Jasper Fforde - Lost in a Good Book

‘Politics is overrated,’ I told him.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he agreed, getting up. ‘Well, goodnight, Miss Next. I didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, is that right?’

‘Nothing at all.’

Volescamper sighed and looked at the shattered remains of the interior of his house. He picked his way to the twisted steel door and turned to face me.

‘Always was a heavy sleeper. Look here, pop round for tea and scones one day, why don’t you?’

‘Thank you, sir. I shall. Goodnight.’

Volescamper gave me a desultory wave and was soon out of sight. I smiled to myself at the revelation of Kaine’s fictional identity; I reckoned that not being a real person had to present a pretty good obstacle to being Prime Minister, but I couldn’t help wondering just how much power he did wield within the world of fiction—and whether I had heard the last of him—after all, the Whig party was still in existence, with or without their leader. Still, Tweed was a professional, and I had other things to deal with.

I looked down the corridor, past the twisted doors. The front of Vole Towers was virtually destroyed; the ceiling had collapsed and rubble lay strewn around where the Glatisant had fought the very finest of SO-14. I picked my way through the twisted door and down the corridor where deep gouges had been scraped in the floor and walls by the leaden hide of the beast. The remaining SpecOps 14 operatives had all pulled back to regroup and I slipped out in the confusion. Nine good men fell to the Questing Beast that night. The officers would all be awarded the SpecOps Star for ‘Conspicuous bravery in the face of Other’.

As I walked along the gravel drive away from what remained of Vole Towers I could see a white charger galloping towards me, the warrior on its back holding a sharpened lance while behind him a dog barked excitedly. I waved King Pellinore to a halt.

‘Ah!’ he said, raising his visor and peering down at me. ‘The Next girl! Seen the Questin’ Beast, what, what?’

‘You’ve missed it,’ I explained. ‘Sorry.’

‘Dem shame,’ announced Pellinore sadly, parking the lance in his stirrup. ‘Dem shame indeed, eh? I’ll find it, you know. It is the lot of the Pellinores, to go a-mollocking for the beastly beast. Come, sir—away!’

He spurred his steed and galloped off across the parkland of Vole Towers, the horse’s hooves throwing great divots of grass high in the air, the large white dog running behind them, barking furiously

I returned to my apartment after giving an anonymous tip-off to The Mole , suggesting that they confirm the ongoing existence of Cardenio . The fact that I still had the apartment verified once and for all that Landen hadn’t been returned. I had been a fool to think that Goliath would honour their part of the deal. I sat in the dark for a while but even fools need rest, so I went to sleep under the bed as a precaution, which was just as well—at 3 a.m. Goliath turned up, had a good look around and then left. I stayed hidden as a further precaution and was glad of this also because SpecOps turned up at 4 a.m. and did exactly the same. Confident now of no further interruptions, I crawled out from my hiding place and climbed into bed, sleeping heavily until ten the next morning.

I peered cautiously from the window as I ate my breakfast and could see a black SpecOps Packard on the street corner, doubtless waiting for me to make an appearance. Across the road from them was another car, this time the unmistakable deep blue of Goliath; Mr Cheese leaned against the bonnet, smoking. I switched on the telly and caught the news. The break-in at Vole Towers had been heavily censored but it was reported that an unknown ‘agency’ had gained entrance to the building, killed a number of SO-14 agents and made off with Cardenio . Lord Volescamper had been interviewed and maintained that he had been ‘sound asleep’ and knew nothing. Yorrick Kaine was reported as ‘missing’ and early exit polls from the day’s election had shown that Kaine and the Whigs had not lived up to expectations. Without Cardenio , the powerful Shakespeare lobby had returned their allegiances to the current administration, who had promised to postpone, with the help of the ChronoGuard, the eighteenth-century demolition of Shakespeare’s old Stratford home.

I allowed myself a wry smile at Kaine’s dramatic fall but felt sorry for the officers who had had to face the Questing Beast. I walked through to the kitchen. Pickwick looked at me and then at her empty supper dish with an accusing air.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered as I poured her some dried fruit.

‘How’s the egg?’

‘ Plock-plock ,’ said Pickwick.

‘Well,’ I replied, ‘suit yourself. I only asked.’

I made another cup of tea and sat down to have a think. Dad had said the world was going to end this evening but whether that was really going to happen or not, I had no idea. As for me, I was wanted by SpecOps and Goliath; I was going to have to either outwit them or lie very low for a long time. I spent most of the day pacing my apartment, trying to figure out the best course of action. I wrote out my account of what had happened and hid it behind the fridge, just in case. I expected Dad to turn up but the hours ticked by and everything carried on as normal. The Goliath and SpecOps vehicles were relieved by two others at midday, and as dusk drew on I became more desperate. I couldn’t stay trapped inside my own apartment for ever. Bowden and Joffy I could trust—and perhaps Miles, too. I elected to sneak out and use a public phone box to call Bowden, and was just about to open the door when someone pressed the intercom buzzer downstairs. I quickly ducked out of my apartment and started to run down the staircase. If I reached the bottom and made my way out through the service entrance I might be able to slip away. Then, disaster. One of the tenants was about to leave at that precise moment and opened the door for whoever it was. I heard a brusque voice.

‘Here for Miss Next—SpecOps.’

I cursed Mrs Scroggins as she replied:

‘Fourth floor, second on the left!’

The fire escape was out front in full view of SpecOps and Goliath, so I ran all the way back upstairs to my flat, only to find that in my hurry I had locked myself out. There was nowhere to hide except behind a potted rubber plant about seven sizes too small, so I pushed open the letterbox and hissed:

‘Pickwick!’

She wandered out into the hall from the living room and stared at me, head cocked on one side.

‘Good. Now listen. I know that Landen said you were really bright and if you don’t do this I’m going to be looped and you’re going to be put in a zoo. Now, I need you to find my keys.’

Pickwick stared at me dubiously, took two steps closer and then relaxed and plocked a bit.

‘Yes, yes, it’s me. All the marshmallows you can eat, Pickers, but I need my keys. My keys .’