'Sorry to bother you,' she said, curtsying quickly and absently folding my shirt, which I had tossed over a chair-back, 'but there are one or two things going on that I thought you should know about – and you did say that if I had any questions to ask.'

'Okay – but not here; we'll wake Friday.'

So we crept downstairs to the kitchen. I pulled down the blinds before turning the lights on as a six-foot hedgehog in a shawl and bonnet might have caused a few eyebrows to be raised in the neighbourhood – no one wore bonnets in Swindon these days.

I offered Mrs Tiggy-Winkle a seat at the table. Although she, Emperor Zhark and Bradshaw had been put in charge of running Jurisfiction in my absence, none of them had the leadership skills necessary to do the job on their own. And while the Council of Genres refused to concede that my absence was anything but 'compassionate leave', a new Bellman was yet to be elected in my place.

'So what's up?' I asked.

'Oh, Miss Next!' she wailed, her spines bristling with vexation. 'Please come back!'

'I have things to deal with out here,' I explained, 'you all know that!'

She sighed. 'I know, but Emperor Zhark threw a tantrum when I suggested he spend a little less time conquering the universe and a little more time at Jurisfiction – the Red Queen won't do anything post-1867 and Vernham Deane is tied up with the latest Daphne Farquitt novel. Commander Bradshaw does his own thing, which leaves me in charge – and someone left a saucer of bread and milk on my desk this morning.'

'It was probably just a joke.'

'Well, I'm not laughing,' replied Mrs Tiggy-Winkle indignantly.

'By the way,' I said as a thought suddenly struck me, 'did you find out which book Yornck Kaine escaped from?'

'I'm afraid not. The Cat is searching unpublished novels in the Well of Lost Plots at the moment, but it might take a little time. You know how chaotic things are down there.'

'Only too well.' I sighed, thinking about my old home in unpublished fiction with a mixture of fondness and relief. The Well is where books are actually constructed, where plotsnuths create the stones that authors think they write. You can buy plot devices at discount rates and verbs by the pint. An odd place, to be sure. 'Okay,' I said finally, 'you'd better tell me what's going on.'

'Well,' said Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, counting the points out on her paw, 'this morning a rumour of potential change in the copyright laws swept through the BookWorld.'

'I don't know how these rumours get started,' I replied wearily. 'Was there any truth in it?'

'Not in the least.'