Something rotten n-4

by Jasper Fforde

  'Stare into my face!' screamed the Gorgon as we wrestled in the dust. 'Stare into my face and accept your destiny!' I kept my eyes averted as she pinned me against the cold concrete and then, when her bony and foul-smelling body was sitting on my chest, she cackled again and took hold of my head in both hands. I screamed and shut my eyes tight, gagging at her putrid breath. It was no escape. I felt her hands move on my face, her fingertips on my eyelids.

  'Come along, Thursday, my love,' she screeched, the hissing of the snakes almost drowning her out, 'gaze into my soul and feel your body turn to stone—!'

  I strained and cried out as her fingers pulled my eyelids open. I swivelled my eyes as low in their sockets as I could, desperate to stave off the inevitable, and was just beginning to see glimmers of light and the lower part of her body when there was the sound of steel being drawn from a scabbard and a soft whoop noise. Medusa fell limp and silent on my chest. I opened my eyes and pushed the severed head of the Gorgon into the shadows. I jumped up, slipped once in the pool of blood issuing from her headless corpse and ran backward, stumbling in my panic to get away.

  'Well,' said a familiar voice, 'looks like I got here just in time!'

  It was the Cat. He was sitting on an unfinished airship rib and was grinning wildly. He wasn't alone. Next to him stood a man. But it wasn't any ordinary man. He was tall — at least seven foot six and broad with it. He was dressed in rudimentary armour and grasped in his powerful hands a shield and sword that appeared to weigh almost nothing. He was a frightening warrior to behold; the sort of hero for whom epics are written — the likes of which we have no need of in our day and age. He was the most alpha of males — he was Beowulf. He made no sound, knees slightly bent in readiness, bloody sword moving elegantly in a slow figure-of-eight pattern.

  'Good move, Mr Cat,' said Kaine sardonically, stepping from behind the gondola and facing us across the only open area in the hangar.

  'You can end this right now, Mr Kaine,' said the Cat. 'Go back to your book and stay there — or face the consequences.'

  'I choose not to,' he replied with an even smile, 'and since you have raised the stakes by invoking an eighth-century hero, I challenge you to a one-on-one invocation contest pitting my fictional champions against yours. You win and I stay forever in At Long Last Lust; I win and you leave me unmolested.'

  I looked at the Cat, who was, for once, not smiling.

  'Very well, Mr Kaine. I accept your challenge. Usual rules? One beast at a time and strictly no Krakens?'

  'Yes, yes,' replied Kaine impatiently. He closed his eyes and with a wild shriek Grendel appeared and flew towards Beowulf, who expertly sliced it into eight more or less equal pieces.

  'I think we got him riled,' whispered the Cat out of the corner of his mouth. 'That was a bad move — Beowulf always vanquishes Grendel.'

  But Kaine didn't waste any more time and a moment later there was a living, breathing Tyrannosaurus rex tramping the concrete floor, fangs drooling with saliva. It whipped its tail angrily and knocked the engine nacelle on to its side.

  'From The Lost World?' queried the Cat. 'Or Jurassic Park?'

  'Neither,' replied Kaine. 'The Boy's Bumper Book of Dinosaurs.'

  'Ooh!' replied the Cat. 'The non-fiction gambit, eh?'

  Kaine clicked his fingers and the thunder lizard lunged forward as Beowulf went into the attack, sword flailing. I retreated towards the Cat and asked anxiously: 'This Beowulf isn't the original, is it?'

  'Good lord, no, quite the reverse!'

  It was just as well. Beowulf had made mincemeat of Grendel

  but the Tyrannosaurus, in turn, made mincemeat of him. As the giant lizard slurped down the remnants of the warrior, the Cat hissed to me: 'I do so love these competitions!'

  I wiped my scratched face with my handkerchief. I must say I couldn't really share the Cat's mischievous sense of glee, or enjoyment.

  'What's our next move?' I asked him. 'Smaug the dragon?'

  'No point. He'd invoke a Baggins to kill it. Perhaps it would be best to make a tactical retreat and introduce an Alan Quartermain with an elephant gun, but I'm late for my son's birthday party, so it's going to be ... him!'

