'Well—'
I stopped because something at the bottom of the garden had caught my eye.
'Do you have nosy neighbours, Land?'
'Not really.'
'It's probably my stalker, then.'
'You have a stalker?'
I pointed.
'Sure. Just there, in the laurels, beckoning to me.'
'Do you want me to do the strong male thing and chase him off with a stick?'
'No. I've got a better idea.'
'Hello, Millon. How's the stalking going? I brought you a cup of tea and a bun.'
'Pretty well,' he said, marking down in his notebook the time I had stopped to talk to him and budging aside to make room for me in the laurel bush. 'How are things with you?'
'They're mostly good. What were you waving at me for?'
'Ah!' he said. 'We were going to run a feature about thirteenth-century seers in Conspiracy Theorist magazine and I wanted to ask you a few questions.'
'Go ahead.'
'Do you think it's odd that no fewer than twenty-eight Dark Age saints have chosen this year for their second coming?'
'I'd not really given it that much thought.'
'O-kay. Do you not also find it strange that of these twenty-eight supposed seers only two of them — St Zvlkx and Sister Bettina of Stroud — have actually made any prophecies that have come remotely true?'
'What are you saying?'
'That St Zvlkx might not be a thirteenth-century saint at all, but some sort of time-travelling criminal. He takes an illicit journey to the Dark Ages, writes up what he can remember of history and then at the appropriate time he is catapulted forward to see his last "Revealment" come true.'
'Why?' I asked. 'If the ChronoGuard get wind of what he's up to he's never been born — literally. Why risk non-existence for at most a few years' fame as a washed-up visitor from the thirteenth century with a host of unpleasant skin complaints?'
Millon shrugged.
'I don't know. 1 thought you might be able to help me.'
He lapsed into silence.
'Tell me, Millon — is there any connection between Kaine and the ovinator?'
'Of course! You should read Con
spiracy Theorist magazine more often. Although most of our links between secret technology and those in power are about as tenuous as mist, this one really is concrete: his personal assistant, Stricknene, used to work with Schitt-Hawse at the Goliath tech division. If Goliath have an ovinator, then Kaine might very well have one too. Do you know what it does, then?'
I laughed. This was exactly the news I wanted to hear.
'You'll see. Tell me,' I added, my hopes rising by the second, 'what do you know about the old Goliath bioengineering labs?'
'Hoooh!' he said, making a noise like any enthusiast invited to comment on their particular field of interest. 'Now you're talking! The old Goliath labs are still standing in what we call "Area 21" - the empty quarter in mid-Wales, the Elan.'