“To be honest, I’m not sure what that is, so we’ll just leave it for now and ooze along,” he said. “That’s a finger. This is three-quarters of a lung. In there we have part of a lip, and most of a lower jaw. This one here—actually, you don’t even want to know what that is. Seriously, you don’t. Over here we have . . .”

This went on for some time. When Crudford was finished, the Great Malevolence didn’t exactly seem pleased, but the fact that Crudford was still in one piece meant that the Great Malevolence wasn’t displeased either.

“How much longer before you find the rest of her?” it asked. “I want my lieutenant restored to me.”

“Hard to say,” said Crudford.

“It will be harder to say if I freeze you, or feed you to the imps,” said the Great Malevolence.

“Good point,” said Crudford. “I’ll work doubly fast.”

Crudford was about to say something more, but decided against it. The Great Malevolence made a few more threats, and warned of the harm that would come to Crudford if he didn’t find the rest of Mrs. Abernathy soon. Crudford wasn’t offended. The Great Malevolence was just letting off steam. Anyway, Crudford was the only one who could find Mrs. Abernathy’s atoms. The Great Malevolence couldn’t do him any harm: if it did, then it would never get its lieutenant back.

But the search was harder than Crudford had anticipated, and each time he found some of Mrs. Abernathy’s atoms he detected hatred in them. It was almost as if Mrs. Abernathy didn’t want to be found. That was what he had almost told the Great Malevolence before good sense made him stay silent. The Great Malevolence didn’t need to hear that, just as it didn’t want to hear about the beating, somewhere in the Multiverse, of what Crudford was certain was Mrs. Abernathy’s heart.

Because Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t supposed to have a heart.

23. In the first chapter of The Infernals, Edgefast was torn limb from limb for daring to question the right of Mrs. Abernathy to enter the Mountain of Despair. Once again, if you’d read that book then you’d know all of this already. Look, why don’t we just arrange for me to give you a telephone call and I can read the book to you, or perhaps I can act it out in your back garden for you and your friends? Or maybe, just maybe, you could go and read The Infernals, and maybe The Gates as well, and then when I mention a name like Edgefast you’ll be able to say, “Aha, that’s the bloke who got torn apart by Mrs. Abernathy in the last book!” and be very pleased with yourself, instead of forcing me to pause in the important task of telling the new story just so you don’t feel left out. You’ve just kept everyone else waiting, you know. I hope you’re happy. And I bet you didn’t even buy this book: you probably received it as a gift, or stole it. Frankly, I don’t know why I bother.