Jasper Fforde - Something rotten

I arrived at the croquet stadium at eight. The fans were already waiting at the turnstiles, hoping to get the best seats in the stands. I was waved past and parked my Speedster in the manager's parking spot, then made my way into the changing rooms. Aubrey was waiting there for me, pacing up and down.

'Well?' he said. 'Where's our team?'

'They'll be here at one o'clock.'

'Can't we get them here earlier?' he asked. 'We need to discuss tactics.'

'No,' I said firmly. 'They'll be here on time. It's senseless to try and impose human time constraints on them. They're playing on our side, that's the main thing.'

'Okay,' agreed Aubrey reluctantly. 'Have you met Penelope Hrah?'

Penelope was a large and powerful woman who looked as though she could crack walnuts with her eyelids. She had taken up croquet because hockey wasn't violent enough, and although at thirty-two she was at the end of her career, she might prove an asset — as a terror weapon, if nothing else. She scared me — and I was on the same team.

'Hello, Penelope,' I said nervously, 'I really appreciate you joining us.'

'Urg.'

'Everything okay? Can I get you something?'

She grunted again and I rubbed my hands together anxiously.

'Right, well, leave you to it, then.'

I left her to talk strategy with Alf and Aubrey. I spent the next couple of hours doing interviews and ensuring that the team's lawyers were up to speed on the game's complex legal procedures. At midday Landen and Friday arrived with Mycroft, Polly and my mother. I took them down to the seating reserved for the VIPs just behind the players' benches and sat them down next to Joffy and Miles, who had arrived earlier.

'Is Swindon going to win?' asked Polly.

'I hope so,' I said, not brimming with confidence.

'The problem with you, Thursday,' put in Joffy, 'is that you have no faith. We in the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx have complete faith in the Revealments. Lose and Goliath move to new heights of human exploitation and unfathomable avarice, hidden among the trappings of religious formality and perverted ecclesiastical dogma.'

'That was a very good speech.'

'Yes, I thought so too. I was practising on the march last night. Don't feel you're under any pressure now.'

'Thanks for nothing. Where's Hamlet?'

'He said he'd join us later.'

I left them to do a live broadcast with Lydia Startright, who was really more interested in knowing where I had been for the past

two and a half years than asking me about Swindon's chances. After this I hurried down to the players' entrance to welcome Stig -who was playing — and the four other Neanderthals. They were completely unfazed by the media attention and ignored the phalanx of pressmen completely. I thanked them for joining our team and Stig pointed out that they were there only because that was part of the deal, and nothing more.

I walked them towards the changing rooms, where the human team members greeted them with a good measure of curiosity. They talked haltingly with one another, the Neanderthals confining their speech to the technical aspects of croquet play. It was of no matter or consequence to them whether they won or lost — they would simply do the best they could. They refused body armour as they preferred instead to play barefoot in shorts and brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts. This caused a slight problem with the Toast Marketing Board, who had insisted that their name be on the team strip, but I smoothed it over with them eventually, and all was well. There was less than ten minutes before we were due out, so Aubrey made a stirring speech to the team that the Neanderthals didn't really comprehend. Stig, whose understanding of humans was perhaps a little better than most, just told them to 'hoop as much as we can', which they understood.

'Miss Next?'

I turned to find a thin, cadaverous man staring at me. I recognised him instantly. It was Ernst Stricknene, Kaine's adviser — and he was carrying a red briefcase. I had seen a similar case at Goliathopolis and on Evade the Question Time . It doubtless concealed an ovinator.

'What do you want?'

'Chancellor Kaine would like to meet the Swindon team for a pep talk.'

'Why?'

Strickene looked at me coldly.

It is not for you to question the will of the Chancellor, young lady.'

It was then that Kaine marched in, surrounded by his goons and entourage. The team stood up respectfully — except the Neanderthals, who, completely ambivalent to the vagaries of perceived hierarchy, carried on talking to one another in soft grunts. Kaine looked at me triumphantly but I noticed too that he had changed slightly. His eyes looked tired and his mouth had a slight sag to it. He'd started to show signs of being human. He was beginning to age.

'Ah!' he said. 'The ubiquitous Miss Next. LiteraTec, team manager, saviour of Jane Eyre . Is there anything you can't do?'

'I'm not that good at knitting.'

There was a ripple of laughter among the team, and also from Kaine's followers, who abruptly silenced themselves as Kaine glanced around the room, scowling. But he controlled himself and gave a disingenuous smile after nodding to Stricknene.

'I just came down here to talk to the team and tell all of you that it would be a far better thing for this country if I stayed in power, and even though I don't know how Zvlkx's Revealment will work, I can't leave the secure future of this nation to the vagaries of a thirteenth-century seer with poor personal hygiene. Do you understand what I am saying?'

I knew what he was up to. The ovinator. It would, as likely as not, have us all eating out of his hand in under a minute. But I wasn't figuring on Hamlet, who appeared suddenly from behind Stricknene, rapier drawn. It was now or nothing and I yelled:

'The briefcase! Destroy the ovinator!'

Hamlet needed no second bidding and he leapt into action, expertly piercing the case, which gave off a brief flash of green light and a short high-pitched wail that started the police dogs outside barking. Hamlet was swiftly overpowered by two SO-6 agents, who handcuffed him.

'Who is this man?' demanded Kaine.

'He's my cousin Eddie.'

'NO!' yelled Hamlet, standing up straight, even though he had two men holding him. 'My name is Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Danish, and proud of it!'

Kaine gave a smug laugh.

'Captain, arrest Miss Next for harbouring a known Danish person — and arrest the entire team for aiding and abetting.'

It was a bad moment. With no players the game had to be forfeited. But Hamlet, actioneer that he had become, was not out of ideas.

'I shouldn't do that if I were you'

'And why not?' sneered Kaine, not without a certain quaver in his voice; he was now acting solely on his wits. He had neither his fictional roots nor the ovinator to help him.

'Because,' announced Hamlet, 'I am a very special friend of Ms Daphne Farquitt.'

'And—?' enquired Kaine with a slight smile.

'She is outside, awaiting my return. If I fail to reappear or you try any sort of anti-Mallets skulduggery, she will mobilise her troops.'