  There was another shimmer in the air about us and with a whiffling and a burbling, a bat-winged creature appeared. It had a long tail, reptilian feet, flaming eyes, huge sort of catchy hairy claws . . and was wearing a lilac-coloured tunic with matching socks.

  The Tyrannosaurus looked up from its feast at the Jabberwock, who stared back at it while hovering in the air and making dangerous whiffling noises. It was about the same size as the dinosaur and went for it aggressively, jaws biting, claws catching. As the Cat, Kaine and I looked on, the Jabberwock and the Tyrannosaurus rolled around in mortal combat, tails flailing. At one point it looked as though Kaine's champion had the upper hand until the Jabberwock executed a manoeuvre known in wrestling circles as an 'aeroplane spin and body slam' that shook the ground. The giant lizard lay still, moving feebly. An animal that large does not need to fall from very high to break bones. The Jabberwock burbled contentedly to itself, doing a little triumphant two-step dance as he walked back over to us.

  'Right!' yelled Kaine. 'I've had just about my fill of this!'

  He raised his arms in the air and a gale seemed to fill the hangar. There were several crashes of thunder from outside and a large shape started to rise within the empty framework of the half-built airship. It grew and grew until it was wearing the airship skeleton like a corset, then broke free of it and with one tentacle clasped the Jabberwock and raised it high in the air. Kaine had cheated. It was the Kraken. Wet, strangely shapeless and smelling of overcooked oysters, it was the largest and most powerful creature that I knew of in fiction.

  'Now, now!' said the Cat, waving a claw at Kaine. 'Remember the rules!'

  'To hell with your rules!' shouted Kaine. 'Puny Jurisfiction agents, prepare to meet thy doom!'

  'Now that,' said the Cat, addressing me, 'was a very corny line.'

  'He's Farquitt! What did you expect? What are we going to do?'

  The Kraken wrapped a slippery tentacle several times around the Jabberwock's body and then squeezed until his eyes bulged ominously.

  'Cat!' I said more urgently. 'What's the next move?'

  'I'm thinking,' replied the Cat, lashing his tail angrily. 'Trying to come up with something to defeat the Kraken is not that easy. Wait. Wait. I think I've got it!'

  There was a bright flash and there, facing the Kraken, was . . . a small fairy no higher than my knee. It had delicate wings like those of a dragonfly, a silver tiara and a wand which she waved in Kaine's direction. In an instant the Kraken had melted away and the Jabberwock fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

  'What the hell—?' shouted Kaine in anger and surprise, waving his hands uselessly to try to bring the Kraken back.

  'I'm afraid you've lost,' replied the Cat. 'But you cheated and I had to cheat a bit too, and now, even though I've won, I can't insist on my prize. It's all in Thursday's hands now.'

  'What do you mean?' shouted Kaine angrily. 'Who was that and why can't I summon up beasts from fiction any longer?'

  'Well,' said the Cat as he began to purr, 'that was the Blue Fairy, from Pinocchio.'

  'You mean—?' asked Kaine, mouth agape.

  'Right,' replied the Cat. 'She made you into a real person, just as she made Pinocchio into a real boy.'

  He touched his hands to his chest, then his face, trying to figure it out.

  'But. . . that means you have no authority over me—!'

  'Alas not,' replied the Cat. 'Jurisfiction has no jurisdiction over real people in the real world. As I said, it's all up to Thursday now.'

  The Cat stopped and repeated the two words as if to see which sounded better. 'Jurisfiction —jurisdiction —Jurisfiction —jurisdiction.'

  Kaine and I stared at one another. If he was real it definitely meant Jurisfiction had no mandate to control him — and it also meant we couldn't destroy
him through his book. But then he couldn't escape from the real world, either — and would bleed and die and age like a real man. Kaine started to laugh.

