The Well of Lost Plots

'We found this in Thursday's home,' announced Tweed, 'hidden in the broom cupboard. Heep, would you?'

The thin and sallow youth, whose hair was now oily rather than curly, laid the bag on a table and lifted the head out by its hair. A gasp came from Benedict's lips and the Red Queen crossed herself.

'Heavens above,' murmured the Bellman, 'it's Godot!'

31 Tables turned

'Insider trading: Slang term for Internal Narrative Manipulation. Illegal since 1932 and contrary to Item B17(g) of the Narrative Continuity Code, this self-engineered plot fluctuation is so widespread within the BookWorld that it has to be dealt with on a discretionary basis to enable it to be enforced at all. Small manipulations such as dialogue violations are generally ignored, but larger unlicensed plot adjustments are aggressively investigated. The most publicised flaunting of these rules was by Heathcliff when he burned down Wuthering Heights. Fined and sentenced to 150 hours' community service within Green Eggs and Ham, Heathcliff was just one of many high-profile cases that Jurisfiction were prosecuting at that time '

UA OF W CAT — The Jurisfiction Guide to the Great Library (glossary)

Heep grasped me painfully by the arm and twisted it around, pushing me into a bookcase as he did so.

'I be ever so humbly sorry about this, Miss Next,' he whined, the mispeling having gone deeper than his skin and rotted his very soul. 'Imagine me, an A-7 arresting a pretty Outlander such as yourself!'

His breath smelt rotten; I breathed through my mouth to avoid gagging. He reached for my TravelBook and took the opportunity to slide his hand across my breast; I struggled harder — but to no avail.

'That head's not mine!' I shouted, realising how stupid it sounded straight away.

'That is one thing we are certain of,' replied Tweed quietly. 'Why did you kill him?'

'I didn't. It's Snell's,' I said somewhat uselessly. 'He bought it for use in his next book and asked me to keep it for him.'

'Snell insider-trading? Any other ills you'd like to heap on the dead? I don't think that's very likely — and how did it turn out to be Godot's? Coincidence?'

'I'm being framed,' I replied. 'UltraWord™ is—'

I stopped. I had been told many times by my SpecOps instructors that the biggest mistake anyone can make in a high-stress situation is to act too fast and say too much before thinking. I needed time — a commodity that was fast becoming a rarity.

'We have evidence of her involvement in at least three other murders, Mr Bellman,' said Tweed.

The Bellman turned abruptly to face him as I was relieved of my TravelBook and handcuffed to three anvils to stop me jumping out.

'Havisham?' he asked with a tremor in his voice.

'We believe so,' replied Tweed.

'They're fooling you, Mr Bellman, sir,' I said, trying to sound as normal as I could. 'Something is rotten in the state of the BookWorld.'

'That something is you, Next,' spat Tweed. 'Four Jurisfiction agents dead in the line of duty — and Deane nowhere to be found. I can't believe it — you'd kill your own mentor?'

'Steady, Tweed,' said the Bellman, drawing up a chair and looking at me sadly. 'Havisham vouched for her and that counts for something.'

'Then let me educate you, Mr Bellman,' said Tweed, sitting on the corner of a table. 'I've been making a few enquiries. Even discounting Godot, there is more than enough evidence of Next's perfidy.'

'Evidence?' I scoffed. 'Such as what?'

'Does the code word sapphire mean anything to you?'

'Of course.'

'Only eight Jurisfiction agents had access to The Sword of the Zenobians,' said Tweed, 'and four of them are dead.'

'It's hardly a smoking gun, now, is it?'

'Not on its own,' replied Tweed carefully, 'but when we add other facts it starts to make sense. Bradshaw and Havisham eject from Zenobians leaving you alone with Snell — they arrive a few minutes later and he is mortally mispeled. Very neat, very clever.'

'Why?' I asked. 'Why would I kill Miss Havisham? Why would I want to kill any of these people?'

'You killed Havisham because she knew you cheated at your Jurisfiction multiple choice exam. Do you know how we know?'

'Surprise me.'

'Question fifty: Who wrote: “Toad of Toad Hall‘?:

'A.A. Milne.' I replied.

'Correct,' returned Tweed, 'but no one ever gets that. No one. Not even Miss Havisham. Not once in the last fifty years. They all say Kenneth Grahame. Swear blind on it, in fact. You've been using Jurisfiction as a springboard to feed your own burning ambition. It is a dangerous thing to possess. Ambition will sustain for a while — and then it kills indiscriminately.'

'What ambition? All I want to do is to have my child and go home.'

'The Bellman's job,' announced Tweed, as if producing a hidden tramp. 'You knew he was retiring, didn't you?'

'Everyone does.'

'As an Outlander you have seniority, but only after Bradshaw, Havisham, Perkins, Deane — and me. Bradshaw has been the Bellman already so that rules him out — were you going to kill me next?'

'I have no ambition to be the Bellman and didn't kill Miss Havisham,' I muttered, trying to think of a plan of action.

'Macbeth denied his ambition too,' said Tweed, leaning closer.

'What's Macbeth got to do with it?'

'Perhaps you don't know it but the three witches have to log all their prophecies. They don't like to do it, but they have to — no paperwork, no licence to read chicken entrails. Simple as that.'

He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket.

'The day after you arrived they filed a report for a prophecy given to one "Thursday Next". It says: "Prophecy one: You shall be a citizen of Swindon. Prophecy two: You shall be a full member of Jurisfiction. Prophecy three: Thou shalt be Bellman thereafter" '

He placed the paper on the table and slid it across to me.

'Do you deny this?'

'No,' I said glumly.

'We call it Macbeth’s syndrome,' said the Bellman sadly. 'An insane desire to fulfil your own prophecies. It's nearly always fatal. Sadly, not only for the sufferer. Were you going to kill me or could you have waited long enough for me to resign?'

'I'm not a Macbeth sufferer, Mr Bellman, and even if I am, shouldn't even the smallest error in UltraWord™ be looked at?'

'There aren't any errors,' put in Tweed. 'UltraWord™ is the finest piece of technology we have ever devised — foolproof, stable and totally without error. Tell me the problem — I'm sure there is a satisfactory explanation.'

I stopped. I knew the Bellman was still an honest man. Should I tell him about the thrice read problem and risk Tweed covering his tracks even more? On reflection, probably not. The more I dug, the more would be found against me. I needed breathing space — I needed to escape.

'What's to become of me?'

'Permanent expulsion from the BookWorld,' replied Tweed. 'We don't have enough evidence to convict but we do have enough to have you banned from fiction for ever. There is no appeals procedure. I only have to ratify it with the Bellman.'

'Well,' said the Bellman, tingling his bell sadly, 'I must concur with Tweed's recommendation. Search her for any BookWorld accessories before we send her back.'