Jasper Fforde - The Song of the Quarkbeast

EXPLOD EMMENINT ++ THREE STEPS DOUN ++ STILL WANT DATE? ++

REPEAT SNOOD BLVD SELLAR ++ KWARKBEAST . . .

And so it went on, repeating itself. I listened to it three times, each time spelt differently, until Moobin brought me back to the world of heat, light and sound just as Once Magnificent Boo and Tiger turned up in the Quarkbeast containment vehicle. I related what I’d heard as my watch passed thirteen minutes – three minutes to go.

‘Anyone who wants to head for safety has to leave now,’ I said. ‘No one will think any the worse of you for it.’

No one made a move. Not even Lord Tenbury.

‘Right,’ I said, ‘follow me.’

Snodd Boulevard ran from the cathedral to the north end of the bridge, and after a hurried search we found a house that had three steps down to a green-painted cellar door. It was locked but Patrick pulled it off its hinges with a powerful flourish of his bruised hands and we hurried in to find ourselves in a long corridor with doors on either side, all locked.

‘Where now?’ asked Tiger as our final minute began to tick away.

‘Doorknobs,’ growled Boo, ‘find the warm one.’

It was Moobin who found the correct room, and when Patrick had once again torn the door from its hinges we found a small paint store with a vaulted ceiling and a single window high up in the end wall. Perkins was lying cuffed, bound and gagged near the doorway, and at the far end of the chamber were two equal but opposite Quarkbeasts.

One of them was the one I had seen around town earlier, but the other was mine – the one I had lost up on the Dragonlands. Every detail was the same: the sixth thoracic scale slightly askew, the right front dew claw missing, and even the single white foot. My Quarkbeast was back. I took all this in on that first glance, and also noted a high-pitched hum in the air. But another and much more pertinent fact trumped all others for my attention: the Quarkbeasts were almost touching. Our thousand seconds were up.

‘Still!’ said Boo, and we all froze. The low hum rose in pitch as the Quarkbeasts moved closer to one another, increasing again to a whine as they nearly touched, then dropping again as they moved a few inches apart. This was the Song of the Quarkbeast. Those that have heard it are now little more than dust. But if I was to die, then I was glad to have heard it. It was a lonely song. One of lament, of unknown knowledge, a song of resignation, and of love and poetry given and received. The small movements that the Quarkbeasts made as they padded around one another altered the hum so subtly that it sounded like an alto bassoon, but with one single note, infinitely variable. But it wasn’t a song of peace, love or happiness; it was a requiem mass – for all of us.

We all stood stock still. No one dared move in case the Quarks became startled and recombined either through fear, mischief or boredom.

I said the first thing that came into my head.

‘Hello, boy.’

The new Quarkbeast turned to look at me and its mauve eyes flashed a sense of recognition. It looked at its partner, then at me again.

‘I still have much to do,’ I said softly. ‘Adventures. Wonderful adventures. And I’m not sure I can do them without you.’

It wagged its tail to show it understood, but remained undecided, and the low hum rose again in pitch as the other Quarkbeast paced around it.

‘Walkies,’ said Tiger, speaking from outside in the corridor. The Quarkbeast recognised his voice, too, and, eager to drag Tiger around the neighbourhood once again, it gave one final look at its partner and padded past us to where Tiger was waiting.

Almost immediately the low hum in the air stopped, and Once Magnificent Boo moved cautiously forward with some aluminium-coated zinc treats with which to tempt the other Quarkbeast.

‘Welcome back,’ I said.

‘Quark,’ said the Quarkbeast.

Within a few short moments Boo had steered the original Quarkbeast from the room and into the riveted titanium crate for onward transportation to Australia.

I untied Perkins, who gave me an awkward hug and thanked me for tuning into his thoughts.

‘Hey,’ I said with a smile, ‘what girl doesn’t like being thought about?’

I had a sudden thought.

‘By the way, did I detect you thinking about asking me out for a date while you were directing us to you?’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ said Perkins, looking somewhat embarrassed. ‘Maybe the idea of sharing a Potage Jojolie at the dreary-chic Dungeon Rooms helped me forget that I was about to be annihilated.’

‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I guess you’d better book us a table.’

We walked out into the daylight and back the short distance to the north abutment, where the unfinished bridge lay before us. The iMagic team had fled the scene, and of the crowds, only the fearless, stupid and asleep remained. The live leader board still displayed the final odds – 100:1 in favour of Kazam.

We jumped as from behind us there was an explosive report and a flaming figure was shot high in the air. It was Jimmy ‘Daredevil’ Nuttjob, performing his half-time act. He arced high above our heads trailing smoke as he went, and disappointingly managed only to get as far as ‘God save the . . .’ before landing with a splash and a hiss in the river. We clapped dutifully as he surfaced, coughing and spluttering.

We sat for a while gathering our thoughts until the Lord Chief Adviser strode up, ten minutes later.

‘Recent events have changed His Majesty’s mood,’ he said. ‘Ex-Court Mystician Blix is wanted for high treason along with his accomplice Colonel Bloch-Draine, and I am directed to proclaim in His Majesty’s name that you are the winners of the contest.’

We looked at one another. We were all tired and bruised. Somehow jumping around and punching the air seemed inappropriate, given that we had been just ten seconds from dark eternity.

‘What about the others?’ said Moobin.

The Lord Chief Adviser took a deep breath.

‘In addition, I will have the Price brothers released immediately, and all charges are to be dropped. I will be making a full and truthful account of your exploits to His Majesty forthwith, and will recommend that the position of Court Mystician be transferred from Mr Blix to a sorcerer of Kazam’s choosing. In addition, I have known His Majesty a long time, and I foresee medals. Lots of them. Probably big and very shiny.’

‘I have a better idea,’ said the Wizard Moobin. ‘We don’t want the the job of Court Mystician and we certainly don’t want medals. We want to be left alone to pursue the Great Zambini’s stated goal to use magic for the good of mankind. We don’t want special favours, we simply want justice.’

‘I’ll see that you get it.’

‘Do that. And remember: we don’t respond well to being double-crossed.’

‘We also require immunity,’ I said, always thinking of my paperwork, ‘from prosecution for all spells undertaken today, by whomsoever.’

Lord Tenbury was in no position to do deals. We could have asked for a pink elephant each – and got it.

‘Leave it with me,’ he said, and bowed low before departing.

We stood there for a moment, wondering what to do next. Blix could be anywhere by now, and although a nationwide arrest warrant would be able to bring him back to Snodd to stand trial, he wouldn’t allow himself to be found. When you’re a sorcerer of Blix’s power, staying hidden is easy.

‘How about some lunch?’ I announced in a cheery voice. ‘Once Magnificent Boo? Will you join us?’

Boo grumbled for a moment, but after I pointed out that she was one Quarkbeast closer to enlightenment thanks to us, she shrugged and agreed to come along – so long as we didn’t mention the M-word in her company.