Jasper Fforde - Something rotten

'A gift? I don't think I've ever had one of those before.'

'No? Well, always a first for everything. I want you to have . . . Alan.'

'The dodo?'

'I think he'd be an invaluable addition to Elsinore Castle — just don't let him get into the main story.'

Hamlet looked at Alan, who looked back at him longingly.

'Thank you,' he said with as much sincerity as he could muster, 'I'm deeply honoured.'

Alan went a bit floppy as Hamlet picked him up, and a few moments later they both vanished back to Elsinore, Hamlet to further his work as a career procrastinator, and Alan to cause trouble in the Danish court.

'Hello, Sweetpea.'

'Hi, Dad.'

'You did a terrific job over that Superhoop. How are you feeling?'

'Pretty good.'

'Did I tell you that as soon as Zvlkx got hit by that number twenty-three bus the Ultimate Likelihood Index of that armageddon rose to eighty-three per cent?'

'No, you never told me that.'

'Just as well, really — I wouldn't have wanted you to panic.'

'Dad, who was St Zvlkx?'

He leaned closer.

'Don't tell a soul but he was someone named Steve Schultz from the Toast Marketing Board. I think I may have recruited him or he may have approached me to help — I'm not sure. History has rewritten itself so many times I'm really not sure how it was to begin with — it's a bit like trying to guess the original colour of a wall when it's been repainted eight times. All I can say is that everything turned out okay — and that things are far weirder than we can know. But the main thing is that Goliath now answer to the Toast Marketing Board and Kaine is out of power. The whole thing has been rubber-stamped into historical fact and that's the way it's going to stay.'

'Dad?'

'Yes?'

'How did you manage to jump Schultz or Zvlkx or whoever he was all the way from the thirteenth century without the ChronoGuard spotting what you were up to?'

'Where do you hide a pebble, Sweetpea?'

'On a beach.'

'And where do you hide a thirteenth-century impostor saint?'

'With . . . lots of other thirteenth-century impostor saints?'

He smiled.

'You sent all twenty-eight of them forward just to hide St Zvlkx?'

'Twenty-seven, actually — one of them was real. But I didn't do it alone. I needed someone to whip up a timephoon in the Dark Ages as cover. Someone with remarkable skills as a time traveller. An expert who can surf the timeline with a skill I will never possess.'

'Me?'

He chuckled.

'No, silly — Friday .'

The little boy looked up when he heard his name. He chewed the crayon, made a face and spat the bits on Pickwick, who jumped up in fright and ran away to hide.

'Meet the future head of the ChronoGuard, Sweetpea. How did you think he survived Landen's eradication?'

I stared at the little boy, who stared back, and smiled.

Dad looked at his watch.

'Well, I've got to go. Nelson's up to his old tricks again. Time waits for no man, as we say.'

I was well enough to be given an award three weeks later at a mayoral lunch. Lord Volescamper presented the whole Superhoop team with a special 'Swindon Star' medal, especially struck for the purpose. The only Neanderthal to show up was Stig, who understood what it meant to me, even if he couldn't truly understand the concept of individual aggrandisement.

There was a party afterwards and everyone wanted to chat to me, mostly to ask me whether I would play any more professional croquet. I met Handley Paige again; he jumped when he saw me and downed a drink nervously.

'I've decided not to kill off my Emperor Zhark character,' he announced quickly, 'I'd just like to make that point right now, in case anyone might think I was going to stop writing Zhark books, which I'm not. Not at all. Not ever.'

He looked around warily.

'I'm sorry?' I said. 'I'm not sure I understand.'

'Oh . . . right,' he replied sarcastically, tried to drink from his empty glass and then strode off to the bar.

'What was all that about?' asked Landen.

'Search me.'

Spike was at the party too and he sidled up to me as I was fetching another drink.

'What did she say to you when she took your place?'

I turned to face him; I wasn't surprised that he knew Cindy had replaced me. The semi-dead was his field of expertise, after all.

'She said that she wanted to make up for some of the misery she had caused, and she knew she would never hold either you or Betty again.'

'You could have refused her, but I'm glad you didn't. I loved her, but she was rotten to the core.'

He fell silent for a moment and I touched him on the arm.

'Not entirely rotten, Spike. She loved you both very much.'

He looked at me and smiled.

'I know. You did the right thing, Thursday. Thank you.'

And he hugged me, and was gone.

I answered lots more questions regarding the Superhoop match and when I decided enough was enough I asked Landen to take me home.

Landen drove the Speedster, with Friday in a baby seat in the back, right next to Pickwick, who didn't want to be left alone now that Alan had gone.

'Land?'

'Mm?'

'Did you ever think it odd that I survived?'

'I'm grateful that you did, of course—

'Stop the car a minute'

'Why?'

'Just do as I say.'

He pulled up and I very carefully climbed out and walked towards where two familiar figures were sitting on the pavement outside a Goliathe coffee shop. I approached silently and sat down next to the larger of the two before he'd even noticed. He looked round and jumped visibly when he saw me.

'Once,' said a sad and familiar voice, 'you would never have been able to sneak up on a Gryphon!'

I smiled. He was a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. He wore spectacles and a scarf under his trenchcoat, which somewhat dented his otherwise fearsome appearance. He was fictional, to be sure, but he was also head of jurisfiction's legal team, my lawyer — and a friend.

'Gryphon!' I said with some surprise. 'What are you doing in the Outland?'

'Here to see you,' he whispered, looking around and lowering his voice. 'Have you met Mock Turtle? He's now my number two at the legal desk.'

He gestured towards where a turtle with the head of a calf was staring mournfully into space. He was, like the Gryphon, straight out of the pages of Alice in Wonderland .

'How do you do?'

'Okay — I suppose.' The Mock Turtle sighed, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.

'So what's up?' I asked.

'It's quite serious — too serious for the footnoterphone. And I needed an excuse to do some Outlander research on traffic islands. Fascinating things.'