The Game Show Master’s face furrowed in disappointment; he looked as if he was about to cry. Tancredi thought that etiquette required some show of enthusiasm.

‘Are there any rules?’ he asked.

‘None. That’s the beauty of it. We don’t even need to think to have fun!’

He licked the area around his mouth that would usually be reserved for lips.

‘Just dip into the barrel. Oh yes! Dip. Dip away my dear!’

Having survived the Invincible, Sanitalis, Eros Two and Scoop, Tancredi felt bolder than the uncertain youth of only a few days before. There was no longer a knot of fear in his stomach. Could it be that he had found courage? Beyond this, he was aware of another sensation. Bonnita had been a false start. His feelings for her hadn’t emboldened him when blasted by the putrefaction gun or the excremortar.

With Cocomo it was different, he felt a better man. He had never imagined someone could be so defiant in the face of adversity. He was inspired by it. On Earth, the religion of short-termism required everything to be analysed through the prism of one’s own self-interest. The result was a sort of predictable, mendacious mediocrity. Cocomo faced the world armed with her beliefs; to hell with what people thought.

And yet he was a weakling compared to her. As the Game Show Master sniggered and burbled awaiting his response, Tancredi saw an opportunity to demonstrate the blossoming of his independent spirit. He had read about chivalric love in medieval times, where the knight performs a task to prove his bravery and win the love of his lady. A game of lucky dip could hardly be compared to slaying a dragon. Nevertheless, there was something daunting about the door emblazoned with a question mark before him. Cocomo’s insistence that he shouldn’t play was a further spur.

He relieved the great hand of the cloak and put it on. The Game Show Master hooted at his audience with a high-pitched gurgle akin to clearing his throat.

‘We have a playooor! We’re going on a trip to the lucky dip dip,’ he crooned.

Tancredi took hold of the torch and, for no apparent reason, turned in a circle with his arm raised. He was appalled by himself. He had fallen into being a contestant. The Game Show Master produced a whistle, concealed in the folds of his flesh. He blew on it, making a mewing dissonance of noise which attracted the complete attention of the audience.

‘Let the show commence!’ he fluted and blew his whistle again.

The audience responded by shouting what sounded to Tancredi like, ‘Wee humpy, humpy boom boom, croc croc munsi!’

As the heavy door opened light on its hinges, a klaxon brayed the commencement of activity to the slobbering audience. Tancredi trained his torch into the interior gloom. The lucky dip barrels, the height of a man and twice as wide, were lined up in a circle around the chamber. Each barrel was accessed by a step ladder. As he entered the room, Tancredi noticed the red flicker of infrared cameras following his every move. The door shut behind him.