“Like a rocket!” replied Mr. Toad, jumping up and down in his excitement. “Over a thousand horses to the back axle—makes your Higham Special look like a motor-mower!”

“We’ll see about that,” replied Havisham, narrowing her eyes. “Usual place, usual time, usual bet?”

“You’re on!” Mr. Toad revved his car, pulled down his goggles and vanished in a cloud of rubber smoke. The poop poop of his horn lingered on as an echo some seconds after he had gone.

“Slimy reptile,” muttered Havisham.

“Strictly speaking, he’s neither,” I retorted. “More like a dry-skinned, land-based amphibian.”

It felt safe to be impertinent because I knew she wasn’t listening.

“He’s caused more accidents than you’ve had hot dinners.”

“And you’re going to race him?” I asked slightly nervously.

“And beat him, too, what’s more.” She handed me a pair of bolt cutters.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Open up the speed camera and get the film out once I’ve done my run.”

She donned a pair of goggles and was gone in a howl of engine noise and screeching of tires. I looked nervously around as she and the car hurtled off into the distance, the roar of the engine fading into a hum, occasionally punctuated by muffled cracks from the exhaust. I looked around. The sun was out and I could see at least three airships droning across the sky; I wondered what was going on at SpecOps. I had written a note to Victor telling him I had to be away for a year or more and tendered my resignation. Suddenly I was shaken from my daydream by something else. Something dark and just out of sight. Something I should have done or something I’d forgotten. I shivered and then it clicked. Last night. Gran. Aornis’s mindworm. What had she been unraveling in my mind? I sighed as the pieces slowly started to merge together in my head. Gran had told me to run the facts over and over to renew the familiar memories that Aornis was trying to delete. But how do you start trying to find out what it is you’ve forgotten? I concentrated. . . . Landen. I hadn’t thought about him all day and that was unusual. I could remember where we met and what had happened to him—no problem there. Anything else? His full name. Damn and blast! Landen Parke- something. Did it begin with a B? I couldn’t remember. I sighed and placed my hand on where I imagined our baby to be, now the size of a half crown. I remembered enough to know I loved him, and I missed him dreadfully—which was a good sign, I supposed. I thought of Lavoisier’s perfidy and the Schitt brothers and started to feel rage building inside me. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. There was a phone box by the side of the road, and on impulse I called my mother.

“Hi, Mum, it’s Thursday.”