Mildred

‘Somebody called Mildred Hubble suggests a flying broomstick is the most effective method of transport in situations like this.’

‘That’s from a children’s story book, Brontë. It’s not real. Try again,’ said Hugo with a sigh. ‘Although I acknowledge it would be ideal, if such a thing existed.’

Brontë furrowed her brow and uttered various high pitched tones into the handset again. She listened for a moment and grimaced, before replacing the handset.

‘The next best solution seems to be to travel cross-country, on foot, setting off at about 3am.’

‘Why that time?’ queried Alain.

‘There is evidence that humans are most deeply asleep between midnight and 4 am.’

‘Let’s hope the people who are searching for us fall into that category,’ said Alain. ‘Although I suspect if they are working for Osborne and Griffiths there might be a night shift crew.’

‘You’re assuming Osborne and Griffiths are the ones searching for us,’ said Hugo.

‘Yes,’ said Brontë. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘The broadcast ordering us to return to the warehouse came from the central communication channel, not those two, as far as we could tell.’

‘What is your point Hugo?’ she said.

‘My point is, we’re not absolutely sure who we are trying to avoid. It could be Osborne and Griffiths, it could be the management of the clone distribution business or it could be someone else - even Xavier’s contact. Or all three.’