He was getting somewhere with Alice. She was letting him meet her in the glass laboratory almost every day now—although, from the moment the door clicked shut behind him, he always wanted to escape. He paced restlessly around the room, fiddling with test tubes, squinting into petri dishes, checking his watch, lifting the sash window for a few half-distracted gulps of air, and then closing it again.

His restlessness delighted Alice. Perhaps she thought it was a symptom of his growing impatience for her body. It was, in a way. He just wished he could have her body without the unfortunate encumbrance of her personality.

She had just succeeded in getting him settled down in a chair beside the workbench, when she suddenly smiled and sauntered over to her desk, taking a slim, chintzy volume out of one of the drawers.

"I think you may have committed all four of Hobson's basic breaches of etiquette in one go," she said, riffling through the pages of the book.

"I'll take your word for it?" said Jack, without much hope.

Alice found her page and pointed at it triumphantly—with those long, painted nails that he had so frequently pictured her raking over his back.

"It is a breach of etiquette to look at your watch when calling," she read aloud. "It is a breach of etiquette to open or shut a door, raise or lower a window curtain, or in any way alter the arrangement of a room when visiting."

"You know, I do live here," Jack began. But she raised a hand for silence, and when she did that, you couldn't help but comply.

"It is a breach of etiquette to walk around the room while waiting for a hostess."

"But you were already here—"

"It is a breach of etiquette to play with any ornament in the room, or to seem to be aware of anything other than the company present when visiting." She sauntered over to him, holding the book open at the level of her chest, as if to ensure it was in his eye-line.

"Alice, I'm a trained killer," he said, as cheerfully as he could. "When you can't even obey the Ten Commandments, there isn't much hope for an etiquette book."

She closed the book with a snap and turned back to her desk. Jack, suddenly liberated from her terrible gaze, looked down at the workbench. His left hand—entirely of its own accord—had seized a fountain pen and was scrawling something that looked very much like 'Help me' over and over again on the nearest piece of paper.

He could see Alice's small, meticulous handwriting underneath the scrawl. Oh, he was going to get into so much trouble if that paper was important...

She turned round again, and with the reflexes born of his years spent training with Robin Crake, Jack snatched up the paper and hid it behind his back.

"There is no better way for you to prove the arbitrariness of our distinctions between humans and new-breeds than by behaving in every way like an acceptable human being," she said.

Jack sighed. "If you wanted a poster-boy for new-breed rights, you should've chosen a better test-subject."

"Our view was that, if we could civilize you, we could civilize anyone."

"Can't you just develop a new pill to make me docile and polite?"

"No, Jack. Some changes can be wrought chemically, and others have to be wrought behaviourally, with constant discipline, careful training, and—" she leaned forward. "—rewards for good behaviour."

"Carrot and stick," said Jack warily. "Only I don't see the stick."

"The stick is no more carrot," she said, straightening up. "You're going out tonight, yes?"

"I'm allowed autonomous movement within the city and its environs. It's in that release-form I signed."

"Well remembered," said Alice, with her over-sweet smile. "I don't expect the reputation of the Faculty to carry much weight with you. I don't expect you to remember that, to the world outside, you are the physical representation of all Dr Petrescu's hard work. I don't even expect you to consider the new-breeds whose reputations you are tarnishing by proxy whenever you go out in public and behave like a barbarian. But I would ask you to remember that a respectable widow can't be seen in the company of a rooftop brawler so, if you don't comport yourself with dignity, we won't be having dinner tomorrow night. Or ever again."

"The stick is no more carrot," said Jack, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. I've got it."

It had taken a long time to persuade Alice that he could be safely allowed up on the rooftops with Ellini—and, since he felt like remaining in her good books at the moment, he hadn't pressed the matter too strongly, for all that he was dying to be out in the fresh air, doing something exciting.

He supposed he and Alice might be said to be courting now—although, so far, the courtship involved nothing more substantial than her feeling even more entitled to order him around.

He wondered what could possibly be in it for her. Did she really like him? He seemed to be the opposite of everything she liked. But on the other hand, she did like telling him so, which must mean that she cared a little.