Minerva returned her attention to No.1.
'Lady Heatherington Smythe's Hedgerow, you say?'
No.1 nodded. He was afraid to speak in case his runaway mouth leaked any more information than it already had.
Minerva spoke now to the large mirror. 'You remember that one, Papa?
The most ridiculous fluffy romance you are ever likely to avoid like the plague. I loved it when I was six. It's all about a nineteenth-century
English aristocrat. Oh, who's the author. . Carter Cooper Harbison.
The Canadian girl. She was eighteen when she wrote it. Did absolutely no research. She had nineteenth- century nobles speaking like they were from the fifteen hundreds. Absolute tosh, so obviously a worldwide hit.
Well, it seems our old friend Abbot brought it home with him. The cheeky devil has managed to sell it as gospel truth. It seems he has the rest of the demons spouting Cooper Harbison as though she were an evangelist.'
No.1 broke his no-speaking vow. 'Abbot? Abbot was here?'
'Mais oui,' said Minerva. 'How do you think we knew where to find you.
Abbot told us everything.'
A voice boomed through a wall-mounted speaker. 'Not everything. His figures were flawed. But my young genius Minerva figured it out. I'll get you a pony for this, darling. Whatever colour you like.'
Minerva waved at the mirror. 'Thank you, Papa. You should know by now that I don't like ponies. Or ballet.'
The speaker laughed. 'That's my little girl. What about a trip to
Disneyland, Paris? You could dress as a princess.'
'Perhaps after the selection committee,' said Minerva with a smile. The smile was slightly forced, though. She did not have time for Disney dreams at the moment. 'After I am sure of the Nobel nomination. We have less than a week to question our subjects and organize secure travel to the Royal Academy in Stockholm.'
No.1 had another important question. 'And Lady Heatherington Smythe's Hedgerow? It's not true?'
Minerva laughed delightedly. 'True? My dear little fellow. Nothing could be further from the truth. That book is a cringeworthy testament to teenage hormonal fabrication.'
No.1 was stunned. 'But I studied that book. For hours.
I acted out scenes. I made costumes. Are you telling me that there is no Heatherington Hall?'
'No Heatherington Hall.'
'And no evil Prince Karloz?'
'Fiction.'
No.1 remembered something. 'But Abbot came back with a crossbow, just like in the book. That's evidence.'
Kong joined the discussion; after all, this was his area of expertise.
'Crossbows? Ancient history, toad. We use things like these now.' Billy
Kong drew a black ceramic handgun from a holster tucked in his armpit.
'This little beauty shoots fire and death. We've got much bigger ones too. We fly round the world in our metal birds and rain down exploding eggs on our enemies.'
No.1 snorted. 'That little thing shoots fire and death? Flying metal birds?
And I suppose you eat lead and blow golden bubbles too.'
Kong did not respond well to cynicism, especially from a little reptilian creature. In one fluid motion, he flicked the safety off his weapon and fired three shots, blowing apart the headrest of No.1 's seat. The imp's face was showered with sparks and splinters, and the sound of the shots echoed like thunder in the confined space.
Minerva was furious. She began screaming long before anyone could hear her.
'Get out of here, Kong. Out!'
She kept screaming this, or words to that effect, until their ears stopped ringing. When Minerva realized that Billy Kong was ignoring her commands, she switched to Taiwanese.
'I told my father not to employ you. You are an impulsive and violent man. We are conducting a scientific experiment here. This demon is of no use to me if he is dead; do you understand, you reckless man? I need to communicate with our guest, so you must leave, because you obviously terrify him. Go now, I warn you, or your contract will be terminated.'
Kong rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was taking every shred of patience he had not to dispose of this whingeing infant right now and take his chances with her security. But it would be foolhardy to risk everything because he could not hold his temper for a few more hours.
For now, he would have to content himself with some more insolence.
Kong took a small mirror from his trouser pocket and plucked at the gelled strands of his hair.
'I will go now, little girl, but be careful how you speak to me. You may come to regret it.'
Minerva split the fingers of her right hand into a W.
'Whatever,' she said in English.
Kong pocketed his mirror, winked at No.1 and left. No.1 did not feel comforted by that wink. In the demon world, you winked at your opponent in pitched battle to make clear your intention to kill him next.
No.1 got the distinct impression that this spiky-haired human had that same intention.
Minerva sighed, took a moment to compose herself, then resumed her interview with the prisoner.
'Let's start at the beginning. What is your name?'
No.1 supposed that was a safe question to answer. 'I have no real name, because I never warped. I used to worry about that, but now I seem to have a lot more to worry about.'
Minerva realized that her questions would have to be quite specific.
'What do people call you?'
'You mean human people? Or other demons?'
'Demons.'
'Oh. . right. They call me Number One.'
'Number One?'
'That's right. It's not much of a name, but it's all I have. And I console myself with the fact that it's better than Number Two.'
'I see. Well then, Number One, I suppose you would like to know what's going on here.'
No.1's eyes were wide and pleading. 'Yes, please.'
'OK then,' Minerva began, as she sat facing her prisoner. 'Two years ago one of your pride materialized here. Just popped up in the middle of the night on the statue of D'Artagnan in the courtyard. He was lucky not to be killed actually. D'Artagnan's sword actually pierced one of his arms.
The tip broke off inside.'
'Was the sword silver?' asked No.1.
'Yes. Yes it was. Of course we realized later that the silver anchored him to this dimension, otherwise he would have been attracted to his own space and time. The demon was, of course, Abbot. My parents wanted to call the gendarmes, but I persuaded them to bring the poor half-dead beast inside. Papa has a small surgery here that he uses for his more paranoid patients. He treated Abbot's burns, but we missed the silver tip until a few weeks later when the wound became infected and Papa did an X-ray. Abbot was quite fascinating to observe. Initially, and for many days, he flew into a psychotic rage whenever a human approached him.
He tried to kill us all and vowed that his army was coming to exterminate humankind from the face of the Earth. He conducted long arguments with himself. It was more than split personality. It was as if there were two people in one body. A warrior and a scientist. The warrior would rage and thrash, then the scientist would write calculations on the wall. I knew that I was on to something important here. Something revolutionary. I had discovered a new species, or rather rediscovered an old one. And if Abbot really was to bring a demon army, then it was up to me to save lives. Human and demon.
But of course, I am merely a child so no one would listen to me. But if I could record this and present it to the Nobel Committee in Stockholm, I could win the Physics prize and establish demons as a protected
