‘Serif⁠ —’ August called after him, but he was gone. ‘Oh well, I’m sure he knows best. Hoff⁠ —’

Hoff was about to flick a wrist control, but Aphasia jumped up, shouting, ‘Wait! Wait! Balloon!’

From out of the square panel that had opened in the dome, a red balloon floated, its string dangling. It hovered to Aphasia’s hand, and she grabbed hold of it. ‘You can close it up now.’

Hoff did so. The construction hummed with power as a defence shield activated.

‘Let’s explore, see what we’re about,’ August decided, pointing vaguely in the direction of town. ‘If anybody sees the subject, or this companion of his, then call it in. And there’s a TARDIS about somewhere, remember, which is very probably where the target is.’

They set off, Greeneye tossing his boater from hand to hand. Glancing at some animal movement in the bushes, possibly the dreaded cat, he missed, and the hat fell to the floor. He winced, as if bruised, as the evening breeze sent it tumbling across the ground. He halted briefly, concentrating.

The boater steadied itself, and, on some unseen means of propulsion, ran back across the forest floor to Greeneye, hopping back on to his head.

‘Whatever this Time Lord’s doing here,’ he muttered, ‘I hope he’s enjoying it, because, let me tell you, it’s going to be his lifetime’s work.’

‘Miaow…’ said Hoff.

Chapter Two

Maius Intra Qua Extra

‘So…’ George Rocastle, MBE, leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘How are things working out, John?’

Dr Smith had plopped down in the chair on the other side of the desk. He pulled at his collar, and grinned giddily. ‘Fine… fine.’

‘Only I was disturbed by something I heard today. As headmaster, I have to keep an ear out for everything, you know. Why did you venture into Upper School today?’

‘It’s where the boys were. I wanted to ask them about cricket. Was that wrong?’

‘Not… wrong, not as such, no. But there’s more of an order to life here than what’s in the rulebook. Rather like Great Britain herself, we’re proud of our unwritten constitution. Maius intra qua extra, you know. Pars interior ingentior est quam exterior pars?’

‘Ah…’ Smith nodded wisely.

‘What does that mean?’ Rocastle’s moustachioed upper lip quivered, then he controlled himself. ‘It happens to be the school motto. If you don’t know what it means, I suggest that you look it up.’

‘Yes. I will. Do go on.’

‘Dr Smith, when I took you on, it was largely on the strength of a superb set of references, possibly the best I have ever seen, from the Flavian Academy of Aberdeen. Your behaviour in the six weeks that we’ve had you has, thus far, not matched those references. For a start, there’s the matter of your hysterical outburst when you sat in on Mrs Denman’s biology class⁠ —’