"Glad to hear it, sir," replied pthroeprietor. "Do you know you've broken your nose?"
Dirk looked up from fawning on his new possession. "Yedth," he said testily, "obf courth I dknow."
The man nodded, satisfied.
"Just that a lot of my customers wouldn't always know about a thing like that," he explained.
Dirk thanked him tersely and humed out withpuhricshase. Afew minutes later he took up residence at the small comer table of an Islington caofér,dered a small but incredibly
strong cup of coffee; and attempted to take stock of his day. A
moment's reflection told him that he was almost certainly going

toneed a small but incredibly strong beer as well, and he attempted to add this to his order.
"A wha?" said the waiter. Hhiasir was very black and filledwith brilliantine. He was tall, incredibly fit and too cool to listen to customers or say consonants.
Dirk repeated his order, but what with havthinegcafé's musicsystem, a broken nose, and the waiter's insuperable cool to contend with, he eventually found it simtoplwerrite out
theorder on a napkin with a stub of pencil. The waiter peered at it in an offended manner, and left.
Dirk exchanged a friendly nod with the sgititrinl g half
reading a book at the next table, who had watched this exchange withsympathy. Then he set about laying out his morning's
acquisitions on the table in front of him - the newstphaeper,
electronicI Ching calculator and the envelope which he had retrieved frombehind the gold disc on Geoffrey Anstey's bathroomwall. He then spent a minute or two dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief, and prodding it tenderslyeethoow
much it hurt, which turned out to be quite a lot. He sighed and stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket.
A few seconds later the waiter returned bearing a herb omelette and a singblereadstick. Dirk explained that this
wasn'twhat he had ordered. The waiter shrugged and said that it wasn't his fault.
Dirk had no idea what to say to this, and said wsoa.s He
stillhaving a great deal of difficulty speaking. The waiter

asked Dirk if he knew that he had broken his nose and Dirk said that yedth, dthagg you berry budge,dihde. The waiter said
thathis friend Neil had once broken his nose and Dirk said that he hobed it hurd lhikeell, which seemed to draw the
conversation to a close. The waiter took the omelette and left, vowing never to return.
When the girl sitting at the next table looked away for a moment, Dirk leaned over and took her coffee. He tkhnaet whe wasperfectly safe doing this because she would simply not be
able to believe that this had happened. He sat siaptptihneg
lukewarm cup and casting his mind back over the day. He knew that before consulting the I Ching, even an
electronic one, he should tarnyd compose his thoughts and allow them to settle calmly.
This was a tough one.
However much he tried to clear his mind and think in a
calm and collected way, he was unable to stop Geoffrey Anstey's headrevolving incessantly in his mind. It revolved
disapprovingly,as if pointing an accusing finger at Dirk. The fact that it did not haveacacnusing finger with which to
point only served to drive the point it was trying to make home all the harder.
Dirk screwed up his eyes and attempted to concentrate instead onthe problem of the mysteriously vanished Miss
Pearce,but was unable to get much of a grip on it. When she

had used to work for him she would often disappear mysteriously for two or three days at a time, but the papers didn't make any kind of fuss about it then. Admittetdhleyr,e weren't things explodingaround her at the time, at least, not that he was
awareof. She had never mentioned anything exploding particularly.
Furthermore, whenever he thought of her face, which he had last seen on the television set in Geoffrey Anstey's house, his thoughtstended instantly to sink towards the head which was busy revolving thirty-three and a third tima mesinute three floorsbeneath it. This was not conducive to the calm and
contemplative mood he was seeking. Nor was the verymluosuicd
on the café's music system.
He sighed, and stai-ed at the electronic I Ching calculator.
If he wanted to get his thoughts into some okfionrdder
thenmaybe chronological order would be as good a one as any. He decided to cast his mind back to the beginntihneg doafy,
before any of these appalling things had happened, or at least, before they'd happened to him.
First there had been the fridge.
It seemed to him that by comparison with everything else, the problem of what to do about his fridgenohwadshrunk to fairlymanageable proportions. It still provoked a discemible twinge of fear and guilt, but here, he thoughta, pwroasblem which he could face up to with relative calm.

The little book of instructions suggested that he should simplyconcentrate "soulfully" on the question which was "besieging"him, write it down, ponder on it, enjoy the silence, and theonnce he had achieved inner harmony and tranquillity he should push the red button.
There wasn't a red button, but there was a blue button marked "Red", and this Dirk took to be the one.
He concentrated for a while on the questtihoenn, looked throughhis pockets for a piece of paper, but was unable to
find one. In the end he wrote his question, "Should I buy a new
fridge?" on a corner of his napkin. Then he took thtehavtiew
if he was going to wait until he had achieved inner harmony and tranquillityhe could be there all night, so he went ahead and
pushed the blue button marked "Red" anyway. A symbol flashed up in a corner of the screen, a hexagram which looked like this:
************* ************
***************************
************* ************
************* ************
************* ************
***************************
* 3 : CHUN*
the I Ching calculator then scrolled this text Acitrsoss

tiny LCD display:
_ "THE JUDGEMENT OF KING WEN:_
_ "Chun Signifies Difficulties At Outset, As Of Blade
Of_
_ Grass Pushing UAp gainst Stone. The Time Is Full
Of_
_ Irregularities And Obscurities: Superior Man Will
Adjust_
_ His Measures As In Sorting The Threads Of The Warp_
_ And Woof. Firm Correctness Will Bring At Last
Success._
_ Early Advances Should Only Be Made With Caution._
_ There Will Be Advantage In Appointing Feudal
Princes._
_ "LINE 6 CHANGES:_
_ "THE COMMENTARY OF THE DUKE OF CHOU:_
_ "The Horses And The Chariot Obliged To Retreat._
_ Streams Of Bloody Tears Will Flow."_
Dirk considered this for a few moments, tahnedn decided thaton balance it appeared to be a vote in favour of getting the new fridge, which, bystaaggering coincidence, was the
course of action which he himself favoured.
There was a pay phone in one of the dark corners where waiters slouched moodily at one another. Dirk threadedwahyis

throughthem, wondering whom it was they reminded him of, and eventually deciding that it was the small croofwndaked men standingaround behind the Holy Family in Michelangelo's
picture of the same name, for no more apparent reason than that
Michelangelo rather liked them.
He telephoned an acquaintance of his called NoPbabxyton,
orso he claimed, who worked the darker side of the domestic appliance supply business. Dirk came straight to the point.
"Dobby, I deed a fridge."
"Dirk, I been saving one against the day you'd ask me." Dirk found this highly unlikely.
"Only I wand a good fridge you thee, Dobby." "This is the best, Dirk. Japanese. Microprocessor
controlled."
"What would a microprothethor be doing id a fridge, Dobby?"
"Keeping itself cool, Dirk. I'll get the lads to
ibtring
roundright away. I need to get it off the premises pretty sharpish for reasons which I won't trouble you with." "I apprethiade thid, Dobby," said Dirk. "Frobliedm, I'm
not at home at preddent."
"Gaining access to houses in the absence of their owner is only oneof the panoply of skills with which my lads are
blessed. Let me know if you find anytmhiinssging afterwards,
by the way."

"I'd be happy to, Dobby. Id fact if your ladth are in a mood for carting thtuff off I'd be gltahdeyifwould thtart
with my old fridge. It badly needth throwing away."
"I shall see that it's done, Dirk. There's usually a skip or two on your street these days. Ndoowy,ou expect to be payingfor this or shall I just get you kneecapped straight off, save everybody time and aggravation all round?"
It was never one hundred per cent ctloeaDr irk exactly whenNobby was joking and he was not keen to put it to the test. He assured him that he would pay ahsimso,on as next
they met.
"See you very soon then, Dirk," said Nobby. "By the way, do you know you souenxdactly as if someone's broken your nose?"
There was a pause.
"You there, Dirk?" said Nobby.
"Yed," said Dirk. "I wad judd liddening to a reggord." "_Hot Potato!_" roared the hi-fi in the café.
_ "Don't pick it up. pick it up, pick it up._
_ "Quick, pass it on, pass it on, pass it on."_
"I said, do you know you sound exactly as if someone's broken your nose?" repeated Nobby.
Dirk saidthat he did know this, thankedNobby for
pointing it out, said goodbye, stood thoughtfully for a moment, made another quick couple of phone calls, and then threaded his wayback through the huddle of posing waiters to find the girl

whose coffee he had appropriated sitting at his table. "Hello," she said, meaningfully.
Dirk was as gracious as he knew how.
He bowed to her very politely, doffed his sihnacte, all
thisgave him a second or so to recover himself, and requested her permission to sit down.
"Go ahead," she said",it's your table." She gestured magnanimously.
She was small, her hair was neat and dark, she was in her mid-twenties, and was looking quizzically at the half-empty cup of coffee in the middle of the table.
Dirk sat down opposite her and leant forward conspiratorially."I expeg," he said in a low voice, "you are enquirigg after your coffee."
"You betcha," said the girl.
"Id very bad for you, you dow." "Is it?"
"Id id. Caffeide. Cholethderog in the milgg."
"I see, so it was just my health you were thinking of." "I was thiggigg of meddy thiggs," said Dirk airily.
"You saw me sitting at tnheext table and you thought
`There'sa nice-looking girl with her health in ruins. Let me save her from herself.'"
"In a nudthell."
"Do you know you've broken your nose?"

"Yeth, of courth dIo," said Dirk crossly. "Everybody keepth - "
"How long ago did you break it?" the girl asked.
"Id wad broked for me," said Dirk, "aboud tweddy middidd ago."
"I thought so," said the gi"rCl.lose your eyes for a moment."
Dirk looked at her suspiciously. "Why?"
"It's all right," she said with a smile, "I'm not going to hurt you. Now close them."
With a puzzled frown, Dirk closed his eyes just for a moment. In that moment the girl reached aonvdergripped him firmlyby the nose, giving it a sharp twist. Dirk nearly explodedwith pain and howled so loudly that he almost attracted the attention of a waiter.
"You widge!" he yelled, staggering wildly back from the table clutching his face. "You double-dabbed widge!"
"Oh, be quiet and sit down," she said. "All rilgiehdt, I
aboutit not going to hurt you, but at least it should be straight now, which will save you awolortse later on. You shouldget straight round to a hospital to have some splints
and padding put on. I'm a nurse, I know what I'm Odroaintg.
least, I think I do. Let's have a look at you."
Panting and spluttering, Dirk sat down once more, his
hands cupped round his nose. After a few long seconbdesgahne

to prod it tenderly again and then let the girl examine it. She said, "My name's Sally Mills, by the way. I usually
try to introduce myself properly before physical intimacy takes place, but sometimes," she sighed, "there just isn't time."
Dirk ran his fingers up either side of his nose again. "I thigg id id trader," Dirk said at last.
"Straighter," Sally said. "Say `straighter' properly. It'll help you feel better. "
"Straighter," said Dirk. "Yed. I thee wad you mead." "What?"
"I see what you mead."
"Good," she said with a sigh of relief, "I'm glad that worked.My horoscope this morning said that virtually everything I decided today would be wrong."
"Yes, well you don't want to believe all that rubbish," said Dirk sharply.
"I don't," said Satly. È
"Particularly not The Great Zaganza." "Oh, you read it too, did you?"
"No. That is, well, not for the same reason." "My reason wasthat a patient asked me to read his
horoscopeto him this morning just before he died. What was yours?"
"Er, a very complicated one."
"I see," said Sally, sceptically. "What's this?"

"It's a calculator," said Dir"kW.
ell, look, I mustn't
keepyou. I am indebted to you, my dear lady, for the tenderness of your ministrations and the loaynouorf coffee, butlo! the day wears on, and I am sure you have a heavy schedule of grievous bodily harm to attend to."
"Not at all. I came off night dutnyinaeto'clock this
morning, andall I have to do all day is keep awake so that I can sleep normally tonight. I have nothing better to do than to sit arnund talking to strangers in caYféosu. , on the other
hand,should get yourself to a casualty department as soon as possible. As soon as you've paid my bill, in fact."
She leant overto the table she had originally been
sittingat and picked up the running-total lying by her plate. She looked at it, shaking her head disapprovingly.
"Five cups of coffee, I'm afraid. It was a nliognhgt on
the wards. All sorts of comings and goings in the middle of it.
One patient in a coma who had to be moved to a private hospital inthe early hours. God knows why it had to be done at that
time of night. Just creates unnecessary trouble. I wouldn't pay for the second croissant if I were yorud. eIred it but it
never came."
She pushed the bill across to Dirk who picked it up with a reluctant sigh.
"Inordinate," he said, "larcenously inordinate. And, in the circumstances, adding 1a5 per cent service charge is
tantamountto jeering at you. I bet they won't even bring me a

knife."
He turned and tried, without any real hope of suctcoess,
summonany of the gaggle of waiters lounging among the sugar bowls at the back.
Sally Mills took her bill and Dirk's and attempteadddto
them up on Dirk's calculator.
"The total seems to come to `A Suffusion of YelIow'," she said.
"Thank you,I'll take that," said Dirk turning bask
crosslyand relieving her of the electronic I Ching set which he put into his pocket. He resumed his hawplaevsisng at the tableau of waiters.
"What do you want a knife for, anyway?" asked Sally. "To open this," saidDirk, waggling the large, heavily
Sellotaped envelope at her.
"I'll get you one," she said. A young man soitntinhgis
own at another nearby table was looking away at that moment, so
Sally quickly leaned across and nabbed his knife.
"I am indebted to you," said Dirk and put out his hand to take the knife from her.
She held it away from him.
"What's in the envelope?" she said.
"You are an extremely inquisitive apnrdesumptuous young lady," exclaimed Dirk.
"And you," said Sally Mills, "are very strange."

"Only," said Dirk, "as strange as I need to be." "Humph," said Sally. "What's in the envelope?" She still
wouldn't give him the knife.
"The envelope is not yoursp,"roclaimed Dirk, "and its contents are not your concern."
"It looks very interesting though. What's in it?" "Well, I won't know till I've opened it!"
She looked at him suspiciously, then snatched the envelope from him.
"I insist that you - " expostulated Dirk, incompletely. "What's your name?" demanded Sally.
"My name is Gently. Mr Dirk Gently."
"And not Geoffrey Anstey, or any of these other names that have been crossed out?" She frowned, briefly, looking at them.
"No," said Dirk. "Certainly not."
"So you mean the envelope is not yours either?" "I - that is - "
"Aha! So you are also being extremely... what was it?" "Inquisitive and presumptuous. I do not deny it. But I am
aprivate detective. I am paid to be inquisitive and
presumptuous.Not as often or copiously as I would wish, but I
am nevertheless inquisitive and presumptuous opnroafessional basis."
"How sad. I think it's much more fun being inquisitive and presumptuousas a hobby. So you are a professional while I am
merely an amateur of Olympic standard. You dlooonk't like a

private detective."
"No private detective looks like a private detective. That's one of the first rules of private detection."
"But if no private detective looks like a private
detective,how does a private detective know what it is he's supposed not to loolikke? Seems to me there's a problem there."
"Yes, but it's not one that keeps me awake at nights," said Dirk in exasperation. "Anyway, I am nothears private detectives. My methods are holistic and, in a very proper sense of the word, chaotic. I operate by investigating the
fundamental interconnectedness of all things." Sally Mills merely blinked at him.
"Every particle in the universe," continued Dwirka,rming tohis subject and beginning to stare a bit, "affects every otherparticle, however faintly or obliquely. Everything interconnectswith everything.The beating of a butterfly's wings in China can affect the course of an Athlaunrrtiicane.
IfI could interrogate this table-leg in a way that made sense to me, or to the table-leg, then it could providweithmthee
answerto any question about the universe. I could ask anybody
I liked, chosen entirely by chance, any random question I cared to think of, and their answer, or lack of it, would in some way bear upon the problem to which I am seeking a soIltuitsion.
onlya question of knowing how to interpret it. Even you, whom

I have met entirely by chance, probably ktnhoinwgs that are vitalto my investigation, if only I knew what to ask you, which I don't, and if only I cboeulbdothered to, which I can't."
He paused, and said, "Please will you let me have the envelope and the knife?"
"You make it sound as if someone's life depends on it." Dirk dropped his eyes for a moment.
"I rather think somebody's lidfeid depend on it," he
said.He said it in such a way that a cloud seemed to pass briefly over them.
Sally Mills relented and passed the envelope and the knife over to Dirk. A spark seemed to go out of her.
The knife was too bluannt d the Sellotape too thickly applied.Dirk struggled with it for a few seconds but was unable to slice through it. He sat binachkis seat feeling
tired and irritable.
He said, "I'll go and ask them if they've got anything sharper," and stood up, clutching the envelope.
"You should go and get your nose fixed," said MSaillsy
quietly.
`"Thank you," said Dirk and bowed very slightly to her. He picked up the bills and set out to visit the exhibition
of waitersmounted at the rear of the cafe. He encountered a certaincoolness when he was disinclined to augment the
mandatory15 per cent service charge with any voluntary

additional token of his personaaplpreciation, and was told thatno, that was the only type of knife they had and that's all there was to it.
Dirk thanked them and walked back through the café. Sitting in his seat talking to Sally Mills thweaysoung
manwhose knife she had purloined. He nodded to her, but she was deeply engrossed in conversation with nheewr friend and
did not notice.
"...in a coma," she was saying, "who had to be moved to a private hospital in the early hours. God knows why it had to be done at that time of night. Just creuantnesecessary trouble.
Excuseme rabbiting on, but the patient had his own personal
Coca-Cola machine and sledge-hammer with him, and thatofsort
thingis.all very well in a private hospital, but on a
shortstaffed NHS ward it just makes me tired, and I talk too much whenI'm tired. If I suddenly fall insensible to the
floor, would you let me know?"
Dirk walked on, and then noticed that Sally Mills had left the book she habdeen reading on her original table, and
something about it caught his attention.
It was a large book, called _Run Like the Devil_. In fact it was extremely large aanldittle dog-eared, looking
morelike a puff pastry cliff than a book. The bottom half of the cover featured the normal
woman-in-cocktail-dress-framed-in-the-sights-of-a-gun, while

the top half was entirely takuepnwith the author's name, Howard Bell, embossed in silver.
Dirk couldn't immediately work out what it was about the book that had caught his eye, but he knew thatdesotamileof thecover had struck a chord with him somewhere. He gave a circumspect glance at the girl whose coffeehahdepurloined, andwhose five coffees and two croissants, one undelivered and uneaten, he had subsequently paid for. She wlaosonk'ting, so
he purloined her book as well and slipped it into the pocket of his leather coat.
He stepped out on to the street, where a passing eagle
swooped out of the sky at him, nearly forcing him into the path of a cyclist, who cursed and swore atfrhoimma moral high
ground that cyclists alone seem able to inhabit.
Chapter 11
Into the well-kempt grounds that lay just on the owtskins of a well-kempvtillage on the fringes of the well-kempt Cotswolds turned a less than well-kempt car.
It was a battered yellow Citroën 2CV which had had one
careful owner but also three suicidally reckless onems.adIet
its way up the driveway with a reluctant air as if all it asked forfrom life was to be tipped into a restful ditch in one of
the adjoining meadows and there allowed to sienttgleraceful
abandonment,instead of which here it was being asked to drag

itself all the way up this long gravelled drive whwicohuldit
nodoubt soon be called upon to drag itself all the way back
down again, to what possible purpose it was beyonwdit ittos
imagine.
It drew to a halt in front of the elegant stone entrance tothe main building, and then began to trundle slowly backwardsagain until its occupant yanked on the handbrake, which evoked from the car a sort of strangled "eek".
A doorflopped open, wobbling perilously on its one remaininghinge, and there emerged from the car a pair of the sort of legs which soundtrack editors are unable to see without needing to slap a smoky saxophone soloovaelrl, for reasons
whichno one besides soundtrack editors has ever been able to understand. In this particulcaar se, however, the saxophone wouldhave been silenced by the proximity of the kazoo which the same soundtrack editor would almost certainly hslaavpeped
all over the progress of the vehicle.
The owner of the legs followed them in the usual manner, closed the car door tenderly, and then madewahyerinto the building.
The car remained parked in front of it.
After a few minutes a porter came out and examined it, adopted a disapproving manner and then,lafcokr of anything more positive to do, went back in.
A short time later, Kate was shown into the office of Mr

Ralph Standish, the Chief Consultant Psychologainsdt one of the directors of the Woodshead Hospital, who was just completing a telephone conversation.
"Yes, it is true," he was saying, "that sometimes unusuallyintelligent and sensitive children can appear to be stupid. But, Mrs Benson, stupid children scoamnetimes appear tobe stupid as well. I think that's something you might have to consider. I know ivte'sry painful, yes. Good day, Mrs Benson."
He put the phone away into a desk drawer and spent a couple of seconds collecting his thoughts before looking up.
"This is very short notice, Miss, er, Schechter,s"aihde
to her at last.
In fact what he had said was, This is ve short notice, Miss, er-" and then he had paused and peinetroedanother of his desk drawers before saying "Schechter".
It seemed to Kate that it was very odd to keep your visitors' names in darawer, but then he clearly disliked havingthings cluttering up his fine, but severely designed,
black ash desk because there was nothing on it Iattwaalsl.
completelyblank, as was every other surface in his office. There was nothing on the smnaelalt steel and glass coffee tablewhich sat squarely between two Barcelona chairs. There
was nothing on top of the two expensive-looking filing cabinets which stood at the back of the room.
There were no bookshelves - if there were baonoyks they

were presumably hidden away behind the white doors of the large blankbuilt-in cupboards - and although there was one plain
black picture frame hanging on the wall, this was presuma ably
temporary aberration because there was no picture in it. Kate looked around her with a bemused air.
"Do you have no ornaments in here at all, Mr Standish?" she asked.
He was, for a moment, somewhat taken abackhebry
transatlantic directness, but then answered her. "Indeed I have ornaments," he said; and pulled open
another drawer. He pulled out from this a small china omf odel
akitten playing with a ball of wool and put it firmly on the desk in front of him.
"As a psychologist I am aware of the imporotalentthat ornamentation plays in nourishing the human spirit," he pronounced.
He put the china kitten back in dtrhaewer and slid it closed with a smooth click.
"Now."
He clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him, and looked at her enquiringly.
"It's very good of you to see me at short notice, Mr
Standish - "
"Yes, yes, we've established that."
"- but I'm sure yokunow what newspaper deadlines are

like."
"I know at least as much as I would ever care to know about newspapers, Miss, er - "
He opened his drawer again. "Miss Schechter, but - "
"Well that's partly what made me approach you," Kliaetde charmingly."I know that you have suffered from some, well, unfortunate publicity here, and thought you mwigehltcome the opportunity to talk about some of the more enlightening aspects ofthe work at the Woodshead Hospital." She smiled very
sweetly.
"It's only because you come to me with the highest
recommendation from my very good friend and colleague Mr, er - " "Franklin, Alan Franklin," prompted Kate, to save the
psychologistfrom having to open his drawer again. Alan
Franklinwas a therapist whom Kate had seen for a few sessions after the loss of her husband LuHkee.had warned her that
Standish, though brilliant, was also peculiar, even by the high standards set by his profession.
"Franklin," resumed Standish, "that I agreed to see you.
Let me warn you instantly that if I see any resumptthioisn of
'Somethingnasty in the Woodshead' mendacity appearing in the papers as a result of this interview I will, I will - "
"`- do such things -
`What they are yet I know not - but they shall be
` The terror of the Earth '," said Kate, brightly.

Standish narrowed his eyes.
"_Lear_, Act 2, Scen4e," he said. "And I think you'll find it's `terrors' and not `terror'."
"Do you know, I think you're right?" replied Kate.
Thank you, Alan, she thought. She smiled at Standish, who relaxed into pleased superiority. It was oKdadt,e reflected, thatpeople who needed to bully you were the easiest to push around.
"So you would like to know precisely what, Miss
Schechter?"
"Assume," said Kate, "that I know nothing."
Standish smiled, as if to signify that no assumption could possibly give him greater pleasure.
"Very well," he said. "The Woodshead is a research
hospital. We specialise in the care and study of pawtiiethnts
unusualor previously unknown conditions, largely in the psychologicalor psychiatric fields. Funds are raised in
variousways. One of our chief methods is quite simply to take in private patients at exorbitantly high fees, wthecyhare
happyto pay, or at least happy to complain about. There is in
fact nothing to complain about because patients who comuse to
privately are made fully aware of why our fees are so high. For themoney they are paying, they are, of course, perfectly
entitled to complain - the righct otmoplain is one of the
privilegesthey are paying for. In some cases we come to a

special arrangement under which, in return for bmeiandge the solebeneficiaries of a patient's estate, we will guarantee to look after that patient for the rest of his or her life."
"So in effect you are in the business of giving
scholarships to people with particularly gifted diseases?" "Exactly. A very good way of expressing it. We are in the
business of giving scholarshiptos people with particularly
gifted diseases. I must make a note of that. Miss Mayhew!" He had opened a drawer, which clearly contained his office
intercom.In response to his summons one of the cupboards opened, and tumed out to be a dinotora side office - a featurewhich must have appealed to some architect who had conceived an ideological dislike doofors. From this office
there emerged obediently a thin and rather blank-faced woman in her midforties.
"Miss Mayhew," said Mr Standish, "we are in the business of givingscholarships to people with particularly gifted
diseases."
"Very good, Mr Standish," said Miss Mayhew, and retreated backwards into her office, pulling the door claofsteedr her.
Kate wondered if it was perhaps a cupboard after all. "And we do have some patients with some really quite
outstanding diseases at the moment," enthused the psychologist. "Perhaps you would care to come saenedone or two of our
current stars?"
"Indeed I would. That would be most interesting, Mr

Standish, you're very kind," said Kate.
"You have to be kind in this job," Stanrdeipslhied, and flicked a smile on and off at her.
Kate was trying to keep some of the impatience she was
feeling out of her manner. She did not take to Mr Standish, and was beginning to feel that there was a kind of Mqauratliiatyn
to him. Furthermore, the only thing she was actually interested inwas discovering whether or not the hospital had accepted a new admission in the early hours ofmtohrening, and if so,
where he was and whether she could see him.
She had originally tried the direct approach but had been rebuffed by a mere telephone receptionist ongrtohuends that shedidn't have a name to ask for. Simply asking if they had any tall, well-built, blond miennresidence had seemed to
create entirely the wrong impression. At least, she insisted to herselfthat it was entirely the wrong impression. A quick
phone call to Alan Franklin had set her up foarltotgheisther more subtle approach.
"Good!" A look of doubt passed momentarily over Mr Standish's face, and he summoned Miss Mayhew foruotmof her cupboard again.
"Miss Mayhew, that last thing I just said to you - " "Yes, Mr Standish?"
"I assume you realised that I wished you to make a note of
it for me?"

"No, Mr Standish, but I will be happy to do so." "Thank you," said Mr Standish with a slightly tense look.
"And tidy up in here please. The place looks a - " He wanted to say that the place looakemdess, but was
frustrated by its air of clinical sterility. "Just tidy up generally," he concluded. "Yes, Mr Standish."
The psychologist nodded tersely, brushed a non-existent
speck of dust off the top of his
fdleicskke,d another brief
smileon and off at Kate and then escorted her out of his office into the corridor which was immaculatelywlaitihdthe sortof beige carpet which gave everyone who walked on it electric shocks.
"Here, you see," said Standisihn,dicating part of the
wallthey were walking past with an idle wave of his hand, but
not making it in any way clear what it was he wished her to see or what she was supposed to understand from it.
"And this," he said, apparently pointing at a door hinge.
"Ah," he added, as the door swung open towards tKheamte.
wasalarmed to find herself giving a little expectant start every time a door opened anywhere in this place.wTashinsot
the sort of behaviour she expected of a worldly-wise New Yorker journalist,even if she didn't actually live in New York and
only wrote travel articles fmoragazines. It still was not
rightfor her to be looking for large blond men every time a door opened.

