Jasper Fforde - The Song of the Quarkbeast

‘How is she?’

‘She lives alone with a lot of Quarkbeasts. A bit batty, if you ask me, and horribly selfish – she refused to help us.’

‘Do you know why?’ asked Zambini.

‘Why what?’

‘Why she hasn’t undertaken a single spell since her kidnapping?’

I shook my head. Zambini thought for a moment and took a deep breath.

‘Ever wondered why she never shakes hands? Why she always wears gloves?’

I stared at him, and an awful realisation welled up inside me.

‘Yes,’ he said, holding up his own index fingers – the conduit of a sorcerer’s power, without which they would be powerless, ‘she wasn’t returned unharmed. The kidnappers removed her index fingers .’

I didn’t speak for several moments. She could have been one of the all-time greats, and now she was studying Quarkbeasts and going slowly nuts. She had lived with her loss every day, knowing that a life of wonder and fulfilment in the Mystical Arts had been cruelly taken from her. I couldn’t imagine what it might be like. Greatness had slipped from her grasp.

‘Who did it?’

‘Two of the gang were found dead a week later, apparently over a squabble. There might have been others, but no trace was ever found. I was away in Italy talking to Fabio Spontini about his work on Magical Field Theory, and by the time I got back they’d already taken her fingers. She blamed me for not being there, and Blix for messing up the negotiations.’

‘Did he?’

‘I don’t know, but I don’t think he would have. We both loved her dearly and the three of us could have done great things together – stuff that would have made the Mighty Shandar look like a Saturday afternoon hobbyist. But then Boo lost her fingers, Blix and I fell out over the direction of magic, and that was it. She’s not talked to either of us since.’

He sighed and looked at his watch.

‘Two minutes left. I need to give you something.’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope covered with tiny writing.

‘This is a list of notes I’ve been making while I’ve been jumping around. I thought it was an accident for a while – that I’d mispelled while vanishing – but now you’ve told me about the failure of Shandar to destroy the Dragons, I’m beginning to think it might have been the Mighty Shandar himself who wanted me out of the picture during the Big Magic, and now he has unfinished business he’ll keep me trapped out here for as long as he wants, rattling around the here and now like a pea in a whistle.’

‘What sort of unfinished business?’

‘This: he was paid eighteen dray-weights of gold to rid the Ununited Kingdoms of Dragons. He failed, and the Mighty Shandar doesn’t do refunds. He’ll want to return and deal with the Dragons once and for all. He’ll also want to take his revenge on the person who helped the Dragons foil his plan in the first place. Who was that, by the way?’

‘Me.’

‘Oh dear.’

He paced for a moment as he thought. I remember him doing this when he was back at the Towers, and I think it was then that I missed him more than ever. I wanted him to be back. To take the decisions, to be the one in charge, to sometimes make the wrong decisions, and ignore the criticism.

‘You must be vigilant,’ he said at last. ‘The job of Shandar’s agent has been filled by the D’Argento family for four centuries. They report to him when he comes out of granite for a minute every month. He’ll leave the donkey work up to them and only appear himself for the seriously big spelling stuff, so you should know what to be wary of. His agent will be well spoken, well dressed, ride around in a midnight-black top-of-the-line Rolls-Royce, and have an anagrammatic name. A bit corny, I know, but it’s traditional, apparently.’

I covered my face with my hands. The young lady in the Phantom Twelve. I was a fool not to have realised.

‘Someone named “Ann Shard”?’ I asked.

‘Yes, exactly like that. You must remain—’

He stopped talking as he saw my look of consternation.

‘You’ve met her?’

‘Two days ago. She wanted us to find a gold ring. She had some story about her client’s mother or something. I didn’t give her the ring because it didn’t want to be found and was sticky with negative emotional energy. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.’

He frowned and paced some more.

‘I don’t get it. A ring? No ring ever had any power, least of all a curse. It’s just one of those dumb stories that get around, like pointy hats and wands and broomsticks and stuff. Hang on a minute. Yes, I’ve got it. If Shandar was going to get rid of me then he must have been worried about—’

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Zambini’s six minutes were up; he had melted into non-existence until the next time – if there was a next time.

I sniffed the air and noticed that there was smoke coming up through the hatch from ‘C’ Deck. The Trolls were trying to smoke me out. Without wasting any time I ran up the stairs that led to the command deck at the top of the landship. I didn’t stop here, and instead pulled the lever to blow the emergency roof-access hatch. The door vanished with a explosive concussion and I climbed out on to the riveted top of the landship. The Trolls were nowhere in sight, so I took the Fireball from my pocket and threw it on to the steel plates. There was a sharp crack and in an instant the marker flare burst high above my head.

‘Ha, smoked you out!’ came a rumbling voice from behind me, and I found myself staring into the small green eyes of one of the Trolls, who had climbed up the outside of the landship. I picked up a branch to defend myself, and rather than waiting for the Troll to make the first move, I ran towards him and swung the branch as hard as I could at his head. It was a futile gesture, of course. The Troll merely smiled cruelly and thrust out a hand to grab me. He would have done so, too, had the emergency hatch I had blown out not returned to earth at that precise moment and landed right on the Troll’s head. He yelled in pain, lost his footing and fell off the landship.

I looked over the edge to where he was being helped by his comrade.

‘What happened?’ asked the second Troll.

‘That one may look small,’ said the first, rubbing his head tenderly, ‘but she can sure pack a punch.’

‘Jenny!’

It was the Prince. He had come in for my EVAC as promised. I needed no second bidding, jumped on the carpet and we were soon flying back across the Troll Wall to safety.

‘That was cutting it a bit fine,’ said Nasil as he expertly held the carpet together on the short journey to Stirling railway station. ‘Did you see him?’

‘And how.’

We took the train back to the Kingdom of Hereford. After the afternoon’s action, the carpet was in no fit state to be used for anything – not even as a carpet. The Prince had no money, so swapped two first-class travel permits for a minor dukedom back in his home kingdom of Portland, and we caught the first train out of Stirling station. As a foundling I was not permitted to sit anywhere but third class, but when the ticket inspector questioned my presence in first, the Prince said that I was his personal organ donor, and travelled everywhere with him, just in case. The inspector congratulated the Prince on such a novel usage for a foundling and told me I was lucky to have such a kind benefactor.

We made Hereford by 10.30 that evening and we walked to Kazam by a back route to avoid being seen. Tiger and Perkins were waiting at a window on the ground floor just next to the rubbish bins to let us in, as the ‘infinite thinness’ spell was still very much in force. We dropped in to the Palm Court, where Mawgon and Monty Vanguard were much as I had seen them last – stone.