Neanderthals, the once extinct cousins of Homo sapien, were yesterday granted “at risk” status along with the Edible Dormouse and Poorly Crested Grebe. Incoming Chancellor Mr. Redmond van de Poste of the Toast Party granted them this honor as recognition of their work during the Swindon-Reading SuperHoop. Mr. van de Poste met with neanderthals and read from a specially prepared speech. “Personally, I really don’t give a button over your status,” he told them, “but it’s politically expedient and vote-winning to be doing something to help lowly clods like you gain some sort of limited freedom.” His speech was received warmly by the neanderthals, who were expecting half-truths and disinformation. “An application to become ‘endangered,’ ” continued Mr. van de Poste, “will be looked at on its merits in the New Year—if we can be bothered.”

Article in the Swindon Daily Eyestrain, September 7, 1988

I was well enough to be given an award three weeks later at a mayoral lunch. Lord Volescamper presented the whole SuperHoop team with a special “Swindon Star” medal, especially struck for the purpose. The only neanderthal to show up was Stig, who understood what it meant to me, even if he couldn’t truly understand the concept of individual aggrandizement.

There was a party afterwards, and everyone wanted to chat to me, mostly to ask me if I would play any more professional croquet. I met Handley Paige again, who jumped when he saw me and downed a drink nervously.

“I’ve decided not to kill off my Emperor Zhark character,” he announced quickly. “I’d just like to make that point right now, in case anyone might think I was going to stop writing Zhark books, which I’m not. Not at all. Not ever.” He looked around nervously.

“I’m sorry?” I said. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Oh . . . right,” he replied sarcastically, tried to drink from his empty glass and then strode off to the bar.

“What was all that about?” asked Landen.

“Search me.”

Spike was at the party, too, and he sidled up to me as I was fetching another drink.

“What did she say to you when she took your place?”

I turned to face him; I wasn’t surprised that he knew Cindy had replaced me. The semidead was his field of expertise, after all.

“She said that she wanted to make up for some of the misery she had caused, and she knew she would never hold either you or Betty again.”

“You could have refused her, but I’m glad you didn’t. I loved her, but she was rotten to the core.”

He fell silent for a moment and I touched him on the arm.

“Not entirely rotten, Spike. She loved you both very much.”

He looked at me and smiled.

“I know. You did the right thing, Thursday. Thank you.”

And he hugged me, and was gone.