The Well of Lost Plots

I told him I would and saw him to the door.

I found Randolph asleep in bed. He was clutching his pillow. Lola had gone out early to meet some friends. A photo of her was on the bedside table next to him and he snored quietly to himself. I crept back to the door and banged on it.

'Wshenifyduh,' said a sleepy voice from within.

'I need to run one of the engines,' I told him. 'Can you give me a hand?'

There was a thump as he fell out of bed. I smiled to myself and took my coffee up to the flight deck.

Mary had told me to run the number-three engine periodically and left instructions on how to do so in the form of a checklist. I didn't know how to fly but did know a thing or two about engines — and needed an excuse to talk to Randolph. I sat in the pilot's seat and looked along the wing to the engine. The cowlings were off and the large radial was streaked with oil and grime. It never rained here, which was just as well, although things didn't actually age either so it didn't matter if it did. I consulted the checklist in front of me. The engine would have to be turned by hand to begin with and I didn't really fancy this, so got a slightly annoyed Randolph out on the wing.

'How many times?' he asked, turning the engine by way of a crank inserted through the cowling.

'Twice should do,' I called back, and ten minutes later he returned, very hot and sweaty with the exertion.

'What do we do now?' he asked, suddenly a lot more interested. Starting big radial engines was quite a boy thing, after all.

'You read it out,' I said, handing him the checklist.

'Master fuel on, ignition switches off,' he read.

'Done.'

'Prop controls fully up and throttle open one inch.'

I wrestled with the appropriate levers in a small nest that sprouted from the centre console.

'Done. I had Mr Fnorp round this morning.'

'Gills set to open and mixture at idle cut-off. What did that old fart have to say for himself?'

I set the gills and pulled back the mixture lever.

'He said he thought you could do a lot better than you have been. What's next?'

'Switch on fuel booster pump until warning light goes out.'

'Where do you think that is?'

We found the fuel controls in an awkward position above our heads and to the rear of the flight deck. Randolph switched on the booster pumps.

'I don't want to be a featured character,' he said. 'I'll be quite happy working as a mature elder male mentor figure or something; there is call for one in Girls Make all the Moves.'

'Isn't that the novel Lola will be working in?'

'Is it?' he said, feigning ignorance badly. 'I had no idea.'

'Okay,' I said as the fuel pressure warning light went out, 'now what?'

'Set selector switch to required engine and operate priming pump until delivery pipes are full.'

I pumped slowly, the faint smell of aviation spirit filling the air.

'What's this love/hate thing between you and Lola?'

'Oh, that's all well over,' he said dismissively. 'She's seeing some guy over at the Heroes Advanced Classes.'

I stopped pumping as the handle met with some resistance.

'We have fuel pressure. What's next?'

'Ignition and booster coil both on.'

'Check.'

'Press starter and when engine is turning, operate primer. Does that make sense?'

'Let's see.'

I pressed the starter button and the prop slowly started to move. Randolph pumped the primer and there was a cough as the engine fired; then another, this time accompanied by a large puff of black smoke from the exhaust. A few waders that were poking around in the shallows took flight as the engine appeared to die, then caught again and started to fire more regularly, the loud detonations transmitting through the airframe as a series of rumbles, growls and squeaks. I released the start button and Randolph stopped priming. The engine smoothed out, I switched to auto-Rich and the oil pressure started to rise. I throttled back and smiled at Randolph, who grinned at me.

'Are you seeing anyone?' I asked him.

'No.'

He looked at me with his large eyes and his face fell. When we first met he had been an empty husk; a blank face with no personality or features to call his own. Now he was a man of fifty but with the emotional insecurity of a fifteen-year-old.

'I can't imagine life without her, Thursday!'

'So tell her.'

'And make myself look an idiot? She'd tell everyone at Tabularasa's — I'd be the laughing stock of them all!'

'Who cares? Dr Fnorp tells me it's affecting your work; do you want to end up as a walk-on part somewhere?'

'I really don't care,' he said sadly. 'Without Lola there isn't much of a future.'

'There'll be other Generics!'

'Not like her. Always laughing and joking. When she's around the sun shines and the birds sing.' He stopped and coughed, embarrassed at his admission. 'You won't tell anyone I said all that stuff, will you?'

He was smitten good and proper.

'Randolph,' I said slowly, 'you have to tell her your feelings, if only for your own sake. This will prey on your mind for years!'

'What if she laughs at me?'

'What if she doesn't? There's a good chance she actually quite likes you!'

Randolph's shoulders slumped.

'I'll speak to her as soon as she gets back.'

'Good.' I looked at my watch. 'I've got roll-call in twenty minutes. Let the engine run for ten minutes and then shut her down. I'll see you tonight.'

'Who are we waiting for?' asked the Bellman.

'Godot,' replied Benedict.

'Absent again. Anybody know where he is?'

There was a mass shaking of heads.

The Bellman made a note in his book, tingled his bell and cleared his throat.

'Jurisfiction session number 40320 is now in session,' he said in a voice tinged with emotion. 'Item one. Perkins and Snell. Fine operatives who made the ultimate sacrifice for duty. Their names will be carved into the Boojumorial to live for ever as inspiration for those who come after us. I call now for two minutes’ silence. Perkins and Snell!'

'Perkins and Snell,' we all repeated, and stood in silent memory of those lost.

'Thank you,' said the Bellman after two minutes had ticked by. 'Commander Bradshaw will be taking over the bestiary. Mathias’ mare has been contacted and asked me to say thank you to all those who sent tributes. The Perkins & Snell detective series will be taken over by B-2 clones from the tribute book, and I know you will join me in wishing them the very best in their new venture.'

He paused and took a deep breath.

'These losses are a great shock to us all, and the lessons to be learned must not be ignored. We can never be too careful. Okay, item two.'

He turned over a page on his clipboard.

'Investigation of Perkins' death. Commander Bradshaw, doesn't this come under your remit?'

'Investigations are proceeding,' replied Bradshaw slowly. 'There is no reason to suppose that their deaths were anything other than an accident.'

'So what stops you closing the case?'

'Because,' replied Bradshaw, trying to think up an excuse quickly, 'because — um — we still want to speak to Vernham Deane.'

'Deane is somehow involved?' asked the Bellman.

'Yes — perhaps.'

'Interesting turn of events,' said the Bellman, 'which brings us neatly on to item three. I'm sorry to announce that Vernham Deane has been placed on the PageRunners list.'

There was a sharp intake of breath. To be classed as a PageRunner meant only one thing: illegal activities.

'We've known Vern since he was written, guys, and hard as it might be, we think he's done something pretty bad. Tweed, haven't you got something to say about this?'