Jasper Fforde - Early Riser

I peered around the empty car park. It was gloomy and cheerless, with only the occasional drop of water splashing on the ground to punctuate the silence. My flashlight had dropped from my grasp and rolled under the car, where it was illuminating the left rear tyre. It was out of reach so I lay upon the concrete to squeeze under the Buick. I stretched out and touched the flashlight with my fingertips but it rolled away and the light fell upon another nightwalker, dead under the car. It was a woman with dark, matted hair.

I crawled under farther, grabbed the flashlight and was about to wriggle out when I felt a vice-like grip tighten around my upper arm. I jumped in fright and swung the flashlight around. I had been wrong: the nightwalker under the car was far from dead. Her teeth were yellow, her clothes filthy and her fingernails rough and broken. She gazed at me with a disconcerting absence of humanity and in the way an expectant hungry child might stare at an ice cream. Lloyd’s fears had been well founded: three Weetabix and a turnip a day had not been enough. I was also, I noted, in no immediate danger of being bitten. One of her dungaree straps had snagged around the car’s jacking point.

I was about to back out when she produced a low whispery growl, somewhere deep in her ragged throat. I stopped, but not because she’d spoken. Nightwalkers often knew a few words; it was so commonplace it wasn’t seen as a trick worth noting. No, the reason I stopped was because the short sentence was chillingly familiar.

‘Charlie,’ she said, ‘I… love you.’

I stared into the violet eyes with a mixture of horror, surprise and loss – and I knew exactly who it was.

‘Birgitta?’

She didn’t respond, and I poked her cheek with my flashlight to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It was her: thinner than when I’d seen her last, and considerably less full of life. I put out my hand to touch her but she snapped at my fingers and grasped my forearm so tightly I could feel her fingernails puncture the skin.

‘Charlie,’ she said again, ‘I… love you.’

‘No,’ I said, as the full relevance of her words struck home, ‘no, no, not possible.’

It had happened again: first her name, then the car, then the rabbit’s-foot key ring, then her saying she loved Charlie as she had in the dream. It wasn’t meant to work that way. It couldn’t work that way.

Reality, then dream. Cause, then effect.

She snapped her teeth at me again. I had some Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut on me, which she ate without preamble, along with my last shortbread finger and half a Wagon Wheel I was keeping for emergencies.

‘Is this why you’re under the Buick?’ I asked. ‘Drawn to it by the dream?’

The questioning was pointless, as Birgitta was now well beyond the capacity for intelligent conversation. But oddly, beneath the grime and matted hair, dirt and cobwebs, her eyes were precisely as I remembered them – violet, and of extraordinary clarity and brightness.

As I was pondering her looks, the paradox of her acting out my dream, the almost unthinkable reality that it was I who had supplied her with the Morphenox and that she would now have to be retired, I heard a shuffling noise close by. I flicked the flashlight around and could see two chunky male legs from mid-shin down, presumably Eddie Tangiers, the newcomer Lloyd had warned me about. I made to roll out the opposite side but noticed there was a nightwalker this side, too – a female, wearing bunny slippers.

As I watched, a bony set of fingers clasped the bottom edge of the car’s rear mudguard and an expressionless face peered in at me upside down. She was somewhere in her twenties, had a pale complexion, was missing an eye and wore a tiara stuck in her rumpled blond hair. I was concerned to be surrounded and outnumbered by three people who regarded me only as today’s one major food group, but there were two things in my favour: first that they were slow, and second, that they were very, very stupid.

‘I guess the marriage is off,’ I said, noting that Glitzy Tiara had an engagement ring around a grimy finger. She reached an arm towards me. I pulled back, avoided Birgitta and looked to the other side of the car, where Eddie Tangiers was now attempting to grab my ankle with a muscular arm. This was more problematical. He looked weighty, strong, and had no functioning part of his brain to feel pain, mercy or reason. A thump from my Bambi would send him sprawling but the shock wave might rupture a fuel tank or, much worse, bounce off a tyre and render me unconscious, something that could potentially ruin my day.

Tangiers caught hold of my ankle and began to pull. I grabbed the Buick’s rear axle to steady myself and kicked his hand, but all I managed to do was to bark my shin against the base of a suspension arm. I pulled the Bambi from my holster while Birgitta clung tightly to my forearm, teeth snapping. I fumbled with the safety and—

Whump

The air was suddenly full of loose dust, and I was momentarily blinded. Initially, I thought that I had accidentally discharged the Bambi, but I hadn’t; it was still cold. Irrespective, Tangiers had let go of my leg and was now lying in a heap on the bonnet of the car opposite, his mind momentarily scrambled by the concussion. I blinked and looked out. Another pair of feet had appeared by the side of the car but they were moving not with the slow shuffle of a nightwalker, but with full motor control. A Winterer. The thump had come from them.

‘Helloooo!’ came a chirpy woman’s voice. ‘Are we having heaps of fun down there?’

‘I’ve been in happier predicaments,’ I said in as confident a manner as I could, ‘and look, I know this sounds kinda daft, but I’m a Deputy Consul and I’ve got this under control.’

‘Under control? Hah!’ came the voice, then, more quietly: ‘Wait a moment – is that Charlie?’

I said that it was.

‘It’s Aurora. Would you give me a hand with this fella? He’s at least a hundred and twenty kilos, and every single one of them wants me for lunch.’

The situation called for teamwork.

‘There’s another one with a tiara off to your left.’

Whump

The thump was directed away from me this time, and only a small amount of dirt fell from beneath the car. Beyond the front of the Buick I could see Glitzy Tiara being deposited in front of the Austin Maxi opposite, an untidy tangle of badly grazed arms and legs. I rolled out from under the car and stood up. Aurora looked pretty much the same: unseeing left eye, a shabby Winter chic look but with the addition of a panga [51] It’s like a machete but with more heft. in a scabbard on her back.

‘Thanks for that,’ she said cheerily. ‘So, why did you come back?’

‘Come back? I never left.’

‘So what have you been doing for the past four weeks?’

I sighed.

‘I… fell asleep.’

She hid a smile.

‘You’re kidding?’

‘No. Spark out. My alarm clock failed.’

‘You’re a twit, Worthing, but listen, it does happen. Jack Logan was renowned for it when a Novice. Overslept and missed a stake-out by a week.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Whatever happened to Jack Logan?’

I stared at her. She was asking me in a where are they now? sort of way.

‘You… killed him?’

‘So I did,’ she said, snapping her fingers, ‘what a to-do. Toccata wasn’t happy, I can tell you. I am so glad I wasn’t the one who had to tell her.’

I think I wanted to move the conversation on.

‘No one knew where I was until Jonesy came looking. Weren’t you going to fax my office explaining how I was getting back?’