'Hello, ibb,' I said, 'how's it going?'

'How's what going?' replied the Generic in that annoying literal way in which they speak. 'And I'm obb.'

'Sorry – obb.'

'Why are you sorry? Have you done something?'

'Never mind.'

I sat down at the table and opened a package that had arrived. It was from Miss Havisham and contained the Jurisfiction Standard Entrance Exam. Jurisfiction was the policing agency within fiction that I had joined almost by accident – I had wanted to get Jack Schitt out of 'The Raven' and getting involved with the agency seemed to be the best way to learn. But Jurisfiction had grown on me and I now felt strongly about maintaining the solidity of the written word. It was the same job I had undertaken at SpecOps, just from the other side. But it struck me that, on this occasion, Miss Havisham was wrong – I was not yet ready for full membership.

The hefty tome consisted of five hundred questions, nearly all of them multiple choice. I noticed that the exam was self-invigilating; as soon as I opened the book a clock in the top left-hand corner started to count down from two hours. They were mostly questions about literature, which I had no problem with. Jurisfiction law was trickier and I would probably need to consult Miss Havisham. I made a start and ten minutes later was pondering question forty-six: Which of the following poets never used the outlawed word 'majestic' in their work? when there was a knock at the door accompanied by a peal of thunder.

I closed the exam book and opened the door. On the jetty were three ugly old crones dressed in filthy rags. They had bony features, rough and warty skin, and they launched into a well-rehearsed act as soon as the door opened.

'When shall we three meet again?' said the first witch. 'In Thurber, Wodehouse, or in Greene?'

'When the hurly-burly's done,' added the second, 'when the story's thought and spun!'

There was a pause until the second witch nudged the third.

'That will be Eyre the set of sun,' she said quickly.

'Where the place?'

'Within the text.'

'There to meet with MsNext!'

They stopped talking and I stared, unsure of what I was meant to do.

'Thank you very much,' I replied, but the first witch snorted disparagingly and "wedged her foot in the door as I tried to close it.

'Prophecies, kind lady?' she asked as the other two cackled hideously.

'I really don't think so,' I answered, pushing her foot away. 'Perhaps another time.'

'All hail, MsNext! hail to thee, citizen of Swindon!'

'Really, I'm sorry – and I'm out of change.'

'All hail, MsNext, hail to thee, full Jurisfiction agent, thou shalt be!'

'If you don't go,' I began, starting to get annoyed, 'I'll—'

'All hail, MsNext, thou shalt be Bellman thereafter!'

'Sure I will. Go on, clear off, you imperfect speakers – bother someone else with your nonsense!'

'A shilling!' said the first. 'And we shall tell you more – or less, as you please.'