I was alluding to an incident when someone fired two shots at our vehicle as we pulled off the Magic Roundabout. The vehicle was bulletproofed, but even so.

“Usually, ma’am. The 720 percent increase in library loans caused by the government’s New Book Duty has caused a three-day delay on library-book availability. When the citizens can’t get the books they want, they often vent their fury at the person in charge.”

This was, sadly, all too true—and not just about simple loans. Only a month previously, an all-new 007 book was written by that author with a beard whose name I can never remember. James Bond Fundamentalists argued that this was “a grave and heinous affront to the oeuvre” and warned that if the library stocked it, they would sit outside in silent protest, stroking white cats and thinking fiendish thoughts. And if that had no effect, they would riot. They did, and two people, six cats and three Diana Rigg impersonators lost their lives.

“Do you want to see the Goliath representative first, or shall I make him wait for an hour to show your utter contempt for him and his company?”

This would be Lupton Cornball, whom I had met yesterday at the Finis.

“I’ll see him first.”

The phone rang. I reached out, but Duffy beat me to it. “Hello?” he said. “Office of the chief librarian.” He listened for a moment than looked at me. “I’ll ask.”

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Detective Smalls wants to talk to you. She’s on the way up.”

“Smalls? Okay, her first, then Goliath. Oh, and I’d like to talk to Councilor Bunty Fairweather. She’s in charge of fiscal planning and smite-avoidance policy. They’ve an alternative Anti-Smite plan cooking, and I want to find out what it is.”

“She’s your two-o’clock. Shall I push her up to your eleven-thirty?”

“Is that straight after Goliath?” I asked, glancing at the clock. “No, Mrs. Jolly Hilly, the insane Enid Blyton fundamentalist is after Goliath. Bunty is after them.”

“Do I have to talk to insane people?”

“You’re a librarian now. I’m afraid it’s mandatory.”

“Hmm. Okay, Smalls first, then Goliath, then Hilly, then Bunty.”

Duffy nodded, made a note on his clipboard and opened the door to admit Phoebe. I smiled agreeably. I didn’t much care for her, but we needed to get along.

“Detective Smalls,” I said, rising to welcome her.

“Chief Librarian Next,” she replied, shaking my hand. I gestured her to the sofas.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful,” I said. “Better call me Thursday.”

“Then you must call me Phoebe. You’ve recovered well from the attack at the Lobsterhood yesterday.”

“I got lucky. One of the hinges from the trapdoor embedded itself into an Aeschylus only inches above my head. Coffee?”

“Thank you.”

Duffy took the cue and moved silently to the coffee machine while Phoebe looked around her.