Early Riser_The new standalone novel from the Number One bestselling author

by Jasper Fforde

  To navigate through the town we used the gas lamps, each one a useful beacon to focus upon before pushing on to the next. They were burning even though it was still day, the light-valves fooled by the heavy overcast. There was a gas lamp by the ornate iron gates outside the museum, and the small tongue of flame flickered as gasps of cold air found their way into the lamp-head.

  ‘It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Fodder, pausing briefly to stare admiringly at the wavering light, the railings, the stonework and statue draped in snow.

  ‘Sort of desolate,’ I said, ‘in a magnificent kind of way.’

  ‘A beauty that both preserves and kills,’ he murmured thoughtfully, then pointed towards the museum, which we could see only as a grey shape in the snowstorm.

  ‘Danny Pockets is in there,’ said Fodder. ‘His specific job is to defend the building against intruders. Dull, but essential.’

  ‘Communal Food Store?’

  ‘Bingo. Winter pantry is under considerable strain due to the winsomniacs, and any theft would spell disaster. Let’s go and have a look.’

  The Museum

  * * *

  ‘… Winter pantry was always kept well hidden, and defended with extreme prejudice. Although adequate vegetables would still be clamped from the previous Summer and haunches of beef and lamb available in the cold stores, Spring Tuck was of a more convenient nature: coming out of the Hib, the last thing anyone wanted to do was wrestle their food from the cold …’

  – Handbook of Winterology, 1st edition, Hodder & Stoughton

  We passed through the iron gates and walked around the statue of Gwendolyn VII, which looked considerably larger up close – about the size of a coach – then crossed the soft unbroken expanse of white in front of the museum. Fodder led us to the side entrance and tugged at the bell-pull.

  ‘Who is it?’ came a crackly man’s voice from the intercom.

  ‘Llewelyn the not-last-as-it-turned-out,’ said Fodder, waving at the viewing lens above the door.

  The lock clunked and Fodder looked around cautiously before pulling open the heavy steel door. We stepped inside and closed the outer door before ringing the bell to signal Pockets to open the inner. Once through the cork-lined doors and out of our coats and boots we padded up the corridor past glass cases, suits of armour, works of art and a stuffed sabre-tooth tiger that was, boasted the label, the fifth from extinction when it was hit by a bus near Boughrood.

  We turned the corner to the central atrium. Sitting beneath the ornately painted dome and marble-inlaid foyer was a military-spec Airwitzer of considerable size and power. To one side of the weapon was a half-empty crate of military-spec thermalites, a couple of Golgothas and a desk with a red telephone and a clockwork barograph. But more pertinent to me was the figure sitting behind the cannon.

  It was Hugo Foulnap. He was sitting in the triggerman’s position, and staring at me with the look of someone who had just been reminded of an old and hugely disliked acquaintance. He was fresh in my mind from less than a day before, but to him we’d crossed swords four weeks ago. Hibernation has a contracting effect upon time.

  He put a finger to his lips as soon as Fodder wasn’t watching, and out of curiosity and a certain nervousness, I decided to play along.

  ‘This here is Danny Pockets,’ said Fodder, ‘not usually part of the crew but on loan from Sector Eighteen.’

  We both nodded a greeting and embraced in an awkward manner. Fodder didn’t notice, or if he did, he made no sign of it.

  Foulnap was pretty much the same as I’d seen him last, aside from a healed cut above his left eye that looked self-stitched, and longer hair, which he had tied back in a ponytail. He was dressed in a cumbersome Mk III shock-suit that looked – along with the Airwitzer – as though it should be displayed in the museum rather than defending it. I’d trained in the use of shock-suits and found them hot and restrictive. Most preferred to not wear one and just use the extra mobility to get out of trouble. Me, I’d prefer to not be in the trouble at all, shock-suit or no.

  ‘You take Pantry Defence very seriously,’ I said, nodding towards the vortex cannon. Anyone without suited protection was a trigger-pull away from resembling goulash.

  ‘Sector Fifteen had their pantry stolen five Winters ago,’ said Foulnap, ‘and with thirty mouths to feed and the Winter the harshest for a century, the residents were forced to do things they’d rather not.’

