Jasper Fforde - Something rotten

I laughed. This was exactly the news I wanted to hear.

'You'll see. Tell me,' I added, my hopes rising by the second, 'what do you know about the old Goliath bioengineering labs?'

'Hoooh!' he said, making a noise like any enthusiast invited to comment on their particular field of interest. 'Now you're talking! The old Goliath labs are still standing in what we call "Area 21" — the empty quarter in mid-Wales, the Elan.'

'Empty metaphorically or empty literally?'

'Empty as in no one goes there except water officials — and we have wholly uncorroborated evidence which we peddle as fact that an unspecified number of officials have vanished without trace. In any event it's all off limits to everyone, surrounded by an electrified fence.'

'To keep people out?'

'No,' said Millon slowly, 'to keep whatever genetic experiments Goliath were working on in . The whole of Area 21 is infested with chimeras. I've got files and files of dubious stories about people breaking in, allegedly never to be seen again. What's your interest in the Elan plant anyway?'

'Illegal genetic experiments on humans undertaken covertly by an apparently innocent multinational.'

Millon nearly passed out with conspiracy overload. When he had recovered he asked how he could help.

'I need you to find any pictures, plans, layout drawings, anything that might be of use for a visit.'

Millon opened his eyes wide and scribbled on his notepad.

'You're going to go into Area 21?'

'No.' I replied, 'we both are. Tomorrow. Leaving here at seven in the morning, sharp . Can you find what I asked for?'

He narrowed his eyes.

'I can get you your information, Miss Next,' he said slowly and with a gleam in his eye, 'but it will cost. Let me be your official biographer.'

I put out a hand and he shook it gratefully.

'Deal.'

I walked back inside to find Landen talking to a man dressed in slightly punky clothes, brightly coloured spectacle frames, bleached blond hair and an infinitesimally small goatee firmly planted just under his lower lip.

'Darling,' he said, grasping the hand that I had just rested on his shoulder, 'this is my very good friend Handley Paige.'

I shook his hand. He seemed pretty much the same as any other SF writers I had ever met. Slightly geeky but pleasant enough.

'You write the Emperor Zhark books,' I observed.

He winced slightly.

'No one ever talks about the decent stuff I write,' he moaned, 'they just ask me for more and more Zhark stuff. I did it as a joke — a pastiche of bad science fiction, and blow me down if it isn't the most popular thing I've ever done.'

I remembered what Emperor Zhark had told me.

'You're going to kill him off, aren't you?'

Handley started.

'How did you know that?'

'She works for SO-27,' explained Landen, 'they know everything .'

'I thought you guys were more hooked on the classics?'

'We deal with all genres,' I explained. 'For reasons that I can't reveal, I advise you to maroon Zhark on an uninhabited planet rather than submit him to the humiliation of a public execution.'

Handley laughed.

'You talk about him as if he were a real person!'

'She takes her work very seriously, Handley,' said Landen without the glimmer of a smile. 'I'd advise you to consider very seriously anything she happens to say. Wheels within wheels, Handley.'

But Handley was adamant.

'I'm going to kill him off so utterly and completely that no one will ever ask me for another Zhark novel again. Thanks for lending me the book, Land. I'll see myself out.'

'Is Handley in danger?' asked Landen as soon as he had gone.

'Quite possibly. I'm not sure the Zharkian death ray works in the real world, and I'd hate for Handley to be the one who finds out.'

'This is a BookWorld thing, isn't it? Let's just change the subject. What did your stalker want?'

I smiled.

'You know, Landen, things are beginning to look up. I must call Bowden.'

I quickly dialled his number.

'Bowd? It's Thursday. I've figured out how we're going to get across the border. Set everything up for tomorrow morning. We'll muster at Leigh Delamere at eight ... I can't tell you . . . Stig and Millon . . . see you there. 'Bye.'

I called Stig and told him the same, then kissed Landen and asked him whether he'd mind feeding Friday on his own. He didn't, of course, and I dashed off to speak to Mycroft.

I was back in time to help Landen scrub the food off Friday, read him a story and put him to bed. It wasn't late but we went to bed ourselves. Tonight there was no shyness or confusion and we undressed quickly. He pushed me back on to the bed and with his fingertips—

'Wait!' I cried out.

'What?'

'I can't concentrate with all those people—!'

Landen looked round the empty bedroom.

'What people?'

'Those people,' I repeated, waving a hand in the general direction of everywhere, 'the ones reading us.'

Landen stared at me and raised an eyebrow. I felt stupid, relaxed and gave out a nervous giggle.

'Sorry. I've been living inside fiction for too long; sometimes I get this weird feeling that you, me and everything else are just, well, characters in a book or something.'

'Plainly, that is ridiculous.'

'I know, I know. I'm sorry. Where were we?'

'Just here.'

'So, what's the plan?' asked Bowden as we drove towards the Welsh border town of Hay-on-Wye. It was about ten in the morning, and we were travelling in Bowden's Welsh-built Griffin Sportina with Millon de Floss and Stig in the back seat. Behind us was a convoy of ten lorries, all loaded with banned Danish books.

'Well,' I said, 'ever thought it odd that Parliament just roll over and do anything that Kaine asks?'

'I've given up even trying to understand Parliament,' said Bowden.

'They're all snivelling toadies,' put in Millon.

'If you even need a government,' added Stig, 'you are a life form flawed beyond redemption.'

'I was confused, too,' I continued. 'A government wholly agreeable to the worst excesses of Kaine could mean only one thing: some form of short-range mind control wielded by unscrupulous power brokers."

'Now that's my kind of theory!' exclaimed Millon excitedly.

'I couldn't figure it out at first, but then when I was up at Goliathopolis I felt it myself. A sort of mind-numbing go-with-the-flow feeling when I just wanted to follow the path of least resistance, no matter how pointless, or wrong. I had seen its effect at the Evade the Question Time TV show, too — the front row were eating out of Kaine's hand, no matter what he said.'

'So what's the connection?'

'I felt it again in Mycroft's lab. It was only when Landen made a sarcastic comment that I twigged. The ovinator. We all thought the "ovine" part of it was to do with eggs, but it's not. It's to do with sheep . The ovinator transmits sub-alpha brain waves that inhibit free will and instil sheep-like tendencies into the minds of anyone close by. It can be tuned to the user so they are unaffected; it's possible that Goliath may have developed a long-range version called the Ovitron and an anti-serum. Mycroft thinks he probably invented it to transmit public health messages, but he can't remember. Goliath get hold of it, Stricknene gives it to Kaine -bingo. Parliament do everything Kaine asks. The only reason Formby is still anti-Yorrick is because he refuses to go anywhere near him.'