‘Wait a moment—' said Moist quickly.

He'd seen a figure at the front of the crowd. It was wearing a figure-hugging grey dress and, as he watched, it blew a neurotic cloud of smoke at the sky, gave him a look, and shrugged.

‘Dinner tonight , Miss Dearheart?' he shouted.

Heads turned. There was a ripple of laughter, and a few cheers. For a moment she flashed him a look that should have left his shadow on the smoking remains of the wall opposite, and then she gave a curt nod.

Who knows, it could be peaches underneath...

‘Let him go, boys!' said Moist, his heart soaring.

The men dived away. The world was still for a breath, and then Boris sprang from docility into a mad rearing dance, back legs clattering across the flagstones, hooves pawing at the air.

‘Vunderful! Hold it!'

The world went white. Boris went mad.