It was at this point that Professor Stefan opened the door to the main laboratory with every intention of giving Brian a stern talking-to about the importance of not mewling and squealing at the slightest sign of Multiversal activity. He got as far as saying “Now look here—” before he took in the sight of a terrified Brian being pursued by a giant, multiarmed and dual-headed shadow monster.

“Never mind,” said Professor Stefan.

He held the door open for Brian and, as soon as the tea boy was safely inside, slammed it shut.

“Wibble,” said Brian. “Wibble, wibble wibble.”

He then promptly fainted as wisps of dark matter began seeping through the keyhole.

37. Biddlecombe had been the site of a famous encounter in A.D. 817 between Vikings led by Bolverk the Wary, and Saxons led by Oswald the Uncertain. It took quite some time for the battle to get started, and fighting was believed to have commenced only after both sides backed into each other in the dark.

38. In The Gates, Samuel discovered the Abernathys and their friends trying to summon up demons in the cellar of a house. I really should be charging you extra for this.

39. Take that, critics. You thought I was just making all this stuff up as I went along, but there was a plan, I tell you, a plan! (Cue maniacal laughter, and a gibbering henchman calling me “Master!” in an admiring way.)

XIX

In Which Wreckit & Sons Reopens, and There Is Much Joy and Good Cheer. (Part of This Chapter Heading May Be a Lie.)

AT PRECISELY 6:55 P.M., thousands of lights exploded into Christmas cheer on the front of Wreckit & Sons, bathing the crowd gathered below in green and white and gold. There was a collective “Ooooh!” of appreciation, which rose in volume as a grinning Father Christmas formed by red bulbs appeared at the heart of the display, the arrangement of the lights changing as the crowd watched, so that Father Christmas’s lips seemed to move, although no sound emerged from them, not yet. In truth, he didn’t look like a very jolly Father Christmas. His face was a bit too pinched and thin for that, and his eyes were little more than narrow slits. As the lights continued to make his lips move, he looked as though he were threatening a child with something considerably worse than an absence of gifts on Christmas morning. He also, it had to be said, bore more than a passing resemblance to the statue of Hilary Mould.

But any doubts about Father Christmas were overwhelmed by the spectacle unfolding on Biddlecombe High Street. The dark cloths that had so far masked the windows fell away to reveal the most wondrous displays. Polar bears carried gifts on their backs across fields of pure white snow. There were scenes from fairy tales being enacted by mannequins: Snow White accepted a poisoned apple from her wicked stepmother disguised as an unspeakably ugly witch; a huge wolf in a nightdress towered above Red Riding Hood; a troll threatened three billy goats; and another wolf was proving that 66 percent of little pigs were not very good at building houses. They weren’t exactly cheerful moments from the history of fairy tales, and there was more blood and gore than was strictly necessary: it was clear that Red Riding Hood’s grandmother had already met a nasty end, for the wolf was holding her severed head in one of its paws; the troll wore a necklace of billy-goat skulls; and one of the three little pigs was missing most of its lower body, the rest having been reduced to a pile of bacon by a large, steam-powered bacon slicer. But they were very well done, even if it would have been nice had someone taken the time to give proper faces to the human characters. Instead, the dummies appeared to be made from a form of black material, some of which had been used to create the eyes for the other characters, for even the billy goats and the little pigs had eyes like deep, dark pools.