Jasper Fforde - The Well of Lost Plots

'Very simple.' Kenneth smiled. 'The offender will be smitten from on high and forced to spend a painful eternity being tortured mercilessly by sadistic demons from the fieriest depths of Hell. Solomon's very strict about that .'

'I see.'

'Good. Let's see the first punter.'

I went to the door and asked for ticket-holder number thirty-two. A small man with a briefcase walked with me up to Kenneth's table. His knees became quite weak by the time he arrived but he managed to contain himself well.

'Name?'

'Mr Toves from Text Grand Central, Your Eminence.'

'Reason?'

'I need to ask for more exemptions from the "I before E except after C" rule.'

'More?'

'It's part of the upgrade to UltraWord™, Your Honour.'

'Very well, go ahead.'

'Feisty.'

'Approved.'

'Feigned.'

'Approved.'

'Weighty.'

'Approved.'

'Believe.'

' Not approved.'

'Reigate.'

'Approved.'

'That's it for the moment,' said the small man, passing his papers across for Kenneth to sign.

'It is the Judgement of Solomon©,' said Kenneth slowly, 'that these words be exempt from Rule 7b of the arbitrary spelling code as ratified by the Council of Genres.'

He stamped the paper and the small man scurried off.

'What's next?'

But I was thinking. Although I had been told to ignore the three witches, their premonition about the 'I before E except after C' rule had just come true. In fact, the 'blinded dog' had barked, the 'hedge-pig' had ironed, and Mrs Passer-by had cried '’Tis time, '’tis time!' Was there something in it? Did they really think I was to be the Bellman? And what was that about the 'thrice read rule'?

'I'm a busy man,' said Kenneth, glaring at me. 'I don't need day dreamers!'

'I'm sorry,' I began, 'I was thinking of something the three witches told me.'

'Charlatans!' announced Kenneth. 'And worse — the competition . If you see them again, try to pinch their mailing list, won't you? In the meantime, can we have the next customer?'

I ushered them in. It was several characters from Wuthering Heights and they were all glaring at one another so much they didn't even recognise me. Heathcliff was wearing dark glasses and saying nothing; he was accompanied by his agent and a lawyer.

'Proceed!'

' Wuthering Heights first-person narrative dispute,' said the lawyer, placing a sheet of paper on the table.

'Let me see,' said Kenneth slowly, studying the report. 'Mr Lockwood, Catherine Earnshaw, Heathcliff, Nelly Dean, Isabella and Catherine Linton. Are you all here?'

They nodded their heads. Heathclif looked over his sunglasses at me and winked.

'Well,' murmured Kenneth at length, 'you all believe that you should have the first-person narrative, is that it?'

'No, Your Worshipfulness,' said Nelly Dean, ''’tis the otherways. None of us want it. It's a curse to any honest Generic — and some not so honest.'

'Hold your tongue, serving girl!' yelled Heathcliff.

'Murderer!'

'Say that again!'

'You heard me!'

And they all started to yell at one another until Kenneth banged his gavel on the desk and they were all instantly quiet. The Judgement of Solomon© was the last form of arbitration; there was no appeal from here and they all knew it.

'It is the Judgement of Solomon© that … you should all have the first-person narrative.'

'What?!' yelled Mr Lockwood. 'What kind of loopy idea is that? How can we all be the first person?'

'It is fair and just,' replied Kenneth, placing his fingertips together and staring at them all serenely.

'What will we do?' asked Catherine sarcastically. 'Talk at the same time?'

'No,' replied Kenneth. 'Mr Lockwood, you will introduce the story and you, Nelly, will tell the major part of it in deep retrospection; the others will have their say in the following ratios.'

He scribbled on the back of an envelope, signed it and handed it over. They all grumbled for a bit, Nelly Dean the most.

'Mrs Dean,' said Kenneth, 'you are, for better or worse, the single linking factor for all the families. Consider yourself lucky I did not give the whole book to you. It is the Judgement of Solomon© — now go!'

And they all filed out, Nelly complaining bitterly while Heathcliff strode ahead, ignoring all the others.

'That was quite good,' I said as soon as they had left.

'Do you think so?' asked Kenneth, genuinely pleased by my praise. 'Judgementing is not for everyone but I quite like it. The trick is to be scrupulously fair and just — you could do with a few Solomon franchises in the Outland. Tell me, do you think Lola will be going to the Bookie awards next week?'

'You know Lola?'

'Let's just say I have made her acquaintance in the course of my duties.'

'I'm sure she'll be there — on the chicklit table, I should imagine. She's starring in Girls Make all the Moves .'

'Is she really?' he said slowly. 'Who's next?'

'I don't know; it depends on the choice available. Sometimes she goes through them alphabetically, other times in order of height.'

'Not Lola, next for me .'

'Sorry,' I said, flushing slightly, 'I'll go and get them.'

It was Emperor Zhark. He seemed surprised to see me and told me what a great agent Miss Havisham had been. I walked him in and he and Kenneth both started when they saw one another. They had clearly met before — but not for some time.

'Zhark!' cried Kenneth, walking around to the front of the desk and offering the emperor a Havana cigar. 'You old troublemaker! Haven't seen you for ages! What are you up to?'

'Tyrannical ruler of the known galaxy,' he replied modestly.

'Get away! Old "Sneaky Zharky" of Form 5C, St Tabularasa's — who'd have thought it?'

'It's "Emperor" Zhark now, old chum,' he said through gritted teeth.

'Glad to hear it. Whatever happened to Captain Ahab? Haven't seen him since we left school.'

'Ahab?' queried the emperor, brow furrowed.

'You remember. One leg and madder than the March Hare. Set fire to his own trousers for a bet and stocked the school pond with piranhas.'

'Oh, him ,' replied Zhark. 'Last I heard he was convinced a white whale was after him — but that was years ago. We should have a reunion; one falls out of touch so easily in the BookWorld.'

'Don't I know it,' returned Kenneth sadly.

They sat in silence for a moment, recalling various school friends, I imagine.

'So, Zharky old boy, how can I help you?'

'It's the Rambosians,' he said at last. 'They just refuse to cede power to me.'

'How awkward for you. Is there any reason why they should?'

'Stability, old man, stability. The Rambosians have been responsible for numerous acts of savage satire in the Galactic Federation's daily redtop, Stars My Destination . They lampoon me constantly and the cartoons are shockingly insulting.'

'So you want to invade?'

'Of course not; that would be wasteful of resources. No, I want them to open their arms and worship me as their one true God. They will give ultimate executive power to me, and in return I will protect them with the might of the Zharkian Empire.'

'Hmm,' replied Kenneth thoughtfully, 'that wouldn't be because the planet Rambosia is composed of eighteen trillion tons of valuable A-class nutmeg, now, would it?'

'Not in the least,' replied the emperor unconvincingly.

'Very well,' said Kenneth. 'It is the Judgement of Solomon© that you make peace with the Rambosians.'

'What?!'

The emperor jumped to his feet and went as dark as a thundercloud. He wagged a finger at Kenneth.

'You'll never play golf at the Old White Male Club again,' he yelled. 'I'll have you blackballed so far out you won't be able to get your hat checked even if you come in the company of the Great Panjandrum himself!'