  'Well, this is a turnaround! Thank you very much, Mr Cat!' The Cat gave a contemptuous snort and turned to face the other direction. 'You have done me a great service,' continued Kaine. 'I am now free to lead this country to new heights without the meddling of you and your fictional band of idiots. I'll be free to put behind me the last vestiges of kindness that I was forced to carry in regard of my written character. Mr Cat, I thank you, and the people of the unified Britain thank you.' He laughed again and turned to me. 'And you, Miss Next, won't be able to even get close!'

  'There's still the seventh Revealment,' I said rather weakly.

  'Win the Superhoop? With that ragtag bunch of no-hopers? I think you grossly overrate your chances, my lady — and with Goliath and the ovinator to help me, I can't begin to overestimate mine!'

  And he laughed again, looked at his watch and walked briskly from the hangar. We heard his car start up and drive away.

  'Sorry,' said the Cat, still looking the other way. 'I had to think of something quickly. At least this way he didn't win — tonight.'

  I sighed.

  'You did well, Chesh — I would never have thought of invoking the Blue Fairy.'

  'It was quite good, wasn't it?' agreed the Cat. 'Can you smell hot buttered crumpets?'

  'No.'

  'Me neither. Who are you going to put in mid-field?'

  'Biffo, probably,' I said slowly, picking up my automatic from where it had fallen and replacing the clip. 'And Stig as roquet-taker.'

  'Ah. Well, good luck and see you soon,' said the Cat, and vanished.

  I sighed and looked around at the quiet and empty hangar. The fictional gore and corpses of the Medusa, the Tyrannosaurus and Beowulf had vanished, and apart from the wrecked airship, there was no evidence of the battle that had been fought here. We had scored a victory against Kaine, but not the total victory I had hoped for. I was just walking back towards the exit when I noticed that the Cat had reappeared, balanced on the handle of a pallet trolley.

  'Did you say Stig, or fig?' said the Cat.

  'I said Stig,' I replied, 'and I wish you wouldn't keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.'

  'All right,' said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

  37

  Before the Match

  ZVLKX FOLLOWERS HOLD NIGHT-TIME PEACE MARCH

  All seventy-six members of the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx spent the night silently marching between the places of interest relating to their interworshipful leader, who was hit by a Number 23 bus on Friday. The march began at Tesco's car park and visited places in Swindon that St Zvlkx held most dear — seven pubs, six betting shops and Swindons leading brothel — before undertaking a silent prayer at his plate of death. The march went oft peacefully, except for numerous inertruptions by a woman who gave her name as 'Shirley' and insisted Zvlkx owed her money.

  Article in the Swindon Daily Eyestraw, 22 July 1988

  I arrived at the croquet stadium at eight. The fans were already waiting at the turnstiles, hoping to get the best seats in the stands. I was waved past and parked my Speedster in the manager's parking spot, then made my way into the changing rooms. Aubrey was waiting there for me, pacing up and down.

  'Well?' he said. 'Where's our team?'

  'They'll be here at one o'clock.'

  'Can't we get them here earlier?' he asked. 'We need to discuss tactics.'

  'No,' I said firmly. 'They'll be here on time. It's senseless to try and impose human time constraints on them. They're playing on our side, that's the main thing.'

  'Okay,' agreed Aubrey reluctantly. 'Have you met Penelope Hrah?'

  Penelope was a large and powerful woman who looked as though she could crack walnuts with her eyelids. She had taken up croquet because hockey wasn't violent enough, and although at thirty-two she was at the end of her career, she might prove an asset — as a terror weapon, if nothing else. She scared me — and I was on the same team.

  'Hello, Penelope,' I said nervously, 'I really appreciate you joining us.'

  'Urg.'

  'Everything okay? Can I get you something?'

  She grunted again and I rubbed my hands together anxiously.

  'Right, well, leave you to it, then.'

  I left her to talk strategy with Alf and Aubrey. I spent the next couple of hours doing interviews and ensuring that the team's lawyers were up to speed on the game's complex legal procedures. At midday Landen and Friday arrived with Mycroft, Polly and my mother. I took them down to the seating reserved for the VIPs just behind the players' benches and sat them down next to Joffy and Miles, who had arrived earlier.

