‘Ms Farquitt is signing copies of her book in the basement!’
There was a moment’s silence, then a mass exodus towards the stairs and escalators. The Red Queen, caught up in the crowd, was dragged unceremoniously away, in a few seconds the room was empty.
Daphne Farquitt was notoriously private—I didn’t think there was a fan of hers anywhere who wouldn’t jump at the chance of actually meeting her.
I walked calmly up to the boxed set, picked it up and took it to the counter, paid and rejoined Miss Havisham behind the discounted du Mauriers, where she was idly flicking through a copy of Rebecca. I showed her the books.
‘Not bad,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Did you get a receipt?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And the Red Queen?’
‘Lost somewhere between here and the basement,’ I replied simply.
A thin smile crossed Miss Havisham’s lips and I helped her to her feet.
Together we walked slowly past the mass of squabbling book bargainers and made for the exit.
‘How did you manage it?’ asked Miss Havisham.
‘I told them Daphne Farquitt was signing in the basement’
‘She is?’ exclaimed Miss Havisham, turning to head off downstairs.
‘No no no,’ I added, taking her by the arm and steering her to the exit. ‘That’s just what I told them.’
‘Oh, I get it!’ replied Havisham. ‘Very good indeed. Resourceful and intelligent. Mrs Nakajima was quite right—I think you will do as an apprentice after all.’
She regarded me for a moment, as if making up her mind about something. Eventually she nodded, gave another rare smile and handed me a simple gold ring that slipped easily over my little finger.
‘Here—this is for you. Never take it off. Do you understand?’
‘Thank you, Miss Havisham, it’s very pretty.’
‘Pretty nothing, Next. Save your gratitude for real favours, not baubles, my girl. Come along. I know of a very good bun shop in Little Dorrit—and I’m buying!’
Outside, paramedics were dealing with the casualties, many of them still clutching the remnants of their bargains for which they had fought so bravely. My car was gone—towed away, most likely—and we trotted as fast as we could on Miss Havisham’s twisted ankle, round the corner of the building until—
‘—not so fast!’
The officers who had chased us earlier were blocking our path.
‘Looking for something? This, I suppose?’
My car was on the back of a low-loader, being taken away.
‘We’ll take the bus,’ I stammered.
‘You’ll take the car,’ corrected the police officer, ‘my car… Hey! Where do you think you’re going?’
He was talking to Miss Havisham, who had taken the Farquitt boxed set and walked into a small group of women to disguise her bookjump—back to Great Expectations or the bun shop in Little Dorrit, or somewhere. I wished I could have joined her, but my skills in these matters were not really up to scratch. I sighed.
‘We want some answers, Next,’ said the policeman in a grim tone.
‘Listen, Rawlings, I don’t know the lady very well. What did she say her name was? Dame-rouge?’
‘It’s Havisham, Next—but you know that, don’t you? That “lady” is extremely well known to the police—she’s racked up seventy-four outrageously serious driving offences in the past twenty-two years.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. In June she was clocked driving a chain-driven Liberty-engined Higham Special Automobile at 171.5 m.p.h. up the M4. It’s not only irresponsible, it’s… Why are you laughing?’
‘No reason.’
The officer stared at me.
‘You seem to know her quite well, Next. Why does she do these things?’
‘Probably,’ I replied, ‘because they don’t have motorways where she comes from—or twenty-seven-litre Higham Specials.’
‘And where would that be, Next?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘I could arrest you for helping the escape of an individual in custody.’
‘She wasn’t arrested, Rawlings, you said so yourself.’
‘Perhaps not, but you are. In the car.’
20. Yorrick Kaine
‘In 1983 the youthful Yorrick Kaine was elected leader of the Whigs, at that time a small and largely inconsequential party whose desire to put the aristocracy back in power and limit voting rights to homeowners had placed it on the outer edges of the political arena. A pro-Crimean stance coupled with a wish for British unification helped build nationalist support, and by 1985 the Whigs had three MPs in Parliament. They built their manifesto on populist tactics such as reducing the cheese duty and offering dukedoms as prizes on the National Lottery. A shrewd politician and clever tactician, Kaine was ambitious for power—in whatever way he could get it.’
It took two hours for me to convince the police I wasn’t going to tell them anything about Miss Havisham other than her address. Undeterred, they thumbed through a yellowed statute book and eventually charged me with a little-known 1621 law about ‘Permissioning a horse and carte to be driven by personn of low moral turpithtude’, but with the ‘horse and carte’ bit crossed out and ‘car’ written in instead—so you can see how desperate they were. I would have to go before the magistrate the following week. I started to sneak out of the building to go home but—
‘—so there you are!’
I turned and hoped my groan wasn’t audible.
‘Hello, Cordelia.’
‘Thursday, are you okay’ You look a bit bruised!’
‘I got caught in a fiction frenzy.’
‘No more nonsense, now—I need you to meet the people who won my competition.’
‘Do I have to?’
Flakk looked at me sternly.
‘It’s very advisable.’
‘Okay,’ I replied, let me have a pee and I’ll be with you in five minutes. Okay?’
‘Right!’ Cordelia beamed.
But I didn’t have a pee, instead I nipped up to the LiteraTec office.
‘Thursday!’ said Bowden as I entered. ‘I told Victor you had the flu. How did you get on?’
‘Pretty well, I think. I’ve been inside books again without a Prose Portal. I can do it on my own—more or less.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No,’ I told him, ‘deadly serious. Landen’s almost as good as back. I met Miss Havisham.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Odd. It seems there is something very like SpecOps 27 inside books—I’ve yet to figure it all out. How have things been out here?’
He showed me a copy of The Owl. The headline read: ‘New play by Will found in Swindon’. The Mole had the headline: ‘Cardenio sensation!’ and The Toad, predictably enough, led with. ‘Swindon croquet supremo Aubrey Jambe found in bath with chimp’.
‘So Professor Spoon authenticated it?’
‘He did indeed,’ replied Bowden. ‘One of us should take the report up to Volescamper this afternoon. This is for you.’