  ‘Winter Cutlets,’ said Fodder in a matter-of-fact way. ‘I’m going to figure out the duty roster. Why don’t you two get acquainted?’

  He vanished through a low doorway in the direction of Rocks and Minerals. There was a pause, and a desk lamp was switched on.

  ‘I was wondering if we’d meet again,’ Foulnap said. ‘Have you told anyone about me?’

  ‘I’ve only just seen you.’

  ‘That’s true. What happened to Bouzouki Girl?’

  ‘I took her to HiberTech.’

  ‘To be dismantled and redeployed? I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’

  ‘Better that than your plan.’

  ‘Things are rarely how they appear,’ he said. ‘Because of you I lost a good friend and a respected mentor and colleague. You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me you’re not a threat.’

  He hooked his thumb into the ring of the pulse grenade strapped to his chest, then moved to flip up the visor on the shock-suit. He’d be hurt on detonation – a few broken ribs, bloodshot eyes, probably – but this close in, I’d be dead or left so I could barely feed myself. Most times it was better to not survive non-lethal. There was talk of rolling out high-velocity projectile weapons as a more humane alternative to the Concussive Vortex Cannon, but legislators and the public had little stomach for them.

  ‘I knew you were somewhere in Sector Twelve,’ I said, ‘and I also knew Toccata knew it.’

  He stared at me for a few seconds.

  ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  ‘Toccata asked me to tell her when I saw you but Aurora asked me to tell her if I saw you. The world of difference.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the world of difference.’

  ‘I could have taken that information to Aurora, but I didn’t. Enough to convince you I’m not working for HiberTech?’

  He lowered his hand and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘For the moment,’ he said, ‘I’m going to have to trust you.’

  ‘Aurora thinks you’re with the Campaign for Real Sleep,’ I said.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘Past events suggest I should just keep my lip firmly buttoned, and concentrate on surviving the Winter.’

  ‘Sounds like a winning strategy to me.’

  Fodder reappeared from the office and pinned the Pantry Duty roster on the wall. I was doing alternate afternoons, starting tomorrow. I was going to have to remember to bring a book.

  ‘You two getting along?’ asked Fodder.

  ‘We have an understanding.’

  ‘Then you can share the operation of the Airwitzer.’

  Foulnap dutifully demonstrated how the weapon worked. It was like a Bambi, only much bigger, and the trigger wasn’t instantaneous. He pointed towards a rack of Thumpers mounted on the wall.

  ‘And once all these avenues are exhausted,’ said Fodder, ‘we pull the pin on the Golgotha and take them and the building with us.’

  He patted the large rugby-ball-shaped grenade that was gaffer-taped to the Airwitzer.

  ‘What do you think of the plan?’ asked Fodder.

  ‘What it lacks in finesse it makes up for in finality,’ I said, and they both nodded. Pantry theft was a serious deal.

  ‘Can I have a look around the museum?’ I asked. ‘To get an idea of layout?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Fodder. ‘The ceramics and glassware sections are particularly fine, there’s a Caravaggio on the second floor and three Turners – not to mention our Kyffin Williams collection. A few rare stamps, too, and the preserved t
rigger finger and hat brim of Ffion “Mad Dog” McJames.53 We’ll continue on in half an hour.’

  I thanked them both then walked along the empty corridors, looking in through open doors at the dusty exhibits, assisted by the dim glow of the emergency lighting. There were Neolithic remains, the hull of a dugout canoe found in a local lake, and several artefacts from the First Ottoman Campaign. There also seemed to be a goodly amount of junk relating to the World’s Fair which was held here in 1923, an entire wing devoted to Don Hector and HiberTech, and the finest collections of stamps in the region. I peered into the crystal case that held the world’s only 2d Lloyd-George Mauve with the Anglesey cancellation, but it didn’t look that impressive.

  I walked up the ornate central staircase and paused on the landing, staring with a sense of disquiet at a glass case that contained a local murderer named Armstrong. He’d been freeze-dried over half a century before, placed on a chair for all to see, dressed in the clothes in which he’d been hanged. It was fortunate he’d been found guilty in the Summer. In the Winter he’d have been Frigicuted and his remains taken by animals – there would have been nothing left to exhibit except a few teeth perhaps, and kidney stones if he’d had any.