  'Is Swindon going to win?' asked Polly.

  'I hope so,' I said, not brimming with confidence.

  'The problem with you, Thursday,' put in Joffy, 'is that you have no faith. We in the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx have complete faith in the Revealments. Lose and Goliath move to new heights of human exploitation and unfathomable avarice, hidden among the trappings of religious formality and perverted ecclesiastical dogma.'

  'That was a very good speech.'

  'Yes, I thought so too. I was practising on the march last night. Don't feel you're under any pressure now.'

  'Thanks for nothing. Where's Hamlet?'

  'He said he'd join us later.'

  I left them to do a live broadcast with Lydia Startright, who was really more interested in knowing where I had been for the past

  two and a half years than asking me about Swindon's chances. After this I hurried down to the players' entrance to welcome Stig -who was playing — and the four other Neanderthals. They were completely unfazed by the media attention and ignored the phalanx of pressmen completely. I thanked them for joining our team and Stig pointed out that they were there only because that was part of the deal, and nothing more.

  I walked them towards the changing rooms, where the human team members greeted them with a good measure of curiosity. They talked haltingly with one another, the Neanderthals confining their speech to the technical aspects of croquet play. It was of no matter or consequence to them whether they won or lost — they would simply do the best they could. They refused body armour as they preferred instead to play barefoot in shorts and brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts. This caused a slight problem with the Toast Marketing Board, who had insisted that their name be on the team strip, but I smoothed it over with them eventually, and all was well. There was less than ten minutes before we were due out, so Aubrey made a stirring speech to the team that the Neanderthals didn't really comprehend. Stig, whose understanding of humans was perhaps a little better than most, just told them to 'hoop as much as we can', which they understood.

  'Miss Next?'

  I turned to find a thin, cadaverous man staring at me. I recognised him instantly. It was Ernst Stricknene, Kaine's adviser — and he was carrying a red briefcase. I had seen a similar case at Goliathopolis and on Evade the Question Time. It doubtless concealed an ovinator.

  'What do you want?'

  'Chancellor Kaine would like to meet the Swindon team for a pep talk.'

  'Why?'

  Strickene looked at me coldly.

  It is not for you to question the will of the Chancellor, young lady.'

  It was then that Kaine marched in, surrounded by his goons and entourage. The team stood up respectfully — except the Neanderthals, who, completely ambivalent to the vagaries of perceived hierarchy, carried on talking to one another in soft grunts. Kaine looked at me triumphantly but I noticed too that he had changed slightly. His eyes looked tired and his mouth had a slight sag to it. He'd started to show signs of being human. He was beginning to age.

  'Ah!' he said. 'The ubiquitous Miss Next. LiteraTec, team manager, saviour of Jane Eyr
e. Is there anything you can't do?'

  'I'm not that good at knitting.'

  There was a ripple of laughter among the team, and also from Kaine's followers, who abruptly silenced themselves as Kaine glanced around the room, scowling. But he controlled himself and gave a disingenuous smile after nodding to Stricknene.

  'I just came down here to talk to the team and tell all of you that it would be a far better thing for this country if I stayed in power, and even though I don't know how Zvlkx's Revealment will work, I can't leave the secure future of this nation to the vagaries of a thirteenth-century seer with poor personal hygiene. Do you understand what I am saying?'

  I knew what he was up to. The ovinator. It would, as likely as not, have us all eating out of his hand in under a minute. But I wasn't figuring on Hamlet, who appeared suddenly from behind Stricknene, rapier drawn. It was now or nothing and I yelled:

  'The briefcase! Destroy the ovinator!'

  Hamlet needed no second bidding and he leapt into action, expertly piercing the case, which gave off a brief flash of green light and a short high-pitched wail that started the police dogs outside barking. Hamlet was swiftly overpowered by two SO-6 agents, who handcuffed him.

  'Who is this man?' demanded Kaine.

  'He's my cousin Eddie.'

  'NO!' yelled Hamlet, standing up straight, even though he had two men holding him. 'My name is Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Danish, and proud of it!'