I walked over with him to his office and he shut the door.

'Firstly, I am very sorry about Miss Havisham. Secondly, I'm having you moved to less demanding demanding duties.' duties.'

'I'm fine, really,' I a.s.sured him.

'I'm sure you are but since you have only recently qualified and are without a mentor, we felt it was better if you were taken off the active list for a while.'

' "We"?'

He picked up his clipboard which had beeped at him. Havisham had told me that he never actually placed any papers in the all-important clipboard the words were beamed directly there from Text Grand Central.

'The Council of Genres has taken a personal interest in your case,' he said after reading the clipboard. 'I think they felt you were too valuable to lose through stress an Outlander in Jurisfiction is quite a coup, as you know. You have powers of self-determination that we can only dream of. Take it in the good spirit it is meant, won't you?'

'So I don't get to take Havisham's place at Jurisfiction?'

'I'm afraid not. Perhaps when the dust has settled. Who knows? In the BookWorld, anything is possible.'

He handed me a sc.r.a.p of paper.

'Report to Solomon on the twenty-sixth floor. Good luck!'

I got up, thanked the Bellman and left his office. There was silence as I walked back past the other agents, who looked at me apologetically. I had been canned through no fault of my own, and everyone knew it. I sat down at Havisham's desk and looked at all her stuff. She had been replaced by a Generic in Expectations Expectations, and although they would look almost identical, it could never be the same person. The Havisham that I knew had been lost at Pendine Sands. I sighed. Perhaps demotion was a good thing. After all, I did have a lot to learn and working with the C of G for a bit probably had its merits.

'Miss Next?'

It was Commander Bradshaw.

'h.e.l.lo, sir.'

He smiled and raised his hat.

'Would you care to have tea with me on the veranda?'

'I'd be delighted.'

He smiled, took me by the arm and jumped us both into Bradshaw Hunts Big Game Bradshaw Hunts Big Game. I had never been to East Africa, either in our world or this, but it was as beautiful as I had imagined it from the many images I had grown up with. Bradshaw's house was a low colonial building with a veranda facing the setting sun; the land around the house was wild scrub and whistling thorns, herds of wildebeest and zebra wandering across in a desultory manner, their hoofs kicking up red dust as they moved.

'Quite beautiful, wouldn't you say?'

'Extraordinary,' I replied, staring at the scenery.

'Isn't it just?' He grinned. 'Appreciate a woman who knows beauty when she sees it.'

His voice dropped a tone.

'Havisham was one of the finest,' he said. 'A little too fast for me, but a good egg in a sc.r.a.p. She was very fond of you.'

'And I of her.'

'I had a look at the wreck of the Bluebird when it returned to Wemmick's Stores,' he added. 'Looked like an accident, my girl, nothing more. Mr Toad was pretty cut up about it and got into a h.e.l.luva pickle for visiting the Outland without permission.'

'Did Havisham confide in you about Perkins?'

'Only that she thought he'd been murdered.'

'Had he?'

'Who knows? The office think it's Deane but we'll never know for sure until we arrest him. Have you met the memsahib? My darling, this is Thursday Next a colleague from work.'

I looked up and jumped slightly because Mrs Bradshaw was, in fact, a gorilla. She was large and hairy and was dressed only in a floral-patterned pinafore.

'Good evening,' I said, slightly taken aback, 'a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bradshaw.'

'Good evening,' replied the gorilla politely. 'Would you like some cake with your tea? Alphonse has made an excellent lemon sponge.'

'That would be nice, thank you,' I spluttered as Mrs Bradshaw stared at me with her dark, deep-set eyes.

'Excellent!' she said. 'I'll be out in a jiffy to join you. Feet, Trafford.'

'What? Oh!' said Bradshaw, taking his boots off the chair opposite. When Mrs Bradshaw had left he turned and said to me in a very serious whisper: 'Tell me, did you notice anything odd about the memsahib?'

'Er,' I began, not wanting to hurt his feelings, 'not really.'

'Think,' he said, 'it's important. Is there anything about her that strikes you as a little out of the ordinary?'

'Well, she's only wearing a pinafore,' I managed to say.

'Does that bother you?' he asked in all seriousness. 'Whenever male visitors attend I always have her cover up. She's a fine-looking gal, wouldn't you agree? Drive any man wild, wouldn't you say?'

'Very fine,' I agreed.

He shuffled in his chair and drew closer.

'Anything else?' he said, staring at me intently. 'Anything at all. I won't be upset.'

'Well,' I began slowly, 'I couldn't help noticing that she was ...'

'Yes?'

'... a gorilla.'

'Hmm,' he said, leaning back, 'our little subterfuge didn't fool you, then?'

I'm afraid not.'

'Melanie!' he shouted. 'Please come and join us.'

Mrs Bradshaw lumbered back on to the veranda and sat in one of the club armchairs, which creaked under her weight.

'She knows, Melanie.'

'Oh!' said Mrs Bradshaw, producing a fan and hiding her face. 'However did you find out?'

