Jasper Fforde: The Song of the Quarkbeast

‘I’m going to try and hack into the Dibble Storage Coils. It may help us with the bridge job.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. This changed matters considerably, and she was right. We had agreed to rebuild Hereford’s medieval bridge on Friday, and we needed all the help we could get, which was why Perkins was taking his Magic Test today rather than next week. He’d still be a novice, but six sorcerers would be better than five – magic always worked better with the wizards in use divisible by three. [5] No one knows why. The ‘Rule of Three’ crops up often and is often referred to as ‘Mandrake’s 3rd Dictum’ after the sorcerer who first wrote about it.

‘Let me see,’ I said, consulting my pocketbook to check we had no clashes. Two sorcerers spelling at the same time could deplete the crackle, and there is nothing worse than running out of steam when only two-thirds of the way through the spell – a bit like having a power cut just when you get to the good bit in a book.

‘At eleven the Price Brothers are moving Snamoo, [6] Snamoo is the Snodd Seaworld’s performing walrus. He can play Eine Kleine Nachtmusik on a xylophone, among other tricks. He only liked being moved by the Prices, and it’s tricky to argue with 1.4 tons of recalcitrant sea-mammal. so any time after eleven fifteen would be good – but I’ll double-check with Industrial Magic just in case.’

‘Eleven fifteen it is,’ replied Lady Mawgon stonily. ‘You may observe, if you so choose.’

‘I’ll be there,’ I replied, then added cautiously: ‘Lady Mawgon, please don’t think me insensitive, but any attempt to reanimate Mr Pusskins on the back of the Dibble Storage Coils hacking enchantment might be looked on disfavourably by the other wizards.’

Her eyes narrowed and she gave me one of those stares that seem to hit the back of my skull like a dozen hot needles.

‘None of you have any idea what Mr Pusskins meant to me. Now, what are we doing here?’

‘Waiting for the Amazing Dennis Price.’

‘How I deplore poor timekeeping,’ she said, despite being almost half an hour late herself. ‘Got any money? I’m starving.’

Perkins gave her a one-moolah coin.

‘Most kind. Walk with me, Perkins.’

And she glided silently off towards a roadside snack bar at the other end of the lay-by.

‘Do you want anything?’ asked Perkins as he made to follow Lady Mawgon.

‘Eating out gives foundlings ideas above their station,’ came Lady Mawgon’s decisive voice, quickly followed by an admonishment to the owner of the snack bar: ‘How much for a bacon roll? Scandalous!’

‘A running sore has more charm,’ said Tiger, leaning against the car, ‘and since when was a roadside snack bar eating out? That’s like saying listening to the radio out of doors is like going to a live show.’

‘She is an astonishing sorceress of considerable power and commitment, so don’t be impertinent. Or at least,’ I added, ‘not within earshot.’

‘Speaking of live shows,’ said Tiger in a lowered voice, ‘will you go to Jimmy ‘Daredevil’ Nuttjob’s stunt show with Perkins?’

‘Probably not,’ I said with a sigh, ‘it’s not a good idea to date someone you work with. If he and I are meant to be, it’ll certainly wait the two years until I leave.’

‘Good,’ said Tiger.

‘Why is that good?’

‘Because he may give away your ticket, and I’d like to watch someone with more bravery than sense being fired from a cannon into a brick wall.’

‘Is there a support act?’

‘A brass band, cheerleaders and someone who can juggle with bobcats.’

We turned to see a taxi approaching. It was the Amazing Dennis ‘Full’ Price, and after I had paid for the taxi, he climbed out and looked around.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, demonstrating the difference between him and Lady Mawgon almost immediately. ‘I got delayed talking to Wizard Moobin. He wants you to witness an experiment he’s got cooking.’

‘A dangerous one?’ I asked with some concern. Wizard Moobin had destroyed more laboratories than I’d had cold and inedible dinners.

‘Does he know any other?’ he replied. ‘Where’s Mawgon?’

I nodded in the direction of the roadside snack bar.

‘Not with her own money, I’ll be bound,’ he said, and after giving us a wink, strode off to talk to her.

‘Full’ Price was another of our licensed operatives. He and his brother David – known as ‘Half’ – were famous as the most unidentical identical twins on record. David was tall and thin and lofty and prone to swaying in a high wind, while Dennis was short and squat like a giant pink pumpkin, only with arms and legs. They hailed from the ramshackle collection of warlord-controlled regions in mid-Wales that were loosely referred to as the ‘Cambrian Empire’. Details were sparse, but it seemed the Prices had refused to work with the well-named Cambrian potentate ‘Tharv the Insane’, and then made their way to the Kingdom of Hereford to escape. They joined up with the Great Zambini soon after, and had been at Kazam for over twenty years.

As Tiger and I stood there smelling the faint aroma of frying bacon on the breeze, a Rolls-Royce whispered to a halt next to us.

The Rolls-Royce was one of the top-of-the-range six-wheeled Phantom Twelves. It was as big as a yacht, twice as luxurious and had paintwork so perfect it looked like a pool of black paint sitting in the air. The chauffeur opened the rear passenger door and a well-dressed girl climbed out. She was not much older than myself, but from a world far removed from the upbringing of a foundling – a world of privilege, cash and a sense of entitlement. I should have hated her, but I didn’t.

I envied her.

‘Miss Strange?’ she said, striding confidently forward, hand outstretched. ‘Miss Shard is glad to make your acquaintance.’

‘Who’s she talking about?’ asked Tiger under his breath, looking around.

‘Herself, I think,’ I said, smiling broadly to welcome her. ‘Good morning, Miss Shard, thank you for coming. I’m Jennifer Strange.’

This was our client. She didn’t look old enough to have lost something badly enough to call us, but you never knew.

‘You must call one Ann,’ she said kindly. ‘Your recent exploits of a magical variety filled one with a sense of thrilling trepidation.’

She was talking in Longspeak, the formal language of the upper classes, and it seemed that she was not fluent in Shortspeak, the everyday language of the Ununited Kingdoms.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It was a singular display of inspired audaciousness,’ she replied.

‘Is that good?’ I asked, still unsure of her meaning.

‘Most certainly,’ she replied. ‘We followed your adventures with great interest.’

‘We?’

‘Myself and my client. A gentleman of some knowledge, position and bearing.’

She was undoubtedly referring to someone of nobility. By long tradition royals in the Ununited Kingdoms employed others to do almost everything for them; only the very poorest did anything for themselves. It was said that when King Wozzle of Snowdonia tired of eating he employed someone to do it for him. After the inevitable weight loss and death, he was succeeded by his brother.

‘I can’t understand a word she’s saying,’ whispered Tiger.

‘Tiger,’ I said, keen to get rid of him before she took offence, ‘why not fetch Dennis and Lady Mawgon, hmm?’

‘Were they of a disingenuous countenance?’ Miss Shard asked, smiling politely.

‘Were who of what?’

‘The Dragons,’ [7] She was referring to Jennifer’s connection with Dragons. Of the only two Dragons on the planet, she knew them both well enough for them to return her calls. Dragons usually don’t. she said, ‘were they . . . unpleasant?’