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a burning problem (here I smiled slightly and secretly) which was receiving my most pernicious pyromania (Here I smiled broadly and publicly, to show that I didn’t mean it really); and, finally, I said that I didn’t see what he had against slavery, as personally I was very fond of slaves - at which Poppy again laughed nastily - and, in any case, I couldn’t do everything at once now, could I? There was my poetry to get on with for instance, not to mention my musical compositions for augmented strings - and by the way, speaking of which, what about his obliging with an arpeggio or two, as requested? (One has to be firm on these occasions, hasn’t one, or people take advantage?) Not, of course, that I really wanted to listen to the fellow play; but nevertheless I arranged myself amongst the cushions of the catafalque in an attitude of artistic receptivity; closing my eyes, as I have seen critics do when listening to my own performances. Although exactly why one is supposed to hear better with the eyes shut, I have never properly understood.

However, I soon opened them again, for seldom in a life devoted to aesthetics and their capture have my ears been assaulted by such a frantic cacophony as presently shattered a crystal candelabrum of which I had been particularly fond.

‘Pardon me, Petullian,’ I said, interrupting his frenetic threnody before it cracked the plaster, ‘but as a matter of courtesy, might it not have been better to have tuned your malodoron, or whatever it is, before entering these premises? I have no wish to discourage a fellow practitioner, but I warn you that if you ever do anything like that again, I must seriously consider having you dropped in the Bosphorus!’

He regarded me in a pained manner.

‘You didn’t like it?’ he enquired; needlessly, I’d have thought. ‘Well, of course, that was only the introductory exposition. I develop the main theme later...’

‘Not in this palace, you don’t!’ I told him.

‘I appreciate that to your untutored ears...’

‘Leave my ears out of it!’

‘All I’m trying to say is that I have developed a wholly new technique...’

‘I advise you to forget it at once!’

He sighed deeply. ‘You can’t halt progress, you know...’

he ventured unwisely.

‘Who can’t?’ I snarled.

‘I mean, you can’t uninvent something, once it’s there.

And what I’ve invented is the ultratonic scale.’

‘A what and tonic?’

‘It’s a totally new theory of harmonics. I thought it would interest an enlightened despot like your goodself...?’

‘You were wrong! It sets my teeth sideways, if you must know...’

‘You will find,’ he continued complacently, ‘that before very long - speaking cosmically, that is - it will have completely superseded the outworn Classical and Romantic traditions, which are merely the symbols of a reactionary preoccupation with jolly good tunes.’

The man was manifestly mad; and I was about to strike him with a suggestion, when I suddenly thought of a better one...

‘Look, I don’t want to be unfair,’ I told him; ‘so why don’t you give the complete piece an airing at the Nero Fest tomorrow? Then we’ll be able to see how it goes down in front of a packed house, eh? And if I’m wrong, I’ll apologise - the way I always do!’

He looked apprehensive, as well he might: because if I’m any judge, no self-respecting mob of promenaders is going to stand for that sort of thing for long without eviscerating, or otherwise incommoding, the performer.

Which would save my recently rather overworked lions the trouble.

‘I’m not entirely sure that the world is ready...’ he began.

‘Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’ I comforted him. ‘Good - so that’s settled, then. Oh, by the way, I’d better have the title for the programme notes, hadn’t I?’

He swallowed something, blushed, and then,

‘Thermodynamic Functions,’ he mumbled modestly.

It is perhaps fortunate that, at this moment, a girl came in with some drinks...

DOCUMENT XXI

Sixth Extract from the Journal of Ian Chesterton

Well, the die is cast – but whether for ill or good only Time, as they say, will tell; and there doesn’t seem to be