I told her, nobody would be that stupid. But she insisted, and here you are.”
“Global…?”
“Yes. The planet where they reversed global warming. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Um.”
She frowned. “We assumed you might come here so you could find out how they did it. Just the sort of quixotic stunt you’d be capable of, she said. “Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz raised an eyebrow. “That’s not why you’re here. Oh well, not that it matters. Come on, I’ll take you back. And then you can go and fetch Max.”
Theo didn’t mean to make a loud whimpering noise. It just slipped out. “Max?”
“Yes, Max. Your brother. Your brother, who you abandoned in a cave surrounded by dangerous animals.”
“It wasn’t his—”
“Quiet, Pieter.” A click of the tongue, like a bone snapping. “I suppose you’ll want to come back too. Really, you’re not safe let loose on your own.”
Pieter mumbled something. The word sorry was in there somewhere. Meanwhile, three words had just percolated through into Theo’s brain. “Reversed global warming?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Theo looked out across the bay, where gulls circled over the Minnesota Sea. “Um,” he said, “I don’t think so. Otherwise, this lot wouldn’t be quite so under water.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to be,” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz said briskly. “There was supposed to have been a catastrophic disaster caused by the malfunction of a large-scale scientific experiment, which raised the ambient temperature by twelve degrees. Oh well.” She shrugged. “Pieter must’ve made a mess of his arithmetic. Wouldn’t be the first time. Come on, then, if you’re coming.”
She probably owns dogs, Theo thought; she’s used to that level of obedience. “Just a moment, though,” he said. “Why are you so concerned about my stupid brother? Why is everybody—?”
“Later,” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz said firmly. “We don’t want to be stranded here, do we?”
Theo nodded his head so vigorously he nearly became the first man to hang himself, standing up, without a rope. “Absolutely,” he said. “How do we do that, exactly?”
Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz opened her bag and took out a pair of reading glasses and a cork. “It’s written on here,” she said. “Different every time, which is annoying.”
“It’s all to do with the parallel vector index,” Pieter said defensively. “It’s one of the things that made me decide the one-off modules were a dead end.”
Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz made a very soft grunting noise, presumably signifying scepticism. “Right,” she said, putting the cork and her glasses back in her bag and snapping the clasp shut. “We need a waiter.”
“Of course we do,” Theo said. “What the hell for?”
“To take our order, of course.” She lifted her head, and instantly a young man in dark trousers and waistcoat came racing up to the table, holding a small notebook, thereby confirming Theo’s initial impression of Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz. He’d already decided that she was one of those quiet, forceful women. Now he knew she was a waiter-whisperer as well. It all fitted.
“Right,” she said. “To start, we’ll have prosciutto, olives, roasted garlic, peperoncini, artichoke hearts, rocket pesto, Milanese salami and thinly sliced mozzarella, with a very light dressing of virgin olive oil.”
“Si, signora. And to follow?”
“Lasagna verde, vermicelli, capellini, fusilli lunghi, tagliatelli and stuffed manicotti. But,” she added, skewering the waiter with a look that would’ve pierced tank armour, “we want all that at the same time as the first course. That’s very important. Do you understand?”
“Si, signora.”
“And on separate trays,” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz went on. “That’s very important too.”
“Si, signora.”
“Both courses simultaneously, but separate.”
“Si. And wine?”
“No.” She nodded, releasing him, and he scuttled away. Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz breathed a little sigh, and folded her arms tightly. “I do hope he’s got that straight,” she said. “You never can tell with waiters.”
“Um, have we got time for lunch?” Theo asked warily. “Only, I thought we were in a hurry to get back.”
“We are. Pieter,” she snapped suddenly, “what are you doing?”
Pieter was writing frantically on the only surface available – the back of his left hand. “Not now, Dolly,” he said. “I think I’m on to something.”
“Pieter.”
Yes, a remarkable woman, able to materialise waiters and quite possibly calm thunderstorms and raise the dead. But was she powerful enough to command Pieter van Goyen? Apparently she was. “What?”
“You’re up to something. What are you doing?”
Pieter scowled, then put down his pen. “Actually, it was something you said.”
“I rather doubt that. What did I say?”
“The planet where they reversed global warming,” Pieter replied. “As it happens, I remember programming that particular bottle, purely as an intellectual exercise. I never imagined it’d be anything like this.”
“And, clearly,