'You can find out what the nature of the spell is?' said Teatime.

     'Yes, yes,  of  course, yes.' Sideney waved his hands urgently. 'That's how  I worked out  this one.  Reverse thaumaturgy, yes,  certainly.  Er.  In time.'

    'We have lots of time,' said Teatime.

     'Perhaps  a  little  more  time  than  that,'  Sideney  quavered.  'The processes are very, very, very... difficult.'

     'Oh, dear.  If it's too  much for you, you've  only got  to  say,' said Teatime.

     'No!' Sideney yipped, and then  managed to get some self-control. 'No. No. No, I can... I'm sure I shall work them out soon...'

     'Jolly good,' said Teatime.

     The  student wizard  looked down. A wisp of vapour oozed from the crack between the doors.

     'Do you know what's in here, Mister Teatime?' 'No.'

     'Ah.  Right.'  Sideney  stared  mournfully  at  the fourth lock. It was amazing how much you remembered when someone like Teatime was around.

     He gave  him a nervous look. 'There's not going to be any  more violent deaths, are  there?'  he  said. 'I  just  can't  stand the sight  of violent deaths!'

     Teatime put  a  comforting arm around his shoulders. 'Don't worry,'  he said. 'I'm on your side. A violent death is the last thing that'll happen to you.'

     'Mister Teatime?'

     He turned. Medium Dave stepped onto the landing.

     'Someone else is in  the tower,' he said. 'They've got Catseye. I don't know  how.  I've got  Peachy watching  the  stairs  and I  ain't  sure where Chickenwire is.'

     Teatime looked back to Sideney, who started prodding at the fourth lock again in a feverish attempt not to die.

     'Why are you telling me? I thought I was paying  you big  strong men  a lot of money to deal with this sort of thing.'

     Medium Dave's  lips framed some words, but  when he  spoke he said, 'Ah right, but what are we up against here? Eh? Old  Man Trouble or the bogeyman or what?'

     Teatime sighed.

     'Some of the Tooth Fairy's employees, I assume,' he said.

     'Not if they're like the ones that were  here,' said Medium Dave. 'They were just civilians. It looks like the ground opened  and  swallowed Catseye up.' He thought about  this. 'I mean  the ceiling,' he  corrected himself. A horrible image had just passed across his under-used imagination.

     Teatime walked  across to the stairwell and looked down. Far below, the pile of teeth looked like a white circle.

     'And the girl's gone,' said Medium Dave.

     'Really? I thought I said she should be killed.'

     Medium Dave  hesitated. The boys had been brought up by Ma Lilywhite to be respectful to women as  delicate and  fragile creatures, and were soundly thrashed if  disrespectful  tendencies  were perceived  by  Ma's  incredibly sensitive radar. And  it was  truly incredibly sensitive. Ma could hear what you were doing three rooms away, a terrible thing for a growing lad.

     That sort of thing leaves a mark. Ma Lilywhite certainly  could. As for the others, they had no objections in practice to the disposal of anyone who got between them  and large  sums of money, but there was a general unspoken resentment at being told by Teatime  to kill  someone just because he had no further use for them.  It wasn't  that it was unprofessional. Only Assassins thought like that. It was just that there were things you did do, and things you didn't do. And this was one of the things you didn't do.

     'We thought... well, you never know...'

     'She wasn't necessary,' said Teatime. 'Few people are.'

     Sideney thumbed hurriedly through his notebooks.

     'Anyway, the place is a maze-' Medium Dave said.

     'Sadly, this is so,' said Teatime. 'But I am sure they will be able  to find us. It's probably too much to hope that they intend something heroic.'

     Violet and the oh god hurried down the stairs.

     'Do you know how to get back?' said Violet.

     'Don't you?'

     'I think there's a... a kind of soft  place. If you walk at it  knowing it's there you go through.'

     'You know where it is?'

     'No! I've never  been here  before! They had  a bag on my  head when we came!  All I  ever  did was take the teeth from  under the pillows!'  Violet started to sob. 'You just get this list and about five minutes' training and they even dock you ten pence a week for the  ladder and I  know I  made that mistake  with little William  Rubin but they should of said, you're supposed to take any teeth you...'

     'Er... mistake?' said Bilious, trying to get her to hurry.

     'Just because he slept with his head under the pillow but they give you the pliers anyway and no one told me that you shouldn't-'

     She certainly did have a pleasant voice,  Bilious  told himself. It was just that in a funny way it grated, too. It  was like listening to a talking flute.

     'I  think  we'd just better  get outside,' he said.  'In case they hear us,' he hinted.

     'What sort of godding do you do?' said Violet.

     'Er... oh,  I...  this and that... I... er...'  Bilious  tried to think through the pounding headache. And then he had one of those ideas,  the kind that only sound good after a lot of alcohol. Someone else may have drunk the drinks, but he managed to snag the idea.

     'I'm actually self-employed,' he said, as brightly as he could manage.

     'How can you be a self-employed god?'

     'Ah, well,  you see,  if  any  other god wants,  perhaps,  you  know, a holiday or something, I cover for them. Yes. That's what I do.'

     Unwisely, in the circumstances, he let his inventiveness impress him.

     'Oh, yes.  I'm very busy.  Rushed off my feet. They're always employing me. You've no idea. They  don't think twice about pushing off for a month as a big white  bull or a swan or something and it's  always, "Oh, Bilious, old chap, just take care of things while I'm  away, will you? Answer the prayers and so on." I hardly  get a minute to  myself but of course you  can't  turn down work these days.'

     Violet was round-eyed with fascination.

     'And are you covering for anyone right now?' she asked.

     'Um, yes... the God of Hangovers, actually... 'A God  of Hangovers? How awful!'

     Bilious looked down at his stained and wretched toga.

     'I suppose it is...' he mumbled.

     'You're not very good at it.'

     'You don't have to tell me.'

     'You're more cut  out to be one of the  important  gods,' said  Violet, admiringly. 'I can just see you as lo or Fate or one of those.'

     Bilious stared at her with his mouth open.

     'I could tell at once you  weren't right,' she went on.  'Not for  some horrible little god. You could even be Offier with calves like yours.'

     'Could  I?  I  mean...  oh, yes. Sometimes.  Of course, I have to  wear fangs...'

     And then someone was holding a sword to his throat.

     'What's this?' said Chickenwire. 'Lover's Lane?'

     'You leave  him  alone,  you!' shouted Violet. 'He's a  god! You'll  be really sorry!'

     Bilious swallowed, but very gently. It was a sharp sword.

     'A god, eh?' said Chickenwire. 'What of?'

     Bilious tried to swallow again.

     'Oh, bit o' this, bit o' that,' he mumbled.

     'Cor,' said Chickenwire.  'Well, I'm  impressed. I can see I'm going to have  to  be  dead  careful  here,  eh?  Don't  want  you  smiting  me  with thunderbolts, do I? Puts a crimp in the day, that sort of thing...'

     Bilious didn't dare move his head. But out of the corner of his eye  he was sure he could see shadows moving very fast across the walls.

     'Dear me,  out  of thunderbolts, are we?'  Chickenwire  sneered. 'Well, y'know, I've never...'