Something rotten

'Look about you,' he said grimly, 'security gives way to conspiracy.'

We drove to the gates, out of Area 21 and through the darkening evening sky to the Welsh border, and home.

34 St Zvlkx and Cindy

KAINE 'FICTIONAL' CLAIMS BOURNEMOUTH MAN

Retired gas-fitter Mr Martin Piffco made the ludicrous comment yesterday, claiming that the beloved leader of the nation was simply a fictional character 'come to life'. Speaking from the Bournemouth Home for the Exceedingly Odd where he has been committed 'for his own protection', Mr Piffco was more specific and likened Mr Yorrick Kaine to a minor character with an over-inflated opinion of himself in a Daphne Farquitt book entitled At Long Last Lust. The Chancellor's office dubbed the report 'a coincidence', but ordered that the Farquitt book be confiscated nonetheless. Mr Piffco, who faces unspecified charges, made news last year when he made a similar outrageous claim regarding Kaine and Goliath investing in 'mind-controlling experiments'.

Article in the Bournemouth Bugle, 15 March 1987

I awoke and gazed at Landen in the early morning light that had started to creep around the bedroom. He was snoring ever so quietly and I gave him a long hug before I got up, wrapped myself in a dressing gown and tiptoed past Friday's room on my way downstairs to make some coffee. I walked into Landen's study as I waited for the kettle to boil, sat down at the piano and played a very quiet chord. The sun crept above the roof of the house opposite at that precise moment and cast a finger of orange light across the room. I heard the kettle click off and returned to the kitchen to make the coffee. As I poured the hot water on the grounds there was a small wail from upstairs. I paused to see whether another 'would follow it. A single wail might only be a stirring and he could be left alone. Two wails or more would be Hungry Boy, eager for a gallon or two of porridge. There was a second wail ten seconds later and I was just about to go and get him when I heard a thump and a scraping as Landen pulled on his leg and then walked along the corridor to Friday's room. There were more footsteps as he returned to his room, then silence. I relaxed, took a sip of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, deep in thought.

The Superhoop was tomorrow and I had my team — the question was, would it make a difference? There was a chance we might find a copy of At Long Last Lust, too — but I wasn't counting on this, either. Of equal chance and equal risk of failure was Shgakespeafe being able to unravel The Merry Wives of Elsinore, and Mycroft coming up with an ovi-negator at short notice. But none of these pressing matters was foremost in my mind: most important to me was that at eleven o'clock this morning Cindy would try to kill me for the third and final time. She would fail, and she would die. I thought of Spike and Betty and picked up the phone. I figured he'd be a heavy sleeper and was right — Cindy answered the phone.

'It's Thursday.'

'This is professionally very unethical,' said Cindy in a sleepy voice. 'What's the time?'

'Half six. Listen, I rang to suggest that it'd be a good idea if you stayed at home today and didn't go to work.'

There was a pause.

'I can't do that,' she said at last. 'I've arranged childcare and everything. But there's nothing to stop you getting out of town and never returning.'

'This is my town too, Cindy.'

'Leave now or the Next family crypt will be up for a dusting.'

'I won't do that.'

'Then,' replied Cindy with a sigh, 'we've got nothing else to discuss. I'll see you later — although I doubt you'll see me.'

The line went dead and I gently replaced the receiver. I felt sick. The wife of a good friend would die today and it didn't feel good.

'What's the matter?' said a voice close at hand. 'You seem upset.'

It was Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.

'No,' I replied, 'everything's just as it should be. Thanks for dropping round; I've found us a William Shakespeare. He's not the original, but close enough for our purposes. He's in this cupboard.'

I opened the cupboard door and a very startled Shgakespeafe looked up from where he had been scribbling by the light of a candle end he had stuck upon his head. The wax had begun to run down his face, but he didn't seem to mind.

'Mr Shgakespeafe, this is the hedgehog I was telling you about.'

He shut his notebook and stared at Mrs Tiggy-Winkle. He wasn't the slightest bit afraid or surprised — after the abominations he'd dodged on an almost daily basis in Area 21, I suspect a six-foot-tall hedgehog was something of a relief. Mrs Tiggy-Winkle curtsyed gracefully.

'Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Shgakespeafe,' she said politely. 'Will you come with me, please?'

'Who was that?' Landen called out as he walked downstairs a little later.

'It was Mrs Tiggy-Winkle picking up a William Shakespeare clone in order to save Hamlet from permanent destruction.'

'You can't ever be serious, can you?' He laughed as he gave me a hug. I had smuggled Shgakespeafe into the house without Landen seeing. I know you're meant to be honest and truthful to your spouse but I thought there might be a limit, and if there was I didn't want to reach it too soon.

Friday came down to breakfast ten minutes later. He looked tousled, sleepy and a bit grumpy.

'Quis nostrud laboris,' he moaned. 'Nisi ut aliquip ex consequat.'

I gave him some toast and rummaged in the cupboard under the stairs for my bullet-proof vest. All my stuff was now back at Landen's house as if I had never moved out. Sideslips are confusing, but you can get used to almost anything.

'Why are you wearing a bullet-proof vest?'

It was Landen. Drat. I should have put it on at the station.

'What bullet-proof vest?'

'The one you're trying to put on.'

'Oh, that one. No reason. Listen, if Friday gets hungry you can always give him a snack. He likes bananas — you may have to buy some more, and if a gorilla calls, it's only that Mrs Bradshaw I was telling you about.'

'Don't change the subject. How can you go to work wearing a vest for 'no reason'?'

'It's a precaution.'

'Insurance is a precaution. A vest means you're taking unnecessary risks.'

'I'd be taking a bigger one without it.'

'What's going on, Thursday?'

I waved a hand vaguely in the air and tried to make light of it.

'Just an assassin. A small one. Barely worth thinking about.'

'Which one?'