The Old Man slammed down the hatch which provided a means of observing what was happening in the communal room from the antechamber. Inside the small annex, three familiar figures might have been made out - in addition to the Sage, who stomped towards a hard-backed chair, and slumped down on it.

“Once again, congratulations are in order for an impeccable performance,” said a suave figure seated by a trapdoor which gave out onto the external wall of the hostel, directly above the Vlatava. “However, there do remain one or two issues to be addressed.”

“Hell’s teeth!” swore an Australian personage, easily identifiable by the shock of red hair and bristling beard as the Antipodean.

“Yes,” said the Sage grumpily. “I think we may have got away with it this time. But the emerging storyline is beginning to leave a lot to be desired.”

“Indeed,” spoke one who had just entered the room via a concealed entrance, none other than he, the Trappist, who had just discharged himself of the bombastic invective which had electrified his theological audience. “Disappearing monks, Viennese Alienists, characters from nursery rhymes - I think it is time that the Project was relocated from these dismal quarters and relaunched from somewhere more salubrious.”

“Precisely what I was thinking,” said the suave westerner. “Miss Sophie’s, then?”

“No, it has already been arranged,” said the Trappist. “Paulchen has made a room available. The Czech Inn - merely a 10 minute tram ride from the centre, a direct route to the Castle, Art Nouveau embellishments on every building, a congenial clientele and atmosphere. Everything is in place.”

“And the relaunch of the Project?” questioned the Antipodean.

“Everything is in place,” said the Westerner. “The opposition thrown off the scent, the possibility of uninterrupted access to the world’s media, while our colleagues,” he nodded towards the adjacent rooms, where the sound of wild chanting of familiar children’s songs about medieval craftsmen and purveyors of everyday provisions mingled with raucous laughter and the filling of pint-pots, “engage themselves in more congenial pursuits.”

“The four figures shrouded themselves in their theological cloaks, and donning theological pointed hats, slipped unobtrusively out into the street in the warm, early autumn sunshine.