Jasper Fforde: Shades of Grey

“Almost certainly. But Head Office has many defenses. Prefects, Mutual Audit, National Color—and the Nightseers. We’ll have to tread carefully and leave no footprints.”

“But you do have a plan?”

“We did, but without Ochre and Zane I’m not sure where to go. I’m up for Reboot on Monday, but I’ll probably just ride the conveyor to a far-off corner of the Collective and join up with the Riffraff or something.”

“You’ll have seven hundred merits for coming to High Saffron with me,” I pointed out, “which only leaves you a hundred short. Dad owes me a thousand, and Tommo has a sweep going. We can bring you up to full residency with that lot.”

“It would make more sense to still be around,” she mused, and we fell silent for a while as the afternoon was hot, we were in a hurry and it was a lot harder going up the escarpment than coming down.

“So,” I said as we finally rounded the last corner and came within sight of the flak tower, “is there any good news?”

She looked across at me and smiled. “I think the answer is in loopholery. Small changes can be effected by a certain degree of circumvention . We’ll use the Rules to change the Rules.”

“Defiance through compliance?”

She nodded.

“I like the sound of that.”

“How do we put High Saffron out of action?” I asked. “I mean, that’s got to be the first priority, yes?”

“Maybe not. We need to know what we’reup against before we attempt anything.”

“But thousands will die if we don’t do something!”

“And millions will die if we fail. We can’t afford any mistakes, Eddie. How often do you think a Grey with night vision and a potential Red prefect with a conscience find themselves wanting to change things, and together? If we do something rash, or hasty, or ill conceived, we’ll simply be silenced. It may take hundreds of years before another attempt against the system is possible. Careless talk about Pookas killed eighteen hundred people in Rusty Hill. The whole of Green Sector South fell to the Mildew one hundred and seventy-six years ago. What do you think happened for them to earn that? Sedition on a grand scale? Or a single word said out of place? One thing we do know about Head Office is that it’s not noted for its restraint.”

We walked past the flak tower and up to the summit section. We reached the purple tree as the shadows were beginning to lengthen. I’d been walking slower, and we were behind schedule. I only hoped that Tommo would wait for us.

“So what’s your plan?” she asked.

I had been thinking about this. “Stay in East Carmine and become Red prefect.”

She smiled. “With you on the inside and me on the outside,” she said, “we may get to learn something.

Formulate a plan. And when the time is right—strike.”

“So life carries on as usual?” I asked.

“Life carries on exactly as usual. Same old Chromatic claptrap, dusk until dawn.”

I suddenly stopped walking.

“What’s up, pumpkin?”

“I can see a snag.”

“A big one?”

“Elephant-sized. I’m expected to marry Violet.”

“Yes, I was wondering when you’d remember that particular nastiness.”

“Jane?”

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me?”

“I thought you were on a promise to Violet?”

“I never agreed anything to anyone.”

“Your dad will veto it.”

“I can persuade him otherwise. And think: It will brown off the deMauves like nothing else on earth.”

“I’m in,” said Jane without hesitation. “I’ll leave the timing of the announcement up to you.”

And we kissed again. It was a warm, indescribably lovely feeling. But it was more than just physical. It was a dialogue between two young people with high ideals and a Big Plan. It was about belonging, secrets, partnership, commitment. It was also a kiss, unlike the last one, that didn’t taste of yateveo gloop. And after we stopped, she just stood there, eyes closed.

“Mmm,” she said, “that was nice. Listen, why didn’t you leg it back home to East Carmine yesterday? I know Violet nixed the whole Constance plan, but you wouldn’t have had to risk High Saffron.”

“Actually,” I said, “it was what Stafford said.”

“Oh, yes?” she asked suspiciously. “And what was that?”

“He said that I should ‘never underestimate the capacity for romance, no matter what the circumstance.’ I think he was referring to you.”

“Fathers!” she snorted. “Does yours meddle, too?”

“You’re Stafford’s daughter? I thought he was a G-8?”

“He is.”

“But you’re G-23.”

She sighed. “The G-code isn’t a family name. It’s our address.”

“I didn’t know that. But then,” I added, “I never really troubled myself to find out.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s a Chromatic thing. No one troubles themselves with the Greys. And thanks.”

“For what?”

“A great first date. I really enjoyed myself.”

“For our second date I thought we’d dismantle the entire Collective and replace it with a system run on the principles of fair play, equality and truly harmonious coexistence. What do you say?”

“Teaser!” she replied, and gave me a playful slap on my shoulder.

We ran the last half mile into Bleak Point to find the Model T still there. The sun was already hitting the tops of the hills—if we drove really fast, we might make it back to the dams before the light went completely. We’d still be stuck out at night, but at least closer.

“At last!” said Tommo as we ran up. “Do you know the time? It’s eight o’clock!”

“Thanks for waiting.”

“Waiting nothing,” replied Violet. “Plank-head Cinnabar doesn’t know how to drive.”

“Neither do you.”

“I am a Purple,” Violet replied loftily. “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

Jane ordered Tommo to hand-start the engine, and after five minutes of fruitless cranking, the motor finally coughed to life. Wasting no time, Jane reversed the car and tore off back toward East Carmine as fast as she could.

6.6.19.61.247:Vulgar mispronunciations of everyday words will not be tolerated.

We drove in silence for the first ten minutes, Jane concentrating on getting us home as quick as possible, but without mishap. I was sitting on the flatbed with Tommo, and Jane and Violet were up in the cab, silently ignoring each other. When Jane and I arrived, Tommo had been sitting in the Faraday cage at the side of the road, with Violet positioned on the Ford’s running board facing away from him. She looked beside herself with rage and had doubtless been venting her anger on him for most of the day, which can’t have been a huge bundle of laughs, even with someone like Tommo, who deserved it as much as anyone.

It was lucky that it was a clear evening; navigation might still be possible ten or fifteen minutes after sundown. Jane could have driven us all the way home, of course, but she’d told me she would keep her pupils locked tight and suffer the same woeful lack of night sight as the rest of us. We all knew we weren’t going to make it; the question was how far we would get. But the other unasked question could not be ignored forever, and it was Tommo who finally asked it. “Where’s Courtland?”

“He got taken by a yateveo on the walk back.”

“Wow,” said Tommo. “But you’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve no idea how good that makes me feel.”

“Well, thanks, Tommo.”

“Oh, it’s nothing personal,” he said, just in case I misconstrued his meaning. “If both of you had been killed, I would have stood to lose a fortune on my sweep. At least this way I get to break even. And listen,” he added, “that really hurt when you kicked me.”