A servant appeared with a tray of tea, left it on the table, bowed and withdrew.

'Is it the hair?' she asked, delicately pouring the tea with her feet.

'Partly,' I admitted.

'I told you the powder wouldn't cover it up,' she said to Bradshaw in a scolding tone, 'and I'm not not shaving. shaving.

It makes one itch so. One lump or two?'

'One, please,' I replied, asking: 'Is it a problem?'

'It's no problem here here,' said Mrs Bradshaw. 'I often feature in my husband's books and nowhere does it specify precisely that I am anything but human.'

'We've been married for over fifty years,' added Bradshaw. 'The problem is that we've had an invitation to the Bookies next week and the memsahib is a little awkward in public.'

'To h.e.l.l with them all,' I replied. 'Anyone who can't accept that the woman you love is a gorilla isn't worth counting as a friend!'

'Do you know,' said Mrs Bradshaw, 'I think she's right. Trafford?'

'Right also!' He grinned. 'Appreciate a woman who knows when to call a wife a gorilla. Hoorah! Lemon sponge, anyone?'

I took the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor and walked out into the lobby of the Council of Genres, clasping the orders that the Bellman had given me.

'Excuse me,' I said to the receptionist, who was busy fielding calls on a footnoterphone, I have to report to Mr Solomon.'

'Seventh door on the left,' she said without looking up. I walked down the corridor among the thronging ma.s.s of bureaucrats going briskly hither and thither clasping buff files as though their lives and existence depended on it, which they probably did.

I found the correct door. It opened on to a vast waiting room full of bored people who all clutched numbered tickets and stared vacantly at the ceiling. There was another door at the far end with a desk next to it manned by a single receptionist. He stared at my sheet when I presented it, sniffed and said: 'How did you know I was single?'

'When?'

'Just then, in your description of me.'

'I meant single as in solitary solitary.'

'Ah. You're late. I'll wait ten minutes for you and "His Lordship" to get acquainted, then send the first lot in. Okay?'

'I guess.'

I opened the door to reveal another long room, this time with a single table at the far end of it. Sitting at the desk was an elderly bewhiskered man dressed in long robes who was dictating a letter to a stenographer. The walls of the room were covered with copies of letters from satisfied clients; he obviously took himself very seriously.

'Thank you for your letter dated the seventh of this month,' said the elderly man as I walked closer. 'I am sorry to inform you that this office no longer deals with problems arising with or appertaining to junk footnoterphones. I suggest you direct your anger towards the FNP's complaints department. Yours very cordially, Solomon. That should do it. Yes?'

'Thursday Next reporting for duty.'

'Ah!' he said, rising and giving me a hand to shake. 'The Outlander Outlander. Is it true that out there two or more people can talk at the same time at the same time?'

'In the Outland it happens all the time.'

'And do cats do anything else but sleep?'

'Not really.'

'I see. And what do you make of this?'

He lifted a small traffic cone on to his desk and presented it with a dramatic nourish.

'It's ... it's a traffic cone.'

'Something of a rarity, yes?'

I chose my words carefully.

'In many areas of the Outland they are completely unknown.'

'I collect Outlandish objects,' he said with a great deal of pride. 'You must come and see my novelty teapot collection.'

'I'd be delighted.'

He sat down and indicated for me to take a chair. 'I was sorry to hear about Miss Havisham; she was one of the best operatives Jurisfiction ever had. Will there be a memorial?'

'Tuesday.'

'I'll be sure to send flowers. Welcome to the Judgement of Solomon. It's arbitration, mainly, a bit of licensing. We need someone to look after the crowds outside. They can get a bit impa.s.sioned sometimes.'

'You're King Solomon?'

The old man laughed.

'Me? You must be joking! There aren't enough minutes in the day for one Solomon as soon as he did that "divide the baby in two" thing, everyone and his uncle wanted him to arbitrate, from corporate takeovers to playground disputes. So he did what any right-thinking businessman would do: he franchised. How else do you think he could afford the temple and the chariots and the navy and whatnot?

The land he sold to Hiram of Tyre? Give me a break! My real name's Kenneth.'

I looked a little doubtful.

'I know what you're thinking. "The Judgement of Kenneth" does does sound a bit daft that's why we are licensed to give judgements under his name. All above board, I a.s.sure you. You have to purchase the cloak and grow a beard and go on the training course, but it works out very well. The sound a bit daft that's why we are licensed to give judgements under his name. All above board, I a.s.sure you. You have to purchase the cloak and grow a beard and go on the training course, but it works out very well. The real real Solomon works from home but he sticks to the ultimate riddles of existence these days.' Solomon works from home but he sticks to the ultimate riddles of existence these days.'

'What if a franchisee makes a dishonest judgement?'

'Very simple.' Kenneth smiled. 'The offender will be smitten from on high and forced to spend a painful eternity being tortured mercilessly by s.a.d.i.s.tic demons from the fieriest depths of h.e.l.l. Solomon's very strict about that that.'

'I see.'

'Good. Let's see the first punter.'