  There was a barely audible thud, not much more than if someone jumps heavily onto the floor above. My training at the Academy kicked in without me really having to think. When you hear a thump you don’t pause, not even for a second. Non-lethal are always close-quarters weapons, and close-quarter fighting can develop at a frightening pace.

  Villains

  * * *

  ‘… The Winter Nomads, known to all as “womads”, were precisely as their name suggests. Displaced during the Great Ottoman Diasporas of the 14th and 15th centuries, they scratched a living in the far north and are notoriously intolerant of outsiders. Utterly law-abiding, it is rumoured that they do not hibernate at all, and suffer no ill-effects in spite of it …’

  – Handbook of Winterology, 4th edition, Hodder & Stoughton

  I ran downstairs to the central atrium, where Foulnap was at readiness on the Airwitzer and Fodder was staring intently at the softly ticking barograph. The instrument was so delicate it could record the ambient pressure change of a swiftly opened door, a passing truck or even a sneeze at close quarters, and would record it all on a paper strip several yards long. Looking over Fodder’s shoulder I could see the trace depicted the telltale signature of a weapon being deployed close by. I picked up the red phone and pressed the button marked Consulate. During incidents like this, teamwork was everything.

  ‘Spike or bump?’ asked Foulnap.

  ‘Sharp rise, curved shoulder and slow out-gradient,’ Fodder returned, peering at the trace. ‘Looks like a Masterblaster,54 and within two hundred yards.’

  ‘Treacle, Consulate,’ said Jim, answering the telephone.

  ‘Worthing, at the museum,’ I said. ‘We’ve picked up a bump on the trace, range two hundred yards, Fodder thinks it’s a Masterblaster.’

  ‘We’re not picking anything up from here,’ said Treacle. ‘What do you need?’

  I looked at Fodder, who said we’d engage on our own, but to alert the Chief just in case. I repeated the message, hung up, and jotted down the time on the incident log.

  We heard the shattering of glass from somewhere in the bowels of the building as the trace recorded another bump.

  Fodder took command in an effortless ‘we’re all going to survive this’ sort of way, and began to issue orders in a slow, methodical manner.

  Panic is for fools.

  ‘Wonky, you’re with me,’ he said, handing me a Schtumperschreck, the most formidable weapon in our arsenal that was still just possible to lift. ‘Pockets, stay in the lobby and defend the pantry with your life. Let’s go.’

  My heart was thumping, but oddly not quite as heavily as when I went in to retrieve Mrs Tiffen. I figured Fodder had seen plenty of action, and losing a Deputy on their first day wouldn’t reflect well on his judgement. We opened the first shock-gate, and once that was secure behind us and we’d donned boots and coats, Fodder spun the locking wheel, opened the outer door and stepped into the Winter. It was still snowing and just light enough to see, but the visibility was barely twenty feet. Fodder didn’t pause for a moment and started to march as quickly as he could through the swirling snow, keeping tight to the exterior wall of the museum. I followed as close as I could and as fast as I could, but the Schtumper was heavy, and I wasn’t as strong or as fit nor possessed of such a long stride, and quite soon Fodder was lost to view. All I could hear was the panting of my own breath, and all I could see were swirling flakes and the wall of the museum to my right. I didn’t stop, though, and after about another half a minute of running almost semi-blind, I ran into the back of a static Fodder and bashed my lip against the butt of his Thumper so hard it brought tears to my eyes.

  ‘Careful,’ hissed Fodder. We were now at the back of the museum, outside an oak-banded rear entrance door, which had been thumped recently – the ice was clear like glass where the accreted snow had melted and then instantly refrozen.

  ‘Not a hope of getting in here,’ said Fodder. ‘They were trying to draw us out.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They succeeded.’

  He kicked a couple of backpacks that had been left in the snow.

  ‘Two of them, I’d say.’