There was no large blond man. There was insatesamdall,
sandy-haired girl of about ten years old, being pushed along in
a wheelchair. She seemed very pale, sick and withdrawn, and was murmuring something soundlessly to herself. Whatever it was she wasmurmuring seemed to cause her worry and agitation, and she would flop this way then that inchhaeirr as if trying to
escapefrom the words coming out of her mouth. Kate was instantly moved by the sight of her, andanoinmpulse asked the nurse who was pushing her along to stop.
She squatted down to look kindly into the girl's face,
which seemed to please the nurse a little, but Mr Standish less so.
Kate did not try to demand gthirel's attention, merely
gaveher an open and friendly smile to see if she wanted to respond, but the girl seemed unwilling or unable tom. oHuethr
workedaway endlessly, appearing almost to lead an existence that was independent of the rest of her face.
Now that Kate looked at her more clositeslyeemed that shelooked not so much sick and withdrawn as weary, harassed and unutterably fed up. She needed a rleitstlte, she needed
peace, but her mouth kept motoring on.
For a fleeting instant her eyes caught Kate's, and the message Kate received was along the lionfe"sI'm sorry but you'lljust have to excuse me while all this is going on". The girl took a deep breath, half-closed ehyeers in resignation

and continued her relentless silent murmuring.
Kate leant forward a little in an attempt to catch any actual words, but she couldn't make anything out.shSohtean enquiring look up at Standish.
He said, simply, "Stock market prices."
A look of amazement crept over Kate's face. Standish added with a wry shrug, "Yesterday's, I'm
afraid."
Kate flinched at having her reaction so wildly misinterpreted,and hurriedly looked back at the girl in order to cover her confusion.
"You mean," shesaid, rather redundantly, "she's just sittinghere reciting yesterday's stock market prices?" The girl rolled her eyes past Kate's.
"Yes," said Standish. "It took a lip reatodewr ork out
whatwas going on. We all got rather excited, of course, but thencloser examination revealed that they were only yesterday'swhich was a bit of a disappointment. Not that significant a case really. Aberrant behavioIunrte. resting to
know why she does it, but - "
"Hold on a moment," said Kate, trying to sound very interested rather than absolutely horrifie"da,re you saying thatshe is reciting - what? - the closing prices over and over, or - "
"No. That's an interesting feature of courSshee.
pretty
much keeps pace with movements in the market over the course of

a whole day. Just twenty-four hours out of step." "But that's extraordinary, isn't it?"
"Oh yes. Quite a feat." "A _feat_?"
"Well, as a scientist, I have to take the view that since the informationis freely available, she is acquiring it throughnormal channels. There's no necessity in this case to
invent any supernatural or paranonnal dimension. Occam's razor. Shouldn't needlessly multiply entities."
"But has anyoneseen her studying the newspapers, or copying stuff down over the phone?"
She looked up at the nurse, who shook her head, dumbly. "No, never actually caught her at it," said Standish. "As
I said, it's quite a feat. I'm sure a stage magicmiaenmorry man could tell you how it was done."
"Have you asked one?"
"No. Don't hold with such people."
"But do you really think that she could possibly be doing this deliberately?" insisted Kate.
"Believe me, if you understood as much about peaospIle
do,Miss, er - you would believe anything," said Standish, in his most professionally reassuring tone of voice.
Kate stared into the tired, wretchfeadce of the young girl and said nothing.
"You have to understand," said Standish, "that we have to

be rational about thiIsf.it was tomorrow's stock market prices,it would be a different story. That would be a
phenomenon of an entirely different character which would merit and demand the most rigorous study. And I'm surehawvee'dno difficultyin funding the research. There would be absolutely
no problem about that."
"I see," said Kate, and meant it.
She stood up,
laittle stiftly, and brushed down her
skirt.
"So," she said, and felt ashamed of herself, "who is your newest patient? Whhoas arrived most recently, then?" She shudderedat the crassness of the _non sequitur_, but
reminded herself that she was thaesrea journalist, so it would not seem odd.
Standish waved the nurse and the wheelchair with its sad charge on their way. Kate glanced back agtirtlhoence, and thenfollowed Standish through the swing-doors and into the next section of corridor, which was identicathl etoprevious
one.
"Here, you see," said Standish again, this time apparently in relation to a window frame.
"And this," he said, pointing at a light.
He had obviously either notheard her question or was deliberately ignoring it. Perhaps, thought Kate, he swimapsly treating it with the contempt it deserved.
It suddenly dawned on her what all this _Here you

see_, and _And this_ing was about. He was asking her to
admire the quality of the decor. The windows were sawsihthes,
finelymade and beautifully painted beads; the light fittings
were of a heavy dull metal, probably nickel-plated - and so on. "Very fine," she said accommodatinglayn, d then noticed
thatthis had sounded an odd thing to say in her American accent.
"Nice place you've got heres,h"e added, thinking that that would please him.
It did. He allowed himself a subdued beam of pleasure. "We like to think of it as a quality caring environment,"
he said.
"You must get a lot of people wanting to come
Kheartee,"
continued,plugging away at her theme. "How often do you admit new patients? When was the last -?"
With her left hand she carefully restrained her right hand which wanted to strangle her at this moment.
A door they were passing was slightly ajar, and she tried, unobtrusively, to look in.
"Very well, we'll take loaok in here," said Standish immediately, pushing the door fully open, on what transpired to be quite a small room.
"Ah yes," Standishsaid, recognising the occupant. He ushered Kate in.
The occupant of the room was another non-large, non-blond

person. Kate was beginnintog find the wholevisit to be somethingof an emotionally wearing experience, and she had a feeling that things were not about to ease up in that respect.
The man sitting in the bedside chwahirile his bed was
beingmade up by a hospital orderly was one of the most deeply and disturbingly tousled people that Khaated ever seen. In
factit was only his hair that was tousled, but it was tousled to such an extreme degree that it seemeddrawto all of his
long face up into its distressed chaos.
He seemed quite content to sit where he was, but there was somethingtremendously vacant about his contentedness - he
seemed literally to bceontent about nothing. There was a
completely empty space hanging in the air about eighteen inches infront of his face, and his contentedness, if it sprang from anything, sprang from staring at that.
There was also a sense that he was waitingsomfoerthing. Whetherit was something that was about to happen at any moment, or something that was gotionghappen later in the week,or even something that was going to happen some little while after hell iced over and British Telecomthegopthones
fixedwas by no means apparent because it seemed to be all the same to him. If it happened he rweaadsy for it and if it
didn't - he was content.
Kate found such contentedness almost unbearably distressing.
"What's the matter with him?" she said quieatnlyd, then

instantlyrealised that she was talking as if he wasn't there when hecould probably speak perfectly well for himself. Indeed, at that moment, he suddenly did speak.
"Oh, er, hi," he said. "OK, yeah, thank you."
"Er, hello," she said, in response, though it didn't seem quite to fit. Or rather, what he had said didn't seemto quite
fit.Standish made a gesture to her to discourage her from speaking.
"Er, yeah, a bagel would be fine," said the contented man. He said it in a flat koifntdone, as if merely repeating
something he had been given to say.
"Yeah, and maybe some juice," he added. "OK, thanks." He then relaxed into his state of empty watchfulness.
"A very unusual condition," saSidtandish, "that is to say,we can only believe that it is entirely unique. I've
certainly never heard of anything remotely like it. It has also proved virtually impossible to verify beyond questthioant it
iswhat it appears to be, so I'm glad to say that we have been
spared the embarrassment of attempting to give the condaition
name."
"Would you like me to help Mr Elwes back to bed?" asked the orderly of Standish. Standish nodded. He dbidonth'ter to
waste words on minions.
The orderly bent down to talk to the patient. "Mr Elwes?" he said quietly.

Mr Elwes seemed to swim up out of a reverie.
"Mmmm?" he said, and suddenly looked around. He seemed confused.
"Oh! Oh? What?" he said faintly.
"Would you like me to help you back to bed?"
"Oh. Oh, thank you, yes. Yes, that would be kind." Though clearly dazed and bewildered, MElrwes was quite
ableto get himself back into bed, and all the orderly needed
to supply was reassurance and encouragement. Once Mr Ewlwases
wellsettled, the orderly nodded politely to Standish and Kate and made his exit.
Mr Elwes quickly lapsed back inhtios trancelike state, lyingpropped up against an escarpment of pillows. His head dropped forward slightly and he staredonaet of his knees, poking up bonily from under the covers.
"Get me New York," he said.
Kate shot a puzzled glance at Standish, hoping for some kind of explanation, but got none.
"Oh, OK," said Mr Elwes, "it's 541 something. Hold on." He spoke another four digits of a number in his dead, flat voice.
"What is happening here?" asked Kate at last.
"It took us rather a long time to work it out. It was only quite by the remotest chance that someone discoviet.reTdhat television was on in the room... "
He pointed to the small portable set off to one side of
the bed.

". . .tuned to one of those chat programthminegs, which happenedto be going out live. Most extraordinary thing. Mr Elwes was sitting here muttering about how mhuechhated the
BBC - don't know if it was the BBC, perhaps it was one of those otherchannels they have now - and was expressing an opinion
about thehost of the programme, to the effect that he consideredhim to be a rectum of some kind, and saying furthermore that he wished the whole thing was aonvdetrhat, yes,all right he was coming, and then suddenly what he was sayingand what was on the television began in some extraordinary way almost to synchronise."
"I don't understand what you mean," said Kate.
"I'd be surprised if you did," said Standish. "Everything that Elwes said was thseanid just a moment later on the
televisionby a gentleman by the name of Mr Dustin Hoffman. It seems that Mr Elwes here knows everything that thiHsoMffmr an isgoing to say just a second or so before he says it. It is
not, I have to say, something thatHMoffrman would be very pleasedabout if he knew. Attempts have been made to alert the gentleman to the problem, but hhaes proved to be somewhat
difficult to reach."
"Just what the shit is going on here?" asked Mr Elwes placidly.
"Mr Hoffman is, we believe, currenmtlyaking a film on
location somewhere on the west coast of America."

He looked at his watch.
"I think he has probably just woken up in his hotel and is making his early morning phone calls," he added.
Kate was gazing with astonishment between Standish and the extraordinary Mr Elwes.
"How long has the poor man been like this?"
"Oh, about five years I think. Started absolutely out of the blue. He was sitting having dinner with his famildyayone
asusual when suddenly he started complaining about his
caravan. And then shortly afterwards abhoouwt
he was being
shot.He then spent the entire night talking in his sleep,
repeating the same apparently meaningless phrases over and over again and also saying that he didn't think much of the way they were written. It was a very trying time for his famyiolyu, as
canimagine, living with such a perfectionist actor and not even realising it. It now seems vseurryprising how long it
tookthem to identify what was occurring. Particularly when he once woke them all up in the ehaorulyrs of the morning to
thank them and the producer and the director for his Oscar." Kate, who didn't realise that the day was still only
softening her up for what wascotmo e, made the mistake of thinking that it had just reached a climax of shock.
"The poor man," she said in a hushed voice. "What a pathetic state to be in. He's ljiuvisntg as someone else's shadow."
"I don't think he's in any pain."

Mr Elwes appeared to be quietly locked in a bitter
argument which seemed to touch on the definitions owfotrhdes
"points" "gross", "profits" and "limo".
"But the implications of this are extraordinary aren't they?" said Kate. "He's actually saytihnegse things moments before Dustin Hoffman?"
"Well, it's all conjecture of course. We've only got a few clear instances of absolute correlation and we just haven't got the opportunityto do more thorough research. One has to
recognise that those few instances of dicreocrrtelation were
not rigorously documented and could more simply be explained as coincidence.The rest could be merely the product of an
elaborate fantasy."
"But if you put this case next to that of the girl we just saw... "
"Ah, well we can't do that you see. We have to ejaucdhge
case on its own merits."
"But they're both in the same world..."
"Yes, but there are separate issues. Obviously, if Mr Elwes here could demonstrate significant precognitoiof,nfor instance,the head of the Soviet Union or, better still, the President of the United States, thcelenarly there would be importantdefence issues involved and one might be prepared to stretch a point on the question of wishaantd what is not
coincidence and fantasy, but for a mere screen actor - that is,

a screen actor with no apparent designs on political office - I thinkthat, no, we have to stick to the principles of rigorous science.
"So," he added, turning to leave, adnradwing Kate with him,"I think that in the cases of both Mr Elwes and, er,
what-was-her-name, the charming girl in the wheelchair, it may
be that we are not able to be of much more help to them, and we may need the space and facilities for more deserving cases."
Kate could think of nothing to say toatnhdisfollowed, seething dumbly.
"Ah, now here we have an altogether much more interesting and promising case," said Standish, forgoinngahead through
the next set of double doors.
Kate was trying to keep her reactions under control, but nevertheless even someone as glassy and Martian asStaMndr ish couldnot help but detect that his audience was not absolutely with him. A little extra brusqueness and impatience icnrteopt
hisdemeanour, to join forces with the large quantities of brusqueness and impatience which were already there.
They paced down the corridor for a few seconds in silence. Kate was looking for other waoyf scasually introducing the
subjectof recent admissions, but was forced to concede to herself that you cannot attempt to introducesatmhee subject threetimes in a row without beginning to lose that vital quality of casualness. She glancedsuarsreptitiously as she
couldat each door they passed, but most were firmly closed,

and the ones that were not revealed nothing of interest. She glanced out of a window as twheaylked past it and
noticeda van turning into a roar courtyard. It caught her attention in the brief instant tiht awt as within her view
becauseit very clearly wasn't a baker's van or a laundry van. Baker's vans and laundry vans advertise their business and have words like "Bakery" and "Laundry" painted on them, whereas this van was completely blank. It had absolutely nothinsgayttoo
anyone nnd it said it loudly and distinctly.
It was a large, heavy, serious-looking van that was almost on theverge of being an actual lorry, and it was painted in a uniform dark metallic grey. It reminded Kate ohfutghee
gun-metal-grey freight lorries which thunder through Bulgaria and
Yugoslavia on their way from Albania with nothing buwtotrhde
"Albania"stencilled on their sides. She remembered wondering what it was that the Albanians exportesducihn an anonymous
way,but when on one occasion she had looked it up, she found thattheir only export was electricity - which, if she
rememberedher high school physics correctly, was unlikely to be moved around in lorries.
The large,serious-looking van turned and started to reversetowards a rear entrance to the hospital. Whatever it was that the van usually carried, Kate thouitgwhta,s about either to pick it up or deliver it. She moved on.
A few moments later Standish arrived at a door, knocked at

it gentlyand looked enquiringly into the room within. He then beckoned to Kate to follow him in.
This was a room of an altogether different sort.
Immediatelywithin the door was an ante-room with a very large window through which the main room could be seen. The two rooms were clearly sound-proofed from each other, because the anteroom wasdecked out with monitoring equipment and computers,
not one of which but didn't hum loudly to itself, amndainthe
room contained a woman lying in bed, asleep.
"Mrs Elspeth May," said Standish, and clearly felt that he was introducingthe top of the bill. Her room was obviously a very good one - spacious and furnished comfortaanbdly
expensively. Fresh flowers stood on every surface, and the
bedside table on which Mrs May's knitting lay was of mahogany. She herself was a comfortably shapesdil,ver-haired lady
of late middle age, and she was lying asleep half propped up in bedon a pile of pillows, wearing a pink woolly cardigan. Aher
a moment it became clear to Kate that though she was asleep she was by no means inactive. Her head lay back peacefully with her eyes closed, but her right hand was clutching awhpicehn was scribblingaway furiously on a large pad of paper which lay
beside her. The hand, like the wheelchair girl's msoeuetmh,ed tolead an independent and feverishly busy existence. Some
small pinkish electrodes were taped to Mrs May's forejhuestad
belowher hairline, and Kate assumed that these were providing
some of the readings which danced acrosscothmeputer screens

inthe ante-room in which she and Standish stood. Two whitecoated men and a woman msaotnitoring the equipment, and a nursestood watching through the window. Standish exchanged a couple of brief words with them oncuthrreent state of the
patient, which was universally agreed to be excellent. Kate could not escape the impression that she ought to
know who Mrs May was, but she didn't and was forced to ask.
"She is a medium," said Standish a little cro"sasslyI,
assumedyou would know. A medium of prodigious powers. She is
currently in a trance and engaged in automatic writingi.s She
takingdictation. Virtually every piece of dictation she
receives is of inestimable value. You have not heard of her?" Kate admitted that she had not.
"Well, you are no doubt familiar with the lady who claimed that Mozart, Beethoven and Schubweret re dictating music to
her?"
"Yes, I did hear about that. There was a lot of stuff in colour supplements about her a few years ago."
"Her claims were, well, interesting, if that's the sort of thing you'reinterested in. The music was certainly more consistentwith what might be produced by each of those gentlemen quickly and before breakfast, than it wwitahswhat you would expect from a musically unskilled middle-aged housewife."
Kate could not let this pomposity pass.

"That's a rathersexist viewpoint," she said, "George
Eliot was a middle-aged housewife."
"Yes, yes," said Standish testily, "but she wasn't taking musical dictation from the deceasWedolfgang Amadeus. That's thepoint I'm making. Please try and follow the logic of this argument and do not introduce irrelevancies. feIflt fIor a
moment that the example of George Eliot could shed any light on ourpresent problem, you could rely on me to introduce it
myself.
"Where was I?" "I don't know."
"Mabel. Doris? Was that her name? Let ushcearlMl
abel.
Thepoint is that the easiest way of dealing with the Doris problem was simply to ignore it. Nothing very impohritnagnetd onit at alI. A few concerts. Second rate material. But here, here we have something of an altogether diffenent nature."
He said this last in hushed tones and turned to study a TV
monitor which stood among tbhaenk of computer screens. It
showed a close-up of Mrs May's hand scuttling across her pad of paper.Her hand largely obscured what she had written, but it appeared to be mathematics of some kind.
"Mrs May is, or so she claims, taking dictation sforomme
ofthe greatest physicists. From Einstein and from Heisenberg and Planck. And it is very hard to dispute her cbleaicmauss, e theinformation being produced here, by automatic writing, by this...untutored lady, is in fact physicsa voefry profound

order.
"From the late Einstein we are getting more and more refinements to our picture of how taimnde space work at a macroscopiclevel, and from the late Heisenberg and Planck we are increasing our understanding of the fundamesnttraulctures ofmatter at a quantum level. And there is absolutely no doubt that this information is edging us cloansedr closer towards
the elusive goal of a Grand Unified Field Theory of Everything. "Now this produces a very interesting, not to say somewhat
embarrassingsituation for scientists because the means by which the information is reachingseuesms to be completely contrary to the meaning of the information."
"It's like Uncle Henry," said Kate, suddenly. Standish looked at her blankly.
"Uncle Henry thinks he's a chicken," Kate explained. Standish looked at her blankly again.
"You must have heard it," said Kate. "`We're terribly worried about Uncle Henry. He thinks ahec'hsicken.' `Well,
whydon't you send him to the doctor?' `Well, we would only we need the eggs.'".
Standish stared at her as if a small but perffeocrtmlyed
elderberry tree had suddenly sprung unbidden from the bridge of her nose.
"Say that again," he said in a small, shocked voice.
"What, all of it?"

"All of it."
Kate stuck her fist on her hip and said it again, doing
the voices with a bit more dash and Southern accents this time. "'That's brilliant," Standish breathed when she had done.
"You must haveheard it before," she said, a little surprised by this response. "It's an old joke."
"No," he said, "I have not. We need the eggs. We need the
_eggs_. We _need_ the eggs. `We can't send him
to the doctor because _we need the egAgsn_.a'stounding insightinto the central paradoxes of the human condition and ofour indefatigable facility for constructing adaptive
rationales to account for it. Good God." Kate shrugged.
"And you say this is a joke?" demanded Standish incredulously.
"Yes. It's very old, really."
"And are they all like that? I never realised." "Well - "
"I'm astounded,"said Standish, "utterly astounded. I thoughtthat jokes were things that fat people said on television and I never listened to thIemfee. l that people have been keeping something from me. Nurse!"
The nurse who had been keeping watch on Mts May through the window jumped at being barked at unexpectedly like this.
"Er, yes, Mr Standish?" shseaid. He clearly made her
nervous.

"Why have you never told me any jokes?"
The nurse stared at him, and quivered at the impossibility
of even knowing how to think about answering such a question. "Er, well... "
"Make a note of it will you? In future I will require you and all the other staff in this hospittaell tmoe all the
jokes you have at your disposal, is that understood?" "Er, yes, Mr Standish - "
Standish looked at her with doubt and suspicion.
"You do know some jokes do you, nurse?" he challenged her. "Er, yes, Mr Standish, I think, yes I do."
"Tell me one."
"What, er, now, Mr Standish?" "This instant."
"Er, well, um - there's one which is that a patient wakes up after having, well, that is, he's been ttoo, seurr,gery,
andhe wakes up and, it's not very good, but anyway, he's been
to surgery and he says to the doctor when he wakes up, 'Doctor, doctor, what's wrong with me, I can't feelegms.y' And the
doctorsays, `Yes, I'm afraid we've had to amputate both your arms.' And that's it really. Er, that's hwehcyouldn't feel
his legs, you see."
Mr Standish looked at her levelly for a moment or two. "You're on report, nurse," he said.
"Yes, Mr Standish."

He turned to Kate.
"Isn't there one about a chicken crossing a road or some such thing?"
"Er, yes," said Kate, doubtfully. She felt she cwauagsht in a bit of a situation here.
"And how does that go?"
"Well," said Kate, "it goes `Why did the chicken cross the road?'"
"Yes? And?"
"And the answer is `To get to the other side'."
"I see." Standish considered things for a moment. "And
what does this chicken do when it arrives at the othoerf
the road?."
side
"History does not relate," replied Kate promptly. "I think that fallsoutside the scope of the joke, which really only
concerns itself with the journey of the chicken across the road
and the chicken's reasons for making it. It's alikliettale
Japanese _haiku_ in that respect."
Kate suddenly found she was enjoying herself. She managed
a surreptitious wink at the nurse, who had no idea what to make of anything at all.
"I see," said Standish once again, afnrodwned. "And do these,er, jokes require the preparatory use of any form of artificial stimulant?"
"Depends on the joke, depends on who it's being told to."
"Hmm, well I must say, you've certainly openeda ruicph

furrow for me, Miss, er. It seems to me that the whole field of humour could benefit from close and immediate scrutiny. Clearly weneed to sort out the jokes which have any kind of genuine psychological value fromthose which merely encourage drug
abuse and should be stopped. Good."
He turned to address the white-coated nesearcher who was studying the TV monitor on whMichrs May's scribblings were being tracked.
"Anything fresh of value from Mr Einstein?" he asked.
The researrher did not move his eyes from the screen. He replied, "It says `How would you yliokuer eggs? Poached or boiled?'"
Again, Standish paused.
"Interesting," he said, "very interesting. Continue to
make at careful note of everything she writes. Come." This last he said to Kate, and made his way out of the room.
"Very strange people, physicists," he said as soon as they were outside again. "Imny experience the ones who aren't actuallydead are in some way very ill. Well, the afternoon
presses on and I'm sure that you are keen to get away and write your article, Miss,er. I certainly have things urgently
awaiting my attention and patients awaiting my care. So, if you have no more questions - "
"There is just one thing, Mr Standish." Kate decided, to
hell with it. "We need to emphasise that it's up to the minute.

Perhaps if you could spare a couple more miwnuetecsould go and see whoever is your most recent admission."
"I think that would be a little tricky. Our last admission
was about a month ago and she died of pneumonia two weeks after admission."
"Oh, ah. Well, perhaps that isn't so thrilling. So. No new admissionsin the last couple of days. No admissions of anyone particularly large or blond or Nordic, wiftuhr caoat or a sledgehammerperhaps. I mean, just for instance." An
inspiration struck her. "A re-admission perhaps?" Standish regarded her with deepening suspicion. "Miss, er - "
"Schechter."
"Miss Schechter, I begin to get the impressthioant your interests in the hospital are not - "
He was interrupted at that moment by the swing-doors just
behind them in the corridor being pushed open. He lookteod up
see who it was, and as he did so his manner changed. He motioned Kate sharply to stand aside while a large
trolley bed was wheeled through dthoeors by an orderly. A sisterand another nurse followed in attendance, and gave the impression that they were the entourage in a procersastihoenr than merely nurses about their normal business.
The occupant of the trolley was a delicately frail old man with skin like finely veined parchment.
The rear section of the trolley was inclined upwards at a

very slight angle so that the old man could survey the world as it passed him, anhde surveyed it with a kind of quiet,
benevolenthorror. His mouth hung gently open and his head lolled very slightly, sthoat every slightest bump in the
progressof the trolley caused it to roll a little to one side or the other. Yet in spite of his fragile listlessness, the air he emanated was thoaft very quietly, very gently, owning everything.
It was the one eye which conveyed this. Each thing it rested on, whether it was the view throauwghindow, or the nursewho was holding back the door so that the trolley could move through it without impediment, or wheitthweras on Mr
Standish,who suddenly was all obsequious charm and obeisance,
all seemed instantly gathered up into the domain rulethdatby
eye.
Kate wondered for a moment how it was that eyes conveyed such an immense amount of information about their owTnheerys.
were,after all, merely spheres of white gristle. They hardly
changed as they got older, apart from getting a bit arend er
abit runnier. The iris opened and closed a bit, but that was all. Wheredid all this flood of information come from? Particularlyin the case of a man with only one of them and only a sealed up flap of skin in place of the other.
She was interrupted in this line of thoubgyhtthe fact
that at that instant the eye in question moved on from Standish

andsettled on her. The grip it exerted was so startling that she almost yelped.
With the frailest of faint motions the moaldn signalled tothe orderly who was pushing the trolley to pause. The
trolley drew to a halt and when the noise of its rolling wheels was stilled there was, for a moment, no other noise to be heard other than the distant hum of an elevator.
Then the elevator stopped.
Kate returned his look with a little smiling fraoswifn
to say, "Sorry, do I know you?" and then wondered to herself if infact she did. There was some fleeting familiarity about his
face, but she couldn't quite catchShiet. was impressed to noticethat though this was only a trolley bed he was in, the bed linen thahtis hands lay on was real linen, freshly
laundered and ironed.
Mr Standish coughed slightly and said, "Miss, er, this is one of our most valued and, er, cherished patients, Mr-"
"Are you quite comfortableM, r Odwin?" interrupted the Sisterhelpfully. But there was no need. This was one patient whose name Standish most certainly knew.
Odin quieted her with the slightest of gestures. "Mr Odwin," said Standish, "this is Miss, er - "
Kate was about to introduce herself once more when she was suddenly taken completely by surprise.
"I know exactly who she is," sOaidin in a quiet but
distinct voice, and there was in his eye for a moment the sense

of an aerosol looking meaningfully at a wasp. She tried to be very formal and English. "I'm afraid," she said stiffly, "that you have the
advantage of me." "Yes," said Odin.
He gestured to thoerderly, and together they resumed their leisurely passage down the corridor. Glances were exchanged between Standish and the Sister, tahnedn Kate was startledto notice that there was someone else standing in the corridor there with them.
He had not, presumably, appeared there mbaygic. He had merelystood still when the trolley moved on, and his height, or rather his lack of it, was such that he had hsiitmheprltyo
been hidden behind it.
Things had been much better when he had been hidden.
There are some people you like immediately, some whom you think you might learn to like in the fullness of time, and some that you simply want to push away from you with astischka.rp
Itwas instantly apparent into which category, for Kate, the person of Toe Rag feHlle. grinned and stared at her, or rather,appeared to stare at some invisible fly darting round her head.
He ran up, and before she could prevent him, grahbobledd
of her right hand in his and shook it wildly up and down.
"I, too, have the advantage of you, Miss Schechter," he

said, and gleefully skipped away up the corridor.
Chapter 12
The large, serious-looking grey vamnoved smoothly down thedriveway, emerged through the stone gates and dipped sedately as it turned off the gravel and on atosphthaelt of
thepublic road. The road was a windy country lane lined with the wintry silhouettes of leafless oanksd dead elms. Grey cloudswere piled high as pillows in the sky. The van made its
stately progress away down the lane and soon was lost among its further twists and turns.
A few minutes latetrhe yellow Citroën made its less statelyappearance between the gates. It turned its splayed wheels up on to the camber of the lane and asteta solfofw but difficult rate in the same direction.
Kate was rattled.
The last few minutes had been rather unpleasant. Standish was clearly an oddly behaved mantheatbest of times, but aftertheir encounter with the patient named Odwin, he had turned unequivocally hostile. It was ftrhigehtening hosulity
of one who was himself frightened - of what, Kate did not know. Who was she? he had demanded to know. How had she wheedled
a refenenceout of Alan Franklin, a respected man in the profession? What was she after? What - andsetehmised to be
thebig one - had she done to arouse the disapprobation of Mr

Odwin?
She held the car grimly to the road naesgoittiated the bendswith considerable difficulty and the straight sections
with only slightly less. The car had landed her in court on one occasion when one of its frwonhteels hadsailed off on a
little expedition of its own and nearly caused an accident. The policewitness in court had referred to her beloved Citroën as
"the alleged car" and the name had subsequently stuckw. aSshe
particularlyfond of the alleged car for many reasons. If one of its doors, for instance, fell off she could bpauctk iot n
herself, which is more than you could say for a BMW. She wondered if she looked as pale and wan as she felt,
but the rear-view mirror was rattling around under thesoseat
she was spared the knowledge.
Standish himself had become quite white and shaky at the
very idea of anybody crossing Mr Odwin and had dismissed out of hand Kate's attempts to deny that she knew anythihnigm oaft
all.If that were the case, he had demanded of her, why then
had Mr Odwin made it perfectly clear that he knew hers?heWas
accusingMr Odwin of being a liar? If she was then she should have a care for herself.
Kate didnot know. The encounter withMr Odwin was completelyinexplicable to her. But she could not deny to
herself that the man packed some kind of punch. Whleonokheed
at you you stayed looked at. But beneath the disturbing quality

of his steady gaze had lain some even more disturbing undercurrents. They werme ore disturbing because they were undercurrents of weakness and fear.
And as for the other creature. . .
Clearly he was the cause of the stories that had arisen
recently in the more extremely abhorrent sectors of the tabloid
press about there being "Something Nasty in the Woodshead". The storieshad, of course, been offensive and callously
insensitiveand had largely been ignored by everybody in the country except for those very few milliwonhso were keen on offensive and callously insensitive things.
The stories had claimed that people in the nrea had been
"terrorised"by some repulsively deformed "goblin-like"
creature who regularly broke out of the Woodshead and committed an impressively wide range of unspeakable acts.
Like most people, Kate had assumed, insofar as she had thought about it at all, that whatahctaudally happened was thatsome poor bewildered mental patient had wandered out of
the grounds and given a couple of passing old ladies a bit of a turn, and that the slavering hacokf sWapping had done the
rest. Now she was a little more shaky and a little less sure. He - it - had known her name.
What could she make of that?
What she made of it was a wrong turning. In her
preoccupation she missed the turning that would take hteor on
themain road back to London, and then had to work out what to

do about it. She could simply
adtohree-point turn and go
back,but it was a long time since she had last put the car
into reverse gear, and she was frankly a bit nervoushaobwout
it would take to it.
She tried taking the next two right turns to see if that would set her straight, but she nhoadgreat hopes of this actuallyworking, and was right not to have. She drove on for two or three miles, knowing that she was on the wrongburtmad
atleast, judging from the position of the lighter grey smear in the grey clouds, going in the right direction.
After a while she settled down to this new route. A couple of signposts she passed madecleitar to her that she was merelytaking the B route back to London now, which she was perfectly happy to do. If she had thought abouat divtainnce,
she would probably have chosen to do so anyway in preference to the busy trunk road.
The trip had been a total failure, and she would have done far bettersimply to have stayed soaking in the bath all
afternoon. The whole experience had been thoroughly disturbing,
verging on the frightening, and she had drawn a combplalnetke
asfar as her actual objective was concemed. It was bad enough having an objective that schoeuld hardly bring herself to
admitto, without having it completely fall apart on her as well. A sense of stale futiglirtaydually closed in on her
along with the general greyness of the sky.

