'She's always up to something, isn't she? I'll give her "Hey nonny, nonny". Tell her to get back into line or we'll slap a Class II fiction infraction on her so fast it'll make her head spin.'

'We tried that but Laertes returned from Paris and lent his voice to the revolution. Together they made some more changes and called it: The Tragedy of the Noble Laertes, who avenges his sister the fair Ophelia, driven mad by the callous and murderous Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.'

I ran my fingers through what remained of my hair.

'So . . . arrest them both?'

'Too late. Their father Polonius was in a "have a go" mood and joined in. He also made changes and together they renamed it The tragedy of the very witty and not remotely boring Polonius, father of the noble Laertes, who avenges his fair sister Ophelia, driven mad by the callous, murderous and outrageously disrespectful Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.'

'What was it like?'

'With Polonius? Very . . . wordy. We could replace them all,' carried on Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, 'but changing so many major players in one swoop might cause irreparable damage. The last thing we need right now is Hamlet coming back and sticking his oar in -you know how mad he gets when anybody even suggests a word change.'

'Right,' I said, 'here's the plan. This is all happening in the 1623 folio edition, yes?'

Mrs Tiggy-Winkle nodded her head.

'Okay. Move Hamlet — or whatever it is called at present – to a disused Storycode engine and fire up The Penguin Modern Hamlet so that is the one everyone in the Outland will read. It will give us some breathing space without anyone seeing the Polonised version. It won't be at its best, but it'll have to do. Horatio must still be on Hamlet's side, surely?'

'Most definitely.'

'Then deputise him to Jurisfiction and try to get him to convince the Polonius family to attend an arbitration session. Keep me posted. I'll try and keep Hamlet amused out here.'

She made a note.

'Is that all?' I asked.

'Unless you need some washing done.'

'I have a mother who will fight you for that. Now please, please, Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, you must leave me to sort out Kaine and get my husband back!'

'You're right,' she said after a short pause. 'We're going to handle this all on our own.'

'Good.'

'Right.'

'Well . . . goodnight, then.'

'Yes,' said the hedgehog, 'goodnight.'

She stood there on the kitchen linoleum, tapping her paws together and staring at the ceiling.

'Tiggy, what is it?'

'It's Mr Tiggy-Winkle!' she burst out at last. 'He came home late last night in a state of shock and smelling of car exhaust and I'm so worried!'