The rat that left the race.

Today is my birthday. Yes, in 1972, the Chinese year of the rat, Romulus Crowe first graced the earth with his presence.

As it's such a momentous occasion, I have made a decision. I have tendered my resignation. Stuff Orson. Admittedly, that would take an awful lot of sage and onion, but I say do it anyway.

I felt a little sorry for Chesterton, the head of psychology here at Marchway. The feeling passed though, as it always does. All this nonsense is no fault of his, but his department will suffer. Unfortunate, but it only puts him back to where he was before I arrived.

Due to the ridiculous clauses in the contract I signed, I cannot leave during term time. I really should read those things sometimes. So I am stuck here for a few months yet. Until the end of June, when the current students complete their exams, in fact.

No matter. It gives me time to rearrange things at home. That won't take too long since I know a particularly efficient builder. Someone out of this world, you might say.

By the end of June, the Romulus Crowe Institute will be a reality. The location is perfect. No neighbours.

The only real contender for the post I am vacating is Imogen LeFevre. Good luck Orson, you'll need it. It'll put Chesterton's research rating up somewhere near to where I left it, so he'll be happy. Hell, give the man some crayons and a blank page and he's happy. It doesn't take much.

Imogen will no doubt take this as a sign of her success. She'll think she succeeded in ousting me. Well, let her imagination run riot. Let her head swell until it bursts. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

Wait until Orson blocks her first research paper, and watch the swelling go down.