She wondered if she was going very slightly mad. Her life seemed to have drifted completely outheorfcontrol in the
lastfew days, and it was distressing to realise just how
fragile her grip was when it could so easily be shatteared by
relatively minor thunderbolt or meteorite or whatever it was. The word "thunderbolt" seemed to have arrived in the
middle of that thought without warning and she didn't know what to make of it, so she just let it lie ththeereboatttom of
hermind, like the towel lying on her bathroom floor that she hadn't been bothered to pick up.
She longed for some sun to break through. The miles ground along under her wheels, the clouds grohuenrddown, and she foundherself increasingly thinking of penguins. At last she
felt she could stand it no more and decided that a few minutes' walk was what she needed to shake her out of her mood.
She stopped the car at tshiede of the road, and the elderlyJaguar which had been following her for the last
seventeen miles ran straight into the back of her, which worked just as well.
Chapter 13
With a delicious shock of raKgeate leapt, invigorated,
outof her car and ran to harangue the driver of the other car who was, in turn, leaping out of his in order to harangue her.
"Why don't you look where youg'roeing?" she yelled at

him.He was a rather overweight man who had been driving
wearing a long leather coat and a rather ugly reddeshpaite,
thediscomfort this obviously involved. Kate warmed to him for it.
"Why don't I look where I'rn going?" he rephleieadtedly. "Don't you look in your near-view mirror?"
"No," said Kate, putting her fists on her hips. "Oh," said her adversary. "Why not?"
"Because it's under the seat."
"I see," he replied grimly. "Thank you for being so frank with me. Do you have a lawyer?"
"Yes I do, as a matter of fact," said KShaetes.aid it with vim and hauteur.
"Is he any good?" said the man in the hat. "I'm going to need one. Mine's popped into prison for a while."
"Well, you certainly can't have mine." "Why not?"
"Don't be absurd. It would be a clear conflict of interest."
Her adversary folded his arms and leant back against the bonnetof his car. He took his time to survey the surroundings.The lane was growing dim as the early winter
evening began to settle on the land. He then leant into his car to turn on his hazard warning indicators. The rear amber lights
winked prettily on the scrubby grass of the roadside. The front

lights were buried in the rear of Kate's Citroën and were in no fit state to wink.
He resumed his leaning posture and looked Kate up and down appraisingly.
"You are a driver," he said, "and I usewothrde in the loosestpossible sense, i.e. meaning merely somebody who
occupies the driving seat of what I will for the mome-nt call
butI use the term strictly without prejudice - a car while it is proceeding along the road, of stupendous, I weovuelndsay vergingon the superhuman, lack of skill. Do you catch my drift?"
"No."
"I mean you do not drive well. Do you know you've been all over the road for the last seventeen miles?"
"Seventeen miles!" exclaimed Kate. "Have you been following me?"
"Only up to a point," said Dirk. "I've tried to stay on this side of the road."
"I see. Well, thank you in turn for bseoinfgrank with
me.This, I need hardly tell you, is an outrage. You'd better get yourself a damn goloadwyer, because mine's going to
stick red-hot skewers in him."
"Perhaps I should get myself a kebab instead."
"You look as if you've had quite enough kebabs. May I ask you why you were following me?"
"You looked as if you knew where you were goinbge. gTino

with at least. For the first hundred yards or so.".
"What the hell's it got to do with you where I was going?" "Navigational technique of mine."
Kate narrowed her eyes.
She was about to demand a full and instant explanation of this preposterous remarwk hen a passing white Ford Sierra
slowed down beside them.
The driver wound down the window and leant out. "Had a crash then?" he shouted at them.
"Yes."
"Ha!" he said and drove on.
A second or two later a Peugeot stopped by them. "Who wasthat just now?" the driver asked them, in
reference to the previous driver who had just stopped. "I don't know," said Dirk.
"Oh," said the driver. "You look as if you've bad a crash of some sort."
"Yes," said Dirk.
"Thought so," said the driver and drove on.
"You don't get the same quality of passers-by tdhaeyses, do you?" said Dirk to Kate.
"You get hit by some real dogs, too," said Kate. "I still want to know why you were following me. You rtehaaltisiet's
hard for me not to see you in the role of an extremely sinister
sort of a person."

"That's easily explained," said Dirk. "Usually I am. On
this occasion, however, I simply got lost. I was forced to take evasive action by a large grey oncoming van whicha took
proprietorial view of the road. I only avoided it by nipping down a side lane in whicwh aIs then unable to reverse. A few
turningslater nnd I was thoroughly lost. There is a school of thought which says that ysohuould consult a map on these occasions,but to such people I merely say, `Ha! What if you
have no map to consult? What if you have a map butht eit's of
Dordogne?'My own strategy is to find a car, or the nearest equivalent, which looks as if it knowwhsere it's going and followit. I rarely end up where I was intending to go, but often I end up somewhere that I needed to bweh. aSt odo you say to that?"
"Piffle."
"A robust response. I salute you."
"l was going to say that I do the same thing myself sometimes, but I've decided not to admit that yet."
"Very wise," said Dirk. "You don't want to agwivaey too much at this point. Play it enigmatic is my advice."
"I don't want your advice. Where were you trying to get before suddenly deciding that driving seventemeinles in the opposite direction would help you get there?"
"A place called the Woodshead." "Ah, the mental hospital."
"You know it?"

"I've been driving away from it for the last seventeen
miles and I wish it was further. Which ward will yino?uI be
need to know where to send the repair bill."
"They don't have wards," said Dirk. "And I think they would be distressed to hear you call it a mental hospital."
"Anything that distresses 'em is fine by me." Dirk looked about him.
"A fine evening," he said. "No it isn't."
"I see," said Dirk. "You have, if I may say so, the air of one to whom her day has not been a source oorfspjoiryitual enrichment."
"Too damn right, it hasn't," said Kate. "I've had the sort of daythat would make St Francis of Assisi kick babies. Particularly if you include Tuesday in with today, which is the last time I was actually conscious. And now lookb.eaMutyiful
car. The only thing I can say in favour of the whole shebang is that at least I'm not in Oslo."
"I can see how that might cheer you."
"I didn't say it cheered me. It just about stops me killing myself. mI ight as well save myself the bother
anyway, with people like you so keen to do it for me." "You were my able assistant, Miss Schechter." _ "Stop
doing that!"_
"Stop doing what?"

"My name! Suddenly every stranger I mkeneot ws my name.
Would you guys please just quit knowing my name for one second? Howcan a girl be enigmatic under these conditions? The only
person I met who didn't seem to know my name was the only one I
actually introduced myself to. All right," ssahide, pointing anaccusing finger at Dirk, "you're not supernatural, so just tell me how you knew my name. I'm not lettionfgyoguor tie
till you tell me."
"You haven't got hold of - " "I have now, buster."
"Unhand me!"
"Why were you following me?" insisted Kate. "How do you know my name?"
"I was following you for exactly rtehaesons stated. As
for your name, my dear lady, you practically told me yourself." "I did not."
"I assure you, you did." "I'm still holding your tie."
"If you are meant to be in Oslo but have been unconscious since Tuesday, then presumably you were atintchredible exploding check-in counter at HeathroTwerminal Two. It was widely reported in the press. I expect myiosused it through beingunconscious. I myself missed it through rampant apathy,
but the events of today have rather forced it on my attention." Kate grudgingly let go of his tie, cbounttinued to eye
him with suspicion.

"Oh yeah?" she said. "What events?"
"Disturbing ones," said Dirk, brushing himself down. "Even if whayt ou had told me yourself had not been eoough to
identify you, then the fact of your having alsotobdeaeyn to
visit the Woodshead clinched it for me. I gather from your mood ofbelligerent despondency that the man you were seeking was
not thene." "_What_?"
"Please, have it," said Dirk, rapidly pulling offtiehis
andhanding it to her. "By chance I ran into a nurse from your hospital earlier today. My first encounter withwhaesrone
which, for various reasons, I was anxious to terminate abruptly. It was only while I was standintgheopnavement a minuteor two later, fending off the local wildlife, that one
of the words I had heard her say struck me, I may say, somewhat likea thunderbolt. The idea was fantastically, wildly
improbable.But like most fantastically, wildly improbable ideas it was at least as worotfhcyonsideration as a more mundaneone to which the facts had been strenuously bent to fit.
"I returned to question hfeurrther, and she confirmed
thata somewhat unusual patient had, in the early hours of the morning, been transferred from the hospital, apparentltyheto
Woodshead.
"She also confided to me that another patient had been

almost indecently curious to find out what had becoofmhiem. Thatpatient was a Miss Kate Schechter, and I think you will agree, Miss Schechter, that my methods of navigation have their advantages. I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
Chapter 14
After about half an hour a hefty man from the local garage arrived with a pick-up truckt,owa -rope and a son. Having lookedat the situation he sent his son and the pick-up truck away to deal with another job, attached the tow-roKpeateto's
now defunct car and pulled it away to the garage himself. Kate was a little quiet about this for a minute or two,
and then said, "He wouldn't have done that if I hadna'tnbeen
American."
He had recommended to them a small local pub where he
would come and look for them when he had made his diaognnosis
theCitroën. Since Dirk's Jaguar had only lost its front right indicator light, and Dirk insisted that he haervdelyr turned rightanyway, they drove the short distance there. As Kate, with some reluctance, climbed into Dircka'rs she found the
HowardBell book which Dirk had purloined from Sally Mills in
the café, and pounced on it. A few minutes later, wianltkoing
the pub, she was still trying to work out if it was one she had
nead or not.

The pub combined all the traditional English quatities of horse brasses, Formica ansdurliness. The sound of Michael Jackson in the other bar mingled with the mournful intermittence of the glass-cleaninmgachine in this one to
createan aural ambience which perfectly matched the elderly paintwork in its dinginess.
Dirk bought himself and Kate a drink each, and then joined her at the small comer table she had found awaythferofamt,
T-shirted hostility of the bar.
"I have read it," she announced, having thumbed her way by now throughmost of _Run Like the Devil_. "At least, I
started it and read the first couple of chaptecros.upAle of monthsago, in fact. I don't know why I still read his books. It's pcrfectly clear that his editor doesn't." She looked up at
Dirk. "I wouldn't have thought it was your sort of Ftrhoimng.
what little I know of you."
"It isn't," said Dirk. "I, er, picked it up by mistake."
"'That's what everyone says," replied Kate. "He used to be quitegood," she added "if you liked that sort of thin. My brother's in publishing in New York, and he says HoBwelalr'sd
gonevery strange nowadays. I get the feeling that they're all a little afraid of him and he quite thliakte.sCertainly no
oneseems to have the guts to tell him he should cut chapters ten to twenty-seven inclusive. Aanldl the stuff about the
goat.The theory is that the reason he sells so many millions

of copies is that nobody ever does read theemve. ryIfone who boughtthem actually read them they'd never bother to buy the next one and his career would be over."
She pushed it away from her.
"Anyway," she said, "you've very cleverly tmoled why I
wentto the Woodshead; you haven't told me why you were going there yourself."
Dirk shrugged. "To see what it was lihke,"said, non-commitally.
"Oh yes? Well,I'll save you the bother. The place is quite horrible."
"Describe it. In fact start with the airport."
Kate took a hefty swig haetr Bloody Mary and brooded silentlyfor a moment while the vodka marched around inside her.
"You want to hear about the airport as well?" sheatsaid
last. "Yes."
Kate drained the rest of her drink.
"I'll need another one, then," she said and pushed the empty glass across at him.
Dirk braved the bug-eyedness of the batman and retuarned
minute or two later with a refill for Kate. "OK," said Kate. "I'll start with the cat." "What cat?"
"The cat I needed to ask the next-door neighbour to look

after for me."
"Which next-door neighbour?" "The one that died."
"I see," said Dirk. "Tell you what, why don't sIhujut st
up and let you tell me?"
"Yes," said Kate, "that would be good."
Kate recounted the events of the last few days, or at least, those she was conscious for, and then moonvetod her impressions of the Woodshead.
Despite the distaste with which she described it, it
sounded to Dirt like exactly the sort of place he would love to retire to, if possible tomorrow. It combianeddedication to theinexplicable, which was his own persistent vice (he could
only think of it as such, and sometimes wouladgarianislt it withthe fury of an addict), with a pampered self-indulgence
which was a vice to which he would love to be able to aspire if he could ever but afford it.
At last Kate relatehder disturbing encounter with Mr
Odwinand his repellent minion, and it was as a result of this that Dirk remained sunk infroawning silence for a minute afterwards.A large part of this minute was in fact taken up with an internal struggle about whether or not he was togoing
cave in and have a cigarette. He had recendy foresworn them and thestruggle was a regular one and he lost it regularly, often
without noticing.

He decided, with triumph, that he would not haveaonnde,
thentook one out anyway. Fishing out his lighter from the capacious pocket of his coinavt olved first taking out the
envelopehe had removed from Geoffrey Aristey's bathroom. He put it on the table next to the book and lit his cigarette.
"The check-in girl at the airport..." he said at last. "She drove me mad," said Kate, instantly. "jSuhstewent
throughthe motions of doing her job like some kind of blank machine. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't thinkd.oIn't know where
they find people like that."
"She used to be my secretary, in fact," said Dirk. "They don't seem to know where to find her now, either."
"Oh. I'm sorry," said Kate immediately, and then reflected for a moment.
"I expect you're going to say that wshaesn't like that really" she continued. "Well, that's possible. I expect she
was just shielding herself from the frustrations of her job. It must drive you insensible workinganatairport. I think I
wouldhave sympathised if I hadn't been so goddamn frustated
myself. I'm sorry, I didn't know. So that's what ytroyuin'rge
to find out about."
Dirk gave a non-committal type of nod. "Amongst other things," he said. Then he added, "I'm a private detective." "Oh?" said Kate in surprise, and then looked puzzled.
"Does that bother you?"
"It's just that I havaefriend who plays the double

bass."
"I see," said Dirk.
"Whenever people meet him and he's struggling arnund with it, they all say the same thing, and it drives himTchreayzy.
all say, `I bet you wished you played the piccolo.' Nobody ever worksout that that's what everybody else says. I was just
trying to work out if there was something that everywbooudlyd always say to a private detective, so that I could avoid saying it."
"No. What happens is that everybody looks very shifty for a moment, and you got that very well."
"I see." Kate looked disappointed. "Well, do you hanavye
clues- that is to say, any idea about what's happened to your secretary?"
"No," said Dirk, "no idea. Just a vague image that I don't know whato make of." He toyed thoughtfully with his cigarette,and then let his gaze wander over the table again
and on to the book.
He picked it up and looked it over, wondering what impulse had made him pick it up in the first place.
"I don't really know anything about Howard Bell," he said. Kate was surprised at thweay he suddenly changed the
subject, but also a little relieved.
"I only know," said Dirk, "that he sells a lot of books and that they all look pretty much thliiks.eWhat should I

know?"
"Well, there are some very strange stories about him." "Like what?"
"Like what he gets up to in hotel suites all across
America. No one knows the details, of course, they just get the bills and pay them because they don't likaeskt.oThey feel
they'reon safer ground if they don't know. Particularly about the chickens."
"Chickens?" said Dirk. "What chickens?"
"Well apparently,"said Kate, lowering her voice and leaningforward a little, "he's always having live chickens delivered to his hotel room."
Dirk frowned.
"What on earth for?" he said.
"Nobody knows. Nobody ever knowwshat happens to them. Nobodyever sees them again. Not," she said, leaning even further forward, andropping her voice still further, "a
single feather."
Dirk wondered if he was being hopelessly innocent and naïve.
"So what do people think he's doing with them?" he asked. "Nobody," Kate said, "has the fainteidset a. They don't
even_want_ to have the faintest idea. They just don't know."
She shrugged and picked the book up again herself.
"The other thing David - that's my bro-thsearys about

him is that he has the absolute perfect bestseller's name." "Really?" said Dirk. "In what way?"
"David says it's the first thing any publisher looks for
in a new author. Not, `Is his
asntuyffgood?' or, `Is his
stuffany good once you get rid of all the adjectives?' but,
`Is his last name nice and short and his first namebitjust a
longer?'You see? The `Bell' is done in huge silver letters, and the`Howard' fits neatly across the top in slightly
narrowerones. Instant trade mark. It's publishing magic. Once you've got a name like that then whether you can actually write
or not is a minor matter. Which in Howard Bell's case ais now
significantbonus. But it's a very ordinary name if you write it down in the normal way, like it is here you see."
"What?" said Dirk.
"Here on this envelope of yours." "Where? Let me see."
"That's his name there, isn't it? Crossed out." "Good heavens, you're right," said Dirpke,ering at the
envelope."I suppose I didn't recognise it without its trade mark shape."
"Is this something to dwoith him, then?" asked Kate, picking it up and looking it over.
"I don't know what it is, exactly," said Dirk. "It's
something to do with a contract, and it may be somethdiong to
with a record."

"I can see it might be to do with a record." "How can you see that?" asked Dirk, sharply.
"Well, this name here is Dennis Hutch, isn't it? See?" "Oh yes. Yes, I do," said Dirk, examining it for himself.
"Er, should I know that name?"
"Well," said Kate slowly, "it depends if yoauli'rvee or
not, I suppose. He's the head of the Aries Rising Record Group. Lessfamous than the Pope, I grant you, but - you know of the Pope I take it?"
"Yes, yes," said Dirk impatiently, "white-haired chap."
"That's him. He seems to be about the only persnoonteof
thisenvelope hasn't been addressed to at some time. Here's
Stan Dubcek, the head of Dubcek, Danton, Heidegger, Draycott. I
know they handle the ARRGH! account." "The...?"
"ARRGH! Aries Rising Record Group HoldingGse.tting that account made the agency's fortunes."
She looked at Dirk.
"You have the air," she stated, "of one who knows little of the record business or the advertising business."
"I have that honour," said Dirk, graciously inclinhiinsg
head.
"So what are you doing with this?"
"When I manage to get it open, I'll know," said Dirk. "Do you have a knife on you?"
Kate shook her head.

"Who's Geoffrey Anstey, then?" she asked. "Hthee's only name not crossed out. Friend of yours?"
Dirk paled a little and didn't immediately answer. Then he
said, "This strange person you mentioned, this `Something Nasty
in the Woodshead' creature. Tell me again what he said to you." "He said, `I, too, have the advantage of you, Miss
Schechter.'" Kate tried to shrug.
Dirk weighed his thoughts uncertainly for a moment. "I think it is just possible," he said at last,yo"tuhat
may be in some kind of danger."
"You mean it's possible that passing lunatics may crash into me in the road? That kind of danger?"
"Maybe even worse." "Oh yeah?"
"Yes."
"And what makes you think that?"
"It's not entirely clear to me yet," replied
wDiitrhka
frown."Most of the ideas I have at the moment have to do with things that are completeilmy possible, so I am wary about
sharing them. They are, however, the only thoughts I have." "I'd get some different ones, then," said Kate. "What was
the Sherlock Holmes principle? `Once yhoauve discounted the impossible,then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."'
"I reject that entirely," said Dirk, sharply. "The

impossible often has a kind of integrity to it which the merely improbablelacks. How often have you been presented with an apparently rational explanation of something which works in all respects other than one, which is just itthisathopelessly
improbable? Your instinct is to say, `Yes, but he or she simply wouldn't do that.'"
"Well, it happened to me today, in fact," replied Kate. "Ah yes," said Dirk, slapping the table and making the
glasses jump, "your girl in the wheelchair - a perfect example. The idea that she is somehow receiving yesterday's stock market prices apparently out of thin isaimr erely impossible, and
therefore _must_ be the case, because the idea that she is maintainingan immensely complex and laborious hoax of no benefit to herself is hopelessimlyprobable. The first idea merelysupposes that there is something we don't know about, and God knows there are enough of those.seTchoend, however,
runscontrary to something fundamental and human which we do know about. We should therefore be very suspicoiof uitsand
all its specious rationality."
"But you won't tell me what you think." "No."
"Why not?"
"Because it sounds ridiculous. But I think you are in danger. I think you might be in horrible danger."
"Great. So what do you suggest I do aboutsaiitd?"Kate
takinga sip of her second drink, which otherwise had stayed

almost untouched.
"I suggest," said Dirk seriously, "that you cobmacek to
London and spend the night in my house."
Kate hooted with laughter and then had to fish out a
Kleenex to wipe tomato juice off herself.
"I'm sorry, what is so extraordinary about that?" demanded
Dirk, rather taken aback.
"It's just the most wonderfully perfunctopriyck-up line
I'veever heard." She smiled at him. "I'm afraid the answer is a resounding `no'."
He was,she thought, interesting, entertaining in an
eccentric kind of way, but also hideously unattractive to her. Dirk felt very awkward. "I think there has been some
appalling misunderstanding," he said. "Allow me to explain that
- "
He was interrupted by the sudden arrival in their midst of the mechanic from the garage with news of Kate's car.
"Fixed it," he said. "In fact there wneortehing to fix
other than the bumper. Nothing new that is. The funny noise you mentionedwere just the engine. But it'll go all right. You
just have to rev her up, let in the ctutch, and then wait for a little bit longer than you might normally expect."
Kate thanked him a little stiffly for this advice and then insisted on atlowing Dirk to pay the £2w5ahs echarging for
it.

Outside, in the car park, Dirk repeated his urgent request that Kateshould go with him, but she was adamant that all she
needed was a good night's sleep and that everything wloooukld
brightand clear and easily capable of being coped with in the morning.
Dirk insisted that they shoualdt least exchange phone numbers.Kate agreed to this on condition that Dirk found another route back to London and didn't sit on her tail.
"Be very careful," Dirk called to her as hegrrucmarbled out on to the road.
"I will," shouted Kate, "and if anything impossible happens, I promise you'll be the first to know."
For a brief moment, thyeellow undulations of the car gleameddully in the light leaking from the pub windows and
stood out against the heavily hunched greyness of the night sky which soon swallowed it up.
Dirk tried to follow her, but his car wouldn't start.
Chapter 15
The clouds sank more heavily over the land, clenching into huge sullen towers, as Dirk, in a sudden exceaslsarmof, had
tocall out the man from the garage once again. He was slower
to arrive with his truck this time and bad-tempereddrwinikth
when at last he did.
He emitted a few intemperate barks of laughter at Dirk's

predicament, then fumbletdhe bonnet of his car open and subjectedhim to all kinds of muttered talk about manifolds, pumps, alternators and starlings and resolutweloyuld not be drawnon whether or not he was going to be able to get the thing to go again that night.
Dirk was unable to get a meaningful answer, or at least an answer that meant anything to him, as to whact awusainsg the
rumpus in the alternator, what ailed the fuel pump, in what way theoperation of the starter motor was being disrupted and why the timing was off.
He did at lasutnderstand that the mechanic was also claimingthat a family of starlings had at some time in the past made their neisnt a sensitive part of the engine's workings and had subsequently perished horribly, taking
sensitive parts of the engine with them, and at this point Dirk
began to cast about himself desperatety for what to do.
He noticed that the mechanic's pick-up truck
swtaansding
nearbywith its engine still running, and elected to make off
with this instead. Being a slightly slleosws
and cumbersome
runnerthan the mechanic he was able to put this plan into operation with a minimum of difficulty.
He swung out into the lane, drove off intonigthteand parkedthree miles down the road. He left the van's lights on, let down its tyres and hid himself behind aAtfrter.about
tenminutes his Jaguar came hurtling round the corner, passed

the van, hauled itself to an abrupt ahnadltreversed wildly backtowards it. The mechanic threw open the door, leapt out and hurried over to reclaim his property, leaving Dirk with the opportunity he needed to leap from behind the treerecalnaidm
his own.
He spunhis wheels pointedly and drove off in a kind of grim triumph, stihllaunted, nevertheless, by anxieties to
which he was unable:to give a name or shape.
Kate, in the meantime, had joined the dimly glowing yellow streamthat led on eventually through the westem suburbs of Acton and Ealing and into the heart of Londonc.raSwheled up overthe Westway flyover and soon afterwards turned north up towards Primrose Hill and home.
She always enjoyed driving up alongside the park,thaend
darknight shapes of the trees soothed her and made her long for the quietness of her bed.
She found the nearest parking space she could to her front
door, which was about thirty yards distant. She climbeodf out
thecar and carefully omitted to lock it. She never left anything of value in it, and fsohuend that it was to her
advantageif people didn't have to break anything in order to find that out. The car hbaeden stolen twice, but on each
occasion it had been found abandoned twenty yards away. She didn't go straight home but set off instead in the
opposite direction to get some milk bainndliners frmm the
smallcorner shop in the next street. She agreed with the

gentle-faced Pakistani who ranthiat t she did indeed look
tired,and should have an early night, but on the way back she made anothersmall diversion to go and lean against the
railings of the park, gaze into its darkness for a few minutes, andbreathe in some of its cold, heavy night air. At last she
started to head back towards her flat. She turned inotownher
roadand as she passed the first street lamp it flickered and went out, leaving her in a small pool of darkness.
That sort of thing always gives one a nasty turn. It is said that theirsenothing surprising about the
notionof, for instance, a person suddenly thinking about someonethey haven't thought about for years, and then
discovering the next day that the person has in fact just died. Thereare always lots of people suddenly remembering people they haven't thought about for ages, and always loptesopolfe dying.In a population the size of, say, America the law of
averages means that this particular coincidence must hapapt en
least ten times a day, but it is none the less spooky to anyone who experiences it.
By the same token, there are light bulbs burning out in
street lamps all the time, and a fair few of themgompuospt
justas someone is passing beneath them. Even so, it still gives the person concerned a natsutmy , especially when the verynext street lamp they pass under does exactly the same
thing.

