'Whhfff. . . fffmmm. . . nnggh ! ' he protested, and then gave up for the time being, while he probed his nose for the damage.
There was definitely a wobbly bit that clicked nastily between his fingers, and the whole thing seemed suddenly to be a horribly unfamiliar shape. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it up to his face. Blood spread easily through it. He staggered to his feet, brushed aside non-existent offers of help, stomped out of the room and into the tiny bathroom. There, he yanked the hosepipe angrily off the tap, found a towel, soaked it in cold water and held it to his face for a minute or two until the flow of blood gradually slowed to a trickle and stopped. He stared at himself in the mirror. His nose was quite definitely leaning at a slightly rakish angle. He tried bravely to shift it, but not bravely enough. It hurt abominably, so he contented himself with dabbing at it a little more with the wet towel and swearing quietly.
Then he stood there for a second or two longer, leaning against the basin, breathing heavily, and practising saying 'All right!' fiercely into the mirror. It came out as 'Aww-bwigh!' and lacked any real authority. When he felt sufficiently braced, 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 news of some of the exciting 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 briskly over to the window and drew the curtains sharply back, half hoping that the beast might shrivel up shrieking if exposed to daylight, but other than wrinkling up its nose, it did not react. A dark shadow flapped briefly across the 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 a little more open, a little more receptive to the world outside the flickering coloured rectangle. He 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 to the 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 face on the screen. It had been taken about a year ago, before the girl had learnt about corporate lipgloss. She had frizzy hair 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 police professed themselves to be mystified by the fact that there was no trace of Janice Smith at the scene of the incident. They explained that there was a limit to the number of times they could search the same buildings, and appealed for anyone who might have a clue as to her whereabouts to come forward.
'Thadth by segradry! Thadth Mith Pearth!' exclaimed Dirk in astonishment.
The boy was not interested in Dirk's ex-secnetary, and gave up trying to atttact Dirk's attention. He wriggled out of the sleeping-bag and sloped off to the bathroom.
Dirk sat staring at the television, bewildered that he hadn't realised before who the missing girl was. Still, there was no reason why he should have done, he realiced. Marriage had changed her name, and this was the first time they had shown a photograph that actually identified her. So far he had taken no real interest in the strange incident at the airport, but now it demanded his attention.
The explosion was now officially designated 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 suddenly had 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 back in and snuggled back into his sleeping-bag just in time for the advertisements to start. The first one showed how a perfectly ordinary stock cube could form the natural focus of a normal, happy family life.
Dirk leapt to his feet, but even as he was about to start questioning the 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 inclined to disturb him again at the moment.
He contented himself with barking at the unresponding child that he would be back, 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, innocently. 'I bead bythelf ub.'
Gilks demanded to know what he had been doing, and Dirk generously explained that there was a witness upstairs with some interesting information to impart. He suggested that Gilks go and 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 up the stairs, 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.
