Jasper Fforde - The Well of Lost Plots

I arrived at the small medical unit that was ready and waiting to deal with any infected person, with its shielded curtains and bandages over-printed with dictionary entries. They could soothe and contain but rarely cure — Snell was doomed as soon as he was soaked in the vyrus and he knew it.

I opened a few drawers here and there but found nothing. Then I noticed a large pile of dictionaries stacked by themselves in a roped-off area. I walked up to them, repeating the word ambidextrous as I did so.

'Ambidextrous … ambidextrous … ambidextrous … ambidextruos.'

Bingo. I'd found it.

'Miss Next?' said a voice. 'What in heaven's name are you doing here?'

I nearly jumped out of my skin. If it had been Libris I would have been worried; but it wasn't — it was Harris Tweed.

'You nearly scared me half to death!' I told him.

'Sorry!' He grinned. 'What are you up to?'

'There's something wrong with Ultra Word™,' I confided.

Tweed looked up and down the corridor and lowered his voice.

'I think so too,' he hissed, 'but I'm not sure what — I've a feeling that it uses a faster "memory fade" utility than Version 8.3 so the readers will want to reread the book more often. The Council of Genres is interested in upping its published ReadRates — the battle with non-fiction is hotting up; more than they care to tell us about.'

It was the sort of thing I had suspected.

'What have you discovered?' he asked.

I leaned closer.

'UltraWord™ has a "thrice only" read capability.'

'Good Lord!' exclaimed Tweed. 'Anything else?'

'Not yet. I was hoping to find out what Snell said before he died. It was badly mispeled but I thought perhaps I could unmispel it by repeating it close to a mispeling source.'

'Good thought,' replied Tweed, 'but we must take care — too much exposure to this stuff and you could be permanently mispeled.'

He donned a pair of DictoSafe gloves.

'Sit here and repeat Snell's words,' he told me, placing a chair not a yard from the pile of dictionaries. 'I'll remove the OEDs one at a time and we'll see what happens.'

' Wode — Cone, udder whirled — doughnut Trieste' I recited as Tweed pulled a single dictionary from the large pile that covered the vyrus.

' Wode — Cone, ulder whirled — dougnut Trieste ,' I repeated.

'Who else knows about this?' he asked. 'If what you say is true, this knowledge is dangerous enough to have killed three times — I hate to say it but I think we have a rotten apple at Jurisfiction.'

'I tolled no-wun at Jurizfaction,' I assured him. ' Wede — Caine, ulder whorled — dogn’ut Triuste .'

Harris carefully removed another dictionary. I could see the faint purple glow from within the stacked books.

'We don't know who we can trust,' he said sombrely. 'Who did you tell, precisely? It's important, I need to know.'

He removed another dictionary.

'Twede — Caine, ulter whorled — dogn't Truste.'

My heart went cold. Twede . Could that be Tweed ? I tried to look normal and glanced across at him, trying to figure out whether he had heard me. I had good reason to be concerned; there he was, controlling a strong source of mispeling vyrus. If he removed one too many dictionaries I could be fatally mispeled into a Thirsty Neck or something — and nobody knew I was here.

'I cane right you a liszt if it wood yelp,' I said, trying to sound as normal as I could.

'Why not just tell me,' he said, still smiling. 'Who was it? Some of those Generics at Caversham Heights ?

'I tolled the bell, man.'

The smile dropped from his face.

'Now I know you're lying.'

We stared at one another. Tweed was no fool; he knew his cover was blown.

' Tweed ,' I said, the unmispeling now complete. ' Kaine — UltraWord — Don’t trust !'

I jumped aside as soon as I had said it. I was only just in time — Tweed yanked out three dictionaries near the bottom and the DictoSafe partially collapsed.

I sprawled on the ground as the heavy glow, emanating in one direction from the disrupted pile of dictionaries, instantly turned the hospital bed behind me into an hospitable ted , a furry stuffed bear who waved his paw cheerfully and told me to pop round for dinner any day of the week — and to bring a friend.

I threw myself at Tweed, who was not as quick as I, my speech returning to normal almost immediately.

'Snell and Perkins?!' I yelled, pinning him to the ground. 'Who else? Havisham?'

'It's not important,' he cried as I took his gun and forced his chin into the carpet.

'You're wrong!' I told him angrily. 'What's the problem with UltraWord™?'

'Nothing's wrong with it,' he replied, trying to sound reasonable. 'In fact, everything's right with it! Think about it for a moment. With UltraWord™ control of the BookWorld will never have been easier. And with modern and free-thinking Outlanders like you and I, we can take fiction to new and dizzying heights!'

I pushed my knee harder into the back of his neck and he yelped.

'And where does Kaine come into this?'

'UltraWord™ benefits everyone, Next. Us in here and publishers out there. It's the perfect system!'

'Perfect? You need to resort to murder to keep it on track? How can it be perfect?'

'Murder happens all the time in fiction — without it and the jeopardy it generates, we'd have lost a million readers long ago!'

'She was my friend, Tweed!' I yelled. 'Not some cannon fodder for a cheap thriller!'

'You're making a big mistake,' he replied, his face still pressed into the carpet. 'I can offer you a key position at Text Grand Central. With UltraWord™ under our control we will have the power to change anything we please within fiction. You gave Jane Eyre a happy ending — we can do the same with countless others and give the reading public what they want. We will dictate terms to that moth-eaten bunch of bureaucrats at the Council of Genres and forge a new, stronger fiction that will catapult the novel to greater heights — no longer will we be looked down upon by the academic press and marginalised by non-fiction!'

I had heard enough.

'You're finished, Tweed. When the Bellman hears what you've been up to—!'

'The Bellman is a powerless fool, Next. He does what we tell him to. Release me and take your place at my side. Untold adventures and riches await you — we can even write your husband back.'

'Not a chance. I want the real Landen or none at all.'

'You won't know the difference. Take my hand — I won't offer it again.'

'No deal.'

'Then,' he said slowly, 'it is goodbye.'

I saw something out of the corner of my eye and moved quickly to my right. A pickaxe handle glanced off my shoulder and struck the carpet. It was Uriah Hope. No wonder Tweed hadn't seemed that worried. I rolled off Tweed and dodged Uriah's next blow, pushing myself backwards along the carpet in my haste to get away. He swung again and shattered a desk, wedging the handle in the wood and struggling with it long enough for me to get to my feet and raise my gun. I wasn't quick enough and he knocked it from my grasp; I ducked the next blow and ran back towards where Tweed was starting to get up. He hooked my ankle and I came crashing down heavily. I rolled on to my back as Uriah jumped towards me with a wild cry. I put out a foot, caught him on the chest and heaved. His momentum carried him over on to the pile of dictionaries — and the mispeling vyrus. Tweed tried to grab me but I was off and running down the corridor as the DanverClones began to stir.

'Kill her!' screamed Tweed, and the Danvers started to move rapidly towards me. I took my TravelBook from my pocket, opened it at the right page and stopped dead, right in the middle of the corridor. I couldn't out-run them but I could out-read them. As I jumped out I could feel the bony fingers of the Danvers clutching my rapidly vanishing form.