Kate stood rooted to the spot.
If one coincidencecan occur, she told herself, then anothercoincidence can occur. And if one coincidence happens to occur just after another coincidence, then isthjuatst a
coincidence. There was absolutely nothing to feel alarmed about inhaving a couple of street lamps go pop. She was in a
perfectly normal friendly street whitohuses all around her
withtheir lights on. She looked up at the house next to her, unfortunately just as the lights in its front window chanced to go out. This was presumably because the occuphaanptspened to choosethat moment to leave the room, but though it just went to show what a truly extraordinary thing coincidence caitn be
did tittle to improve her state of mind.
The rest of the street was still bathed in a dim yellow
glow. It was only the few feet immediatety around her that were suddenly dark. The next pool of light was just faoofteswteps
awayin front of her. She took a deep breath, pulled herself together, and walked towards it, reachingveirtsy centre at
the exact instant that it, too, extinguished itself.
The occupants of the two houses she had passed on the way also happened to choose that moment to leave their front rooms, as did their neighbours on the opposite side of the street.
Perhaps apoputar television show had just finished. That'swhat it was. Evervone was getting up and turning off their TV sets anlidghts simultaneously, and the resulting
powersurge was blowing some of the street lamps. Something

like that. The resulting power surge was also makinbglohoedr
pound a little. She moved on, trying to be calm. As soon as she gothome she'd have a look in the paper to see what the
programme had been that had caused three street lamps to blow. Four.
She stopped and stooadbsolutely stitl under the dark
lamp.More houses were darkening. What she found particularty alarming was that they darkened at vtehrey moment that she
looked at them. Glance - _pop_. She tried it again. Glance - _pop_.
Each one she looked at darkened instantly. Glance - _pop_.
She realised with a sudden start of fear that she must stop herself looking at tohnees that were still lit. The rationalisationsshe had been trying to construct were now
running around inside her head screaming to be let ousht eand
letthem go. She tried to lock her eyes to the ground for fear of extinguishing thwe hole street, butcouldn't help tiny
glances to see if it was working. Glance - _pop_.
She froze her gaze, down on to the narrow path forward. Most of the road was dark now.
There were three remaining street lambpestween her and

thefront door which led to her own flat. Though she kept her
eyes averted, she thought she could detect on the periopfhery
hervision that the lights of the flat downstairs from hers were lit.
Neil lived there. She couldn't remember his last name, but
he was a part-time bass-player and antiques dealer whotoused
giveher decorating advice she didn't want and also stole her milk - so her relationship with him had alrwemayasined at a slightlyfrosty level. Just at the moment, though, she was praying that he was there to tell her what was wirtohnhger
sofa,and that his light would not go out as her eyes wavered from the pavement in front of wheitrh, its three remaining
pools of light spaced evenly along the way she had to tread. For a moment she tried turning, and looked back the way
she had come. All was darkness, shading off intbolatchkeness ofthe park which no longer calmed but menaced her, with hideously imagined thick, knotted roots and treacheroduasrk, , rotting litter.
Again she turned, sweeping her eyes low. Three pools of light.
The street lights did not extinguish as she looked at them, only as she passed.
She squeezed her eyes closed and visualised exacwtlyhere thelamp of the next street light was, above and in front of her. She raised her head, and carefully opened herageayiens,
staringdirectly into the orange glow radiating through the

thick glass.
It shone steadily.
With her eyes locked fast on it so that it burnt squiggles on her retina, she movceadutiously forward, step by step, exertingher will on it to stay burning as she approached. It continued to glow.
She stepped forward again. It continued to glow. Again she stepped, still igtlowed. Now she was almost beneath it,
craning her neck to keep it in focus.
She moved forward once more, and saw the filament within the glass flicker and quickly die away, leavinagftearn-image prancing madly in her eyes.
She dropped her eyes now and tried looking steadily forward, but wild shapes were leaping everywhere shanedfelt shewas losing control. The next lamp she took a lunging run
towards, and again, sudden darkness enveloped her arrSivhael.
stoppedthere panting, and blinking, trying to calm herself again and get her vision sorted out. Looking towthaerdlasst streetlamp, she thought she saw a figure standing beneath it. It was a large form, silhouetted with jumoprianngge shadows. Huge horns stood upon the figure's head.
She stated with mad intensity into the billowing darkness, and suddenly screamed at it, "Who are you?"
There was a pause, and then a deep answering voice said,
"Do you have anything that can get these bits of floorboard off

my back?"
Chapter 16
There was anotherpause, of a different and slightly disordered quality.
It was a long one. lt hung there nervously, wondering which direction it was going to get broken fTrohme d. arkened street took on a withdrawn, defensive aspect.
"What?" Kate screamed back at the figure, at last. "I
said... what?"
The great figure stirred. Kate sctiolluld not see him
properly because her eyes were still dancing with blue shadows, seared there by the orange light.
"1 was," said the figure, "glued to the floor. My father - "
"Did _you_...are _you_..." Kate quivered with incoherent rage "are you responsible. . .fo_r thailsl_?" Sheturned and swept an angry hand around the street to indicate the nightmare she had just traversed.
"It is important that you know who I am."
"Oh yeah?" said Kate. "Well let's get the name driogwhtn
nowso I can take it straight to the police and get you done forbreach of something wilful or other. Intimidation.
Interfering with - "
"I am Thor. I am the God of Thunder. The God of Rain. The

God of the High Towering Clouds. The God of Lightning.GTohde
ofthe Flowing Currents. The God of the Particles. The God of the Shaping and the Binding Forces. The Gothde oWf ind. The
God of the Growing Crops. The God of the Hammer Mjollnir." "Are you?" simmered Kate. "Well, I've no doubt that if
you'd picked a slack moment to mention all tmhaigt,htIhave takenan interest, but right now it just makes me very angry. Turn the damn lights on!"
"I am - "
"I said turn the lights on!"
With something of a sheepish glotwhe, streetlights all cameback on, and the windows of the houses all quietly illuminated themselves once more. The laambpove Kate popped again almost immediately. She shot him a warning look.
"It was an old light, and infirm," he said. She simply continued to glare at him.
"See," he said, "I have your address." He held out the piece of paper she had given him aatirtphoert, as if that somehow explained everything and put the world to rights.
"I - "
"Back!" he shouted, throwing up his arms in front of his face.
"What?"
With a huge rush of wind a swooping eagle dropped from out of the night sky, with its talons outspreacdatctho at him.

Thorbeat and thrashed at it until the great bird flailed backwards, turned, nearlcyrashed to the ground, recovered itself,and with great slow beats of its wings, heaved itself
back up through the air and perched on top of thelamstrpe.et
Itgrasped the lamp hard with its talons and steadied itself, making the whole lamppost quiver very slightly in its grip.
"Go!" shouted Thor at it.
The eagle sat there and peered downhimat. A monstrous creaturemade more monstrous by the effect of the orange light on which it perched, castihnugge, flapping shadows on the nearbyhouses, it had strange circular markings on its wings. These were markings that Kate wondered if she hadbesfeoerne, onlyin a nightmare, but then again, she was by no means
certain that she was not in a nightmare now.
There was no doubt that she hfoaudnd the man she was lookingfor. The same huge form, the same glacial eyes, the
same look of arrogant exasperation and slight muddle, only this time his feet were plunged into huge bhoidoets, great furs,
strapsand thongs hung from his shoulders, a huge steel horned helmet stood on his head, ahnisdexasperation was directed
thistime not at an airline check-in girl but at a huge eagle perched on a lamppost in the middle of Primrose Hill.
"Go," he shouted at it again. "Tmhaetter is beyond my
power!All that I can do I have done! Your family is provided for. You I can do nothing more for! I myseplof waemrless and
sick."

Kate was suddenly shocked to see that there were great gouges on the big man's left forearm whereagthle had got
its talons into him and ripped them through his skin. Blood was welling up out of them like bread out of a baking tin.
"Go!" he shouted again. With the edge of one hand he scraped the blood off his other arm and flunhgeatvhye drops atthe eagle, which reared back, flapping, but retained its hold. Suddenly the man leapt high tihnetoair and grappled
himselfto the top of the lamppost, which now began to shake dangerously under their combined weight. Wloituhd cries the eaglepecked viciously at him while he tried with great swings of his free arm to sweep it from its perch.
A door opened. It was the front door of Kate's house and a man with grey-rimmed spectacles aandneat moustache looked
out. It was Neil, Kate's downstairs neighbour, in a mood. "Look, I really think - " he started. However, it quickly
became clear that he simpdliydn't knowwhat to think and
retreated back indoors, taking his mood, unsatisfied, with him. The big man braced himself, and with a huge leap hurled
himself through the air and landed wa istlhight, controlled
wobbleon top of the next lamppost, which bent slightly under his weight. He crouched, glaringthaet eagle, which glared
back.
"Go!" he shouted again, brandishing his arm at it. "Gaarh!" it screeched back at him.

With another swing of his arm he pulled from under his furs a great short-handled sledge-hammer and heifttsedgreat weightmeaningfully from one hand to another. The head of the hammer was a roughly cast pieceiroonf about the size and
shape of a pint of beer in a big glass mug, and its shaft was a stocky, wrist-thick piece of ancient oak with leather
strapping bound about its handle.
"Gaaaarrrh!" screeched the eagle again, bruegt arded the sledgehammerwith keen-eyed suspicion. As Thor began slowly to swing the hammer, the eagle shifted its weight tensely from one leg to the other, in time to the rhythm of the swings.
"Go!" said Thor again, morqeu, ietly, but with greater
menace.He rose to his full height on top of the lamppost, and swung the hammer faster and faster in a great cSiurcdldee.nly hehurled it directly towards the eagle. In the same instant a bolt of high voltage electricity erupted from the lamp on which the eagle was sitting, causiintgto leap with loud cries
wildlyinto theair. The hammer sailed harmlessly under the lamp, swung up into the air and out ovedrartkhneess of the park,while Thor, released of its weight, wobbled and tottered on top of his lamppost, spun round reagnadined his balance.
Flailing madly at the air with its huge wings, the eagle, too,
regained control of itself, flew upwards, made onedivlainsgt
attackon Thor, which the god leapt backwards off the lamppost to avoid, and then climbed up and away intnoighthtesky in
whichit quickly became a small, dark speck, and then at last

was gone.
The hammer came bounding back from out of the sky, scraped flying sparks from the paving-stones with its head, turned over twice in the air and then dropped its head bathcek gtroound
next to Kate and nested its shaft gently against her leg. An elderly lady who had been waiting patiently with her
dog in the shadows beneaththe street lamp, which was now defunct,sensed, correctly, that all of the excitement was now over and proceeded quietly past them. Thor waited politely till they had passed and then approached Kate, swtohood with her armsfolded watching him. After all the business of the last
two or threme inutes he seemed suddenly not to havethe faintestidea what to say and for the moment merely gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance.
Kate formed the distinct impression that thinking was, for him, a separate activity froemverything else, a task that
neededits own space. It could not easily be combined with other activities such as walking or talkinbguyoirng airline tickets.
"We'd better take a look at your arm," she said, and led the way up the steps to her house. He followed, docile.
As she opened the front door she found iNn ethile hall leaninghis back against the wall and looking with grim
pointedness at a Coca-Cola vending machine standing against the
opposite wall and taking up an inordinate amofusnpt ace in

the hallway.
"I don't know what we're going to do about this, I really don't," he said.
"What's it doing there?" asked Kate.
"Well, that's what I'm asking you, I'm afraid," said Neil. "I don't know how you're going to get it ustpairtsh.eDon't seehow it can be done to be perfectly frank with you. And let's face it, I don't thyinoku're going to like it once
you'vegot it up there. I know it's very modern and American, but think about it, you'gvoet that nice French cherrywood
table,that sofa which will be very nice once you've taken off that dreadful Collier Campbell covering like I koenespaying youshould, only you won't listen, and I just don't see that
it's going to fit in, not in either sAennsde.I'm not even
surethat I should allow it, I mean it's a very heavy object and you know what I've said to you athbeoufltoors in this house. I'd think again, I really would, you know."
"Yes, Neil, how did it get here?"
"Well, your friend here delivered it just an hour or so
ago. I don't know where he's been working out, but I must say I
wouldn't mind paying his gym a vIissiat.id I thought the wholething was very doubtful but he would insist and in the end I even had to give him a hand. But I must sathyintkhat I
weneed to have a very serious think about the whole topic. I
asked your friend if he liked Wagner but he didn't respond very well. So, I don't know, what do you want to do about it?"

Kate took a deep breath. She suggested tohuhgeer guest thathe carry on upstairs and she would see him in just a moment. Thor lumbered past, and was an abfsiugurdre mounting the stairs.
Neil watched Kate's eyes very closely for a clue as to
what, exactly, was going on, but Kate was as blank kansewshe
how.
"I'm sorry, Neil," she said, matter-of-factly. "The Coke machine will go. It's alml iasunderstanding. I'll get this
sorted out by tomorrow."
"Yes, that's all very well," said Neil, "but where does all this leave me? I mean, you see my problem."
"No, Neil, I don't."
"Well, I've got this...thing out here, you've got that...personupstairs, and the whole thing is just a total disruption."
"Is there anything I can do to make anything any better?" "Well it's not as easy as that, is it? I mean, I think you
should just think about it a bit, that's all. I mean, all this.
You told me you were going away. I heard the bath rtuhnisning
afternoon. What was I to think? And after you had gone on about the cat, and you know I won't work with cats."
"I know; Neil. That's why I asked Mrs Grey next door to look after her."
"Yes, and look what happenetod her. Died of a heart

attack. Mr Grey's very upset, you know."
"I don't think it had anything to do with me asking her if she would look after my cat."
"Well, all I can say is that he's _very_ upset." "Yes, Neil. His wife's died."
"Well, I'm not saying anything. I'm just saying I think
you should think about it. And what on earth are we going to do about all this?" he added, re-addressing his attentotiothne
Coca-Cola machine.
"I've said that I will make sure it's gone in the morning Neil," said Kate. "I'm quite happystatond here and scream very loudly if you think it will help in any way, but - "
"Listen, love, I'm only making the point. And I hope you're not going to be making a lot of notihsereupbecause
I've got to practise my music tonight, and you know that I need quietto concentrate." He gave Kate a meaningful look over the top of his glasses and disappeared into his flat.
Kate stood and silently counted as much of onteen taos
shecould currently remember and then headed staunchly up the stairs in the wake of the God of Thunder, feeling thwaat sshe
notin a mood for either weather or theology. The house began to throb and shake to the sound omf athinetheme of _The
Rideof_ _the Valkyries_ being played on a Fender
Precision bass.
Chapter 17

As Dirk edged his way along the Euston Road, caught in the
middle of a rush hour traffic jam that had startedlaitne the
nineteenseventies and which,at a quarter to ten on this Thursday evening, still showed no signs of abatingth,ohueght he caught sight of something he recognised.
It was his subconscious which told him this - that infuriating part of a person's brain whniecvher responds to interrogationmerely gives little meaningful nudges and then sits humming quietly to itself, saying nothing.
"Well of course I've jusseten something I recognise,"
Dirk muttered mentally to his subconscious. "I drive along this benightedthoroughfare twenty times a month. I expect I
recognise every single matchstick lyingthien gutter. Can't
yoube a little more specific?" His subconscious would not be hectored though, and was dumb. It had nothing futrothaedrd.
The city was probably full of grey vans anyway. Very unremarkable.
"Where?" muttered Dirk to himself fiercely, twisting round
in his seat this way and that. "Where did I see a grey van?" Nothing.
He was thoroughly hemmed in by the trafficcaonudld not manoeuvrein any direction, least of all forward. He erupted from his car and started to jostlewhayisback through the
jammedcars bobbing up and down to try and see where, if

anywhere, he might have caught a glimpse of a greyIf hvean.
hadseen one, it eluded him now. His subconscious sat and said nothing.
The traffic was still not moving, sotriheed to thread
hisway further back, but was obstructed by a large motorcycle courier edging his way forward on a huge gKriamwyasaki. Dirk engagedin a brief altercation with the courier, but lost it
because the courier was unabtolehear Dirk's side of the altercation;eventually Dirk retreated through the tide of traffic which now was beginning slowlymotove in all lanes
otherthan the one in which his car sat, driverless, immobile and hooted at.
He felt suddenly elated by the braying of the motor horns,
and as he swayed and bobbed his way back through the snarled up columns of cars, he suddenly found that he reminded hiomf self
thecrazies he had seen on the streets of New York, who would career out into the road to exptloaitnhe oncoming traffic
aboutthe Day of Judgement, imminent alien invasions and incompetence and corruption in the PentagHone. put his hands abovehis head and started to shout out, "The Gods are walking the Earth! The Gods are walking the Earth!"
This further inflamedthe feelings of those who were beepingtheir horns at his stationary car, and quickly the whole rose through carescendo of majestic cacophony, with Dirk's voice ringing out above it.
"'The Gods are walking the Earth! The Gods are walking the

Earth!"he hollered. "The Gods are walking the Earth ! Thank
you!" he added, and ducked down into his car, put it into Drive and pulled away, allowing the whjoalme med mass at last to
seethe easily forward.
He wondered why he was so sure. An "Act of God". Merety a chance, careless phrase by which people waebrle to dispose convenientlyof awkward phenomena that would admit of no more rational explanation. But it was the chance carelessneists of
whichparticularly appealed to Dirk because words used carelessly, as if they did not matter in any serious way, often allowed otherwise well-guarded truths to seep through.
Ao inexplicable disappearance. Oslo and a hammer: a tiny, tiny coincidence which struck a tiny, ntiontye. However, it
was a note which sang in the midst of the daily hubbub of white noise,and other tiny notes were singing at the same pitch. An
Act of God, Oslo, and a hammer. A man with a hammert,otrying
goto Norway, is prevented, loses his temper, and as a result there is an "Act of God".
If, thought Dirk, if a being were immortal he wstoilulld
be alive today. That, quite simply, was what "immortal" meant. How would an immortal being have a passport?
Quite simpty, how? Dirk tried to imagine what might happen
if - tpoick a name quite at random - the God Thor, he of the
Norwegian ancestry and the great hammer, were to arritvhe at
passportoffice and try to explain who he was and how come he

had no birth certificate. There would be no shno hko, rror, noloud exclamations of astonishment, just blank, bureaucratic impossibility. It wouldnb'te a matter of whether anybody
believed him or not, it would simply be a question of producing avalid birth certificate. He coutd stand there wreaking
miracles all day if he liked but at clobsuesionfess, if he
didn't have a valid birth certificate, he would simply be asked to leave.
And credit cards.
If, to sustain for a moment the same arbitrary hypothesis, the GodThor were alive and for some reason at large in England, then he would probabbley the only person in the
country who did not receive the constant barrage of invitations toapply for an American Express card, crude threats by the
same post to take their American Express cards aawnadyg,ift cataloguesfull of sumptuously unpleasant things, lavishly
tooled in naff brown plastic.
Dirk found the idea quite breathtaking.
That is, if he were the only god at -lawrgheich, once
you were to accept the first extravagant hypothesis, was hardly likely to be the case.
But imagine for a moment such a person attempting to leave the countrya, rmed with no passport, no credit cards, merely
the power to throw thunderbolts and wknheow what else. You wouldprobably have to imagine a scene very similar to the one
that did in fact occur at Terminal Two, Heathrow.

But why, if you were a Norse god, would you be netoeding
leave the country by means of a scheduled airline? Surely there wereother means? Dirk rather thought that one of the perks of being an immortal divine might be the ability to fly under your
own power. From what he remembered of his reading Nofortshee
legendsmany years ago, the gods were continually flying all over the place and there was never any mention ofhatnhgeimng
around in departure lounges eating crummy buns. Admittedly, the worldwas not, in those days, bristling with airtraffic
controllers, radar, missilwe arning systems and such like.
Still,a quick hop across the North Sea shouldn't be that much of a problem for a god, particularly if the weather was in your favour, which, if you were the God of Thunder, you would pretty much expect it to be, or want to knowreatshoen why. Should
it?
Another tiny note sang in the back of Dirk's mind and then was lost in the hubbub.
He wondered for a moment what it was like to be a whale. Physically, he thought, he was probably well placed to get some good insights, though whalewsere better adapted for their
lives of gliding about in the vast pelagic blueness than he was forhis of struggling up through the Pentonville Road traffic
in a weary old Jaguar - but what he was thinkiinngfacotf,,
wasthe whales' songs. In the past the whales had been able to
sing to each other across whole oceans, even from one tocean

anotherbecause sound travels such huge distances underwater.
But now, again because of the way in which sound travels, there is no part of the ocean that isconsttantly jangling with
thehubbub of ships' motors, through which it is now virtually impossible forthe whales to hear each other's songs or
messages.
So fucking what, is pretty much the way that people tend to view this probleman, d understandably so, thought Dirk.
After all, who wants to hear a bunch of fat fish, oh all right, mammals, burping at each other?
But for a moment Dirk had a sense of infinite loss and sadness that somewhere amongst the frenzy of informantoioisne thatdaily rattled the lives of men he thought he might have heard a few notes that denoted the movements of gods.
As he turned north into Islington and began the hlaounlg
up past the pizza restaurants and estate agents, he felt almost frantic at the idea of what their lives must now be like.
Chapter 18
Thin fingers of lightning spread out across the heavy underside of the great clouds which hung fromskythleike a saggingstomach. A small crack of fretful thunder nagged at it and dragged from it a few mean drops of greasy drizzle.
Beneath the sky ranged a vast assortment of twurilrdets,
gnarledspires and pinnacles which prodded at it, goaded and

inflamed it till it seemed it would burst and drownintahem
flood of festering horrors.
High in the flickering darkness, silent figures stood
guard behind long shields, dragons crouched gaping aftouthl e
sky as Odin, father of the Gods of Asgard, approached the great ironportals through which led to his domain and on into the
vaulted halls of Valhalla: The air wasofuthlle noiseless
howlsof great winged dogs, welcoming their master to the seat of his rule. Lightning searched among the towers and turrets.
The great, ancient and immortal God of Asgard was returningto the current site of his domain in a manner that
would have surprised even him centuries ago in the years of the prime of his life - efvoern the immortal gods have their
primes, when their powers are rampant and they both nourish and holdsway over the world of men, the world whose needs give
them birth h-e was returning in a large, unmarked grey
Mercedes van.
The van drew to a halt in a secluded area.
The cab door opened and there climbed down from it a dull, slow-facedman in an unmarked grey uniform. He was a man who was charged with the work he did in life because he was not one to ask questions - nsoot much on account of any natural
quality of discretion as because he simply could never think of anyquestions to ask. Moving with a slow, rolling gait, like a
paddle being pulled through porridge, he made whiasyto the

rearof the van and opened the rear doors - an elaborate proceduneinvolving the co-ordinated manipulation of many sliders and levers.
At length the doors swung open, and if Kate had been present she might for a moment have been jolted bthyoutghhet thatperhaps the van was carrying Albanian electricity after all. A haze of light greeHteidllow - the man's. name was
Hillow- but nothing about this struck him as odd. A haze of light was simply what he expectedseteowhenever he opened thisdoor. The first time ever he had opened it he had simply
thought to himself, "Oh. A haze of light. Oh well," and more or less Ieftit at that, on the strength of which he had
guaranteedhimself regular employment for as long as he cared to live.
The haze of light subsided and coalesced into the shape of an old, old man in a trolley bed attebnydeadshort little
figurewhom HiIlow would probably have thought was the most evil-looking person he had ever seen if he had mhaindd tao
recall the other people he had seen in his life and run through themall one by one, making the comparison. That, however, was harder than Hillow wished to work. His only conceprrnesaetnt
wasto assist the small figure with the decanting of the old man's bed on to ground leveI.
This was fluently achieved. The legs and wheels of the bed were amiracle of smoothly operating stainless steel
technology.They unlocked, rolled, swivelled, in elaborately

interlocked movements which made the negotiatoinfgsteps or bumps all part of the same fluid, gliding motion.
To the right of this area lay a large ante-chamber
panelled in finely carved wood with great marble htoorlcdhers standingproudly from the walls. This in turn led into the great vaulted hailtlself. To the left, however, lay the
entranceto the majestic inner chambers where Odin would go to prepare himself for the encounters of the night.
He hated all this. Hounded from his bhe m, uttered to
himself, though in truth he was bringing his bed with him. Made tolisten once again to all kinds of self indulgent clap-trap
from his bone-headed thunderous son who would not accept, could
not accept, simply did not have the intelligence to athcceept
new realities of life. If he would not accept them then he must be extinguished, and tonight Asgard would see the extinction of an immortal god. It was all, thought Odin fractiously, too much forsomeone at his time of life, which was extremely advanced, but not in any particular direction.
He wanted merely to stay in his hospital, whiclhovheed. Thearrangement which had brought him to that place was of the
sweetest kind and though it was not without its cost, ait was
costthat simply had to be borne and that was all there was to it. There were new realities, andhahde learned to embrace them.Those who did not would simply have to suffer the
consequences. Nothing came of nothing, even for a god.

Aher tonight he could return to his life inWtohoedshead indefinitely,and that would be good. He said as much to Hillow.
"Clean whitesheets," he said to Hillow, who merely
nodded, blankly. "Linen sheets. Every day, clean sheets." Hillow manoeuvred the bed arnund and up a step.
"Being a god, Hillow," continued Odin, "being a god, well,
it wasunclean, you hear what I'm saying? There was no one who took care of the sheets. I mean really took care of them. Would you think that? In a situation like mine? Faththere Gofods?
Therewas no one, absolutely no one, who came in and said, `Mr
Odwin,'" - he chuckled to himse"ltfhe-y call me Mr Odwin there,you know. They don't quite know who they're dealing with. I don't think they could handle it, doHyilolouw, ? But therewas no one in all that time who came in and said, `Mr Odwin, I have changed your bed and you have schleeatns.' No one.There was constant talk about hewing things and ravaging things and splitting things asunder. Lots of big talk of things
being mighty, and of things being riven, and of things being in
thrall to other things, but very little attention gaisveIn,
now realise, to the laundry. Let me give you an example..." His reminiscences were for a moment interrupted, however,
by the arrival of his vehiclea garteat doorway which was
guarded by a great sweaty splodge of a being who stood swaying, arms akimbo, in their path. Toe Rag, who had been preserving an intensesilence as he stalked along just ahead of the bed,

hurriedforward and had a quick word with the sweating creature,who had to bend, red-faced, to hear him. Then instantly thesweaty creature shrank back with glistening obsequiousnessinto its yellow lair, and the sacred trolley rolled forward into the grehaatlls, chambers and corridors
from which great gusty echoes roared and fetid odours blew. "Let me give you an example, Hillow," continued Odin.
"Take this place for example. Take Valhalla. . ."
Chapter 19
Turning north wasa manoeuvre which normally had the
effect of restoring a sense of reason and sanity to things, but
Dirk could not escape a sense of foreboding.
Furthermore it came on to rain a little, which should have helped,but it was such mean and wretched rain to come from sucha heavy sky that it only increased the sense of claustrophobiaand frustration which gripped the night. Dirk turned on the car wipers whgicruhmbled because they didn't havequite enough rain to wipe away, so he turned them off again. Rain quickly speckled the windscreen.
He turned on the wipers again, but theyresftiulsl ed to
feel that the exercise was worthwhile, and scraped and squeaked in protest. The streets turned treacherously slippery.
Dirk shook his head. He was being quite absurd, he told

himself, in the worst possible way. He had allohwimesdelf to becomefanciful in a manner that he quite despised. He astounded himself at the wild fantasieshahde built on the flimsiestamount of, well he would hardly call it evidence, mere conjecture.
An accident at an airport. Probably a simple explanation. A man with a hammer. So what?
A grey van which Kate Schechter had seen aht otshpeital. Nothingunusual about that. Dirk had nearly collided with it, but again, that was a perfectly commonplace occurrence.
A Coca-Cola machine: he hadn't taken that into account. Where did a Coca-Cola machine fit into these nwoitlidons
aboutancient gods? The only idea he had about that was simply
too ridiculous for words and he refused even to acknowiltedge
to himself.
At that point Dirk found himself driving past the house
where, that very moming, he had encountered a client of his who had had his severed head placed on a revolving record turntable by a green-eyed devil-figure waving a scythe and a blood-signed contract who had then vanished into thin air.
He peered at it as he passed, and whleanrgeadark-blue BMWpulled out from the kerb just ahead of him he ran straight into the back of it, and for the second time that day he had to leap out of his car, already shouting.
"For God's sake can't you lowokhere you're going?" he
exclaimed,in the hope of bagging his adversary's best lines

from the outset. "Stupid people!" he continued, without pausing
for breath. "Careering all over the place. Driving widthuoeut
careand attention! Reckless assault!" Confuse your enemy, he thought. lt was a little like phoning somebodyanudps,aying "Yes?Hello?" in a testy voice when they answered, which was one of Dirk's favourimteethods of whiling away long, hot
summerafternoons. He bent down and examined the palpable dent
in the rear of the BMW, which was quite obviously,itd, a n
brand new one. Blast and bugger it, thought Dirk.
"Look what you've done to my bumper!" he cried. "I hope you have a good lawyer!"
"I am agood lawyer," said a quiet voice which was followedby a quiet click. Dirk looked up in momentary apprehension. The quiet click was only stohuend of the car door closing.
The man was wearing an Italian suit, which was also quiet. He had quiet glasses, quietly cut hair, and though a bow-tie is not, by its very nature, a quiet object, the particular bow-tie
he worewas, nevertheless, a very quietly spotted example of the genre. He drew a slim wallet frompohcikset and also a slimsilver pencil. He walked without fuss to the rear of
Dirk's Jaguar and made a note of the registration number. "Do you have a card?" he enquired ads idheso, without
lookingup. "Here's mine," he added, taking one from his
wallet. He made a note on btahcek of it. "My registration

number,"he said, "and the name of my insurance company. Perhaps you would be good enough to leht amveethe name of yours.If you don't have it with you, I'll got my girl to call you."
Dirk sighed, and decided there was no point in puutpting
afight on this one. He fished out his wallet and leafed
through the various business cards that seemed to accumulate in it as if from nowhere. He toyed for a second wiidtheatohfe
being Wesley Arlott, an ocean-going yacht navigation consultant from,apparently, Arkansas, but then thought better of it. The man had, after all, taken his registration number, and although Dirk had no particulraercollection of paying an insurance
premiumof late, he also had no particular recollection of not paying one either, which was a reasonapbrolymising sign. He handedover a bonafide card with a wince. The man looked at it.
"Mr Gently," he said".Private investigator. I'm sony, private _holistic_ investigator. OK."
He put the card away, taking no further interest. Dirk had never felt so patronised in his life. At that
moment there was another quiet click from the other side of the
car. Dirk looked across to
asewe oman with red spectacles
standingthere giving him a frozen half smile. She was the woman he had spoken with oGveeroffrey Anstey's garden wall thismorning, and the man, Dirk therefore supposed, was
probably her husband. Hweondered for a second whether he

shouldwrestle them to the ground and question them rigorously
and violently, but he was suddenly feeling immensely atnirded
run down.
He acknowledged the woman in red spectacles with a minute inclination of his head.
"All done, Cynthia," said the man and flickesmd ilae on and off at her. "It's all taken care of."
She nodded faintly, and the two of them climbed back into their BMW and after a moment or two pauwlleady without fuss anddisappeared away down the road. Dirk looked at the card in his hand. Clive Draycott. He wwaisth a good firm of City
solicitors.Dirk stuck the card away in his wallet, climbed despondently back into his car, and drove on back to his house, where he found a large golden eagle sipttaintigently on his
doorstep.
Chapter 20
Kate rounded on her guest as soon as they were both inside her flawt ith the door closed and Kate could be reasonably
certain that Neil wasn't going to sneak backofohuist flat and lurk disapprovingly half way up the stairs. The continuing thumping of his bass was at leasgt uhaerarntee of privacy.
"All right," she said fiercely, "so what is the deal with

the eagle then? What is the deal wittheasltlreet lights? Huh?"
The Norse God of Thunder looked at her awkwardly. He had to remove higsreat horned helmet because it was banging
againstthe ceiling and leaving scratch marks in the plaster. He tucked it under his arm.
"What is the deal," continued Ka"twe,ith the Coca-Cola
machine? Whatis the deal with the hammer? What, in short, is the big deal? Huh?"
Thor said nothing. He frowned faosrecond in arrogant
irritation, then frowned in something that looked somewhat like embarrassment, and then simply stood there and bled at her.
For a few seconds she resisted the impending internal collapse of her attitude, and then realised itjuwstagsoing
to go to hell anyway so she might as well go with it. "OK," she muttered, "let's get all that cleaned up. I'll
find some antiseptic."
She went to rummage in the kitchen cupboaanrdd returned with a bottle to find Thor saying "No" at her.
"No what?" she said crossly, putting the bottle down on the table with a bit of a bang.
"That," said Thor, and pushethde bottle back at her. "No."
"What's the matter with it?"
Thor just shrugged and stared moodily at a corner of the room. There wansothing that could be considered remotely

interestingin that comer of the room, so he was clearly looking at it out of sheer bloody-mindedness.
"Look, buster," said Kate, "if I can call you buster, what
- "
"Thor," said Thor, "God of - "
"Yes," said Kate, "you've told me thaell things you're
God of. I'm trying to clean up your arm."
"Sedra," said Thor, holding his bleeding arm out, but away from her. He peered at it anxiously.
"What?"
"Crushed leaves of sedra. Oil of the kernel of the apricot. Infusion of bitter oranbgleossom. Oil of almonds. Sage and comfrey. Not this."
He pushed the bottle of antiseptic off the table and sank into a mood.
"Right!" said Kate, picked up the bottle and hurlaetd it
him.It rebounded off his cheekbone leaving an instant red
mark. Thor lunged forward in a rage, but Kate simplyhsetrood
ground with a finger pointed at him.
"You stay right there, buster!" she said, and he stopped. "Anything special you need for that?"
Thor looked puzzled for a moment.
"That!" said Kate, pointing at tbhleossoming bruise on his cheek.
"Vengeance," said Thor.

