'Really,' I interrupted him, 'you're talking to the wrong person. I'm only an apprentice. Jurisfiction has no power to dictate policy anyway — you need to speak to the Council of Genres.'

'The Council sent us to talk to TGC, who referred us to the Great Panjandrum,' said Humpty Dumpty to a chorus of vigorous head-nodding, 'but no one seems to know if he — or she -even exists.'

'If you've never seen him he probably doesn't exist,' said Little Jack Horner. 'Pie, anyone?'

'I've never seen Vincent Price,' I observed, 'but I know he exists.'

'Who?'

'An actor,' I explained, feeling somewhat foolish. 'Back home.'

Humpty Dumpty narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

'You're talking complete Lear, Miss Next.'

'King?'

'No,' he replied, 'Edward.'

'Oh.'

'MONGOOSE!' yelled Humpty, drawing a small revolver and throwing himself to the ground where, unluckily for him, there just happened to be a muddy puddle.

'You're mistaken,' explained Grundy wearily, 'it's a guide dog. Put the gun away before you hurt yourself.'

'A guide dog?' repeated Humpty, slowly getting to his feet. 'You're sure?'

'Have you spoken to WordMaster Libris?' I asked. 'We all know he exists.'

'He won't speak to us,' said Humpty Dumpty, wiping his face with a large handkerchief. 'The oral tradition is unaffected by the UltraWord™ upgrade so he doesn't think we're that important. If we don't negotiate a few rights before the new system comes in, we won't ever get any!'

'Libris won't even speak to you?' I repeated.

'He sends us notes,' squeaked the oldest of three mice, all of whom had no tails, held a white cane in one hand and a golden retriever in the other. 'He says that he is very busy but will give "our concerns his fullest attention".'

'What's going on?' squeaked one of the other mice. 'Is that Miss Next?'

'It's a brush-off,' said Grundy. 'Unless we get an answer soon there won't be a single nursery rhyme anywhere, either spoken or read! We're going on a forty-eight-hour stoppage from midnight. When parents can't remember the words to our rhymes, the fur will really fly, I can promise you that!'

'I'm sorry,' I began again, 'I have no authority — I can't do anything—'

'Then just take this to Agent Libris?'

Humpty Dumpty handed me a list of demands, neatly written on a page of foolscap paper. The crowd grew suddenly silent. A sea of eyes, all blinking expectantly, were directed at me.

'I promise nothing,' I said, taking the piece of paper, 'but if I see Libris, I will give this to him — okay?'

'Thank you very much,' said Humpty. 'At last someone from Jurisfiction will listen!'

I turned away and overheard Humpty say to Grundy: 'Well, I thought that went pretty well, didn't you?'

I walked briskly up the front steps of Norland Park, where I was admitted by the same frog-like footman I had seen on my first visit. I crossed the hall and entered the ballroom. Miss Havisham was at her desk with Akrid Snell, who was talking into the footnoterphone. Standing next to them was Bradshaw, who had not retired as promised, filling out a form with the Bellman, who appeared very grave. The only other occupant of the room was Harris Tweed, who was reading a report. He looked up as I entered, said nothing and continued reading. Miss Havisham was studying some photographs as I walked up.

'Damn and blast!' she said, looking at one before tossing it over her shoulder and staring at the next. 'Pathetic!' she muttered, looking at another. 'Derisive!'

'Perkins?' I asked, sitting down.

'Speed camera pictures back from the labs,' she said, handing them over. 'I thought I would have topped one hundred and sixty, but look — well, it's pitiful, that's what it is!'

I looked. The speed camera had caught the Higham Special but recorded only a top speed of 152.76 mph. But what was worse, it showed Mr Toad travelling at over a hundred and eighty — and he had even raised his hat at the speed camera as he went past.

'I managed a hundred and seventy when I tried it on the M4,' she said sadly. 'Trouble is, I need a longer stretch of road — or sand. Well, can't be helped now. The car has been sold. I'll have to go cap in hand to Sir Malcolm if I want to get a shot at beating Toad.'

'Norland Park to Perkins,' said Snell into the footnoterphone, 'come in, please. Over.'

I looked at Havisham.

'No answer for almost six hours,' she said. 'Mathias isn't answering either — we got a Yahoo once but you might as well talk to Mrs Bennett. What's that?'

'It's a list of demands from the nurseries outside.'

'Rabble,' replied Havisham, 'all of them replaceable. How hard can it be, appearing in a series of rhyming couplets? If they don't watch themselves they'll be replaced by scab Generics from the Well. It happened when the Amalgamated Union of Gateway Guardians struck in 1932. They never learn.'

'All they want is a holiday—'

'I shouldn't concern yourself with nursery politics, Miss Next,' said Havisham, so sharply I jumped.

'Good work on the ProCath attack,' announced Tweed, who had walked over. 'I've had a word with Plum over at JurisTech; he's going to extend the footnoterphone network to cover more of Wuthering Heights — we shouldn't have a problem with mobilefootnoterphones dropping out again.'

'We'd better not,' replied MissHavisham coldly. 'Lose Heathcliff and the Council of Genres will have our colons for garters. Now, to work. We don't know what to expect as regards the minotaur, so we have to be prepared.'

'Like boy scouts?'

'Can't stand them, but that's beside the point. Turn to page seven eighty-nine in your TravelBook.'

I did as she bade. This was in an area of the book where the pages contained gadgets in hollowed-out recesses deeper than the book was thick. One page contained a device similar to a flare gun which had 'Mk IV TextMarker' written on its side. Another page had a glass panel covering a handle like a fire alarm. A note painted on the glass read: 'IN UNPRECEDENTED EMERGENCY, BREAK GLASS'. The page Havisham had indicated was neither of these; page 789 contained a brown Homburg hat. Hanging from the brim was a large red toggle with 'In emergency pull down sharply' written on it. There was also a chin strap, something I've never seen on a Homburg before — or even a fedora or trilby, come to that.

Havisham took the hat from my hands and gave me a brief induction course.

'This is the Martin-Bacon Mk VII Eject-O-Hat,' she explained, for high-speed evacuation from a book. Takes you straight out in an emergency.'

'Where to?'

'A little-known novel entitled The Middle of Next Week. You can make your way out to the Library at leisure. But be warned: the jump can be painful, even fatal — so it should only be used as a last resort. Remember to keep the chin strap tight or it'll take your ears off during the ejection sequence. I will say "JUMP!" twice — by the third I will have gone. Any questions?'

'How does it work?'

'I'll rephrase that — any questions I can possibly hope to answer?'

'Does this mean we'll see Bradshaw without his pith helmet?'

'Ha-ha!' Bradshaw laughed, releasing the toggle from the brim. 'I have the smaller Mk XII version — it could be fitted into a beret or a veil, if we so wished.'

I picked up the Homburg from the table and put it on.

'What are you expecting?' I asked slightly nervously, adjusting the chin strap.

'We think the minotaur has escaped,' she answered gravely. 'If it has and we meet it, just pull the cord as quickly as you can. It always takes at least ten to twelve words to initiate a standard jump — you could be minotaur appetiser by that time.'

I pulled out my automatic to check it but Bradshaw shook his head.