‘I was at mum’s house and my wetsuit was at my place – when we got the alarm I had to go as I was. We went up the river like crazies – me, Fleet, Chelsea and Effra – if you’d seen us then you’d have freaked big time.’

With a twist of her wrist she held out her hand out palm up, and above it floated a globe of water.

‘We’d chased Father Thames’s little boys back to their boat, and we’re just giving them some lip when down swoops the Jag and the Nightingale comes storming out. I was totally stealthy because, you know, Nightingale . . . Mum’s got views about us getting into too much trouble. The next thing I know I’m seeing this gormless looking boy standing on the shore.’

The globe started to rotate and flatten out slightly.

‘You swore at me,’ I said.

‘I cut myself on a wire cage,’ she said. ‘Some stupid environmental anti-erosion measure or something.’

I extended my hand and concentrated, which wasn’t easy with one of Beverley’s breasts brushing against the side of my chest. Aqua was a forma I’d only learnt quite recently, but I managed to get a respectable globe of water hovering over my own hand.

‘Why, thank you,’ said Beverley and without any fuss my globe jumped over and merged with hers. She saw my startled look and grinned.

‘How did you do that?’ I asked.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ said Beverley, and with an elegant flick of her hand the globe shot up towards the ceiling and exploded in a puff of vapour. A cool mist floated down around us, beading her shoulders and hip and making me shiver.

I could tell she knew I was going to ask again, because she leaned over and kissed me until I’d forgotten what I was going to say. After that one thing led to another, but fortunately Beverley paused long enough to do the vapour thing again so we didn’t collapse from heat exhaustion.

Alas all good things must end – even if only to avoid back strain.

‘And what’s your plan for tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow,’ I said, ‘I’m going high tech.’

Passive Data Strategy

12

Passive Data Strategy

‘I knew it was something to do with aliens,’ said the man from the electronics shop whose name turned out to be Albert but apparently I could call him Al.

‘No comment,’ I said, which of course merely confirmed Call Me Al’s most cherished suspicions. He’d done a good job quickly lashing up a batch of Peter Grant’s patented wide-area magic detectors. These consisted of a disposable pay-as-you-go phone, modified to my specifications and mounted inside a brightly coloured plastic box with rounded corners. One third were yellow, another third blue and the rest letter-box red.

I flicked one with my finger – it was heavy duty PVC.