“Oh,” said Wexler, mildly disappointed.

Braxton confirmed that switching the Special Library Services to SO-27 made a lot of sense, and also that this was a good time to outline just how much of the Wessex Library’s budget should be transferred to SO-27, and he suggested as a starting point fifty million pounds, about a third of our current budget. I looked at Conrad Spoons, and he nodded. Without the policing budget, we could concentrate on core library activities, such as lending, the pursuit of knowledge and Finisterre’s antiquarianbook section.

While this had been going on, I’d been looking occasionally at Jack Schitt. Something about him seemed different, and since I knew that if he were a Synthetic, he’d have lightning reactions, I slipped off my shoe and lobbed it at him.

“Ow!” he said as the boot hit him a glancing blow on the forehead.

“Thursday, what on earth are you doing?” demanded Braxton.

“I thought I saw a mouse,” I said somewhat stupidly, and apologized to Jack, who seemed himself after all. He glared at me, and I shrugged. After my shoe had been returned, the meeting continued.

“Perhaps,” said Conrad Spoons, “we could ask the city council whether any extra cash will be given to the Wessex Library Service in order to fund the additional collections of books made available to us from the closure of the Lobsterhood?”

“Well,” said Bunty, “this is an excellent opportunity for us to go through what we think is correct for the fiscal year 2004–2005 and at the same time peg the funding for the next ten years.”

“Yes?” I said, for Duffy had walked in again and moved to whisper in my ear.

“Your son is on the phone.”

“What? Tell him I’ll call him back.”

“He says it’s most urgent.”

“Sorry,” I said, getting to my feet again, “another emergency. Family or something.”

Duffy told me the phone was in my office, so I went through to take it. It meant I could stretch my legs, too.

“This had better be good,” I said into the phone. “I’m right in the middle of a budget meeting.”

“Sorry, Mum, but it’s about something the Manchild said. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, and it doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing he said made sense. Which part? About the beginning of the existence or who first thought about the elephant?”

“Neither. He told me not to worry about prison and the other fourteen will thank me—‘or won’t, as it turns out.’ Do you see?”

“No.”

“They won’t thank me because their murders won’t happen and no one will ever know they were going to happen. I’m going to change all their futures. Don’t you see? Gavin’s the killer but has no idea he will be. I murder him, and everyone gets to live normal lives.”