But rather than a mop and Iremonger coming running, instead there was Piggott and there was Sturridge, and there was Idwid Iremonger, his ear facing outwards, tugging on his own lug, and just by him another little man just like him to look at, only this one had eyes that worked and his clothes were less smart and there was a whistle hanging from his neck, and there were other Iremongers in suits, official ones I did not know, all anxious, all trembling. Then, actually, after all, I did recognise one of the official Iremongers, one with a red bay leaf on his lapel. I’d seen him somewhere before. I knew I had. Yes I had! It was the one called Cusper Iremonger, the one that took me from the orphanage. Hullo, what’s he doing there?

‘There’s been a breach,’ said the butler.

‘No,’ said the Captain, ‘maybe later. Not yet. Begging to report, the gate bolted and the wall’s holding well. At the moment. But, regret to report, been a loss out there. Don’t know how he got out, a family member with no lifeguard, but out he went, so I’ve been told, and yet to confirm; I have this. But not, so it seems, the one that belonged to it.’

He held out the tap. Piggott snatched it.

‘That’s Master Tummis’s! How did this ever happen!’

‘Don’t know how, not for me to look after those ones. He must have slipped out. Very sorry, very sorry, not my department. But no breach, door fastened and holding! No, you see, no breach at all.’

‘Not the storm,’ snapped the one with the whistle, ‘not the weather, dumbmuck!’

‘Regret to say it, would rather not,’ said Cusper, ‘I let one in.’

‘Go on, you pissbucket!’ ordered the one with whistle. ‘Go on and tell them!’

‘That’s not the way, dear Timfy,’ said blind Idwid, ‘not helpful in the least. Tell them, Cusper, if anything can be heard above this storm, this constant shrieking in my ears.’

‘I shall have my say, brother!’ cried the one with the whistle.

‘Please, Cusper,’ prodded Idwid.

‘I think it may be with you, think it might, one of your number, Captain,’ continued Cusper, ‘under a helmet, between leather, one of … those there. Let in. My fault. Most awfully.’

‘What exactly?’ asked Idwid. ‘What did you let in? Tell the heap Captain. Oh, my ears!’

‘A … a … a non-person, a, well, a not one of us, a … erm … other.’

‘Spit it out, man,’ yapped the one with the whistle, ‘let’s get this done before Umbitt’s back. I shouldn’t want to stand in your shoes, not for love nor money; he’ll throw you from the building. He’ll cut you loose. I know I would. Yes, I would!’

‘Steady, Timfy,’ said Idwid, ‘steady now, baby brother. Oh, my ears!’

‘Baby, he says! He said “Baby”!’