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Derek went home.

At six of the evening clock, Derek returned to Mrs Gormenghast's. Mrs Gormenghast opened the door to him.

'No,' she said, when he asked her. 'Kelly has not returned.'

Derek went home again.

At just before eight of the evening clock, Derek returned once more to Mrs Gormenghast's.

'No,' she said once more. 'Kelly has not returned.'

Derek went home again.

He returned to Mrs Gormenghast's at half-hour intervals. And then quarter-of-an-hour intervals and then by eleven of that same evening clock, he -wouldn't go away.

'I know you, don't I?' said the police constable that Mrs Gormenghast called. 'You were in that punch-up at the Arts Centre, weren't you? I'd go home if I were you, sir, or I'll have to run you in. And I don't think you'd like that very much, as all the cells but one are currently being given a makeover by this long-grey-haired designer, who used to be very popular on the tele. And the only one we could put you into is currently occupied by a bearded tattooed poet from Mute Corp Keynes, who turned up at the station claiming that someone had nicked his wristwatch the last time we had him in the cells…'

Derek tried to get a word in. But the constable continued.

'And he got really stroppy and we had to bang him up again and he keeps shouting out that he's the daddy now. And he says he wants his bitch.'

'My girlfriend has gone missing,' Derek bawled to the constable. 'Do something. Do something.'

'Move along quietly now, sir,' said the constable. 'Or I'll have to run you in.'

Derek made fists but kept them to himself, and then he went home to bed. Not that he slept very well, he didn't. Strange dreams came to him. He saw Kelly standing in the Butt's Estate and she was talking to this old gentleman and the old gentleman was telling her something, something terrible, that scared her and there was violence and Derek saw Kelly running and running and then being swallowed up by something awful that he couldn't see but could only feel. And it didn't feel good, it felt horrible.

Derek awoke in a bit more of a lather.

And he went without a shower for the second day running and as he hadn't washed, he was rather smelly too.

Derek didn't breakfast either, he just ran out of the house.

'Police, police,' called Mrs Gormenghast down her telephone. 'That madman is back at my front door.'

'Madman?' asked Mad John, looking up from his puce breakfast bowl.

Saturday was Hell for Derek. He went around to the police station to report Kelly missing, but was told to get onto the end of the queue. People were now going missing all over the borough. They were here one minute and gone the next. Several Brentford Poets and poetesses had vanished and some muleskinners and a wandering bishop and a bunch of pimply-faced youths (although no-one seemed too bothered about them). And some nurses and interns from the cottage hospital had vanished too. It was The Rapture, the desk constable told Derek. But not to worry, because it was all going to be heaven on earth in Brentford for all the un-raptured, thanks to Mute Corp. The company that cares. And while Derek was here in the police station, would he care to purchase some extra Suburbia World Plc shares? As the Brentford constabulary had just been issued a licence by Mute Corp to sell them.

Derek left in a terrible fretting frame of mind.

And the day didn't go very well for him at all. Mr Speedy and Mr Shadow were waiting at the offices of the Brentford Mercury.

'That's another hour's pay docked,' said Mr Speedy. 'And you're on an official warning. One more strike and you're out, as our American cousins like to say.'

'My girlfriend has gone missing!' shouted Derek. 'Don't you understand?'

Mr Speedy scratched at his little head. 'Not entirely,' he said. 'I didn't know you had a girlfriend. I thought you were just one of those sad and lonely lads who spend all their time playing computer games.'

'Well, she's not exactly my girlfriend yet,' said Derek. 'But she will be. I love her. And she's gone missing. She's vanished. It's terrible. Don't you understand?'

'Raptured, probably,' said Mr Shadow. 'We'll have to add her name to those of the blessed on the memorial.'

'Memorial?' said Derek. 'What is this?'

'It's being erected in the memorial park,' said Mr Speedy. 'Did you know that Brentford was the only town to have a memorial park without a memorial in it?'

'Yes,' said Derek. 'Actually I did.'

'Well, that's all remedied now. Mute Corp has generously donated a memorial. To those who have been Raptured in Brentford. It's very tasteful. One hundred and fifty metres high, black glass.'

'An homage to the nineteen-eighties Lateinos and Romlith building,' said Mr Shadow. 'The names of the blessed running up and down in liquid quartz lettering. And it will have constantly moving scenic lifts and a burger franchise at the base. Selling sprout burgers for vegetarians. Was your girlfriend vegetarian, by the way?'

'Aaaaaagh!' went Derek.

'Oh and there's a message for you,' said Mr Speedy. 'From your business associate Mr Leo Felix.'

Derek ended his Aaaaaagh! with a groan.

'He said, and I quote, "Tell Babylon to get his ass down to me showrooms, I an' I got de crad barges in."'

'Chop chop then,' said Mr Shadow. 'Pacey pacey. The devil makes work for idle hands. And things of that nature, generally.'

'But Kelly. But… Oh God.'

'Have you reported her missing to the police?'

'Yes but…"

'Yes but then that's all you can do. Off to work with you now.'

'I'll need some more money,' said Derek. The words just came out of his mouth. 'Quite a lot more money.'

'Would that be for the holographic Griffin?' asked Mr Speedy. 'The one that failed to appear at three p.m. yesterday?'

'Yes, that's it,' lied Derek. 'And the electric cable for the perimeter fence and the giant feral tomcat and…'

Mr Speedy took out a wad of money notes. 'Ten thousand,' he said. 'Your last. If you foul up, Derek, it will be prison for you.'

'My bitch,' sniggered Mr Shadow.

'What?' went Derek.

'CCTV,' said Mr Shadow. 'Mute Corp run all the police-station circuits. Now get on your way and make things happen.'

Derek got off on his way.

As to actually making things happen…

Well…

'What are those!' asked Derek.

'Crad barges,' said Leo.

'Houseboats,' said Derek.

'Crad barges,' said Leo.

'Houseboats,' said Derek.

'House barges?' said Leo. 'Where de travellin' crad men lived.'

'No,' said Derek. 'No.'

'Listen, Babylon,' said Leo. 'You ever seen a crad barge?'

Derek scratched at his fretful head. 'Well, no,' he said. 'Not as such.'

'An' yo know anyone who ever seen a crad barge?'

'Possibly Old Pete,' said Derek.

'Old Pete an old friend of I an' I,' said Leo. 'Old Pete tell you Babylon, dese are crad barges. Yo have a problem wid dis?'

Derek shook his fretful head. 'No,' he said. 'Stuff it. They look like crad barges to me.'

'Dere,' said Leo. 'Dat not too painful. Yo want to see the steam train?'

Derek shrugged. 'Why not?' he said. 'It can't be any worse than the crad barges.'

Leo drew Derek's attention to the low-loader parked before the showrooms. The low-loader hadn't failed to draw Derek's attention when he had entered Leo's forecourt. It was not the kind of thing you could miss, it being so huge and all.