“Before you go, Doctor Jones—” Clare Baines had followed them out.
“Yes, Clare?”
“I need you both to sign these bits of paper.”
Jones took the forms. “What on Earth—this is the Official Secrets Act!”
“There’s a cover story being put together, about an industrial accident in Newcastle that provoked the evacuation.”
Jones said, “What? But how can you cover up all the volcanism?”
“Marsh gas.”
“Marsh gas? Oh please, not marsh gas! If you knew how many of our sightings have been explained away that way, and the files hidden or shredded—”
Thelma took his arm. “Come on, Jones. Maybe it’s better this way. We don’t want any awkwardness.”
“Oh, we can’t have that, can we? What a very British disaster in the end!”
But Clare wasn’t listening. She was looking up, into a bright blue sky, where Grendels were swooping and diving in a rosette formation, high above the tranquil land.