‘Greeneye’s just hungry!’ Aphasia teased. She didn’t have a scanner. She’d just narrowed her eyes and was turning her head in an imperceptibly slow arc.

‘She’ll still be there when we get back,’ said August. ‘I just hope that you do your business behind the screen or something.’

‘I want to watch!’ moaned Aphasia.

‘You can.’ Greeneye ruffled her hair. ‘Tell you what, you can have her pancreas afterwards.’

‘I’ve got the pancreas, I’ve got the pancreas!’ sang the little girl, glancing up at Serif. ‘And you haven’t, and you haven’t…’

Serif raised a dangerous eyebrow and stalked off.

‘Got something!’ Hoff stabbed a stubby finger on to his scanner unit. ‘A source producing rapidly decaying particles in negative time. Way beyond the technology levels here.’

‘Could be an effect of the time shield?’ August glanced at the figures. ‘Except⁠ — it’s moving! Come on!’

The Aubertides ran downhill towards town, Serif pursuing them with broad strides in an attempt to catch up.

‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Alexander.

Bernice was gritting her teeth as Bottomley hammered a sharp metal tool into the fastening of her left manacle. ‘We find that boy with the Pod, and help out with his, admittedly so far rather successful, plan to hide it. How would he have got hold of the thing, anyway?’

‘Well, the orchard where you say you left it is part of the Marcham estate, old Mrs Marcham’s place, but it’s notoriously ill-tended. She doesn’t get out much, and so her staff leave the fruit to rot. It’s a huge area, and it snakes right round the forest and the school, with all sorts of secret places. The place is therefore beloved to wasps and boys of Hulton College.’

‘Where Dr Smith works. I see.’

‘And, of course, schoolboys love to get hold of mysterious things.’

‘So I remember.’ Benny triumphantly broke free of the first manacle and waggled her hand to get the blood circulating again. ‘Your average fifth former’s got his finger in more pies than Mr Kipling.’

The blacksmith glanced between the two manacled figures propped up against his workshop wall. ‘I’m astonished. You’ve met Rudyard Kipling?’

Benny burst out laughing and used her free hand to pat the man on the shoulder.

‘No,’ she assured him. ‘But I know a man who has. Hopefully.’

Bottomley shrugged and continued his work.

Dr Smith had placed a ladder against the wall of the cottage and climbed up it, while Joan held it steady. He undid the catch on a hatch in the ceiling and opened it, then climbed up into the loft. A moment later he called: ‘Come up here and see!’