‘It was in Starbucks,’ I replied, ‘about two years ago. The manager said to me: “Your Quarkbeast is making the customers pass out in shock” and I turned round and Quark, there he was, staring at me. So I said he wasn’t mine, and they went to call the Beastcatcher, and I know what they do with Quarkbeasts, so I said he was mine after all and took him home. He’s been with me ever since.’

The old man nodded thoughtfully.

‘I rescued mine from a Quarkbaiting ring,’ he said, shuddering at the thought. ‘Frightfully cruel sport. He could chew his way through a London bus lengthwise in under eight seconds. A good friend. Does yours speak?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. I’m not even sure if he’s a boy or a girl. I wouldn’t know how to tell, and quite frankly, it might be undignified to try and find out.’

‘They don’t procreate in the usual manner,’ said the old man, ‘they utilise quantum reproduction – they are just suddenly there, seemingly out of nothing.’

I didn’t know this, and told him so.

‘Quarkbeasts always arrive in pairs,’ added the old man knowledgeably, ‘somewhere there will be an anti-Quarkbeast – a mirror image of your own. If paired Quarkbeasts come together they disappear in a flash of energy. Remember the explosion last year in Hythe, which they claimed was a gas explosion?’

‘Yes?’ I said slowly, for the explosion had left a crater twelve metres deep in a housing estate, and fourteen dead.

‘It was an unlucky confluence of Quarkbeasts. A separated pair came together quite by chance. They’re lonely creatures – they have to be. Misunderstood, too.’

This was indeed true. I’d owned mine for six months before the lingering suspicion that I might be eaten alive gave way to genuine affection.

The old man paused to give a coin to a beggar-lady collecting for the Troll Wars Widows, then added: ‘Are you waiting for something?’

‘I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Ah!’ he replied. ‘Me also.’ He sighed deeply and looked at his watch. ‘I wait for many years, but still Jennifer Strange does not appear.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I said with a start. ‘Who did you say you were waiting for?’

‘Jennifer Strange.’

‘But I’m Jennifer Strange!’

‘Then,’ replied the old man with the ghost of a smile, ‘my wait is over!’

By the time I had recovered from this shock, the old man had jumped to his feet and was walking swiftly along the pavement.

‘Quickly, quickly,’ he muttered. ‘I wondered when you were going to turn up!’

‘Who are you?’ I asked, somewhat perplexed. ‘And how in the world did you know my name?’

‘I,’ said the old man, stopping and turning so suddenly that I almost ran into him, ‘am Brian Spalding!’

‘The Dragonslayer?’

‘At your service.’