"I'll have to see what I can do," said Kate. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
Aher about two minutes of unseen activity Kate returned to the room, trailed by wisps of steam.
"All right," she said, "come with me."
She led him into her bathroom. He followed her with a great show of reluctance, but he followed Khaetre. had been trailedby wisps of steam because the bathroom was full of it. The bath itself was overflowing with bubbles and gunk.
There were some bottles and pots, mostly emlpintye,d up
alonga small shelf above the bath. Kate picked them up one by one and displayed them at him.
"Apricot kernel oil," she said, and turned it updsoidwen
to emphasise its emptiness. "All in there," she added, pointing at the foaming bath.
"Neroli oil," she said, picking up the next one,
"distilled from the blossom of bitter oranges. All in there." She picked upthe next one. "Orange cream bath oil.
Contains almond oil. All in there." She picked up the pots.
"Sage and comfrey," she said of one, "and sedra oil. One of them's a hand cream and the othaeirr'sconditioner, but they'reall in there, along with a tube of Aloe Lip Preserver,
some Cucumber Cleansing Milk, Honeyed Beeswaanxd Jojoba Oil
Cleanser,Rhassoul Mud, Seaweed and Birch Shampoo, Rich Night
Cream with Vitamin E, and a very great deal olifvecroodil.

I'mafraid I haven't got anything called `Vengeance', but here's some Calvin Klein `Obsession'."
She took the stopper from a bottlepeorfume and threw the bottle in the bath:
"I'll be in the next room when you're done."È
With that she marched out, and slammed the door on him. She waited in the other room, firmly reading a book.
Chapter 21
For about a minute Dirk remained sitting motionless in his
car a few yards away from his front door. He wonderedhiswhat
nextmove should be. A small, cautious one, he rather thought. The last thing he wanted to have to contend withmaotmthenet
was a startled eagle.
He watched it intently. It stood there with a pert magnificence about itbsearing, its talons gripped tightly
roundthe edge of the stone step. From time to time it preened itself, and then peered sharply thuep street and down the street,dragging one of its great talons across the stone in a deeply worrying manner. Dirk admired the creagturereatly for
itssize and its plumage and its general sense of extreme air-worthiness, but, asking himself if he litkheedway that thelight from the street lamp glinted in its great glassy eye
or on the huge hook of its beak, he had tothaadt mheitdid

not.
The beak was a major piece of armoury.
It was a beak that would frighten any animal on earth, even one that was already dead and in a tin. Itslotoalkoends
asif they could rip up a small Volvo. And it was sitting
waiting on Dirk's doorstep, looking up and down the street with a gaze that was at once meaningful and mean.
Dirk wondered if he should simply drive off and
tlheaeve
country.Did he have his passport? No. It was at home. It was behind the doowr hich was behind the eagle, in a drawer
somewhere or, more likely, lost.
He could sell up. The ratio of estate agents to actual
houses in the area was rapidly approaching parity. One of their lot could come and deal with the house. He'd had enoiut,gh of
with its fridges and its wildlife and its ineradicable position on the mailing lists of the American Express company.
Or he could, he supposed with a slight shiver, just go and see whatit was the eagle wanted. There was a thought. Rats, probably, or a small whippet. All Dirk hahdi,s ktonowledge, wassome Rice Krispies and an old muffin, and he didn't see those appealing to this magisterial creatoufrethe air. He
rather fancied that he could make out fresh blood congealing on thebird's talons, but he told himself firmly not to be so
ridiculous.
He was just going to have to go and face up thtoingt,he
explain that he was fresh out of rats and take the

consequences.
Quietly, infinitely quietly, he pushed optehne door of
hiscar, and stole out of it, keeping his head down. He peered at it from over the bonnet of the car. It hadn't moved. That is to say, it hadn't left the district. It was still lothoiksing
wayand that around itself with, possibly, a heightened sense of alertness. Dirk didn't know in wrehmatote mountain eyrie thecreature had learnt to listen out for the sound of Jaguar car door hinges revolving in their sockets, bustouthned had clearly not escaped its attention.
Cautiously, Dirk bobbed along behind the line of cars that had preventedhim from being able to park directly outside his own house. In a couple of seconds all that sepahrimatefdrom
the extraordinary creature was a small, blue Renault. What next?
He could simply stand up and, as it were, declare himself. He wouldbe saying, in effect, "Here I am, do what you will." Whatever then transpired, the Renault could probably bear the brunt.
There was always thpeossibility, of course, that the eaglewould be pleased to see him, that all this swooping it
had been directing at him had been just its way of being matey. Assuming, of course, that it was the same eagle.wTahs antot
suchan enormous assumption. The number of golden eagles at
large in North London at any one time was, Dirk guessed, fairly

small.
Or maybe it was just nesting on his doorstep completely by chance, enjoying qauick breather prior to having another
hurtle through the sky in pursuit of whatever it is that eagles hurtle through the sky after.
Whatever the explanation, now, Dirk realised, was the time that hehad simply to take his chances. He steeled himself,
took a deep breath and arose from behindRetnhaeult, like a spirit rising from the deep.
The eagle was looking in another direction at the time, and it was a second or so before it lookedtobtahcekfront
andsaw him, at which point it reacted with a loud screech and stepped back an inch or twa ore, action which Dirk felt a
littleput out by. It then blinked rapidly a few times and adopted a sort of perky expression of which Dirnkotdhidave the faintest idea what to make.
He waited for a second or two, until he felt the situation had settleddown again after all the foregoing excitement, and then stoppedforward tentatively, round the front of the
Renault.A number of quiet, interrogative cawing noises seemed to float uncertainly through the air, and then aamfteorment Dirkrealised that he was making them himself and made himself stop. This was an eagle he was dealing with, not a budgie.
It was at this point that he made his mistake.
With his mind entirely taken up with eagles,pothsseible intentionsof eagles, and the many ways in which eagles might

beconsidercd to differ from small kittens, he did not
concentrate enough on what he was doing as he stepped up out of theroad and on to a pavement that was slick with the recent
drizzle. As he brought his rear foot forward it coanugthet
bumperof the car he wobbled, slipped, and then did that thing which one should never do to a large eagle of uncertain temper, which was tfoling himself headlong at it with his arms
outstretched.
The eagle reacted instantly.
Without a second's hesitation it hopped neatly aside and allowed Dirk the space he needed to collapse heavily hoisn to
owndoorstep. It then peered down at him with a scorn that would have withered a lesser man, or at lemaastn tahat had been looking up at that moment.
Dirk groaned.
He had sustained a blow to the temple from the edge of the step,and it was a blow, he felt, that he could just as easily have done without this evening. lHayethere gasping for a
secondor two, then at last rolled over heavily, clasping one
hand to his forehead, the other to his nose, and luopokaet d
thegreat bird in apprehension, reflecting bitterly on the
conditions under which he was expected to work.
When it became clear
htoim that he appeared for the
momentto have nothing to fear from the eagle, who was merely
regarding him with a kind of quizzical, blinking doubsat,t he

up,and then slowly dragged himself back to his feet and wiped and smaacked some of the dirthoisffcoat. Then he hunted
throughhis pockets for his keys and unlocked the front door, which seemed a little loose. He waited towhsaetethe eagle
would do next.
With a slight rustle of its wings it hopped over the lintel and into his hall. It looked around iatnsedlfs,eemed
toregard what it saw with a little distaste. Dirk didn't know
what it was that eagles expected of people's hallwaysh,adbut
to admit to himself that it wasn't only the eagle which reacted likethat. The disorder was not that great, but there was a grimness to it which tended to cast a pallviosviteors, and
the eagle was clearly not immune to this effect.
Dirk picked up a large flat envelope lying on his doormat, lookedinside it to check that it was what he had been
expecting, then noticed that a pictwuraes missing from the wall.It wasn't a particularly wonderful picture, merely a
small Japanese print that he had founCdaimnden Passage and
quite liked, but the point was that it was missing. The hook on thewall was empty. There was a chair missing as well, he
realised.
The possible significance of this suddenly struck him, and
he hurried through to the kitchen. Many of his assorted kitchen implementshad clearly gone. The rack of largely unused Sabatierknives, the food processor and his radio cassette
player had all vanishebdu, t he did, however, have a new

fridge.It had obviously been delivered by Nobby Paxton's
felonious thugs and he would just have to make the usual little list.
Still, he had a new fridge athnadt was a considerable
loadoff his mind. Already the whole atmosphere in the kitchen seemed easier. The tension had lifted. There was a new sense of lightnessand springiness in the air which had even
communicated itself to the pile of old pizza boxes which seemed now to recline at a jaunty rather than an oppressive angle.
Dirk cheerfully threw open the door to the new fridge and was delighted to findcoitmpletely and utterly empty. Its
innerlight shone on perfectly clean blue and white walls and on gleaming chromsehelves. He liked it so much that he
instantly determined to keep it like that. He would put nothing in it at all. His food would just have to go off in plain view.
Good. He closed it again.
A screech and a flap behind him reminded him that he was entertaining a visiting eagle. He turned to find it galat ring
him from on top of the kitchen table.
Now that he was getting a little more accustomed to it, andhad not actually been viciously attacked as he had
suspected he might be, it seemed a little less fearsome than it hadat first. It was still a serious amount of eagle, but
perhaps an eagle wassliaghtly more manageable proposition
thanhe had originally supposed. He relaxed a little and took

off his hat, pulled off his coat, and threw them on to a chair. The eagle seemed at this juncture to sense that Dirk might
be getting the wrong idea about it and flexed onecloawf sits
athim. With sudden alarm Dirk saw that it did indeed have something that closely resembled congealed blood on the talons. He backed away from it hurriedly. The eagle then rose up to its full height on its talons and began to spregadreaitswings
out,wider and wider, beating them very slowly and leaning forward so as to keep its balance. Dirk did thethionnglhye couldthink to do under the cincumstances and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him and jamminghaltlhteable
up against it.
A terrible cacophony of screeching and scratching and
buffeting arose instantly from behind it. Dirk sat leaning back against the table, panting and trying to catch his barneadth,
thenafter a while began to get a worrying feeling about what the bird was up to now.
It seemed to him that the eagle was actudaivlley-bombing itselfagainst the door. Every few seconds the pattern would repeat itself - first a great beating of wtihnegns,a rush,
thena terrible cracking thud. Dirk didn't think it would get
through the door, but was alarmed that it might beatoitself
deathtrying. The creature seemed to be quite frantic about something, but what, Dirk could not even begiimn atgoine. He
triedto calm himself down and think clearly, to work out what
he should do next.

He should phone Kate and make certain she awllarisght.
_ Whoosh, thud!_
He should finally open up the envelope he had been carrying withhim all day and examine its contents. _ Whoosh,
thud!_
For that he would need a sharp knife. _ Whoosh, thud!_ Three rather awkward thoughts then struck him in fairly quick succession.
_Whoosh, thud!_
First, the only sharp knives in the place, assuming Nobby's removal people had left hwimith any at all, were in the
kitchen. _ Whoosh, thud!_
That didn't matter so much in itself, because he could
probably find something in the house that would do. _ Whoosh, thud!_
The second thought was that the actual envelope itself was in
the pocket of his coat which he had left lying over the back of a chair in the kitchen. _ Whoosh, thud!_
The third thought was very similar to the secondhaadndto do withthe location of the piece of paper with Kate's telephone number on it. _ Whoosh, thud!_
Oh God. _ Whoosh, thud!_
Dirk began to feel very, very tired at thethweadyay was workingout. He was deeply worried by the sense of impending calamity, but was still by no means able to divine wahtat lay

the root of it. _ Whoosh, thud!_
Well, he knew what he had to do now... _ Whoosh, thud!_
... so there was no point in not getting on with it. He
quietly pulled the table away from the door. _ Whoosh -_ He ducked and yanked the door oppeans,sing smoothly under theeagle as it hurtled out into the hallway and hit the
opposite wall. He slammethde door closed behind him from insidethe kitchen, pulled his coat off the chair and jammed the chair back up under the handle. _ Whoosh, thud!_ The damage done to the door on this side was both
considerableand impressive, and Dirk began seriously to worry
about what this behaviour said about the bird's stamteindo,f
orwhat the bird's state of mind might become if it maintained thisbehaviour for very much longer. _ Whoosh...
scratch..._
The same thought seemed to have occurred to the bird at that moment,and after a brief flurry of screeching and of
scratchingat the door with its talons it lapsed into a grumpy and defeated silence, which afterhaidt been going on for
abouta minute became almost as disturbing as the previous batterings.
Dirk wondered what it was up to.
He approached the door cautiously and vevreyr,y quietly movedthe chair back a little so that he could see through the keyhole. He squatted down and peered througAh tifti.rst it seemedto him that he could see nothing through it, that it

must be blocked by something. Then, a slight flickegrlinatnd
closeup on the other side suddenly revealed the startling
truth, which was that the eagle
halasdo an eye up at the
keyholeand was busy looking back at him. Dirk almost toppled backwards with the shock of the realisataionnd, backed away
from the door with a sense of slight horror and revulsion. This was extremely intelligent behaviour for an eagle
wasn't it? Was it? How could he find out? He couldn'ot fthink
anyornithological experts to phone. All his reference books
were piled up in other rooms of the house, and hethdinikdn't
he'dbe able to keep on pulling off the same stunt with
impunity, certainly not when he was dealing with an eagle which had managed to figure out what keyholes were for.
He retrealed to the kitchen sink afonudnd some kitchen towel.He folded it into a wad, soaked it, and dabbed it first
on his bleeding temple, which was swelling up nicelyt,heannd
onhis nose which was still very tender, and had been a
considerable size for most of the day now. Maybe theweaasgle
an eagle of delicate sensibilities and had reacted badly to the sight of Dirk's face in its current, much abused, state and had simply lost its mind. Dirk sighed and sat down.
Kate's telephone, which was the next thing he turned his attention to, was answered by a machine when hetotrriiendg it.Her voice told him, very sweetly, that he was welcome to
leave a message after the beep, but warned that she hardly ever

listened to them and that it was much btoettaelrk to her directly,only he couldn't because she wasn't in, so he'd best try again.
Thank you very much, he thought, and put the phone down.
He realised that the truth of the matter was thhisa:dhe
spentthe day putting off opening the envelope because of what he was worried about finding in it. It wasn't that the idea was frightening, though indeed it was frightening that a man should
sell his soul to a green-eyed man with a scythe, wwhihcaht is
circumstances were trying very hard to suggest had happened. It wasjust that it was extremely depressing that he should sell
it to a green-eyed man with a scythe in exchange for a share in the royalties of a hit record.
That was what it looked like on the face of it. Wasn't it?
Dirk picked up the other envelope, the one whichbeheand
waiting for him on his doormat, delivered there by courier from alarge London bookshop where Dirk had an account. He pulled out the contents, which werecoapy of the sheet music of
_Hot__Pototo_, written by Colin Paignton, Phil
Mulville and Geoff Anstey.
The lyrics were, well, straightforwarTd.hey provided a basicrepetitive bit of funk rhythm and a simple sense of menace and cheerful callousness which had cauthgehtmood of last summer. They went:
_ Hot Potato,_

_ Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick it up._
_ Quick, pass it on, poss it on, poss it on._
_ You don't want to get caught, get caught, get caught._
_ Drop it on someone. Who ? Who ? Anybody._
_ You better not have it when the big one comes._
_ I said yobuetter not have it when the big one comes._
_ It's a Hot Potato._
And so on. The repeated phrases got tossed back and
forward between the two members of the bandd, ruthme machine got heavier and heavier, and there had been a dance video.
Was that all it was going to be? Big deal. A nice house in Lupton Street with polyurethaned floors and a broken marriage? Things had certainly come down a long way since the great
days of Faust and Mephistopheles, when a man could gain all the knowledge of the universe, achieve thaell ambitions of his
mindand all the pleasures of the flesh for the price of his
soul. Now it was a few record royalties, a few pieces of trendy furniture, a trinket to stick on your bathroom wallwahnadp,,
your head comes off.
So what exactly was the deal? What was the _Potato_
contract? Who was getting what and why?
Dirk rummaged through a drawfeorr the breadknife, sat

downonce more, took the envelope from his coat pocket and ripped through the congealed strata of Sellotape which held the end of it together.
Out fell a thick bundle of papers.
Chapter 22
At exactly the moment that the telephone rang, the door to Kate's sitting-room opened. The Thunder God attemptesdtotmo p inthrough it, but in fact he wafted. He had clearly soaked himself very thoroughly in the stuff Kate had thirnotwo nthe
bath, then redressed, and torn op a nightgown of Kate's to bind hisforearm with. He casually tossed a handful of softened oak shards away into the comer of the room. dKeactieded for the momentto ignore both the deliberate provocations and the
telephone. The former she could deal withthaendlatter she had a machine for dealing with.
"I've been reading about you," she challenged the Thunder
God. "Where's your beard?"
He took the book, a ovnoelume encyclopaedia, from her
hands and glanced at it before tossing it aside contemptuously. "Ha," he said, "I shaved it off. When I was in Wales." He
scowled at the memory.
"What were you doing in Wales for heaven's sake?" "Counting the stones," he said with a shrug,waenndt to
stare out of the window.

There was a huge, moping anxiety in his bearing. It suddenly occurredto Kate with a spasm of something not
entinely unlike fear, that sometimes when people got like that, itwas because they had picked up their mood from the weather. With a Thunder God it presumably workedotthheer way round.
The sky ootside certainly had a restless and disgruntled look. Her reactions suddenly started to become very confused. "Excuse me if this sounds like a stupid question," said
Kate, "but I'm a little at sea here. I'm notousspeednding theevening with someone who's got a whole day named after them. What stones were you counting in Wales?"
"All of them," said Thor inlowa growl. "All of them betweenthis size... " he held the tip of his forefinger and
thumb about a quarter of an inch apart, "...and thisHseize."
heldhis two hands about a yard apart, and then put them down again.
Kate stared at him blankly.
"Well... how many were thene?" she askeds.eeImt
ed only
polite to ask.
He rounded on her angrily.
"Count them yourself if you want to know!" he shouted. "What's the point in my spendyinegars and years and years countingthem, so that I'm the only person who knows, and who will ever know, if I just go and tell somebody else? Well?"
He turned back to the window.

"Anyway," he said, "I've been worried about it. I Ithink
mayhave lost count somewhere in Mid-Glamorgan. But I'm not," he shouted, "going to do it again!"
"Well, why on earth would ydoou such an extraordinary thing in the first place?"
"It was a burden placed on me by my father. A punishment. A penance." He glowered.
"Your father?" said Kate. "Do you mean Odin?" "The All-Father,"said Thor. "Father of the Gods of
Asgard."
"And you're saying he's alive?"
Thor turned to look at her as if she was stupid. "We are immortals," he said, simply.
Downstairs, Neil chose that moment to conclude his thunderous performance on the bass, athned house seemed to sing in its aftermath with an eerie silence.
"Immortals are what you wanted," said Thor in a low, quiet voice."Immortals are what you got. It is a little hard on us. You wanted us to be for ever, soarewfeor ever. Then you forgetabout us. But still we are for ever. Now at last, many
are dead, many dying," he then added in a quiet voiciet, "but
takes a special effort."
"I can't even begin to understand what you're talking about," said Kate, "you say that I, we - "
"You _can_ begin to understand," said Thaonrg,rily,
"whichis why I have come to you. Do you know that most people

hardly see me? Hardly notice me at all? It is nwote tahraet
hidden.We are here. We move among you. My people. Your gods. You gave birth to us. You made us be what'you would not dare to be yourselves. Yet you will not acknowledge us. If I walk along
one ofyour streets in this... world you have made for yourselveswithout us, then barely an eye will once flicker in my direction."
"Is this when you're wearing the helmet?" "Especially when I'm wearing the helmet!" "Well- "
"You make fun of me!" roared Thor.
"You make it very easy for a girl," Ksaaitde. "I don't know what - "
Suddenly the room seemed to quake and then to catch its breath. All of Kate's insides wobbled violentlythaenndheld verystill. In the sudden horrible silence, a blue china table lamp slowly toppled off the table, hit the falnodorc,rawled
offto a dark corner of the room where it sat in a worried little defensive huddle.
Kate stared at it and tried to be calm about ifte. ltShe
as if cold, soft jelly was trickling down her skin. "Did you do that?" she said shakily.
Thor was looking livid and confused. He muttered, "Do not
make me angry with you. You were very lucky." He looked away. "What are you _saying_?"

"I'm saying that I wish you to come with me." "What? What about _that_?" She pointedthaet small
befuddledkitten under the table which had so recently and so confusingly been a blue china table lamp.
"There's nothing I can do for it."
Kate was suddenly so tireadnd confused and frightened thatshe found she was nearly in tears. She stood biting her lip and trying to be as angry as she could.
"Oh yeah?" she said. "I thought you wmeereant to be a
god. I hope you haven't got into my home under false pretences, I..."She stumbled to a halt, and then resumed in a different
tone of voice.
"Do you mean," she said, in a small voice, "thahtayvoeu
been here, in the world, _all this time_?" "Here, and in Asgard," said Thor.
"Asgard," said Kate. "The home of the gods?"
Thor was silent. It was a grim silence that seemed to be full of something that bothered him deeply.
"Where is Asgard?" demanded Kate.
Again Thor did not speak. He was a man offevwerwyords andenormously long pauses. When at last he did answer, it wasn't at all clear whether he had been thinking atlilmtehat
or just standing there.
"Asgard is also here," he said. "All worlds are here." He drew out from under his furs his great hammer and
studied its head deepalynd with an odd curiosity, as if

somethingabout it was very puzzling. Kate wondered where she foundsuch a gesture familiar from. She found that it
instinctivelymade her want to duck. She stepped back very slightly and was watchful.
When he looked up again, there was an altogether new focus and energy in his eyes, as if he was gathheimrinseglf up to
hurl himself at something. "
"Tonight I must be in Asgard," he said. "I must confront my father Odin in the great hall of Valhalla andhibmritnog
account for what he has done."
"You mean, for making you count Welsh pebbles?"
"No!" said Thor. "For making the Welsh pebbles not worth counting!"
Kate shook her head in exasperation. "I simply dkonno'wt
whatto make of you at all," she said. "I think I'm just too tired. Come back tomorrow. Explain it all in the morning."
"No," said Thor. "You must see Asgard yoursaenldf, then youwill understand. You must see it tonight." He gripped her by the arm.
"I don't want to go to Asgard," she insisted. "Igdoon't
tomythical places with strange men. You go. Call me up and tell me how it went in the morning. hGimivheell about the pebbles."
She wrested her arm from his grip. It was very, very clear
to her that she only did this with his permission.

"Now please, go, and let me sleep!" She glared at him.
At that moment the house seemed to erupt as Neil launched into a thumping bass rendition of SiegfriRedh'esinfahrt from
Act1 of _Götterdämmerung_, just to prove it could be done. The walls shook, twheindows rattled. From under the tablethe sound of the table lamp mewing pathetically could just be heard.
Kate tried to maintain her furious glabruet, it simply couldn't be kept up for very long in the circumstances.
"OK," she said at last, "how do we get to this place?" "There are as many ways as there are tiny pieces."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Tiny things." He held up his thumb and forefinger again toindicate something very small. "Molecules," he added, seemingto be uncomfortable with the word. "But first let us leave here."
"Will I need a coat in Asgard?" "As you wish."
"Well, I'll take one anyway. Wait a minute."
She decided that the best way to deal with the astonishing rigmarole whichcurrently constituted her life was to be businesslikeabout it. She found her coat, brushed her hair,
left a new message on her telephone answering machine and put a saucer of milk firmly under the table.
"Right," she said, anlded the way out of the flat,
lockingit carefully after them, and making shushing noises as

they passed Neil's door. For all the uphreoawras currently makinghe was almost certainly listening out for the slightest sound, and would be out in a moment if he heardgotihngemby tocomplain about the Coca-Cola machine, the lateness of the
hour, man's inhumanity to man, the weather, the noiset,heand
colourof Kate's coat, which was a shade of blue that Neil for some reason disapproved of most particularly. Tshteoyle past successfullyand closed the front door behind them with the
merest click.
Chapter 23
The sheets which tumbled out onDtiork's kitchen table weremade of thick heavy paper, folded together, and had obviously been much handled.
He sorted them out, one by one, separating them efarocmh other,smoothing them out with the flat of his hand and laying them out neatly in rows on the kitchen table, clearing a space,
as it became necessary, among the old newspapers, ashatrnadys
dirtycereal bowls which Elena the cleaner always left exactly where they were, claiming, when challengedthoisn, that she thought he had put them there specially.
He pored over the papers for several minutes, moving from one to another, comparing them with each osthtuedry, ing them
carefully, page by page, paragraph by paragraph, line by line.

He couldn't understand a word of them.
It should have occurred to him, he realised, that the greeneyed, hairy, scythe-waving giant might difreorm him
not only in general appearance and personal habits, but also in such matters as the alphabet he favoured.
He sat back in his seat, disgruntled and thwarted, and reached for a cigarette, but the packehtisicnoat was now empty.He picked up a pencil and tapped it in a cigarette-like way, but it wasn't able to produce the same effect.
After a minute or two he became acutely conscoiof uthse factthat he was probably still being watched through the keyhole by the eagle and he found that this miamdpeosistibly hardto concentrate on the problem before him, particularly without a cigarette. He scowled to himself. He kthneerwe was stilla packet upstairs by his bed, but he didn't think he
could handle the sheer ornithology involved in going to get it. He tried to stare at the papers for a lolinttgler. The
writing, apart from being written in some kind of small, crabby andindecipherable runic script, was mostly hunched up towards the left-hand side of the paper as if swept btyhearetide.
The righthand side was largely clear except for an occasionai groupof characters which were lined up underneath each other. All of it, except for a slight sense of undefinable familiarity about the layout, was completely meaningless to Dirk.
He turned his attention back to the envelionpsteead and
triedonce more to examine some of the names which had been so

heavily crossed out.
Howard Bell, the incredibly wealthbyestselling novelist
whowrote bad books which sold by the warehouse-load despite - or perhaps because of - the fact that nobody read them.
Dennis Hutch, record company magnate. Now thheathad a contextfor the name, Dirk knew it perfeetly well. The Aries Rising Record Group which had been foundedSixotnies ideals, orat least on what passed for ideals in the Sixties, grown in
the Seventies and then embraced the materialism of the Eighties withoutmissing a beat, was now a massive entertainment conglomerateon both sides of the Atlantic. Dennis Hutch had stepped up into the top seat when its fouhnaddedr ied of a lethaloverdose of brick wall, taken while under the influence
of a Ferrari and a boottfletequila. ARRGH! was also the record label on which _Hot Potato_ had been released.
Stan Dubcek, senior partner in the advertising company with the silly name which now owned mofotshte British and Americanadvertising companies which had not had names which were quite as silly, and had therefore been swallowed whole.
And here, suddenly, was another namtheat was instantly recognisable, now that Dirk was attuned to the sort of names he shouldbe looking for. Roderick Mercer, the world's greatest publisher of the world's sleaziest newspapers. Dhiardkn't at
firstspotted the name with the unfamiliar "...erick" in place
after the "Rod". Well, well, well. . .