  Fodder examined their tracks in the snow and walked off with me close behind. I found it mildly disconcerting that he was moving away from any visual reference point, but as he said, you have to know the town like the swirls on your wintercoat. We moved along for perhaps five minutes, following the tracks that were almost obscured by the fresh falling snow, and within a hundred yards or so we came across the entrance to the Talgarth Jollity Funfair, which was not much more than a brick-built ticket office and turnstile. Fodder opened the door to the office and beckoned me inside. The room had only a counter, various posters advertising other local attractions – gliding, local flour mill, pony-trekking – and a desk with several chairs. The floor was dusty and strewn with fliers, blown from their shelves. Fodder stopped and crouched, as did I.

  ‘Got a compass?’

  I nodded.

  ‘They’ll return this way when they think we’ve gone,’ he whispered. ‘Stay here, and in precisely six minutes, go outside and fire the Schtumper to the east. That will give away your position, so you are then to retreat thirty paces towards the museum, and if anything comes out of the snowstorm that isn’t me, let them get within knockout range and pop them. If they’re armed, then full choke to kill.’

  ‘It’ll end the truce,’ I said.

  ‘If it’s Lucky Ned,’ said Fodder, ‘then him being here is breaking the truce. Six minutes, yes?’

  ‘Six minutes.’

  He then stepped out of the door, hopped over the turnstile, looked around, and walked silently away into the gloom. I moved backwards to sit against the wall of the ticket office next to the door so I had a view of the outside, then stared at the radium glow of my watch hands as they crept round. I expected to hear the muffled whump of a Thumper or the harsher whap of a Bambi, but there was nothing. Not a single sound reached my ears as I lay crouched, the cold from the floor gradually creeping into my leg.

  I thought of Mrs Tiffen, who had been redeployed, then Josh and how he wasn’t happy with it. Then Lucy Knapp and her pride at working at HiberTech, and Aurora and what it might actually have been like – physically and psychologically – if I had bundled with her. I thought of Toccata and her aggressive manner, then about Laura’s desire to see Wintervolk proven, the somewhat-unhinged Jonesy with her fictional nostalgia and Fodder with his much-needed nightmares, and then Birgitta. Finally, I thought about how I should have heeded everyone’s advice and let Mrs Tiffen go. Logan would be alive right now and I’d be back in Cardiff, safely watching the Winter from indoors, and not crouched in an empty room during a blizzard, armed to the teeth and with orders to kill someone.

 
At the appointed time I stood up, stepped outside and checked which way was east. I lifted the weapon, leaned forward to counteract the kick, and pulled the trigger.

  I knew that firing a vortex cannon into a snowstorm would be an impressive feat, and I wasn’t disappointed. The localised temperature increase that accompanied the sudden pressure change melted the snowflakes instantaneously, and there was suddenly clarity in the air – a momentary cone of perfect vision, rolling away from me in a languid manner. I could see the wooden lattice of the roller coaster and a brightly coloured hoarding advertising thrills and spills, then the helter-skelter beyond, and an ice-cream kiosk. The view did not last long. The melted snow turned back to ice as soon as the pressure equalised and the world reverted to nothing more than a swirling white mass.

  I pushed the second thermalite into the battery chamber, then counted thirty paces back towards the museum, the track we’d made on the way out now only visible as smoothed-off dents in the undulating white carpet. I stood there, safety off, thumb on the choke button, wondering who or what would come through the snowstorm toward me. A good five minutes must have passed and I heard a thud, then another, but I wasn’t expert enough to tell from which weapon they had originated.

  All of a sudden I was aware of the squeak and crunch of something moving in an untroubled fashion through the snow, less than thirty feet away to the left of me. They made no attempt to move silently and seemed to be lumbering rather than walking, and at a reasonable pace. I was put in mind of a large herbivore, which wasn’t possible – Megafauna would never be awake, and even if they were, they would not be out in this. Only Villains, womads, Consuls and idiots ventured out in a snowstorm in the Winter.

  I swallowed down my fear and as the sound drew closer I decided to tempt providence and hail whoever it was. But as soon as I opened my mouth to speak the footfalls abruptly stopped and I heard a shuffle in the snow as the figure turned to face me. I couldn’t see them, but I somehow knew that whoever it was could see me. Or sense me, at any rate. I was also acutely aware that this wasn’t Fodder. I had put my hand in my bag to pull out the camera that Laura had given me when a voice made me jump.