He doesn’t seem impressed. ‘Hmm. Did she now? Remember, though, Malcolm: this is your dream, not mine. The only problem is, it seems as though you can’t control it any more. That was always the difficulty with the Dreaminator: the control element never lasted long. Try telling your leg to stop bleeding. Go on.’

I look down at my still-dripping leg. ‘Stop bleeding!’ I say, softly. It doesn’t.

‘See? You’re in your own dream, that’s for sure. But you’re now at the mercy of your subconscious.’

I tear a strip off a towel and dab it round the bite wound. ‘Is that a bad thing?’ I say.

Kenneth sighs. ‘It’s definitely not a good thing. I’m sorry to say that, owing to my demise coming a wee bit earlier than I expected, I never got to warn you about it. On a happier note, your subconscious has brought me along for a last visit to the mysterious dimension of Dreamland, so it can’t be all bad. I think you may just have to let go and see where the ride takes you. Now come on, we haven’t got a lot of time left before you wake naturally, so we can’t stop here bletherin’.’

He makes a move towards the bathroom door. ‘Wait!’ I say, and he turns back. ‘We are going to succeed, aren’t we? I mean, in rescuing Seb?’

He moves his glasses down his nose to look at me over the top. ‘That, Malcolm, is entirely down to you.’

He opens the bathroom door and beckons me through, and I’m back in Kobi’s cave. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘follow me and get ready to meet that crocodile again.’

I feel sick. ‘Cuthbert? Why?’

‘Because I’ve a feeling that until you kill him, you’ll never be rid of him.’

Chapter 75

Outside, the mouth of the cave is exactly as before, with the airship drifting in a clear sky and a chilly wind scooping up whitecaps on the waves in the bay. I turn to Kenneth, who seems far younger than when he was …

… this is going to sound strange, but I’ll say it anyway …

He seems far younger than when he was alive.

He’s standing at the cave mouth, hands on hips, his face lifted to the sharp autumn sunshine, the breeze flicking his kilt round his knees.

‘What do we do, Kenneth?’ I say.

He keeps his face turned to the sky. ‘Why do you keep asking me, laddie? It’s your dream.’

‘I know, it’s just … you know, I don’t know what to do and I thought you might.’

He looks at me and says, ‘No. You’re in charge, or at least your subconscious mind is, and right now that’s all there is of you. That’s just how it goes.’