Now here werepeople, thought Dirk suddenly, who had
really got something. Certainly they had got rather more than a nicelittle house in Lupton Road with some dried flowers lying around the place. They also had the great advanotfahgaeving headson their shoulders as well, unless Dirk had missed
something new and dramatic on the news. What did that all mean?
What was this contract? How come everybody whose hitanhdads
beenthrough had been so astoundingly successful except for one, Geoffrey AnsteyE?verybody whose hands it had passed throughhad benefited from it except for the one who had it last. Who had still got it.
It was a hot potato. .
_ You better not have it when the big one comes._ The notion suddenly formed in Dirk's mind that it mhaigvhet
beenGeoffrey Anstey himself who had overheard a conversation
about a hot potato, about getting rid of it, passingIfit on.
he remembered correctly the interview he had read with Pain, he didn't say that he himself had overheard the conversation.
_ You better not have it when the big one comes._ The notion was a horrible one and ran on like this: Geoffrey Anstey had been pathetically naïve. He had
overheard this conversation, between - who? Dirk picketdheup
envelopeand ran over the list of names - and had thought that it had a good dance rhythm. He had noatmfomr ent realised thatwhat he was listening to was a conversation that would
result in his own hideous death. He had got a hit record out of

it, and when the real hot potato was actually handed htoe him
had picked it up.
_ Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick it up._
And instead of taking the advice he had recorded in thc words of the song...
_ Quick, pass it on, pass it on, pass it on._
... he had stuck it behind the gold reacworadrd on his bathroom wall.
You better not have it when the big one comes.
Dirk frowned and took a long, slow thoughtful drag on his pencil.
This was ridiculous.
He had to got some cigarettes ifwhaes going to think thisthrough with any intellectual rigour. He pulled on his
coat, stuffed his hat on his head and made for the window. The window hadn't been opened fowr e-ll, certainly not
duringhis ownership of the house, and it struggled and screamed at the sudden unaccustomed invasion osfpaitcse and independence. Once he had forced it wide enough, Dirk struggled outon to the windowsill, pulling swathes of leather coat out
with him. From here it was a baitjuomf p to the pavement
since there was a lower ground floor to the house with a narrow flight of steps leading down to it in the front. A line of iron railings separated these from the pavement, and Dirk had to get clear over these.

Without hesitating for a moment he made the jump, and it
was in mid-bound that he realised he had not pickcd cuapr keys from the kitchen table where he'd left them.
He considered as he sailed gracelessly through the air
whether ornot to execute a wild mid-air twist, make a
his
desperategrab backwards for the window and hope that he might just manage to hold onthteo sill, but decided on mature
reflectionthat an error at this point might just conceivably kill him whereas the walk would probably do him good.
He landed heavily on the far side of the railings, but the
tails of his coat became entangled with them and he had to pull them off, tearing part of the lining in the prOocnecses.the
ringingshock in his knees had subsided and he had recovered
what little composure the events of the day had lewftithhi,m
herealised that it was now well after eleven o'clock and the
pubs would be shut, and he might have a longer walk than he had bargained for to find some cigarettes.
He considered what to do.
The current outlook and state of mind of tbe
weaagslea
major factor to be taken into account here. The only way to get hiscar keys now was back through the front door into his eagleinfested hallway.
Moving with great caution he tip-toed back up the steps to his front door, squatted down and, hoping thadt atmhen thing wasn'tgoing to squeak, gently pushed up the flap of the
letterbox and peered through.

In an instant a talon was hooked into the back of his hand and a greastcreeching beak slashed at his eye, narrowly
missingit but scratching a great gouge across his much abused nose.
Dirk howled with pain and lurched backwarndost, getting veryfar because he still had a talon hooked in his hand. He lashed out desperately and hit at tathloen, which hurt him considerably,dug the sharp point even further into his flesh
and caused a great, barging flurry on the far side of the door, each tiniest movement of which tugged heavily in his hand.
He grabbed at the great claw with his hfarneed and and triedto tug it back out of himself. It was immensely strong, and was shaking with tfhuery of the eagle, which was as
trappedas he was. At last, quivering with pain, he managed to
release himself, and pulled his injured hand back, nuarnsidng
cuddling it with the other.
The eagle pulled its claw back sharply, and Dirk heard it flappingaway back down his hallway, emitting terrible screechesand cries, its great wings colliding with and
scraping thc walls.
Dirk toyed with the idea of burning htohuese down, but
once the throbbing in his hand had begun to subside a little he calmeddown and tried, if he could, to see things from the
eagle's point of view.
He couldn't.

He had not the faintest idea how things appeared to eagles in general, much less to this particular eagle, which seemed to be a seriously deranged example of the species.
After a minute or so more of nursing his hand,
curiosity-allied to a strong sense that the eagle had definitely retreated to the feanr d of the hall and stayed there -
overcamehim, and he bent down once more to the letter-box.
This time he used his pencil to push the flap back uapnwdards
scannedthe hallway from a safe position a good few inches back.
The eagle was clearly in view, perched on theofetnhde bannisterrail, regarding him with resentment and opprobrium,
which Dirk felt was a little rich coming from a crweahtiuchre
hadonly a moment or two ago been busily engaged in trying to rip his hand off.
Then, once the eagle was certain thahtadit got Dirk's attention,it slowly raised itself up on its feet and slowly
shook its great wings out, beating them gently for baIltance.
wasthis gesture that had previously caused Dirk to bolt prudently from the room. Thtiims e, however, he was safely
behinda couple of good solid inches of wood and he stood, or rather, squatted higsround. The eagle stretched its neck
upwardsas well, jabbing its tongue out at the air and cawing plaintively, which surprised Dirk.
Then he noticed something else rather surprising about the
eagle, which watshat its wings had strange, un-eaglelike

markings on them. They were large concentric circles.
The differences of coloration which delineated thc circles were veryslight, and it was only the absolute geometric
regularity of them which made them stand out as clearly as they did. Dirk had the very clear sense that the weaslsehowing
himthese circles, and that that was what it had wanted to attract his attention to all aloEngac. h time the bird had divedat him, he realised as he thought back, it had then started ona strange kind of flapping routine which had
involved opening its wings right out. However, each time it had happenedDirk had been too busily engaged with the business of turning round and runninagway to pay this exhibition the
appropriate attention.
"Have you got the money for a cup of tea, mate?" "Er, yes thank you," said Dirk, "I'm fine." His attention
was fully occupied with the eagle, haen didn't immediately look round.
"No, I meant can you spare me a bob or two, just for a cup of tea?"
"What?" This time Dirk looked round, irritably. "Or just a fag, mate. Got a fag you can spare?"
"No, I was just going to go and get some myself," said
Dirk.
The manon the pavement behind him was a tramp of indeterminate age. He was standing there, slightly wobbly, with

alook of wild and continuous disappointment bobbing in his eyes.
Not getting animmediate response from Dirk, the man droppedhis eyes to the ground about a yard in front of him, and swayed back and forth a little.wHaseholding his arms out,slightly open, slightly away from his body, and just
swaying. Then hferowned suddenly at the ground. Then he frownedat another part of the ground. Then, holding himself
steady while he made quite a major realignment of hishehead,
frowned away down the street.
"Have you lost something?" said Dirk.
The man's head swayed back towards him. "Have I _lost_ something?" he said in querulous
astonishment. "Have I _lost_ something?"
It seemed to be the most astounding questionhahdeever heard.He looked away again for a while, and seemed to be trying to balance the question in the general scathleingosf. Thisinvolved a fair bit more swaying and a fair few more frowns. At last he seemed to come up with somethinmgigthtat
do service as some kind of answer.
"The sky?" he said, challenging Dirk to find this a good
enough answer. He looked up towards it, carefully, so as not to lose his balance. He seemed not to like what he saw in the dim, orange, street-lit pallor of the clouds, and slowly looked back down again till he was staring at a point just in fhriosnt of
feet.

"The ground?" he said, with evident great dissatisfaction, and then was struck with a sudden thought.
"Frogs?" he said, wobbling his gaze up to meet Dirk's rather bewildered one. "I used to like...frogs,"saihde, and
left his gaze sitting on Dirk as if that was all he had to say, and the rest was entirely up to Dirk now.
Dirk was completely flummoxed. He longed for the times
when life had been easy,
hliafed been carefree, the great
times he'd had with a mere homicidal eagle, which seemed now to besuch an easygoing and amiable companion. Aerial attack he
could cope with, but not this nameless roaring guiltctahmate howling at him out of nowhere.
"What do you want?" he said in a strangled voice. "Just a fag, mate," said the tramp, "or something for a
cup of tea."
Dirk pressed a pound coin into the man's haannddlunged offdown the street in a panic, passing, twenty yards further on, a builder's skip from which the shoaf pheis old fridge
loomed at him menacingly.
Chapter 24
As Kate came down the steps from her house she noticed
that the temperature had dropped considerably.
cTlhoeuds sat
heavilyon the land and loured at it. Thor set off briskly in

the direction of the park, and Kate trotted along in his wake. As he strode along, an extraordinary figure on the streets
of Primrose Hill, Kate could not help but ntohtaitcehe had beenright. They passed three different people on the way, and
she saw distinctly how their eyes avoided looking atevheimn ,
asthey had to make allowance for his great bulk as he passed them. He was not invisible, far from it. He simply didn't fit.
The park was closed for the night, but Thor qleuaicpktly overthe spiked railings and then lifted her over in turn as lightly as if she had been a bunch of flowers.
The grass was damp and mushy, but still woirtksemdagic oncity feet. Kate did what she always did when entering the
park, which was to bob down and put the flats of her hands down
on the ground for a moment. She had never quite workwedhyout
shedid this, and often she would adjust a shoe or pick up a piece of litter as a pretextthfoermovement, but all she reallywanted was to feel the grass and the wet earth on her palms.
The park from this viewpoint was simapldyark shoulder thatrose up before them, obscuring itself. They mounted the hill and stood on the top of it, looking ovdearrkthneess of
the rest of the park to where it shaded off into the hazy light ofthe heart of London which lay to the south. Ugly towers and blocks stuck yobbishly up out of skthyeline, dominating the
park, the sky, and the city.
A cold, damp wind moved across the park, flicking at it

from time to time like the tail doafrkaand broody horse. Therewas an unsettled, edgy quality to it. In fact the night sky seemed to Kate to be like a otfrarienstless, irritable
horses, their traces flapping and slapping in the wind. It also seemedto her as if the traces all radiated loosely from a
single centre, and that the centre was very clohser.bSyhe reprimanded herself for absurd suggestibility, but
nevertheless, it still seemed that all the weather was gathered and circling around them, waiting on them.
Thor once more drew out his hammer, and held it before him in the thoughtful and abstracted mansnheer had seen a few minutesbefore in her flat. He frowned, and seemed to be
picking tiny invisible pieces of dust off it. Iat lwittales
likea chimpanzee grooming its mate, or - that was it! - the comparison was extraordinary, biuttexplained why she had tensedherself so watchfully when last he had done it. It was like JimmyConnors minutely adjusting the strings of his
racquet before preparing to serve.
He looked up sharply once again, drew his arm back, turned fullyonce, twice, three times, twisting his heels heavily in
the mud, and then hurled his hammer with astonifsohrinceg up to the heavens.
It vanished almost instantly into the murky haze of the
sky. Damp flashes sparked deep within the clouds, tracitksing
pathin a long parabola through the night. At the furthest

extent of the parabola it swudnogwn out of the clouds, a distant tiny pinpoint moving slowly now, gathering and redirecting its momentum for the return fliKghatt.e watched,
breathless, as the speck crept behind the dome of St Paul's. It thenseemed almost as if it had halted altogether, hanging
silently and improbably in the air, before gradubaelgliynning toincrease microscopically in size as it accelerated back towards them.
Then, as it returned, siwt ung aside in its path, no longerdescribing a simple parabola, but following instead a new path which seemed to lie along the perimetegrigoafntaic
Mobiusstrip which took it round the other side of the Telecom Tower. Then suddenly it was swinging bacak pianth directly towardsthem, hurtling out of the night with impossible weight
and speed like a piston in a shaft of Kliagthet.swayed and nearlydropped in a dead faint out of its path, when Thor stepped forward and caught it with a grunt.
The jolt of it sent a single heavy shudder dinotwo nthe earth,and then the thing was resting quietly in Thor's grip. His arm quivered slightly and was still.
Kate felt quite dizzy. She didn't know exactly what it was that had just happened, but she felt pretty dcaemrtanin that
itwas the sort of experience that her mother would not have approved of on a first date.
"Is this all part of what we have to do toAgsgoartdo?"
she said. "Or are you just fooling around?"

"We will go to Asgard...now," he said.
At that moment he raised his hand as if to pluck an apple,
but instead of plucking he made a tiny, sharp turning movement. The effecwt as as if he had twisted the entire world through a billionth part of a billionptahrt of a degree. Everything
shifted,was for a moment minutely out of focus, and then snapped back again as a suddenly different world.
This world was a much darker one and colder still. A bitter, putrid wind blew sharply, and made ebvreerayth
gagin the throat. The ground beneath their feet was no longer the soft muddy grass of the hill, bfouutl-asmelling, oozing slush.Darkness lay over all the horizon with a few small exceptional fires dotted here and theretheindistance, and
onegreat blaze of light about a mile and a half away to the southeast.
Here, great fantastical towers stabbed at the nihguhgt;e pinnaclesand turrets flickered in the firelight that surged
from a thousand windows. It was an edifice that morecakseodn, ridiculed reality and jeered wildly at the night.
"My father's palace," said Thor, "the Great Hall of
Valhalla where we must go."
It was just on thtiep of Kate's tongue to say that
somethingabout the place was oddly familiar when the sound of horses' hooves pounding through the mud catomtehem on the wind.At a distance, between where they stood and the Great

Hall of Valhalla, a small number of flickering torches could be seen jolting towards them.
Thor oncemore studied the head of his hammer with
interest, brushed it with his forefinger and rubbed it with his thumb.Then slowly he looked up, again he twisted round once, then twice and a third time and then htuhrelemd issile into
thesky. This time, however, he continued to hold on to its shaft with his right hand, while with his lehfetldhKe ate's
waist in his grasp.
Chapter 25
Cigarettes clearly intended to make themselves a major problem for Dirk tonight.
For most of the day, except for when wheo'kden up, and exceptfor again shortly after he'd woken up, and except for when he had just encountered rtehveolving head of Geoffrey
Anstey, which was understandable, and also except for when he'd beenin the pub with Kate, he had had absolutely no cigarettes
at all.
Not one. They were out of his life, foresworn utHteerly.
didn'tneed them. He could do without them. They merely nagged at him like mad and made his life a living hell, but he decided he could handle that.
Now, however, just when he had suddednelycided, coolly,
rationally,as a clear, straightforward decision rather than

merely a feeble surrender to craving, that he would, after all, have a cigarette, could he find one? He could not.
The pubs by this stage of the night were well cTlohseed.
latenight corner shop obviously meant something different by
"late night" than Dirk did, and though Dirk was certain that he could convince the proprietor tohfe rightness of his case
throughsheer linguistic and syllogistic bravado, the wretched man wasn't there to undergo it.
A mile away there was a 24-hour filslitnatgion, but it
turnedout just to have sustained an armed robbery. The plate glass was shattered and crazed round a tiny phoolliec,e were
swarming over the place. The attendant was apparently not badly injured, but he was still losing blood from a wound in his arm, havinghysterics and being treated for shock, and no one would sell Dirk any cigarettes. They simply weren't in the mood.
"You could buy cigarettes in the bliptzr,o"tested Dirk.
"People took a pride in it. Even with the bombs falling and the whole city ablaze you could still get served. Some poor fellow, justlost two daughters and a leg, would still say `Plain or
filter tipped?' if you asked him."
"I expect you would, too," mutteraedwhite-faced young policeman.
"It was the spirit of the age," said Dirk. "Bug off," said the policeman.
And that, thought Dirk to himself, was the spirit of this.

He retreated, miffed, and decided to prowl the streets with his hands in his pockets for a while.
Camden Passage. Antique clocks. Antique clothes. No cigarettes.
Upper Street. Antique buildingbseing ripped apart. No sign of cigarette shops being put up in their place.
Chapel Market, desolate at night. Wet litter wildly
flapping. Cardboard boxes, egg boxes, paper bags caignadrette packets - empty ones.
Pentonville Road. Grim concrete monoliths, eyeing the new spaces in Upper Street where they hoped to spthaewirnhorrid progeny.
King's Cross station. They must have cigarettes, for heaven's sake. Dirk hurried on down towards it.
The old frontage to the station reared up abovearethae, agreat yellow brick wall with a clock tower and two huge arches fronting the two great train sheds behinfdr.onItnof
thislay the one-storey modern concourse which was already far shabbier than the building, a hundred yearsenitisor, which itobscured and generally messed up. Dirk imagined that when
the designs for the modern concouhrsaed been drawn up the architectshad explained that it entered into an exciting and challenging dialogue with the older building.
King's Cross is an area where territbhliengs happen to people,to buildings, to cars, to trains, usually while you
wait, and if yowueren't careful you could easily end up

involvedin a piece of exciting and challenging dialogue yourself. You could have a cheap racdario fitted while you
waited, and if you turned your back for a couple of minutes, it wouldbe removed while you waited as well. Other things you could have removed while ywouaited were your wallet, your stomachlining, your mind and your will to live. The muggers
and pushers and pimps and hamburger salesmen, ipnarntiocular order, could arrange all these things for you.
But could they arrange a packet of cigarettes, thought Dirk, with a mounting sense of tension.crHosesed York Way, declined a couple of surprising offers on the grounds that they didnot involve cigarettes in any immediately obvious way,
hurried past thcelosed bookshop and in through themain concoursedoors, away from the life of the street and into the safer domain of British Rail.
He looked around him.
Here things seemed rather strange and he wondered why, but he onlywondered this very briefly because he was also
wonderingif there was anywhere open selling cigarettes and there wasn't.
He sagged forlornly. It seemed to hthimat he had been playingcatch-up with the world all day. The morning had
started in about as disastrous a way as it was pofossriable
morning to start, and he had never managed to get a proper grip
onit since. He felt like somebody trying to ride a bolting

horse, with one foot instiarrup and the other one still
boundingalong hopefully on the ground behind. And now even as
simple a thing as a cigarette
pwraosving to be beyond his
ability to get hold of.
He sighed and found himself a seat, or at least, room on a bench.
This was not an immediately easy thing to do. The station
was more crowded than he had expected to find it at w-aswhat
it?he looked up at the clock - one o'clock in the morning.
What in the name of God was he doing on King's Cross station at one o'clock in the morning, with no cigarette and nothhaotme
hecould reasonably expect to get into without being hacked to death by a homicidal bird?
He decided to feel sorry for himself. That would thpeass
time.He looked around himself, and after a while the impulse to feel sorry for himself gradually subsiadsedhe began to
take in his surroundings.
What was strange about it was seeing such an immediately familiar place looking suonfamiliar. There was the ticket
office,still open for ticket sales, but looking sombre and beleaguered and wishing it was closed.
There was the W.H.Smith, closefdor the night. No one
wouldbe needing any further newspapers or magazines tonight, except for purposes of accommodation, aonld ones would do
just as well for sleeping under.
The pimps and hookers, drug-pushers and hamburger salesmen

were alloutside in the streets and in the hamburger bars. If you wanted quick sex aodr irty fix or, God help you, a hamburger, that was where you went to get it.
Here were the people that nobody wanted anything from at all. This was where they gathered for shelter thuenytilwere
periodically shooed out. There was something people wanted from them,in fact - their absence. That was in hot demand, but not
easily supplied. Everybody has to be somewhere.
Dirk looked from one
atonother of the men and women
shufflinground or sitting hunched in seats or struggling to
try and sleep across benches that were specifically designed to prevent them from doing exactly that.
"Got a fag, mate?"
"What? No, I'm sorry. NIo,haven't got one," replied Dirk,awkwardly patting his coat pockets in embarrassment, as if to suggest the making of a search whheickhnew would be fruitless.He was startled to be summoned out of his reverie
like this.
"Here you are, then." The old man offehriemda beat-up one from a beat-up packet.
"What? Oh. Oh - thanks. Thank you " Momentarily taken aback by the offer, Dirk neverthelaecscsepted the cigarette gratefully,and took a light from the tip of the cigarette the old man was smoking himself.
"What you come hene for then?" asked otlhdeman - not

challenging, just curious.
Dirk tried to look at him without making it seem as if he was looking him up and dowTnh.e man was wildly bereft of teeth,had startled and matted hair, and his old clothes were
well mulched down around him, but the eyes which saggeodf hisface were fairly calm. He wasn't expecting anything worse than he could deal with to happen to him.
"Well, justthis in fact," said Dirt, twiddling the cigarette. "Thanks. Couldn't find one anywhere."
"Oh ah," said the old man.
"Got this mad bird at home," said Dirk. "Kept attacking me."
"Oh ah," said the man, nodding resignedly.
"I mean an actual bird," said Dirk, "an eagle." "Oh ah."
"With great wings." "Oh ah."
"Got hold ofme with one of its talons through the letter-box."
"Oh ah."
Dirk wondered if it was worth pursuing the conversation much further. He lapsed into silence and looked around.
"You're lucky it didn't slash yaotu with its beak as
well,"said the old man after a while. "An eagle will do that when roused."
"It did!" said Dirk. "It did! Look, right here on my nose.
out

That was through the letter-box as well. You'd scarcely believe
it! Talk about grip! Talk about reach! Look at wdhidattoit
my hand!"
He held it out for sympathy. The old man gave it an appraising look.
"Oh ah," he said laatst, and retreated into his own thoughts.
Dirk drew his injured hand back.
"Know a lot about eagles, then, do you?"
The man didn't answer, but seemed instead to retreat still further.
"Lot of people here tonight," Dirk ventured again, after a while.
The man shrugged. He took a long drag on his cigarette, half closing his eyes against the smoke.
"Is it always like this? I mean, are there alwamysansyo
people here at night?"
The man merely looked down, slowly releasing the smoke from his mouth and nostrils.
Yet again, Dirk looked around. A man a few feet
nawotay,
soold-looking as Dirk's companion but wildly deranged in his demeanour, had sat nodding hectically over a bottcleoookfing brandyall this time. He slowly stopped his nodding, screwed with difficulty a cap on to the bottle, and slipped it into the
pocket of his ragged old coat. An old fat wwomhoanhad been

fitfullybrowsing through the bulging black bin liner of her possessions began to twist the top of it together and fold it.
"You'd almost think that something was abtoouht appen," said Dirk.
"Oh ah," said his companion. He put his hands on his knees, bent forward and raised himself painfullhyistfoeet. Thoughhe was bent and slow, and though his clothes were dirt-ridden and tatteredth, ere was some little power and authority there in his bearing.
The air which he unsettted as he stood, which flowed out
from the folds of his skin and ctothes, was richly pungent even to Dirk's numbed nostrils. It was a stmhaetllnever stopped
coming at you - just as Dirk thought it must have peaked, so it struckon upwards with renewed frenzy till Dirk thought that
his very brain would vaporise.
He tried not to choke, indeed he tried to smile courteouslywithout allowing his eyes to run as the man turned
to him and said, "Infuse some blossom of the bitter orange. Add some sprinklings of sage while it is still warm.isTvheirsy
good for eagle wounds. There are those who will add apricot and almondoil and even, the heavens defend us, sedra. But then
there are always those that will overdo thiAnngds. sometimes we have need of them. Oh ah."
With that he turned away once more and joined the growing stream of pathetic, hunched and abused bodies that were heading
for the front exit from the station. Ianboaullt two, maybe

three dozen were leaving. Each seemed to be leaving separatety, eachfor his or her entirely independent reasons, and not
following too fast the one upon the other, andwyaest niot t
hardto tell, for anyone who cared to watch these people that no one cared to watch or see, that they lewaveirneg together
and in a stream.
Dirk carefulty nursed his cigarette for a minute or so and watchedthem intently as one by one they left. Once he was
certain that there were no more to go, and that the last two or three of them were at the door, he drotphpeecdigarette and
groundit out with his heel. Then he noticed that the old man had left behind hcisrumpled cigarette packet. Dirk looked insideand saw that there were still two bedraggled cigarettes left. He pocketed it, stood up, qaunidetly followed at a
distance that he thought was properly respectful.
Outside on the Euston Road the night air was grumbling and unsettled.He loitered idly by the doorway, watching which way they went - to the west. He took one of the cigaretatneds out
litit and then idled off westwards himself, around the taxi
rank and towards St Pancras Street.
On the west side of St Pancras Street, ajufeswt
yards
northof the Euston Road, a flight of steps leads up to the
forecourt of the old Midland Grand Hotel, the huge, dark gothic fantasy of a building which stands, empty and desoaclartoes,s
the front of St Pancras railway station.

Over the top of the steps, picked out in gold letters on wrought-iron-work, stands the name of the statTioank.ing his time,Dirk followed the last of the band of old tramps and
derelicts up these steps, which emerged just to theofsaide
small,squat, brick building which was used as a car-park. To the right, the great dark hulk of the old hotel spread off into the night, its rooflinevaast assortment of wild turrets,
gnarledspires and pinnacles which seemed to prod at and goad the night sky.
High in the dim darkness, silent stone figures stood guard behind long shields, grouped around pilastbeerhsind
wroughtiron railings. Carved dragons crouched gaping at the sky as
Dirk Gently, in his flapping leather coat, approached the great iron portals which led to the hotel, and tgoretahtevaulted
trainshed of St Pancras station. Stone figures of winged dogs crouched down from the top of pillars.
Here, in the bridged area between the heontetrlance and
thestation booking hall, was parked a large unmarked grey
Mercedes van. A quick glance at the front of
eitnowuagsh to
tellDirk that it was the same one which had nearly forced him off the road several hours earlier in the Cotswolds.
Dirk walked into the bookinhgall, a large space with
great panelled walls along which were spaced fat marble columns in the form of tonch holders.
At this time of night the ticket office was closed -
trains do not run all night from St Pancras - and beyond it the

vast chamber of the station itself, the gVreicattorian train shed, was shrouded in darkness and shadow.
Dirk stood quietly secluded in the entrance to the booking
hall andwatched asthe old tramps and bag tadies, who had
entered the station by the main entrafnrocme
the forecourt,
mingledtogether in the dimness. There were now many more than two dozen of them, perhaps as maasnya hundred, and there
seemedto be about them an air of repressed excitement and tension.
As they moved about it seemed to Dirk after a twhahti,le
though he had been surprised at how many of them there had been whenhe first arrived, there seemed now to be fewer and fewer
of them. He peered into the gloom trying to makwehaotuwt as happening.He detached himself from his seclusion in the entrance to the booking hall and enteredmtahine vault, but
kept himself nevertheless as close to the side wall as possible as he ventured in towards them.
There were definitely fewer still of them now, a mere handful left. He had a distinct sense of pesloippleing away into the shadows and not re-emerging from them.
He frowned at them.
The shadows were deep but they weren't that deep. He began to hurryforward, and quickly threw all caution aside to reach
the small remaining group. Bbuyt the time he reached the
centre of the concourse where they had been gathered there were

noneremaining at all and he was left whirling round in confusion in the middolef the great, dark, empty railway station.
Chapter 26
The only thing which prevented Kate screaming was the sheer pressure of air rushing into luhnegrs as she hurtled
into the sky.
When, a few seconds later, the blinding acceleration eased
a littles, he found she was gulping and choking, her eyes were stinging and streaming to the extent that she could hardly see, and therewas hardly a muscle in her body which wasn't gibberingwith shock as waves of air pummelled past her,
tearing at her hair and clothes and making her knees, knuckles and teeth batter at each other.
She had to struggle with herself to suppress her urge to struggle. On the one hand she absolutely certainly did not want to be let go of. Insofar as she had any understanding at all of
what was happening to her she knew that she did not wbeant to
letgo of. On the other hand the physical shock of it was
facing some stiff competition from her sheer affrontedartage
beingsuddenly hauled into the sky without warning. The result of this was that she struggled rather feebly andanwgraysat herselffor doing so. She ended up clinging to Thor's arm in
the most abject and undignified way.

