He took up another piece of paper and began writing. When he had finished he removed a plug from a funnel-ended tube fastened to one arm of his chair, and coughed into it. The sound passed along the tube to emerge in an adjacent room as a tetchy grunt. Two Moot Pages looked up irritably from a board game they were playing.
‘Oink, oink,’ one of them said quickly, laughing and pointing at the other. ‘Piggy’s calling. Your turn.’
The ritual having been observed, his companion scowled and stabbed the board with his finger as he stood up. ‘I can remember where all those pieces are,’ he said significantly, a declaration which was received with raised hands and an expression of profound innocence.
‘Will it be six copies, Striker Bowlott?’ the Page asked uncertainly as he examined the paper.
B
