I (unprintable word) tole him not to do it, musta been twenty or thirty (unprintable word) times. You think he'd listen to me." Wrinkler drained the last of his beer and threw the empty bottle over his shoulder. It hit the wall and bounced into the bin beside the sink. "Then he does a runner. Of course. Never one for heroics, our Spectaculum. (Unprintable word) knows where he is now. Not that it matters. About as much use as (unprintable words) on a bull."

"You done?" Mildew said.

"Just getting started." Wrinkler said, opening another bottle on the edge of the table.

They were the only ones in the Okies' common room. It was late after all.

"Now we got our new Kidsman," Wrinkler went on. "Steppin' in to provide some stability. Stability my (unprintable word)."

"New Kidsman?" Carmen said.

"Bunker," Mildew explained.

"I swear to Hatto, if they do Lightie in I'll do the Spectaculum in myself." Wrinkler proceeded to go into detail about how he would do the Spectaculum in, punctuated with dramatic movements, sound effects, and sundry unprintable words.

"Flip, we gotta concentrate," Mildew said.

"Oh. Right." He stared at a painting of a bowl of fruit on the wall, but his jaw was clenched, as if the Spectaculum's face was on each apple and orange.

"What happened exactly?" Carmen said. "All I heard was they hijacked a Treasury coach."

Mildew filled Carmen and Slops in, with an occasional clarification from Wrinkler, who otherwise occupied himself with the fruit bowl.

What had happened was this.

With Nick gone, the Scowerers had been left in disarray. They had always been a leaderless rabble, and liked it that way – the unsavoury task of making decisions had always been left to Nick. The Hectors had Bunker, a boy born for the role, which he had already been carrying out with great success. Who did the Scowerers have?

Half of them were convinced they needed no leader at all. That the instructions and training Nick had provided sufficed to keep them operating like a well-oiled machine until he returned, which they were adamant couldn't be long. Mildew, who knew more about Nick's journey than most, suspected he would be gone for months – perhaps even years. Part of her wondered if he would ever return. Then there had been Ward's increasingly strange behaviour. So she had aligned with the other half of the Scowerers – those who believed that without a leader they would fall apart.

She had pleaded with Wrinkler to put himself forward for the job. He'd laughed at her. He was no leader. He hated authority of all kinds. Many Scowerers would disregard him for the simple fact that he was a Reverser. He swore too much. He had dozens of reasons why he wasn't eligible.

He in turn suggested Mildew. She hadn't seen that coming – hadn't for a moment considered herself as a potential candidate. She wasn't old enough, surely? The Spectaculum, at sixteen, was the oldest Scowerer, and there were others who were almost as old as him. They wouldn't want to take orders from her. A kid.

Meanwhile, the Spectaculum was busy shoring up support. His platform was an appealing one. It amounted to the promise that he would take care of this inconvenience for them. That they could go on as normal, and wouldn't have to change their routines.

As it turned out they didn't even need to vote. He had stood up in the Cathedral one morning at breakfast and announced that he was delighted to have been chosen as the new Head of the Scowerers, and that he would treat this office with all the seriousness, respect, and professionalism it deserved. He thanked the Scoweres for giving him this responsibility (he was careful not to use the word privilege), and waffled on for a while about how, despite the pleadings of all around him to take on the role, he had been reluctant to do this difficult, dangerous job, in which he was sure to be beset with a thousand worries. But he had slowly come to the realisation that, as the oldest Scowerer, it was his duty to accept the nomination, and to see that Nick's empire, so hard-won, should prevail until he returned, etc. There was little pushback. Most of the Scowerers were just relieved that the whole distasteful business was over. That nobody remembered nominating the Spectaculum for the leadership was beside the point. Somebody must have.

If you like, you can imagine Wrinkler was talking about chewing gum on the bottom of your shoe.