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objections with the contempt they deserved. Once established in his palace of the Chastel des Larmes Chaudes, he issued a bull pointing out that he wasn’t dead at all, or else how come he could still do thirty lengths of the Anti-Papal swimming pool each morning, and that if he chose to travel to work each day from his home in the sixteenth century, how was that different, when you came right down to it, from the commonplace practice of millions of commuters all over the world? As to the other objection, the exact point in time he commuted from was a week before his election to the See of Rome, and thus he wasn’t Pope yet, and it would be a fundamental breach of the rules of natural justice if the rules governing eligibility were to be applied retrospectively. He then had the bull pronounced by his Anti-Papal guard, who called on each of the disappointed candidates personally, usually at three o’clock in the morning and carrying big axes, and explained it carefully. As even his enemies had to admit, as a communicator Julian was hot stuff.
    Once safely established in the Chastel des Larmes Chaudes, Julian set about the pressing task of clearing up the mess left over from the reign of his predecessor, the luckless Wayne XVII. Of the problems facing him, clearly the most urgent was that of Jean II de Nesle.
    â€˜I mean,’ he observed to his chaplain, a timeless figure called Mountjoy King of Arms, ‘the man’s a menace. He’s completely out of control. Zooming backwards and forwards between the centuries like the proverbial loose cannon. He just doesn’t think.’
    â€˜Well,’ said Mountjoy, ‘it’s not really his place to think, is it?’
    â€˜Be that as it may,’ said Julian firmly. ‘What gives me sleepless nights is the thought that one of these days he might actually succeed. Find the wretched man. Then what? I don’t suppose you’ve considered that.’
    Mountjoy had the irritating habit of flickering at the edges when stuck for an answer. ‘With all due respect,’ he said, shimmering, ‘that’s not terribly likely, now is it?’
    â€˜Why not?’ replied Julian gloomily. ‘Stranger things have happened, you know that. I mean, by rights, none of us should be here at all.’
    Mountjoy rematerialised completely. ‘That,’ he said stiffly, ‘was an exceptional incident. Nothing like that could ever happen again.’
    â€˜You reckon?’ Julian shook his head. ‘Nothing like that could have happened in the first place, but it did. Now if I had my way, I’d go back and put a wet sponge down the back of his neck. That’d have woken the dozy so-and-so up right enough. Still, there we are. We’re drifting away from the point. All this darting backwards and forwards has got to stop.’
    â€˜Well...’
    Julian tried giving his chaplain a hard stare, but instead found himself staring at the wall through a vague and insubstantial silhouette. ‘Go on then,’ he said wearily. ‘Spit it out.’
    â€˜With all due respect,’ said Mountjoy, ‘I would ask you to consider whether it’s really up to you whether de Nesle is allowed to continue or not. Isn’t that a decision for ...?’ Mountjoy made a gesture with his hands.
    â€˜Indeed it is,’ said the Anti-Pope. ‘And as his duly appointed agent, I take the view that I have full authority to ... Stop fading when I’m talking to you, it makes me lose my thread. Thank you.’
    â€˜ Full authority?’
    Julian frowned. ‘Yes, dammit, why not?’ he said. ‘Why can’t I rub out Jean de Nesle?’
    â€˜The Seventy-Fourth Lateran Council—’
    â€˜Stuff the Seventy-Fourth Lateran Council.’
    â€˜The Bull Non tibi soli —’ said a patch of glittering mist.
    â€˜Is neither here nor there,’ snapped the Anti-Pope. ‘And if you don’t want to do