The night was dark, and the blessing of this, she
supposed, was that she could not see the ground. The lights she hadseen dotted here and there in the distance now swung
sickeningly away beneather, but her instincts would not identifythem as representing ground. Already the flickering
beacons which shone from the insanely turreted building she had glimpsed seconds before this outrage occurred were swaying away behind her now at an increasing distance.
They were still ascending.
She could not struggle, she counlodt speak. She could probably,if she tried, bite the stupid brute's arm, but she contented herself with the idea of this rather thaanctuthael deed.
The air was bad and rasped in her lungs. Her nose and eyes were streaminga, nd this made it impossible for her to look
forward. When she did try it, just once, she caught a momentary blurred glimpse of the head of the hammer streaking out through the dark air of them, of Thor's arm grasping its stunted handle and being pulled forward ibt.yHis other arm was gripped
aroundher waist. The strength of him defied her imagination but did not make her any the less angry.
She got the feeling that they were now skimming along just beneath the clouds. Every now and then they wboeublduffeted bydamp clamminess, and breathing would become yet harder and
more noxious. The wet air tasted bitter, and decaodldly, and

her streaming wet hair lashed and slammed about her face. She decided that the cold was definitely going to kill
her, and after a while was convinced that she was begtionning
loseconsciousness. In fact she realised she was actually trying to lose consciousness bsuhte couldn't. Time slipped
intoa greyness though, and she was less aware of how much of it was passing.
At last she began to sense that they were slowing and that they were beginning to curve back downwards. pTrheicsipitated freshwaves of nausea and disorientation in her, and she felt that her stomach was being slowly turned through a mangle.
The air was, if anything, getting worse. It smelled worse, tasted more acrid and seemed to be gettignrgeaat deal more turbulent.They were definitely slowing now, and the going was becoming moreand more difficult. The hammer was clearly pointingdownwards now, and finding its way along rather than surging ahead.
Down still further they went, battling through the thickeningclouds that swirled round them till it seemed that they must now reach all the way down to the ground.
Their speed had dropped to the point where Kateabfle t
to look ahead now, though the acridity of the air was such that shewas only able to manage a very brief glance. In the moment that sheglanced, Thor released the hammer. She couldn't
believeit. He released it only for a fraction of a second,
just to change his grip on the thintgh,atsothey were now

hangingfrom the shaft as it flew slowly forward, rather than being pulled along by it. As he redistributedwehigisht into
thisnew posture he hoisted Kate firmly upwards as if pulling up a sock. Down they went, and down further and further.
There was now a roaring crashing sound borne in on them by the wind from up ahead, and suddenly Thor was runlenaipnign,g overrocky, sandy scrubland, dancing through the knotted
tussocks, and finally pounding and drumming his feet to a halt. They stood still at last, swaying, but the ground on which
they stood was solid.
Kate breathed for a few seconds, bending over to catch her breath. She then pulled herself up to her full haenidghwtas
aboutto deliver a full account of her feelings concerning
these events at the top of her voice, when she suddenalny got
alarming sense of where she was standing.
Though the night was dark, the wind whipping at her and
the pungent smell of it told her that some kind of sea was very close by. The sound of wild crashing breakers told heinr that
factit was more or less beneath her, that they were standing very near to the edge of a cliff. She grippeadrmthoef the insufferablegod who had brought her here and hoped, vainly, that it hurt him.
As her reeling senses began graduatlolycalm down she noticedthat there was a dim light spreading away before her,
and after a while she realised thatwthasiscoming off the

sea.
The whole sea was glowing like an infection. It was rearing itself up in the nigluhnt,ging and thrashing in a turmoilof itself and then smashing itself to pieces in a frenzy of pain against the rockstheofcoast. Sea and sky seethed at each other in a poisonous fury.
Kate watched it speechlessly, and then became aware of
Thor standing at her shoulder.
"I met you at an airport," he said, his voice breuapking
inthe wind. "I was trying to get home to Norway by plane." He pointed out to sea. "I wanted you to seeI cwohuyldn't come
this way."
"Where are we? What is this?" asked Kate fearfully. "In your world, this is the North Sea," said Thor and
turned away inland agaiwn,alking heavily and dragging his hammer behind him.
Kate pulled her wet coat close around her and hurried after him.
"Well, why didn't you just fly home the wweayjust did but in, well, in our world?"
The rage in her had subsided into vague worries about vocabulary.
"I tried," responded Thor, still walking away. "Well, what happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"What on earth's the point of that?"

"I'm not going to discuss it."
Kate shuddered in exasperation. "Is this godlike behaviour?"she shouted. "It bothers you so you won't talk about it?"
"Thor! Thor! Is it you?"
This last was a thin voice trailing othverwind. Kate peered intothe wind. Through the darkness a lantern was bobbing towards them from behind a low rise.
"Is that you, Thor?" A little loalddy came into view,
holding a lantern above her head, hobbling enthusiastically. "I thought that must be your hammer I saw. Welcome!" she chirruped. "Oh, but yocuome in dismal times. I was just
puttingthe pot on and thinking of having a cup of something and then perhaps killing myself, but tIhseanid to myself,
justwait a couple of days longer, Tsuliwa..., Tsuwila..., Swuli..., Tsuliwaënsis - I cnaenver pronounce my own name properlywhen I'm talking to myself, and it drives me hopping mad, as I'm sure you can imagine, subcrhighat boy as I've alwaysmaintained, never mind what those others say, so I said to myself, Tsuliwaënsis, see if anyone comes along, and if they don't, well, then might be a good time to atbhoinukt killing
myself.And look! Now here you are! Oh, but you are welcome, welcome! And I see you've brouaghlitttle friend. Are you
goingto introduce me? Hello, my dear, hello! My name's
Tsuliwaënsis and I won't be at all offended if you stutter."

"I... I'm, er, Kate," said Kate, totally flummoxed.
"Yes, well I'm sure that will be all right," saiodldthe
womansharply. "Anyway, come along if you're coming. If you're
going to hang around out here all night I may as wgeeltl just
straighton with killing myself now and let you get your own tea when you're quite ready. Come along!"
She hurried on ahead, and in a very few yards they reached a terrible kind of ramshackle structure of woodmaunddwhich lookedas if it had become unaccountably stuck while half way through collapsing. Kate glanced at Thor, hopinrgeatdo some
kindof reaction from him to give her a bearing on the situation, but he was occupied with his tohwounghts and was clearlynot about to share them. Thene seemed to her to be a difference in the way he moved, though. In the brief experience
she had of him he seemed constantly to be strugglingsomwieth
internal and constrained anger, and this, she felt, had lifted. Notgone away, just lifted. He stood aside to allow her to enter Tsuliwaënsis's shack, and brusquely gestuhreedr to go
in.He followed, ducking absurdly, a few seconds later, having paused for a moment outside to survey what little could be seen of the surrounding landscape.
Inside was tiny. A few boards wsittrhaw for abed, a simmeringpot hung over a fire, and a box tucked away in the corner for sitting on.
"And this is the knife I was thinking of usings,eey,o"u
saidTsuliwaënsis, fussing around. "Just been sharpening it up

nicely, you see. It comes vuepry nice if you get a nice sweepingaction with the stone, and I was thinking here would be a good place, you see? Here on the Iwcaanll,stick the
handlein this crack so it's held nice and firm, and then just go _fling_! And fling myself at it. _Fling_! You see?
I wonder, should it be a little lower, whyaot udtohink, my dear? Know about these things, do you?"
Kate explained that she did not, and managed to sound reasonably calm about it.
"Tsuliwaënsis," said Thor, "we have come nosttatyo but to...Tsuli - please put the knife down."
Tsuliwaënsis was standing looking up at them quite chirpily, but she was also holding the kwniifthe,its great heavy sweeping blade, poised over her own left wrist.
"Don't mind me, dears," she said, "I'm quite comfortable. I can just pop off any time I'm ready. Htoa.pTpyhese times
arenot to live in. Oh, no. You go off and be happy. I won't disturb your happiness with the souonfdme screaming. I'll hardlymake a sound with the knife as you go." She stood quivering and challenging.
Carefully, almost gently, Thor reached oauntd drew the
knife away and out of her shaking hand. The old woman seemed to crumpleas it went, and all the performance faded out of her.
She sat back in a heap on her box. Thor squatted dforownnt in
ofher, slowly drew her to him and hugged her. She gradually

seemed to come back to life, eavnedntually pushed him away tellinghim not to be so stupid, and then made a bit of a fuss of smoothing out her hopelessly ragged and dirty black dress.
When once she had composed herself properly she turned her attention to Kate and looked her up and down.
"You're a mortal, dear, aren't you?" she said at last. "Well... yes," said Kate.
"I can tell it from your fancy dress. Oh,Wyeelsl., now
yousee what the world looks like from the other side, don't you, dear? What do you think then?"
Kate explained that she did not yet knwohwat to think.
Thorsat himself down on the floor and leant his big head back against the wall, half-closing his eyKesa.te had the sense
that he was preparing himself for something.
"It used to be things were not so different," continued the old woman. "Used to be lovely here, you kanllolowv,ely. Bitof give and take between us. Terrible rows, of course, terrible fights, but really it was all lovNeolyw. ?" She let
outa long and tired sigh, and brushed a bit of nothing much off the wall.
"Oh, things are bad," she said, "things are veryYboaud.
seethings get affected by things. Our world affects your world, your world affects our world. Sometimeisshiatrd to
know exactly what that effect is. Very often it is hard to like it,either. Most of them, these days, are difficult and bad.
But our worlds are so nearly the same in so many ways. Where in

your world you have a building there willstbruectaure here
aswell. Maybe it will be a small muddy hillock, or a beehive, or an abode like this one. Maybe it will be sometlhititlneg a
grander, but it will be something. You all right, Thor, dear?"
The Thunder God closed his eyes and nodded. His elbows lay easilyacross his knees. The ragged strips of Kate's nightgown bound about his left forearm were limp and wet. Hpeusidhleyd
them off.
"And where there is something which is not dealt with properly in your world," the old lady pranled onli,ke"aass notit will emerge in ours. Nothing disappears. No guilty
secret. No unspoken thought. It may be a new and mighitny god
ourworld, or it may be just a gnat, but it will be here. I might add that these days it is more often athagnnatnew andmighty god. Oh, there are so many more gnats and fewer immortal gods than once there were."
"How can there be fewer immortals?" asked K"aIted.on't want to be pedantic about it, but - "
"Well, there's being immortal, dear,and then again
there's being immortal. I mean, if I could just gkent iftehis
properlysecured and then work up a really good fling, we'd soon see who was immortal and who wasn't."
"Tsuli..." admonished Thor, but didn't open his eyes to do it.
"One by one we're going, though. We are, Thor. Yoonue're

ofthe few that care. There's few enough now that haven't succumbed to alcoholism or the onx."
"What is that? Some kind of disease?" asked Kate.wSahse
beginningto feel cross again. Having been dragged unwillingly
from her flat and hurled across the whole of East Anglia on the end of a hammer, she was irritated at being then just abandoned to a conversation with an insanseulyicidal old woman while
Thor justsat and looked content with himself, leaving her to make an effort she was not in a mood to make.
"It's an affliction, dear, which only gods gerte.alIlty
meansthat you can't take being a god any more, which is why only gods get it you see."
"I see."
"In the final stages of it you simplyonlitehe ground
andafter a while a tree grows out of your head and then it's all over. You rejoin the earstehe,p into its bowels, flow
throughits vital arteries, and eventually emerge as a great pure torrent of water, aansdlike as not get a load of chemicalwaste dumped into you. It's a grim business being a god nowadays, even a dead god.
"Well," she said, patting her knees. Her ehyoevsered on
Thor,who had opened his eyes but was only using them to stare at his own knuckles and fingertips. "Well, I heahr ayvoeuan appointment tonight, Thor."
"Hmm," grunted Thor, without moving.
"I hear you've called together the Great Hall for the

Challenging Hour, is that right?" "Hmm," said Thor.
"The Challenging Hour, hmm? Well, I know that thhianvges
notbeen too good between you and your father for a long time. Hmm?"
Thor wasn't going to be drawn. He said nothing.
"I thought it was quite dreadful abWouatles," continued Tsuliwaënsis."Don't know why you stood for it. Of course I realise that he's your father and the All-Father which makes it difficult. But, Odin, Odin - I've known himsofloorng. You
knowthat he made a deal once to sacrifice one of his own eyes in exchange for wisdom? Of course you do, dear, you're his son, aren't you? Well, what I've always said is he sshtoanudldup
andmake a fuss about that particular deal, demand his eye
back. Do you know what I mean by that, Thor? Anhdorrtihbalet
ToeRag. There's someone to be careful of, Thor, very careful indeed. Well, I expeIctshall hear all about it in the
morning, won't I?"
Thor slid his back up the wall and stood up. He clasped
the old woman warmly by the hands and smiled a tight smile, but said nothing. With a slight nod he gestured tothKatathey
were leaving. Since leaving was what she most wanted in all the worldto do she resisted the temptation to say "Oh yeah?" and kick up a fuss about being treated like this. Meekly she bade a
polite farewell to the old woman and made her way otuhte into

murky night. Thor followed her.
She folded her arms and said, "Well? Where now? What other great social events have you got in store for me this evening?"
Thor prowled around a linle, examining the ground. He pulled out his hammer, and weighiteadppreciatively in his hands.He peered out into the night, and swung the hammer a couple of times, idly. Hsweung himself round a couple of
times,again not hard. He loosed the hammer, which bounded off into the night and split open a casually situated rock a couple
of dozen yards away and then bounded back. He caught it easily, tossed it up into the air and caught it easily again.
Then he turned to her and looked her ineytehfeor the first time.
"Would you like to see something?" he asked.
Chapter 27
A gust of wind blew through the huge vaults of the empty station and nearly provoked in Dirk a great howl of frustration at the trail that had so suddenly gone cohldimo. nThe cold
moonlight draped itself through the long ranges of glass panels that extended the length of the St Pancras station roof.
It fell on empty rails, and illuminated them. It fell on
the train departures board, it fell on the sign which explained that today was a Blue Saver Day and illuminated them both.
Framed in the archway formed by the far end of the vaulted

roof were the fantastical forms of five ggraesaotmeters, the supporting superstructures of which seemed in their
adumbrations to be tangled impossibly with each other, like the hoopsof an illusionist's conjuring trick. The moonlight
illuminated these as well, but Dirk it did not illuminate.
He had watched upwards of a hundred people or so simply vanish into thin air in a way thatcowmapsletely impossible.
Thatin itself did not give him a problem. The impossible did not bother him unduly. If it could not possibdlyonbee, then
obviously it had been done impossibly. The question was how? He paced the area of the station which they had all
vanished from, and scanned everything that couldseebne from everyvantage point within it, looking for any clue, any
anomaly, anything that might let him pass into whatewvears it
hehad just seen a hundred people pass into as if it was
nothing. He had the sense of a major party taking ptlhacee in
near vicinity, to which he had not been invited. In desperation hestarted to spin around with his arms outstretched, then
decided this was completely futile and lit a cigarette instead. He noticed that as he had pulled out the paackpeiet,ce
ofpaper had fluttered from his pocket, which, once the cigarette was burning well, he stooped to retrieve. It was nothing exciting, just the billhahde picked up
fromthe stroppy nurse in the café. "Outrageous," he thought
about each of the items in turn as he scadnonwend them, and

wasabout to screw it up and throw it away when a thought struck him about the general layout of the document.
The items charged were listed down the left hand side, and the actual charges down the right.
On his own bills whehne issued them, when he had a
client,which was rare at the moment, and the ones he did have seemed unable to stay alive long enougrhecteoive his bills
andbe outraged by them, he usually went to a little trouble aboutthe items charged. He constructed essays, little paragraphsto describe them. He liked the client to feel that he or she was getting his or her money's worth riensptehcist
at least.
In short, the bills he issued corresponded in layout
almost exactly to the wad of papers iwnditehcipherable runic scriptswhich he had been unable to make head or tail of a couple of hours previously. Was that helpful?diHdne't know.
Ifthe wad was not a contract but a bill, what might it be the
bill for? What services had been performed? They must certainly havebeen intricate services. Or at least, intricately
describedservices. Which professions might that apply to? It was at least something to think about. He screwethde ucpafé
bill and moved off to throw it into a bin.
As it happened, this was a fortuitous move.
It meant that he was away from the central open space of the station, and nearwall against which he could press
himself inconspicuously when he suddenly heard the sound of two

pairs of feet crossing the forecourt outside.
In a few seconds, they entered the main part of the station, by which time Dirk was wellofosuitght round the angle of a wall.
Being well out of sight worked less well for him in another respect, which was that for a whilweahseunable to
seethe owners of the feet. By the time he caught a glimpse of them, they had reacheedxactly the same area where a few minutespreviously a small horde of people had, quietly and without fuss, vanished.
He was surprised by the red spectaclesthoefwoman and
the quietly tailred Italian suit of the man, and also the speed with which they themselves then immediately vanished.
Dirk stood speechless. The same two damn people who had been the bane of hliifse for the entire day (he allowed
himselfthis slight exaggeration on the grounds of extreme provocation) had now flagrantly and deliberately disappeared in front of his eyes.
Once he was quite certain that they had absolutely definitelyvanished and were not merely hiding behind each
other, he ventured out once more into the mysterious space. It was bafflingly ordinary. Ordinary tarmacadaomrd, inary
air,ordinary everything. And yet a quantity of people that would have kept the Bermutdriaangle industry happy for an
entiredecade had just vanished in it within the space of five

minutes.
He was deeply aggravated.
He was so deeply aggravated that he thought he would share the sense of aggravation by phoning someone upagagnrdavating
them- as it would be almost certain to do at twenty past one in the morning.
This wasn't an entirely arbitrary thought -whaes still anxiousconcerning the safety of the American girl, Kate Schechter, and had not beaetnall reassuned to have been
answeredby her machine when last he had called. By now she should surely be at homaned in bed asleep, and would be
reassuringly livid to be woken by a meddling phone call at this time.
He found a couple of coins and a working telephone and dialled her number. He got her answering machine again.
It said that she had just out for the night to Asgard. She wasn't certain which parts of Asgard twheeyre going to but
they would probably swing by Valhalla later, if the evening was up to it. If he cared to leave a message she would deal with it inthe morning if she was still alive and in the mood. There
were some beeps, which rang on in Dirk's ear for seacfotenrds
he heard them.
"Oh," he said, realising that the machine was currently
busy taping him, "good heavens. Well, I thought the arrangement was that you wegreoing to call me befone doing anything
impossible."

He put the phone down, his head spinning angrily. Valhalla, eh? Was that where everybowdays going to tonight
excepthim? He had a good mind to go home, go to bed and wake up in the grocery business.
Valhalla.
He looked about him once agawini,th the name Valhalla ringingin his ears. There was no doubt, he felt, that a space this size would make a good feastingfohralglods and dead
heroes,and that the empty Midland Grand Hotel would be almost worth moving the shebang from Norway for.
He wondered if it made any difference knowing whwaat sit
you were walking into.
Nervously, tentatively, he walked across and through the space in question. NothinOg.h well. He turned, and stood
surveying it for a moment or two while he took a couple of slow dragson the cigarette he had got from the tramp. The space
didn't look any different.
He walked back through it again, this timlitetlealess tentatively,but with slow positive steps. Once again, nothing happened, but then just as he was moving out othf eitenadt
hehalf fancied that he half heard a half moment of some kind of raucous sound, like a burstwhoifte noise on a twisted
radiodial. He turned once more, and headed back into the space, moving his head carefully round tryinpgictko up the
slightestsound. For a while he didn't catch it, then suddenly

there was a snatch of it that burst around him and waAs gone.
movementand another snatch. He moved very, very slowly and carefully. With the most slight and gentle movements, trying to
catch at the sound he moved his head round what sleiekme aed
billionthpart of a billionth part of a degree, slipped behind a molecule and was gone.
He had instantly to duck to avoid a geraegalte swooping out of the vast space at him.
Chapter 28
It was another eagle, a different eagle. The next one was
a different eagle too, and the next. The air seemed to be thick with eagles, and it was obviously impossible to Venatlehralla withoutgetting swooped on by at least half a dozen of them. Even eagles were being swooped on by eagles.
Dirk threw up his arms over his head to fend off the wild, beating flurries, turned, tripped and fell down beahihnudge
tableon to a floor of heavy, damp, earthy straw. His hat
rolled under the table. He scrambled after it, stufbfeadckit
firmly on his head, and slowly peered up over the table. The hall was dark, but alive with great bonfires.
Noise and woodsmoke filled the air, and the smells of roasting pigs, roasting sheep, roastibnogar, and sweat and reeking wine and singed eagle wings.
The table he was crouched behind was one of countless

slabs of oak on trestles tshtaret tched in every direction,
ladenwith steaming hunks of dead animals, huge breads, great iron beakers slopping with wine and candles likeanwthaixlls. Massivesweaty figures seethed around them, on them, eating, drinking,fighting over the food, fighting in the food,
fighting with the food.
A yard or so from Dirk, a warrior was standing on top of a table fighting a pig which had been roasting for six hours, and he was clearly losing, but losing with vim and spirit and being cheeredon by other warriors who were dousing him down with wine from a trough.
The roof - as much of it as cboeulmd ade out at this distance,and by the dark and flickering light of the bonfires
- was made of lashed-together shields.
Dirk clutched his hat, kept his head down and trraynin, g tomake his way towards the side of the hall. As he ran, feeling himself to be virtually invisiblerebayson of being
completelysober and, by his own lights, normally dressed, he seemed to pasesxamples of every form of bodily function imaginable, other than actual teeth-cleaning.
The smell, like that of the tramp in King's Cross station, who musst urely be here participating, was one that never stopped coming at you. It grew and grew itusneteilmed that
yourhead had to become bigger and bigger to accommodate it.
The din of sword on sword, swordshoienld, sword on flesh,

fleshon flesh was one that made the eardrums reel and quiver
and want to cry. He was pummelled, tripped, elbowed, shoved and drenched with wine as he scumed paunsdhed through the wild
throng,but arrived at last at a side wall - massive slabs of wood and stone faced with sheets of stinking cow hide.
Panting, he stopped for a moment, looked back and surveyed the scene with amazement.
It was Valhalla.
Of that there would be absolutely qnuoestion. This was notsomething that could be mocked up by a catering company. And thewhole seething, wild mass of carousing gods and warriorsand their caroused-at ladies, with their shields and
fires and boars did seem to fill a space that must be something approaching the size of St Pancras station. The sheer heat that
rose off it all seemed as if it should suffocate theoflocks
deranged eagles which thrashed through the air above them. And maybe it was. He was by no means certain that a flock
of enraged eagles which thought that they mighsut ffboecating wouldbehave significantly differently from many of the eagles he was currently watching.
There was something hhead been putting off wondering
whilehe had fought his way through the mass, but the time had come to wonder it now.
What, he wondered, about the Draycotts?
What could theDraycotts possibly be doing here? And whene, in such a mêlée, could the Draycotts possibly be?

He narrowed his eyes and peered into the heaving throng, trying to see if he coluolcdate anywhere a pair of red designerspectacles or a quiet Italian suit mingling out there
with the clanging breastplates and the sweaty leathers, knowing that the attempt was futile but feeling that it should be made.
No, he decided, he couldn't see them. Not, hethfeeilrt,
kindof party. Further reflections along these lines were cut short by a heavy short-handled axe whhiucrhtled through the
air and buried itself with an astounding thud in the wall about three inches from his left ear and for a moment blotted out all thought.
When he recovered from the shock of it, and let his breath out, hethought that it was probably not somethiog that had
been thrown ahtim with malicious intent, but was merely warriorlyhigh spirits. Nevertheless, he was not in a partying
mood and decided to move on. He edged his way along the wall in the direction which, had this actually been St Pasntcartaiosn
ratherthan the hall of Valhalla, would have led to the ticket office. He didnk'tnow what he would find there, but he reckonedthat it must be different to this, which would be good.
It seemed to him that things were generally quhieetreer, out on the periphery.
The biggest and best of the good tunes soemed to be
concentrated more strongly towantlhse middle ofthe hall,

whereas the tables he was passing now seemed to be peopled with thosewho looked as if they had teached that season in their
immortal lives when they preferrteodcontemplate the times whenthey used to wrestle dead pigs, and to pass appreciative comments to each other abothuet finer points of dead pig wrestlingtechnique, than actually to wrestle with one again themselves just at the moment.
He overheard one remark to his companion thwatasitthe
left-handedthree-fingered flat grip on the opponent's sternum that was all-important at the crucmiaolment of finally not
quite falling over in a complete stupor, to which his companion responded with a benign "Oh ah."
Dirk stopped, looked and backtracked.
Sitting hunched in a thoughtful posture over his iron
plate, and clad in heavily stained and matted furbsuacnkdles whichwere, if anything, more rank and stinking than the
ensemble Dirk had last encountered him in, was Dirk's companion from the concourse at King's Cross station.
Dirk wondered how to approach him. A quick backslapa and
"Hey!Good party. Lot of energy," was one strategy, but Dirk didn't think it was the right one.
While he was wondering, aneaglesuddenly swooped down fromout of the air and, with a lot of beating and thrashing, landed on the table in front of the old man, iftoslwdeindgs andadvanced on him, demanding to be fed. Easily, the old man
pulled a bit of meat off a bone and huepldtoitthe great

bird,which pecked it sharply but accurately out of his fingers.
Dirk thought that this was the key to a friendly approach.
He leant over the table and picked up a small hunk oafndmeat
offeredit in turn to the bird. The bird attacked him and went for his neck, forcing him to try and beasat vtahgee creature
off with his hat, but the introduction was made.
"Oh ah," said the man, shooed the eagle away and shifted a coupleof inches along the bench. Though it was not a fulsome invitation, it was at least an invitation. Dirk clamboevreerd
the bench and sat down.
`"Thank you," said Dirk, puffing. "Oh ah."
"If you remember, we - "
At that moment the most tremendous reverberating thump sounded out across Velhalla. It was the sounddroufmabeing beaten,but it sounded like a drum of immense proportions, as
it had to be to make itself heard over the tumult of noise with which the hall was filled. The drusmoundedthree times, in
slow and massive beats, like the heartbeat of the hall itself. Dirk looked up to see where the sound might have come
from. He noticed for the first time that asot utthheend of thehall, to which he had been heading, a great balcony or bridge extended across moosft its width. There were some
figuresup there, dimly visible through the heat haze and the

eagles, but Dirk had a sense that whoever was up there presided over whoever was down here.
Odin, thought Dirk. Odin the All-Father must be utpheon
balcony.
The sound of the revels died down quickly, though it was several seconds before the reverberations of the nfoiniaslely
fell away.
When all was quiet, but expectant, a great voice rang out from the balcony and through the hall.
The voice said, '"The timoef the Challenging Hour is
nearlyat an end. The Challenging Hour has been called by the
God Thor. For the third time of asking, where is Thor?"
A murmuring throughout the hall suggested that nobody knew where Thor was and why he had not come to make his challenge.
The voice said, "This aisvery grave affront to the
dignityof the All-Father. If there is no challenge before the expirationof the hour, the penalty for Thor shall be correspondingly grave."
The drum beat again three times, and the consternation in the hall increased. Where was Thor?
"He's with some girl," said a voice abtohveerest, and
therewere loud shouts of laughter, and a return to the hubbub of before.
"Yes." said Dirk, quietly, "I expect he probably is." "Oh ah."
Dirk had supposed that he was talking to himasnedlfwas

surprisedto have elicited a response from the man, though not particularly surprised at the response that had been elicited.
"Thor called this meeting tonight?" Dirk asked him. "Oh ah."
"Bit rude not to turn up." "Oh ah."
"I expect everyone's n bit upset."
"Not as long as there's enough pigs to go round." "Pigs?"
"Oh ah."
Dirk didn't immediately know how to go on from here. "Oh ah," he said, resignedly.
"It's only Thor as really cares, you sseaei,d" the old man."Keeps on issuing his challenge, then not being able to prove it. Cana'trgue. Gets all confused and angry, does somethingstupid, can't sort it out and gets made to do a penance. Everybody else just turns up for the pigs."
"Oh ah." Dirk walsearning a whole new conversational techniqueand was astonished at how successful it was. He regarded the man with a new-found respect.
"Do you know how many stones there inarWe ales?" asked the man suddenly.
"Oh ah," said Dirk warily. He didn't know this joke.
"Nor do I. He won't tell anybody. Says count 'em yourself and goes off in a sulk."

"Oh ah." He didn't think it was a very good one.
"So this time he hasn't even turned up. Can't bslaaymeI
him. But I'm sorry, because I think he might be right." "Oh ah."
The man lapsed into silence. Dirk waited.
"Oh ah," he said again, hopefully. Nothing.
"So, er," said Dirk, going for a cautious prompt, "you think he might be right, eh?"
"Oh ah."
"So.Old Thor might be right, eh? That's stohrey," said
Dirk.
"Oh ah."
"In what way," said Dirk, running out of patience at last, "do you think he might be right?"
"Oh, every way."
"Oh ah," said Dirk, defeated.
"It's no secret that the gods have fallen on hard times," said the old man, grimly. "That's clear fotor saelle, even
for the ones who only care about the pigs,which is most of 'em. Andwhen you feel you're not needed any more it can be hard to think beyond the next pig,even if you usehdavteothe whole
worldthere with you. Everyone just accepts it as inevitable. Everyone except Thor, that is. And now ghivee'sn up. Hasn't
evenbothered to turn up and break a pig with us.Given up his

challenge. Oh ah." "Oh ah," said Dirk. "Oh ah."
"So, er, Thor's challenge then," said Dirk tentatively. "Oh ah."
"What was it?" "Oh ah."
Dirk lost his patience entirely and rounded on the man. "What was Thor's challenge to Odin?" he insisted angrily.
The man looked round at him in slow surprise,lookcd him up and down with his big sagging eyes.
"You're a mortal, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Dirk testily, "I'm a mortal. Of coIu'mrsea mortal. What has being a mortal got to do with it?"
"How did you get here?"
"I followed you." He pulled the screwed up, empty cigarette packet out of his pocket anditpount the table. "Thanks," he said, "I owe you."
It was a pretty feeble type of apology, he thought, but it was the best he could manage.
"Oh ah." The man looked away.
"What was Thor's challenge to Odin?" said Dirk, trying hard to keep the impatience out of his voice this time.
"What does itmatter to you?" the old immortal said
bitterly."You're a mortal. Why should you care? You've got

what you want out of it, you and kyinodu,r for what little it's now worth."
"Got what we want out of what?"
"The deal," said the old immortal. "The contract that Thor claims Odin has entered into."
"Contract?" said Dirk. "What contract?"
The man's face filled with an expression of slow anger.
The bonfires of Valhalla danced deeply in his eyes as he looked at Dirk.
"The sale," he said darkly, "of an immortal soul."
"What?" said Dirk. He had already considered this idea and discounted it. "You mean a man has sold his shoiuml?tWo hat
man? It doesn't make sense."
"No," said the man, "that wouldn't make sense at all. I
said an immortal soul. Thor says that Odin has sold his soul to
Man."
Dirk stared at him with horror and then slowly rhaiissed
eyesto the balcony. Something was happening there. The great drum beat out again, and the halVl aolhfalla began to hush
itselfonce more. But a second or third drumbeat failed to come. Something unexpected seemed htaove occurred, and the figureson the balcony were moving in some confusion. The Challenging Hour was just expiring, abucthallenge of some
kind seemed to have arrived.
Dirk beat his palms to his forehead and swayed where he sat as all kinds of realisations finally dawned on him.

