The woman beside him is wearing rubber boots too, and a long waterproof coat. She also seems happy, despite being as wet through as her companion.

“Mum!”

But it’s clear they can’t hear Violet. Everything we can see through the tunnel is a replay of past events.

“It’s wonderful,” says the woman. “A real live malamander! A completely new species, never before described by science.”

“Yes, Bron,” says the man, putting his arm around her. “But you realize, of course, that you can never tell anyone. So you can forget naming it after yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” laughs the woman. “Just knowing it’s there – that such a thing is possible – that’s enough for me. And as for the egg…!”

“The egg,” says the man quickly, “has to be forgotten completely. No one should get hold of something like that. The malamander lays it for someone else, for its mate. Who or what that mate is we may never discover, but no one must ever try to steal the egg again.”

“But is it completely safe?” says the woman. “With that creep Sebastian Eels after it?”

“Eels understands less than he thinks,” says the man, with a snort. “He knows it only lays the egg on one night of the year. And he knows it devours it the next morning. But he’s an arrogant fool. I don’t think he even realizes the creature hibernates all summer.”

The woman shakes her head.

“Technically, it doesn’t,” she says. “To ‘hibernate’ means to sleep through the winter. The malamander sleeps through the summer, so the word you’re looking for is ‘aestivate’.”

“Don’t get sciency with me, Bron.” The man grins. “I’m immune.”

“No, Peter, you aren’t.” The woman smiles back. “And you can’t tell anyone, either, don’t forget. That means you can’t publish your book. You’ve done all that work for nothing.”

The man looks suddenly downcast. “You’re right,” he says. “I can’t.”

“You give away too much. You even describe how to kill the malamander! Imagine if Eels ever got hold of that information.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” The man perks up. “I’ve hidden that particular page where he’ll never find it. And as for the rest, well, I’ll lock the manuscript away when we get home. Then, one day, I’ll let Violet read it. When she’s all grown up.”

“We should get back,” says the woman then. “I feel bad for leaving Violet with that friend of yours.”

“We could hardly have taken a baby into the wreck of a battleship.”

“No, but I don’t really know your friend.”

“Don’t worry,” says the man. “I’ve known Wendy for years. She’s fine.”