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'I saw you on the telly,' said the woman with the crossword. 'You seem a bit obsessed with your dodo, I must say. Why couldn't you talk about Jane Eyre, Goliath or ending the Crimean War?'
'Believe me, I tried.'
The Skyrail swept on past Broad Blunsdon station and the passengers all sighed, made tut-tut noises and shrugged at one another.
'I am going to complain to the Skyrail management about this,' said a heavy-set woman with make-up like woad who carried a disgruntled-looking Pekinese. 'A good cure for insubordination is—'
Her speech came to an abrupt end as the Neanderthal suddenly increased the speed of the car. I knocked on the heavy acetate door and shouted:
'What's going on, pal?'
'Open this door immediately!' demanded the well-heeled woman, brandishing her umbrella. But the Neanderthal had taken about as much umbrella jabbing as he could that day.
'We are going home now,' he said simply, staring straight ahead.
'We?' echoed the woman. 'No we're not. I live at Crick—'
'He means I,' I told her. 'Neanderthals don't use the singular personal pronoun.'
'Damn stupid!' she replied, yelling a few more insults for good measure before she harrumphed back to her seat. I settled closer to the driver.
'What's your name?'
'Kaylieu,' he replied.
'Good. Now, Kaylieu, I want you to tell me what the problem is.'
He paused for a moment as the Swindon airship stop came and went. I saw another shuttle that had been diverted to a siding and several Skyrail officials waving at us, so it was only a matter of time before the authorities knew what was going on.
'We want to be real.'
'Day's hurt?' murmured the squat woman at the back, still sucking the end of her pencil and staring at the crossword.
'What did you say?' I said.
'Day's hurt?' she repeated. 'Nine down; eight letters – I think it's an anagram.'
'I have no idea,' I replied before turning my attention back to Kaylieu. 'What do you mean, real?'
'We are not animals,' announced the small and once extinct strand of human. 'We want to be a protected species – like dodo, mammoth – and you. We want to speak to head man at Goliath and someone from Toad News.'
'I'Il see what I can do.'
I moved to the back of the shuttle and picked up the emergency phone.
'Hello?' I said to the operator. 'This is Thursday Next, SO-27. We have a situation in shuttle number, ah, 6-1-7-4.'
When I told the operator what was going on she breathed in sharply and asked how many people were with me and whether anyone was hurt.
'Seven females, myself and the driver; we are all fine.'
'Don't forget Pixie Frou-Frou,' said the large woman.
'And one Pekinese.'
The operator told me they were clearing all the tracks ahead; we would have to keep calm and she would call back. I tried to tell her that it wasn't a bad situation, but she had rung off.
I sat down next to the Neanderthal again. Jaw fixed, he was staring intently ahead, knuckles white on the throttle lever. We approached the Wanborough junction, crossed the M4 and were diverted west. One of the younger passengers caught my eye; she looked frightened.
