"I feel like squeezing the juice some more," he said. "Come on, Bridget. Time for bed." She rose up to follow him, and the door closed behind them with a soft sound.

Desdemona and I, all alone then, against the world.

"You wanna go to bed?" I asked her, copying Beetle.

"Yes please," she answered. And my pulse sang.

This is just like she's never been away.

We fell into each other's arms, under the sheets, with a warm breath blowing from the open windows, like an English balm.

Just like she's never...

And afterwards -- as we lay stomach to back, my right hand on her breasts, my left scrunched up against her neck, my right leg draped over her legs, my left tucked up neat against her thighs, her breathing moving to mine like a twin clock -- a man came into our room.

Desdemona was fast asleep, and so was I, but I could feel him there, in the darkened air, like a taste on the mouth long after the feast has gone.

"Young man," the ghost said. "I am most disappointed in your conduct."

My eyes wouldn't open; I was locked in fear.

"No doubt you have an excuse," the darkness said.

"Desdemona..." I asked. Or tried to ask. Or thought that I might have asked. Or didn't ask. No matter, Desdemona just slept right on through anyway.

"Open your eyes, young man, when you're looking at me."

Something made me do it, some outside force.

My father was looking down at me, from the foot of the bed.

Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh Christ!

I couldn't seem to move. Why can't I move?

Stay calm. Can't be. Can't be.

Not my father. Just some older man.

Father wouldn't have just stood there watching his children in bed. No. He would have pounded me. Not out of any common decency, no, but out of jealousy; having bedded his daughter a few times anyway, along with all the cuttings to her -

"Be careful," the man said.

I knew that voice.

I was sitting upright now, the sheets caught up around me. Desdemona stirred beside me, but did not awake.

"Who are you?"

"Be careful. Be very, very careful."

"Game Cat?" "Indeed. You remember me."

"I've never seen you before."

"Why, we met only this morning. At a rather sleazy affair I'm afraid."

"Leave me alone."

I was coming down from the fear by now, and getting pictures; me standing on the balcony, looking down; the man standing beside me No! I wasn't having that! This morning I was sleeping next to Desdemona, this very bed.

"You know that Tapewormer is a young boy's feather?"

"Tapewormer?"

"Presumably you have heard of it?"

"Of course, it's a --"

"You're in it now."

"No. This is --"

"Young man, you are in the Vurt. Listen to me. This is the Game Cat speaking. When am I ever wrong?"

I looked over at Desdemona. She was peaceful. She was there. "Cat! Tell me I'm not in Vurt," I pleaded.

The Cat just smiled.

"Please! I'm not on Vurt. Please! This is for real."

"Don't fight it, kittling. You just did a Yellow. You just did Takshaka. Think about it."

"So?"

"That was a Tapewormer Yellow. Has to be. You'd be dead otherwise. Yellows do not come that easy."

"Please!" I was hugging Desdemona in her deep sleep. "I don't know what you're talking about! You're not talking about me! Desdemona is here! She's here!"

"Did you not get the voices?"

"I..."

"You know that you did. Inside Takshaka. The voices warning you about going Meta. That was the Sniffing General speaking."

"Who?"

"The General's in charge of the layers. You made him very, very angry. You heard him, didn't you?"

"Yes. But --"

"And the others -- the Stash Riders, is it? How very quaint -- they didn't hear the voice. I wonder why?"

"Because they..." But I was feeling it bad.

"Because you are indulging in Tapewormer. Alone. The others are just figments. Nothing is real."

I couldn't take it any more. I was trying to get up, struggling with the wet sheets. "Get out of my house!" I screamed, but the Cat just laughed. He pushed me back easily, with one finger. I collapsed back onto the bed, beside Des. She still hadn't woken, and I suppose I should have seen it by now.

The Game Cat was looking down at me. His face had turned cold.

"You ever heard of Curious Yellow?" he asked.

"What? No... I... vaguely..."

"It means nothing to you?"

"Isn't it some high-level Vurt. A yellow feather? Why? Should it mean something?" The Cat sighed, wearily. "Let me tell you about Curious Yellow. It's a sucker fuck, my kittling. A testing ground, if you like. A rites of passage game. It's painful. We are at this moment inside Tapewormer. It's makes the past beautiful. It takes out all the bad stuff. Exaggerates the good. Curious Yellow is the exact opposite. It makes the past into a nightmare, and then strands you there, with no hope of release. Only knowledge will get you out. Listen, I've been there. It takes all you've got."

"So?"

That's where your sister is. Curious Yellow. Trapped there. Suffering. Dying. And you, young man, are spending your time in wanker feathers like this one, making believe that she is safe. That disgusts me."

This speech had finished me. It felt like I was being told some ultimate truth; I knew it to be true. And yet it went against the world I was living in.

Maybe I just wanted to deny it.

"Am I getting through?" the Cat said.

"You're confusing me."

"I had to do this, Scribble. Tapewormer is not the way. I need you out there."

"Where?"

"The real world. You'll be pulling out soon. And when you do... all this will make sense. I have something to ask of you. Will you look after my brother for me? No, don't protest. His name is Tristan. In this version of the world you never meet, but in reality you do. We are... well... we're not very close. Not these days. He has just suffered a great, great loss. I would like to offer some condolences... alas, it is not to be. He needs help, Scribble. Would you do this for me? No, no, don't say anything. Just remember these words. Consider this a dream -- it may be easier that way -- and that soon you will awake. Do you understand?" "Almost."

"Good. Let Sirius guide you."

Game Cat reached inside his jacket and pulled out a feather. It was a silver feather. "Do you have anything to give me?" he asked.

I shook my head. The feather was holding me, the way the lights were dancing in it.

"That card will do." He was looking over at our bedside table. The strange card was lying there, the one with the fool and the dog. "Give me that."

I gave it to him and he placed the feather in my hands. It rested in my palm like a sliver of the moon.

"Do you know what it is?"

"It's a Silver. An Operator feather. I..."

"I know. It gets to you, doesn't it?"

"Never seen one before. It's very beautiful."

"It's name is Sniffing General. The General is a Doorgod. Perhaps one of the most powerful. Be very careful, when dealing with him. You may find need of him one day."

"Where did you get it?"

"Hobart gave it to me."

I was so shocked, I almost dropped the Silver.

"You've met Hobart?!"

"Sniffing General is Hobart's servant."

Everybody knew about Hobart, but nobody knew anything. Just the hundreds of rumours that surrounded the name: Hobart invented Vurt. Hobart is alive, Hobart is dead. Hobart is a man, a woman, a child, an alien. Some have called her Queen Hobart, and they have worshipped her. To others Hobart is a dream or a myth, or just a good story that somebody made up, so good that it stuck around, became truth. Nobody knew anything.

"What is Hobart, Cat?" I asked. But his eyes were far away, his mouth set into a tight line.