n certain stately homes it is traditional for the staff to assemble to greet the master of the house on his return from any prolonged absence. In this case, however, the retainers of the Priory had merely stopped to gossip in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Sebek was among them before they could scatter. "Hello Karinne! I found my statue and fought a big blob. Hello Barvald! There was a snake lady and a fire and Weimar got sucked up. Hello Mrs Mopp! I want piglets and dormice in jelly for supper tonight, and ordure on little crackers." "Hors d’oeuvre," I muttered, but no-one was listening, least of all Sebek. "Hello Bob the Stable Boy! Look at my money! I’m going to buy a zeppelin. Hello Marie! Hold my umbrella. Hello... Ooh look, you’re new. Get me a bubble-drink."

This expansive disbursement of bonhomie continued as Agrippina and I followed him into the Velocidrome. "Hello birds! Hello fish! I got my statue back!" The two Confusiusornis and the pterodactyl who had so far managed to avoid becoming midnight snacks chittered defiantly from perches well out of reach, while the fish in the lake ignored him. Undismayed by their lack of enthusiasm, Sebek took the little figurine on a brief tour of his Mesozoic microcosm, as if to reassure it that it was well and truly home. Then he carefully unlocked the door to his Museum, and disappeared inside to restore it to its place of honour.

"Is he still grounded?" asked Agrippina. She wasn’t requesting a reprieve, but merely checking that I wasn’t going let discipline slide in a moment of sentimentality. "Absolutely," I said, although now that we were back in Amber I was indeed feeling rather more mellow and rather less determined to punish mistakes made in the heat of the moment. "But I think we can make it a Class B grounding," I allowed, "Don’t you?" This allowed Sebek the run of the Priory and its grounds, plus the freedom to climb the tower and spy on passersby with the telescope. He was also permitted to Trump people if someone else was present to hold onto him. Agrippina just grunted, and began to unpack Sebek’s backpack. She hadn’t had time to search it for contraband before we left. "We did tell him that he wasn’t allowed to steal the towels from the hotel, didn’t we?" she said, frowning. "In Oscuro City you can never have too many towels," I replied indulgently. "This one seems to have a dead pigeon and a treacle tart wrapped in it," was the response, "Oh, and a pair of ruby cufflinks. You may also be interested to know that apart from the stuff he was carrying around in his pockets, he appears to have stolen a policeman’s badge, the bell from a reception desk, three billiard balls and a doorknob."

The tone of her voice suggested that this was somehow my fault, but in my view Oscuro City had got off lightly. In Shadow Metropolis, for instance, the ruling Workers’ Soviet owed its pre-eminence to a chain of events ignited by Sebek’s naïve but persistent attempts to pilfer an experimental robot. And then there was that curious ring he’d picked up in some decaying Anglo-Saxon Shadow being overrun by goblins, the full circumstances of which I still hadn’t squeezed out of him. If Amber ever went to war, it had been agreed that Sebek might usefully serve as a scout or a runner, but the truth was that his most effective offensive rôle would be that of an innocent tourist.

My musings were interrupted by Agrippina, who had now reached the bottom of Sebek’s pack, and was now looking grim. "This was hidden under his blanket," she said, proffering the offending item, "Tell me it’s not what I think it is." I stared resignedly down at a Webley-Fosbery automatic revolver, and found myself unable to oblige. "Yes," I said, "it’s a thirty-eight."

Sebek emerged from the Museum, a jaunty cigar clamped in his teeth. He was also riding a child’s scooter and wearing a pickelhaube, like some uhlan determined to make the best of the economies imposed at Versailles. He stopped short when he saw us with the revolver. "That’s mine," he said, cigar and scooter falling by the wayside as he scurried over to forestall confiscation. "Sebek, where did you get this?" demanded Agrippina. "Miss Arse Hanky gave it to me," said Sebek defensively, "before she was a snake. It’s a special gun for shooting first and asking questions later. She said I should throw it away afterwards, but I didn’t." "Throw it away after what?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "After shooting the criminal who was following Thursa Bey," said Sebek, trying reclaim the gun, "That’s why Miss Anchovy gave it to me, so I could shoot him and then ask him where my statue was. But he didn’t answer. Give it back. It was a present. I’m allowed to keep presents if they’re not people, or hand grenades, or say ‘Property of the King’ on them. You said." "And was this by any chance the night that you were supposed to be tailing Thursa Bey?" I persisted, "The same night that Espatha’s partner got shot? The partner who was also supposed to be tailing Thursa Bey?" Sebek cocked his head, thinking back. "Yes," he said, "Stupid detective, getting shot like that. I bet he asked questions first because he didn’t have a special gun. I should have mine back now." I broke open the chamber and extracted the bullets. One of them had indeed been fired. "Fine," I said.

"Is that it?" demanded Agrippina, "Not even a lecture?" His revolver restored to him, Sebek was now perched on the tree trunk that straddled the lake, pretending to shoot the fish. The fish swam about obliviously as the firing pin clicked on empty chambers, and so Sebek was supplying the missing sound effects himself. "Bang! Bang!" "Of course not," I said, determined to remain serene no matter what the provocation, "But I thought I’d leave the admonitions to you. Here, bury these in concrete somewhere, would you?" I handed her the bullets. "Bastard," said Agrippina, although without any particular rancour. She squared her shoulders and turned back towards the lone gunman, who was carefully drawing a bead on Whiskers the catfish. "Bang! Ha, stupid fish." I caught her arm. "Tomorrow," I said gently, "There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow. And he’ll still have the rest of the month to ponder the error of his ways. But right now he’s a happy velociraptor, and a happy velociraptor is a manageable velociraptor." Sebek was waving at us. "I want a big party for my statue," he called, "I want to have it tonight with a big orchestra and ice cream and fireworks and bubble-whisky and waiters on roller-skates and everyone has to come. Bang!"

Agrippina opened her mouth. "Walk away now," I said.

So we walked in silence for a while. "Do you suppose that the statue really does contain some kind of key?" asked Agrippina eventually. "Who knows?" I said cheerfully, "Do you really want to break open his favourite toy just to find out? I suppose I can ask Nitocris when she wakes up, but I suspect that Asanci was right. It was a yarn she made up to keep her less trustworthy acquaintances off her back while she attempted to assemble the Shining Trapezohedron Mark II. The key's just a phantasm, a chimera to beguile the lazy and greedy. The stuff, you might say, that dreams are made of."

"Bang!" said Sebek from the Velocidrome behind us, "Bang!"