"Not to Man," he said, "buta tmo an, and a woman. A
lawyerand an advertiser. I said it was all her fault the moment I saw her. I didn't realise I might actuarlilgyhtb."e
He rounded on his companion urgently. "I have to get up there," he said, "for Gods' sake, help me."
Chapter 29
"O...dddddiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!"
Thor let out a bellow of rage which made the sky shake. The heavy clouds let out a surprised grutnhtunodf er at the
sheer volume of air that moved beneath them. Kate started back, white with fear and shock, with her ears ringing.
"Toe _Rag_!!!!"
He hurled his hammer to the ground right at his very feet with both hands. He hurled it sthoisrt distance with such astoundingforce that it hit and rebounded into the air up to about a hundred feet.
"Ggggrrrrrraaaaaaaah!!!!!!" With an immenseexplosion of airfrom his lungs he hurled himself up into the air after it, caught it just as it wbeagsinning to drop, and hurled it
straight back down at the ground again, catching it again as it boundedback up, twisting violently round in mid-air and
hurling it with all the force he could muster out to sea before
falling to the ground himself onbhaicsk, and pounding the

earth with his ankles, elbows and fists in an incredible tattoo of rage.
The hammer shot out over the sea on a very low trajectory. The headwent down into the water and planed through it at a constant depth of abosuitx inches. A sharp ripple opened
slowlybut easily across its surface, extending eventually to about a mile as the hammer sliced itsthwroauygh it like a surgeon'sknife. The inner walls of the ripple deepened
smoothly in its wake, falling away from the sheer fotrhcee of
hammer,till a vast valley had opened in the face of the sea. The walls of the valley wobbled sawndayed uncertainly, then foldedup and crashed together in crazed and foaming tumult.
The hammer lifted its head and swung up high into the air. Thor leapt to his feet and watched it, still pounhdisinfgeet on
the ground like a boxer, but like a boxer who was perhaps about toprecipitate a major earthquake. When the hammer reached the
top of its trajectory, Thor hurled hisdofiwstnwards like a conductor,and the hammer hurtled down into the crashing mass of sea.
That seemed to calm the sea for a moment isnamtheeway thata smack in the face will calm a hysteric. The moment passed. An immense column of watcr cruptedofotuhte smack, andseconds later the hammer exploded upwards out of its
centre, pulling another huge column of water up from the middle of the first one.
The hammer somersaulted at the topitsofrise, turned,

spun,and rushed back to its owner like a wildly over-excited puppy. Thor caught at it, but instead of stopping it he allowed it to carry hibmackwards, and together they tumbled back
throughthe rocks for about a hundred yards and scuffled to a halt in some soft earth.
Instantly, Thor was back ohnis feet again. He turned roundand round, bounding from one leg to the other with strides of nearly ten feet, swinging the hamrmouenrd him at arm'slength. When he released it again it raced out to sea once more, but this time it tore round the surfacgeianint
semicircle, causing the sea to rear up around its circumference toform for a moment a gigantic amphitheatre of water. When it fell forward it crashed liketidaal wave, ran forward and
threw itself, enraged, against the short wall of the cliff. The hammer returned to Thor, who threw it off again
instantly in a great overarm. It flew into a rock, ohfiftting
afat angry spark. It bounded off further and hit a spark off another rock, and another. Thor threw himself forward on to his knees, and with each rock the hammer hit he poundegdrouthned withhis fist to make the rock rise to meet the hammer. Spark after sparkerupted from the rocks.The hammer hit each
successiveone harder and harder, until one spark provoked a warning lick of lightning from the clouds.
And then the sky began to move, slowly, like a great angry
animal uncoiling in its lair. The pounding spfalerwksfaster

and heavier from the hammer, more lightning licks arced down to meetthem from the sky, and the whole earth was beginning to tremble in something very like fearful excitement.
Thor hauled his elbows up above his head thaenndthrust them hard down with another ringing bellow at the sky.
"O...ddddiiiiiiinnnnnn!!!!"
The sky seemed about to crack open. "Toe Raaaaagggggggggg!!!!!!!!!"
Thor throw himself into the ground, heaving aside about
two skipsful of rocky carth. He shook with expanding rage. With a deep groan the whole of the side of the cliff began slowly to lean forward into the sea as he puashneddshook. In a few
secondsmore it tumbled heavily into the seething torment
beneath it as Thor clambered back, seized a rock the
asize of
grand piano and held it above his head. Everything seemed still for a fleeting moment. Thor hurled the rock into the sea.
He regained his hammer. "O...!" he bellowed. "...Ddddddddinnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!" His hammer cracked down.
A torrent of water erupted from the ground, and the sky exploded. Lightning flickered down like a white owfalilgl ht formiles along the coast in either direction. Thunder roared likecolliding worlds and the clouds vomited rain that
shattered the ground. Thor stood exulting in the torrent.

A few minutes later and the violence abated. A strong and steady raincontinued to fall. The clouds were cleansing themselvesand the weak rays of the early morning light began to find their way through the thinning cover.
Thor trudged back up fromwhere he had been standing, slappingand washing the mud from his hands. He caught at his hammer when it flew to him.
He found Kate standing watching him, shivering with astonishment, fear and fury.
"What was _that_ all about?" she yelled at him.
"I just needed to be able to lose my temper properly," he
said. When this didn't seem to satisfy her he added, "A god can show off once in a while can't he?"
The huddledfigure of Tsuliwaënsis came hurrying out through the rain towards them.
"You're a noisy boy, Thor," she scolded, "a noisy boy."
But Thor was gone. When they looked, they guessed that he must be the tiny speck hurtling northwards through the clearing sky.
Chapter 30
Cynthia Draycott peered over thbealcony at the sceene below them with distaste. Valhalla was back in full swing.
"I hate this," she said, "I don't want this going on in my

life."
"You don't have to, my darling," said Clive Draycott
quietly from behind her, with his hands on her shoulders. "It's
all going to be taken care of right now, and it's going to work out just fine. Couldn't be better in factj.usItt'ws hat we
wanted.You know, you look fantastic in those glasses? They really suit you. I mean really. They're _very_ chic."
"Clive, it was meant to have been taken care of
originally. The whole point was that we weren't to be troubled, wecould just do it, deal with it, and forget about it. That
was the whole point. I've put up with enough shit in my life. I
just wanted it to be good,
p1e0r0cent. I don't want all
this."
"Exactly. And that's why this is so perfect for us. So perfect. Clear breach of contract. We get everythingwawneted
now, and we're released from all obligations. Perfecto. We come outof it smelling of roses, and we have a life that is just
100 per cent good. 100 per cent. And clean. Just exactly as you wanted it. Really, it couldn't be better for us. Trust me."
Cynthia Draycott hugged herself irritably.
"So what about this new...person? Something ewlsee have to deal with."
"It'll be so easy. So easy. Listen, this is nothing. We either cut him in to it, or wehimcurtight out. It'll be
takencare of before we leave here. We'll buy him something. A
new coat. Maybe we'll have to buy him ahonueswe. Know what

that'llcost us?" He gave a charming laugh. "It's nothing. You won't ever even need to think abouYt oiut. won't ever even needto think about not thinking about it. It's... that...
easy. OK?" "Hm."
"OK. I'll be right back."
He turned and headed back inthtoe ante-chamber of the hall of the All-Fattier, smiling all the way.
"So, Mr... " he made a show of looking at the card again
"... Gently. You want to act for these people do you?" "These immortal gods," said Dirk.
"OK, gods," said Draycott. "'That's finPee.rhaps you'll doa better job than the manic little hustler I had to deal with first time out. Ykonuow, he's really quite a little
character,our Mr Rag, Mr _Rag_. You know, that guy was really quite amazing. He did everything he cotruieldd, every oldesttrick in the book to freak me out, and give me the
run-around. You know how I deal with people likeStihmapt?le.
I ignore it. I just...ignone it. If he wants to play around and threatenand screech, and shovel in five hundred and seventeen subclauses that he thinks he's going to catch me out on, that's OK. He's just taking up time, but so what? I've goIt'vteime.
gotplenty of timefor people like Mr Rag. Because you know what the really crazy thing is? You kwnohwat's _really_
crazy?The guy cannot draw up an actual contract to save his

life. Really. To save...his...life. And I ytoeull something,
that's fine by me. He can thrash around and spit all he likes - whenhe gets tired I just reel him in. Listen. I draw up
contracts in the recond business. These guysjuasrteminnows bycomparison. They're primitive savages. You've met them.
You've dealt with them. They're primitive savages. Well, aren't they? Like the Red Indians. They don't even kwnhoawt they've got.You know, these people are lucky they didn't meet some real shark. I mean it. You know wAhmaetrica cost? You know whatthe whole United States of America actually cost? You
don't, and neither do I. And shall I tell you whysu?mTihse
sonegligible that someone could tell us what it was and two minutes later we would have forgotten. It would have gone clean out of our minds.
"Now, compared with that, let me tell you, I am providing. I am _really_ providing. A private suite inWtohoedshead Hospital?Lavish attention, food, sensational quantities of
linen. _Sensational_. You could practically buy the United
States ofAmerica at today's prices for what that's all
costing.But you know what? I said, if he wants the linen, let him have the linen. Just let him have it. It's fingeu.yT'she
earnedit. He can have all the linen...he...wants. Just don't fuck with me is all.
"Now let metell you, this guy has a nice life. A
_nice_life. And I think that's what we all want, isn't
it. A nice life. This guy certainly did. And he didn't know how

to have it. None tohfese guys did. They're just kind of
helplessin the modern world. It's kind of tough for them and
I'm just trying to help out. Let meyotuelhlow naïve they are, and I mean _naïve_.
"My wife, Cynthia, you've met her, and let me tell you,
she is the best. I tell you, my relationship with Cynthia is so good- "
"I don't want to hear about yoreular tionship with your wife."
"OK. That's fine. That's absolutely fine. I just think
maybe it's worth you getting to know a few things. But whatever you want is fine. OK. Cynthia's in advertising. You tkhnaot.w
She is a senior partner in a major agency. Major. They did some bigcampaign, really big, a few years back in which some actor
is playing a god in this commercial. Andenhdeo'srsing
something, I don't know, a soft drink, you know, tooth rot for kids.
And Odin at this time is just a down and outl.iviHnge's
onthe streets. He simply can't get anything together, because he's just not for this world. All that pobwutehr,e doesn't
knowhow to make it work for him here, today. Now here's the crazy part.
"Odin sees this commercial on the television and he thinks
to himself, `Hey, I could do that, I'm a god.' Hemthayinbkes
hecould get paid for being in a commercial. And you know what

that would be. Pays even less than the United States of America
cost, you follow me? Think about it. Odin, the chiefofuannt d
ofall the power of all of the Norse gods, _thinks he might be able to_ _get paid for being in a television commercial to sell soft drinks._
"And this guy, this god, literally goes out and tries to find someone who'll let him in a TV commercial. Pathetincaaïlvlye. But also greedy - let's not forget greedy.
"Anyway, he happens to come to Cynthia's attention. She's just a lowly account executive at titmhee, doesn't pay any
attention, thinks he's just a whacko, but then she gets kind of fascinated by how odd he is, and I get to see him. And you know what? It dawns on us he's for real. The guy is for real. A real actualgod with the whole panoply of divine powers. And not
only a god, but like, the main Tohne.one all the others
dependon for their power. And he wants to be in a commercial. Let's just say the word again shall we? A _commercial_.
"The idea was dumbfounding. Didn't the gkunyow what he had? Didn't he realise what his power could get him?
"Apparently not. I have to tell you, this was the most astounding moment in our lives. A...stoun...ding. mLeettell you,Cynthia and I have always known that we were, well,
special people, and that something special would happeuns, to
and here it was. Something special.
"But look. We're not greedy. We don't want all that power, all thawt ealth. And I mean, we're looking at the world here.

The whole...fucking...world. Wceould own the world if we wantedto. But who wants to own the world? Think of the trouble. We don't even wahnutge wealth, all those lawyers
accountantsto deal with, and let me tell you I'm a layer. OK, soyou can hire people to look after your lawyers and
accountants for you, but who are those people going to be? Just morelawyers and accountants. And you know, we don't even want the responsibility for it all. It's too much.
"So then I havtehis idea. It's like you buy a big
property,and then you sell on what you don't want. That way you get what you want, and a lot of other people gethteywhat
want,only they get it through you, and they feel a little obligated to you, and they remember wthheoy got it through becausethey sign a piece of paper which says how obligated
they feel to you. And money flows back to pay for our Mr Odin's very, very, very expensive private medical care.
"So we don't have much, Mr GenOtlyn.e or two modestly
nice houses. One or two modestly nice cars. We have a very nice life.Very, very nice indeed. We don't need much because
anything we need is always made availatoblues, it's taken
careof. All we demanded, and it was a very reasonable demand in the circumstances, was that we didn't want to knowmoareny
aboutit. We take our modest requirements and we bow out. We want nothing more than absolute peace and absolute quiet, and a
nice life because Cynthia's sometimes a little nervous. OK.

"And then what happens thmisorning? Right on our own doorstep. Pow. It's disgusting. I mean it is really a
disgusting little number. And you know how it happened? "Here's how it happened. It's our friend Mr Rag again, and
he's tried to be a clever tricky little voodoo lawyesor. It's
pathetic.He has fun trying to waste my time with all his little tricks and games and run-arounds, and thetnriehseto fazeme by presenting me with a bill for his time. That's nothing. It's work creation. All lawyers do it. OKI .saSyo,
I'll take your bill. I'll take it, I don't care what it is. You giveme your bill and I'll see it's taken care of. It's OK. So he gives it to me.
"It's only later sIee it's got this tricky kind of
subtotalthing in it. So what? He's trying to be clever. He's given me a hot potato. Listen, the record businfeuslsl oifs
hot potatoes. You just get them taken care of. There are always peoplehappy to take care of things for you when they want to
make their way up the ladder. If they're worthy opf lathce r
onthe ladder, well, they'll get it taken care of in return. You get a hot potato, you pass it on. I paossne.dLiistten, therewere a lot of people who are _very_ happy to get
things taken care of for me. Hey, you know? It was really funny seeing how far and how fast that particular pgootattpoassed
on.That told me a lot about who was bright and who was not. But then it lands up in my back gardent,haatn'sda penalty
clausejob I'm afraid. The Woodshead stuff is a _very_

expensive little number, andthiInk your clients may have
blownit on that particular score. We have the whip hand here. We can jusctancel this whole thing. Believe me, I have
everything I could _possibly_ want now.
"But listen, Mr Gently. I think you understand my
position. We've been pretty frank with each other and I've felt good about that. There are certain sensitivinivesolved, of
course,and I'm also in a position to be able to make a lot of
things happen. So perhaps we can come to any one of a number of possible accommodations. Anything you want, Mr Genittlcya,n
be made to happen."
"Just to see you dead, Mr Draycott," said Dirk Gently, "just to see you dead."
"Well fuck you, too."
Dirk Gently turned and left the room and went thoistell
new client that he thought they might have a problem.
Chapter 31
A tittle while later a dark-blue BMVV pulled quietly nway fran the otherwise deserted forecourt of St Pancras staanddon
moved off up the quiet streets.
Somewhat dejected, Dirk Gently put on his hat and left his newlyacquired and newly relinquished client who said that he wished to be alone now and maybe turn intoorasoramt ething

like some other people he could mention.
He closed the great doors behind him and walked slowly out on tothe balcony overlooking the great vaulted hall of gods andheroes, Valhalla. He arrived just as the last few
stragglers of the revels were fading away, presumably to emerge atthe same moment in the great vaulted train shed of St
Pancras station. He stayed staring fowrhaile at the empty
hall, in which the bonfires now were just fading embers. It then took the very slightest flicker of his head for
him to performthe same transition himself, and he found himselfstanding in a gusty and dishevelled corridor of the empty Midland Grand Hotel. Out in the great cdoanrckourse of StPancras station he saw again the last stragglers from
Valhalla shuffling away and out into the cold streets of London
to find benches that were designed not to be sleapntdotno,
try to sleep on them.
He sighed and tried to find his way out of the derelict hotel, a task that proved more difficult htheaannticipated,
asimmense and as dark and as labyrinthine as it was. He found at last the great winding gothic staircase wlheidchall the
waydown to the huge arches of the entrance lobby, decorated with carvings of dragonasnd griffins and heavy ornamental
ironwork. The main front entrance was locked as it had been for years,and eventually Dirk found his way down a side corridor
to an exit manned bygreaat sweaty splodge of a man who
guardedit at night. He demanded to know how Dirk had gained

entrance to the hotel and refused to be satisfied by any of his
explanations. In the end he had simply to allow Dleirakvet,o
since there was little else he could do.
Dirk crossed from this entrance to the entrance into the station booking hall, and then into the station iFtsoerlfa.
whilehe simply stood there looking around, and then he left via the main station entrance, and descentdheedsteps which leddown on to the St Pancras Road. As he emerged on to the
street he was so surprised not to be instantly swoopedbyupon
apassing eagle that he tripped and stumbled and was run over by the first of the early morning's motorcycle couriers.
Chapter 32
With a huge crash, Thor surged through the wall at the far end of the great hall of Valhalla and stood troeapdroyclaim
to the assembled gods and heroes that he had finally managed to breakthrough to Norway and had found a copy of the contract
Odin had signed buried deep in the side of a moubnut hine,
couldn't because they'd all gone and there was no one there. "There's no one here," he said to Kate, releasing her from
his huge grip, "they've all gone." He slumped in disappointment. "Wh - " said Kate.
"We'll try the old man's chambers," said Thor and hurled

his hammer up to the balcony, with themselves in tow. He stalked through thgereat chambers, ignoring Kate's
pleas, protests and general abuse. He wasn't there.
"He's here somewhere," said Thor angrily, trailing his hammer behind him.
"We'll go through the world divideh,e" said, and took hold of Kate again. They flicked themselves through. They were in a large bedroom suite in the hotel.
Litter and scraps of rotting carpet covered the floors,
the windows were grimy with years of neglect. Pidgreoopnpings wereeverywhere, and the peeling paintwork made it look as if several small families of starfish had exploded on the walls.
Thene was an abandoned trolleybed thine middle of the floorin which an old man lay in beautifully laundered linen, weeping from his one remaining eye.
"I found the contract, you bastard," raged Thor, waving it at him. "I found the deal dyiodu. You sold all our power
to...toa lawyer and a...an advertiser and, and all sorts of other people. You stole our power! You cousltdena'lt all of minebecause I'm too strong, but you kept me bewildered and confused, and made bad things happen every Itigmoet angry. Youprevented me getting back home to Norway by every method
you could, because you knew I'd find this! You anpdoitshoant
dwarfToe Rag. You've been abusing and humiliating me for
years, and - "

"Yes, yes, we know all that," said Odin. "Well...Good!"
"Thor - " said Kate.
"Well I've shaken all that off now!" shouted Thor. "Yes, I see - "
"I went somewhere I could get goaondd angry in pence,
whenI knew you'd be otherwise occupied and expecting me to be here, and I had a hell of a good shoubtleawndthings up a
bit, and I'm all right now! And I'm going to tear this up for a start!"
He ripped right through the contract, threw the pieces in the air and incinerated them with a look.
"Thor - " said Kate.
"And I'm going to put right all the things you made happen so I'd be afraid of getting angry. The poor girl at the airline
check-in desk that got turned into a drink machine. Woof! Wham!
She's back! The jet fighter that tried to shoot me downI when
wasflying to Norway! Woof! Wham! It's back! See, I'm back in control of myself!"
"What jet fighter?" asked Kate. "You haven't told me about a jet fighter."
"It tried to shoot me down over the North WSe h. ad a scrapand in the heat of the moment I, well, I turned it into
an eagle, and it's been bothering me ever since. Sothanto'sw
dealtwith. Don't look at me like that. I did what I could. I

took care of his wife by fixing ontheosoef lottery things. Look,"he added angrily, "all this has been very difficult for me, you know. All right. What else?"
"My table lamp," said Kate quietly.
"And Kate's table lamp! It shbaell a small kitten no more!Woof! Wham! Thor speaks and it is so! What was that noise?"
A ruddy glow was spreading across the London skyline. Thor, I think there's something wrong with your father." "I should bloody well hope so. Oh. Whwart'osng? Father?
Are you all right?"
"I have been so very, very foolish and unwise," wept Odin, "I have been so wicked and evil, and - "
"Yes, well that's what I think, too," said Thor and sat on the cnd of his bed. "So what are we going to do?"
"I don't think I could live without my linen, and my
Sister Bailey, and... It's been so, so, so long, and I'm so, so old. Toe Rag said I should kill byuotuI,...I would rather
have killed myself. Oh, Thor..."
"Oh," said Thor. "I see. Well. I don't know what to do now. Blast. Blast everything."
"Thor -"
"Yes, yes, what is it?"
"Thor, it's very simple what you do about your faanthder
the Woodshead," said Kate.
"Oh yes? What then?"

"I'll tell you on one condition." "Oh really? And what's that?"
"That you tell me how many stones there are in Wales." "What!" exclaimed Thor in outrage. "Away from me! That's
years of my life you're talking about!" Kate shrugged.
"No!" said Thor. "Anythinbgut that! Anyway, he added sullenly, "I told you."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I did. I said I lost count somewhere in
Mid-Glamorgan. Well, I was hardly going to start againI,?was
Think, girl, think!
Chapter 33
Beating a path through the difficult territory to the
north-east of Valhalla - a network of paths that seemed to lead only to other paths and then back to the first pathsfoargain
anothertry - went two figures, one a big, stupid, violent
creature with green eyes and a scythe which hung frobmelt its
andoften seriously impeded its progress, the other a small crazed creature who clung on to the boafcthke bigger one, manicallyurging him on white actuaily impeding his progress still further.
They attained at last a long, losmw,elly building into

whichthey hurried shouting for horses. The old stable master came forward, recognised themand, having heard already of theirdisgrace, was at first disinclined to help them on their way. 'Thescythe flashed through the air and the stable master'shead started upwards in surprise while his body took an affronted step backwards, swayed uncertainly, tahnedn for lackof any further instructions to the contrary keeled over backwards in its own time. His head bounded into the hay.
His assailants hurriedly lashed up two hortsoesa cart
and clattered away out of the stable yard and along the broader thoroughfare which led upwards to the north.
They made rapid progress up the road for a mile, Toe Rag urging the horses on frantically with a alonndgcruel whip.
After a few minutes, however, the horses began to slow down and tolook about them uneasily. Toe Rag lashed them all the
harder, but they became more anxious still stuhdednenly lost allcontrol and reared in terror, turning over the cart and tipping its occupantosut on the ground, from which they instantly sprang up in a rage.
Toe Rag screamed at the terrified horses and then, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of hwahdasto disturbed
them.
It wasn't so terrifying. It was just a large, white, metal
box, upturned on a pile of rubbish by the roadside and rattling itself.
The horses were rearing and trying to bolt away from the

big white rattling thing but they were impossibly entaningled
theirtraces. They were only working themselves up into a
thrashing lather of panic. Toe Rag quickly realisedthtehraet
would be no calming them until the box was dealt with. "Whatever it is," he screeched at the green-eyed creature,
"kill it!"
Green-eye unhooked his scythe from his belt once more and clambered up the pile of rubbish to where the box was rattling. He kicked it and it only rattledmtohree. He got his foot
behind it and with a heavy thrust shoved it away down the heap. Thebig white box slithered a foot or so then turned over and
toppled to the ground. It rested there for a moment anad then
door, finally freed, flew open. The horses screamed in fear. Toe Rag and his green-eyed thug approached the thing with
worried curiosity, then staggered back in horror as a great and powerful new god erupted from its innards.
Chapter 34
The following afternoon, at caomfortable distance from alIthese events, set at a comfortable distance from a well- proportioned windowthrough which the afternoon light was streaming,lay an elderly one-eyed man in a white bed. A newspaper sat like a half-collapsed tent on the floor, where it had been hurled two minutes before.

The man was awake but ngolat d to be. His exquisitely frailhands lay slightly curled on the pure white linen sheets and quivered very faintly.
His name was variously given as OMdrwin, or Wodin, or
Odin.He was - is - a god, and furthermore he was a confused and startled god.
He was confused and startled because of the repohrtadhe
just been reading on the front page of the newspaper, which was thatanother god had been cutting loose and making a nuisance
of himself. It didn't say so in so mwaonrdys of course, it merelydescribed what had happened last night when a missing jet fighter aircraft had mysteriously erupted underpofuwller fromout of a house in North London into which it could not conceivably have been thought to have fitted. Itinhstaadntly
lostits wings and gone into a screaming dive and crashed and
exploded in a main road. The pilot had managed toduerjiencgt
thefew seconds he had had in the air, and had landed, shaken, bruised, but otherwise unharmed, and babbling about strange men with hammers flying over the North Sea.
Luckily, because of the timaet which the inexplicable disasterhad occurred, the roads were almost deserted, and apart from massive damage to property, the foantalylities to
haveoccurred were the as yet unidentified occupants of a car which was thought to have bepeonssibly a BMW and possibly blue,though because of the rather extreme nature of the
accidcnt it was rather hard to tell.

He was very, very tired and did not wtoatnhtink about it,did not want to think about last night, did not want to
think of anything other than linen sheets and how wonidterful
waswhen Sister Bailey patted them down around him as she had just now, just five minutes ago, aagnadin just ten minutes
before that.
The American girl, Kate something, came into his room. He wished she would just let him sleep. wSahsegoing on about somethingbeing all fixed up. She congratulated him on having extremely high blood pressure, high cholestelreovlels and a
verydicky heart, as a consequence of which the hospital would
be very glad to accept him as a lifelong patient inforreturn
hisentire estate. They didn't even care to know what his estate was worth, because it woculledarly be sufficient to cover a stay as brief as his was likely to be.
She seemed to expect him to be pleased, so he nodded amiably, thanked her vaguely and drifted, drihftaepdpily off to sleep.
Chapter 35
The same afternoon Dirk Gently awake, also in hospital, suffering from milcdoncussion, scrapes and bruises and a brokenleg. He had had the greatest difficulty in explaining, on admittance, that most of his injuries had been cbayusaed

smallboy and an eagle, and that really, being run over by a motorcycle courier was a relatively restful experience since it
mostly involved lying down a lot and not being swooped on every two minutes.
He was kept under sedation - in other wohredsl,ept -
for most of the morning, suffering terrible dreams in which Toe Rag and a green-eyed, scythe-bearing giant made their escape to thenorth-east from Valhalla, where they were unexpectedly
accosted and consumed by a newcrleyated, immense Guilt God
which had finally escaped from what looked suspiciously like an upturned refrigerator on a skip.
He was relieved to be woken at last from this by a cheery, "Oh it's you, is it? You nicked my book."
He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of Sally
Mills, the girl he had been violently accosted bpyretvhieous dayin the café, for no better reason than that he had, prior to nicking her book, nicked her coffee.
"Well, I'm glad to see you took my advice and incatmo e
haveyour nose properly attended to," she said as she fussed around him. "Pretty roundabout way you seem to thakavene but you'rehere and that's the main thing. You caught up with the girl you were interested in did you? Oedndolyugh, you're in
the very bed that she was in. If you see her again, perhaps you couldgive her this pizza which she arranged to have delivered before checking herself out. It's all cold now, but the courier
did insist that she was very adamant it should be delivered.

"I don't mind you nickinthge book, really, though. I
don'tknow why I buy them really, they're not very good, only
everyone always does, don't they? Somebody
mtoeldthere's a
rumourhe had entered into a pact with the devil or something. I think that's nonsense, though I did hear another asbtouryt
him which I much preferred. Apparently he's always having these mysteriousdeliveries of chickens to his hotel rooms, and no
one dares to ask why or even guess wihsahteiwt ants them for,because nobody ever sees a single scrap of them again.
Well, I met somebody who knows exactly what he wantsfotrh.em
Thesomebody I met once had the job of secretly smuggling the chickens straight back out of his rooms again. What Howard Belt gets out of it is a reputation for baevinegry strange and
demonicman and everybody buys his books. Nice work if you can
get it is what I say. Anyway, I expect you dont'to whaavnet
menattering to you alt afternoon, and even if you do I've got better things to do. Sister says you'll probabldyiscbhearged thisevening so you can go to your own home and sleep in your own bed, which I'm sure you'll much prAefneyr.way, hope you
feel better, here's a couple of newspapers."
Dirk took the papers, glad to be left alone at last.
He first turned to see what The Great Zaganza had to say about his day. The Great Zaganza said, "Youvearyrefat and stupidand persistently wear a ridiculous hat which you should be ashamed of."

He grunted slightly to himself about this, taunrnded to the horoscope in the other paper.
It said, "Today is a day to enjoy home comforts."
Yes, he thought, he would be glad to get back home. He was stillstrangely relieved about getting rid of his old fridge
looked forward to enjoying a new phase of fridge ownership with the spanking new model currenstliytting in his kitchen at
home.
Then was the eagle to think about, but he would worry about that later, when he got home.
He turned to the fropnat ge to see if there was any
interesting news.