Zhark laughed, ignoring them both. 'It's a contractual thing. I've got a new agent who knows how to properly handle a character of my quality. I have to be given a minimum of eighty words' description at least once in any featured book, and at least twice in a book a chapter has to end with my appearance.'

'Do you get book title billing?'

'We gave that one away in exchange for chapter heading status. If this were a novel you'd have to start a new chapter as soon as I appeared.'

'Well, it's a good thing it's not,' I replied. 'If my mother was here she'd probably have had a heart attack.'

'Oh!' replied the emperor, looking around. 'Do you live with your mother too?'

'What's up? Problems at Jurisdiction?'

'Take five, lads,' said Zhark to the two guards, who felt around the kitchen until they found chairs and sat down. 'Mrs Tiggy-Winkle sent me,' he breathed. 'She's busy at the Beatrix Potter Characters AGM but wanted to give you an update on what's happening at Jurisfiction.'

'Who's that, darling?' called my mother from the living room.

'It's a homicidal maniac intent on galactic domination,' I called back.

'That's nice, dear.'

I turned back to Zhark.

'So, what's the news?'

'Max de Winter from Rebecca,' said Zhark thoughtfully. 'The Book World Justice Department has rearrested him.'

'I thought Snell got him off the murder charge?'

'He did. The department are still gunning for him, though. They've arrested him for – get this – insurance fraud. Remember the boat he sank with his wife in it?'

I nodded.

'Well, apparently he claimed the insurance on the boat, so they think they might be able to get him on that.'

It was not an untypical turn of events in the BookWorld. Our mandate from the Council of Genres was to keep fictional narrative as stable as possible. As long as it was how the author intended, murderers walked free and tyrants stayed in power – that was what we did. Minor infringements that weren't obvious to the reading public we tended to overlook. However, in a master stroke of inspired bureaucracy, the Council of Genres also empowered a Justice Department to look into individual transgressions. The conviction of David Copperfield for murdering his first wife was their biggest cause célèbre – before my time, I hasten to add – and

Jurisfiction, unable to save him, could do little except tram another character to take Copperfield's place. They had tried to get Max de Winter before but we had always managed to outmanoeuvre them. Insurance fraud. I could scarcely believe it.

'Have you alerted the Gryphon?'

'He's working on Fagin's umpteenth appeal.'

'Get him on it. We can't leave this to amateurs. What about Hamlet? Can I send him back?'

'Not . . . as such,' replied Zhark hesitantly.

'He's becoming something of a nuisance,' I admitted, 'and Danes are liable to be arrested. I can't keep him amused watching Mel Gibson's films for ever.'