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I nipped into the living room to fetch the entroposcope and shook it as I walked back in.
'Well, Thursday,' continued David, 'I was wondering—'
'Shit!' I exclaimed, looking at the swirling pattern within the rice and lentils. 'It's happening again!'
'Your dodo says she's hungry,' observed Molly.
'It's a scam for a marshmallow. Cordelia, would you give Molly a marshmallow to feed to Pickwick? They're on top of the fridge.'
Cordelia put down her bag and reached up for the glass jar.
'Sorry, David, you were saying?'
'Here it is. How did—'
But I wasn't listening. There was someone sitting on the wall at the entrance to the apartment block. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in slightly garish clothes and was reading a fashion magazine.
'Aornis?' I whispered. 'Can you hear me?'
The figure turned to look at me as I said the words and my scalp prickled. It was her, no doubt about it. She smiled, waved and pointed to her watch.
'It's her,' I mumbled. 'Goddamned sonofabitch – it's her!'
'—and that's my question,' concluded David.
'I'm sorry, David, I wasn't listening.'
I shook the entroposcope but the pulses were no more patterned than before – whatever the danger was, we weren't quite there yet.
'You had a question, David?'
'Yes,' he said, slightly annoyed, 'I was wondering—'
'Look out!' I shouted, but it was too late. The glass marshmallow jar had slipped from Cordelia's grasp and fell heavily on the worktop – right on top of the small evidence bag full of the pink goo from beyond the end of the world. The jar didn't break, but the bag did, and Cordelia, myself and David were sprayed in gooey slime. David got the worst of it – a huge gob went right in his face.
'Ugh!'
'Here,' I said, handing him a Seven Wonders of Swindon tea towel, 'use this.'
'What is that gick?' asked Cordelia, dabbing at her clothes with a damp cloth.
'I wish I knew.'
But David licked his lips and said:
'I'll tell you what this is. It's Dream Topping.'
'Dream Topping?' I queried. 'Are you sure?'
'Yes. Strawberry flavour. Know it anywhere.'
I put a finger in the goo and tasted it. No mistake, it was Dream Topping. If only forensics had looked at the big picture instead of staring at molecules, they might have figured it out for themselves. But it got me thinking.
'Dream Topping,' I wondered out loud, looking at my watch. There were eighty-seven minutes of life left on the planet. 'How could the world turn to Dream Topping?'
'It's the sort of thing,' piped up David, 'that Mycroft might know.'
'You,' I said, pointing a finger at the pudding-covered individual, 'are a genius.'
