The Well of Lost Plots

'Well,' she said, picking up her case, 'I've got to go. Fittings all morning then rehearsals until six. Busy, busy, busy. I'll keep in touch, don't worry.'

I got up, held my head for a moment as it thumped badly, then hugged Lola, who hugged me back happily.

'Thanks for all the help, Thursday,' she said, tears in her eyes. 'I wouldn't have made it up to B-3 without you.'

She went to the door, stopped for a moment and looked across at Randolph, who was staring resolutely out of the window at nothing in particular.

'Goodbye, Randolph.'

'Goodbye,' he said without looking up.

Lola looked at me, bit her lip and went across to him and kissed him on the back of the head. She returned to the door, said goodbye to me again and went out.

I sat down next to him. A large tear had rolled down his nose and dropped on to the table. I laid a hand on his.

'Randolph—!'

'I'm fine!' he growled. 'I've just got a bit of grit in my eye!'

'Did you tell her how you felt?'

'No I didn't!' he snapped. 'And what's more I don't want you dictating to me what I should and shouldn't do!'

He got up and stormed off to his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

'Hellooo!' said a Granny Next sort of voice. 'Are you well enough to come upstairs?'

'Yes.'

'Then you can come and help me down.'

I assisted her down the stairs and sat her at the table, fetching a cushion or two from the living room.

'Thanks for your help, Gran. I made a complete fool of myself last night.'

'What's life for?' she replied. 'Don't mention it. And by the way, it was Lola and me who undressed you, not the boys.'

'I think I was past caring.'

'All the same. Aornis will have a lot more trouble getting at you in the Outland, my dear — my experience of mnemonomorphs tends to be that once you dispose of a mindworm, the rest is easy. You won't forget her in a hurry, I assure you.'

We chatted for an hour, Gran and I, about Miss Havisham, Landen, babies, Anton and all other things besides. She told me about her own husband's eradication and his eventual return. I knew he had returned because without him there would be no me, but it was interesting to talk to her nonetheless. I felt well enough to go into Caversham Heights at midday to see how Jack was getting on.

'Ah!' said Jack as I arrived. 'Just in time. I've been thinking about a reworking — do you want to have a look?'

'Go on, then.'

'Is anything the matter? You look a bit unwell.'

'I got myself pickled to the gills last night. I'll be fine. What have you in mind?'

'Get in. I want you to meet someone.'

I climbed into the Allegro and he handed me a coffee. We were parked opposite a large red-brick semi in the north of the town. In the book we stake out this house for two days, eventually sighting the mayor emerging with crime boss Angel DeFablio. With the mayor character excised from the manuscript for an unspecified reason, it would be a long wait.

'This is Nathan Snudd,' said Jack, indicating a young man sitting on the back seat. 'Nathan is a plotsmith who's just graduated in the Well and has kindly agreed to help us. He has some ideas about the book that I wanted you to hear. Mr Snudd, this is Thursday Next.'

'Hi,' I said, shaking his hand.

'The Outlander Thursday Next?'

'Yes.'

'Fascinating! Tell me, why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?'

'I don't know. What are your ideas for the book?'

'Well,' said Nathan, affecting the manner of someone who knows a great deal, 'I've being looking at what you have left and I've put together a rescue plan that uses the available budget, characters and remaining high points of the novel to best effect.'

'Is it still a murder inquiry?'

'Oh yes; and the fight-rigging bit I think we can keep, too. I've bought a few cut-price plot devices from a bargain warehouse in the Well and sewn them in. For instance, I thought that instead of having one scene where Jack is suspended by DCI Briggs, you could have six.'

'Will that work?'

'Sure. Then there will be a "bad cop" routine where an officer close to you is taking bribes and betrays you to the Mob. I've got this middle-aged creepy housekeeper Generic we can adapt. In fact, I've got seventeen middle-aged creepy housekeepers we can pepper about the book.'

'Mrs Danvers, by any chance?' I asked.

'We're working to a tight budget,' replied Snudd coldly, 'let's not forget that.'

'What else?'

'I thought there could be several gangster's molls or a prostitute who wants to go straight and helps you out.'

'A "tart with a heart"?'

'In one. They're ten a penny in the Well at the moment — we should be able to get five for a ha’penny.'

'Then what happens?'

'This is the good bit. Someone tries to kill you with a car bomb. I've bought this great little scene for you where you go to your car, are about to start it but find a small piece of wire on the floor mat. It's a cinch and cheap, too. I can buy it wholesale from my cousin; he said he would throw in a missing consignment of Nazi bullion and a sad loser detective drunk at a bar with whisky and a cigarette scene. You are a sad loner loser maverick detective with a drink problem, yes?'

Jack looked at me and smiled.

'No,' he said, 'not any more. I live with my wife and have four amusing children.'

'Not on this budget.' Snudd laughed. 'Humorous sidekicks — kids or otherwise — cost bundles.'

There was a tap on the window.

'Hello, Prometheus,' said Jack. 'Have you met Thursday Next? She's from the Outland.'

Prometheus looked at me and put out a hand. He was an olive-skinned man of perhaps thirty, with tightly curled black hair close to his head. He had deep black eyes and a strong Grecian nose that was so straight you could have laid a set-square on it.

'Outland, eh? What did you think of Byron's retelling of my story?'

'I thought it excellent.'

'Me too. When are we going to get the Elgin marbles back?'

'No idea.'

Prometheus, more generally known as the fire-giver, was a Titan who had stolen fire from the gods and given it to mankind, a good move or a terrible one, depending on which papers you read. As punishment Zeus had him chained to a rock in the Caucasus where his liver was picked out every night by eagles, only to regrow during the day. He looked quite healthy, in spite of it. Quite what he was doing in Caversham Heights, I had no idea.

'I heard you had a spot of bother,' he said to Jack. 'Something about the plot falling to pieces?'

'My attempts to keep it secret don't appear to be working,' muttered Jack. 'I don't want a panic. Most Generics have a heart of gold but if there is the sniff of a problem with the narrative they'll abandon Heights like rats from a ship — and an influx of Generics seeking employment in the Well could set the Book Inspectorate off like a rocket.'

'Ah,' replied the Titan, 'tricky indeed. I was wondering if I could offer my services in any way?'

'As a Greek drug dealer or something?' asked Nathan.

'No,' replied Prometheus slightly testily, 'as Prometheus.'

'Oh yeah?' Snudd laughed. 'What are you going to do? Steal fire from the DeFablio family and give it to Mickey Finn?'

Prometheus stared at him as though he were a twit — which he was, I suppose.

'No, I thought I could be here awaiting extradition back to the Caucasus by Zeus' lawyers or something, and Jack could be in charge of witness protection, trying to protect me against Zeus' hitmen — sort of like The Client but with gods instead of the Mob.'

'If you want to cross genre we have to build from the ground up,' replied Snudd disparagingly, 'and that takes more money and expertise than you guys possess.'

'What did you say?' asked Prometheus in a threatening manner.