I put down the sheet of paper. This was a good deal worse than I’d expected, and my expectations hadn’t been high.
“I’m not dressing up as a bee,” announced Mr. Bennet indignantly. “The very idea. You girls may indulge in such silliness, but I shall withdraw to my study.”
“Father,” said Lizzie, “remember we are doing this to ensure that the Outland ReadRates do not continue to fall in the precipitous manner that has marked their progress in recent years. It is a sacrifice, to be sure, but one that we should shoulder with determination and dignity-for the good of the BookWorld.”
“I’ll dress as a bee!” cried Lydia excitedly, jumping up and down.
“Me, too!” added Kitty. “I will be the finest bee in Meryton!”
“You shall not, for I shall!” returned Lydia, and they joined hands and danced around the room. I looked at Mary, who turned her eyes heavenward and returned to her book.
“Well,” said Jane good-naturedly, “I shall dress as a bee if it is for the greater good-do you suppose Mr. Bingley will also be required to dress as a bee? And whether,” she added somewhat daringly, “we might get to see each other again, as bees?”
“It doesn’t state as such,” replied Mr. Bennet, looking at the task again, “but I expect Mr. Bingley will be requested to make an idiot of himself in the fullness of time-and Darcy, too, I should wager.”
“Where’s Mrs. Bennet?” I asked, having not seen her since I’d arrived.
“We had to put poor Mama in the cupboard again,” explained Lizzie, pointing at a large wardrobe, which Thursday5 opened to reveal that yes, Mrs. Bennet was indeed inside, stock-still and staring with blank eyes into the middle distance.
“It calms her,” explained Jane as Thursday5 closed the wardrobe door again. “We have to commit dear Mama to the wardrobe quite often during the book.”
“Yes,” added Lizzie thoughtfully, “I fear she will not take to the bee task. While there are daughters unmarried, Mama has only one thing on her mind, and she is liable to get…agitated and cause a dreadful scene. Do you think that will spoil the task?”
“No,” I said wearily. “The worse it gets, the better reality it is, if you see what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Thursday, old girl,” interrupted Bradshaw, who’d been staring at his watch, “how’s this for a suggestion? Everyone hides so there’s no book at all.”
“Out of the question!” intoned Mr. Bennet. “I will not hide my family from view and skulk in my own home. No indeed. No matter how silly we may look, we shall be here in the front room when the new book begins.”
“Wait a moment,” I said. “This first section lasts an hour’s reading time, yes?”
Lizzie nodded.
I took the piece of paper with the task written upon it and pulled a pen from my top pocket, put three broad lines through the task and started to write my own. When I had finished, I handed it to Lizzie, who looked at it thoughtfully and then passed it to her father.
“Oh, boo!” said Lydia, crossing her arms and jutting out a lip. “And I did so want to become a bee!”
“I’m going to read this out loud,” announced Mr. Bennet, “since we must all, as a family, agree to undertake this new task-or not. He looked around at everyone, who all nodded their agreement, except Lydia and Kitty, who were poking each other, and Mrs. Bennet, who couldn’t, as she was still “relaxing” in the closet.
“‘First Task. Chapters One to Three,’” he began. “‘Mr. Bennet, of Longbourn House in Meryton, should be encouraged by his wife to visit Mr. Bingley, who has taken up residence at nearby Netherfield Park. Mr. Bingley shall return the visit without meeting the daughters, and a ball must take place. In this ball Mr. Bingley and Jane Bennet are to dance together. Mr. Darcy is also to attend, and he shall be considered rude, proud and aloof by Lizzie and the rest of the family. At the same time, we are to learn much of the Bennet marriage, and their daughters, and their prospects. The reading public can vote on whether Jane and Bingley are to dance a second time. Mrs. Bennet is free to do “her own thing” throughout.’”
Mr. Bennet stopped reading, gave a smile and looked around the room. “Well, my children?”
“It sounds like an excellent task,” said Jane, clapping her hands together. “Lizzie?”
“I confess I cannot fault it.”
“Then it is agreed,” opined Mr. Bennet with a twinkle in his eye. “Truly an audacious plan-and it might just work. How long before we begin?”
“Forty-seven seconds,” answered Bradshaw, consulting his pocketwatch.
“I don’t understand,” said Lydia. “This new task-isn’t that what usually happens?”
“Duh,” replied Kitty, making a face.
“Places, everyone,” said Mr. Bennet, and they all obediently sat in their allotted chairs. “Lizzie, are you ready to narrate?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good. Mary, would you let Mrs. Bennet out of the cupboard? Then we can begin.”
Myself, Thursday5 and Bradshaw scurried out into the corridor as Lizzie began the reality book show with words that rang like chimes, loud and clear in the canon of English literature:
“‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’” we heard her say through the closed door, “‘that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”
“Thursday,” said Bradshaw as he, Thursday5 and I walked to the entrance hall, “we’ve kept the book exactly as it is-but only until the Council of Genres and the Interactive Book people find out what we’ve done. And then they’ll be down here in a flash!”
“I know,” I replied, “so I haven’t got much time to change the CofG’s mind over this interactivity nonsense. Stay here and try to stall them as long as possible. It’s my guess they’ll let this first task run its course and do the stupid bee thing for task two. Wish me luck.”
“I do,” said Bradshaw grimly, “and you’re going to need it.”
“Here,” said Thursday5, handing me an emergency TravelBook and my bag. “You’ll need these as much as luck.”
I didn’t waste a moment. I opened the TravelBook, read the required text and was soon back in the Great Library.
36. Senator Jobsworth
Senatorial positions in the Council of Genres are generally pulled from the ranks of the individual book council members, who officiate on all internal book matters. They are usually minor characters with a lot of time on their hands, so aside from a few notable exceptions, the Council of Genres is populated entirely by unimaginative D-4s. They meddle, but they don’t do it very well. It is one of the CofG’s strengths.
I impatiently drummed my fingers on the wall of the elevator as I rose to the twenty-sixth floor of the Great Library and the Council of Genres. I checked in my bag and found I still had two eraserheads but wasn’t sure if a show of force was the correct way to go about this. If what Bradshaw had said was true and Evil Thursday was commanding a legion of Danvers, I might not even have a chance to plead my own case, let alone Pride and Prejudice’s.
I decided that the best course of action was simply to wing it and was just wondering how I should approach even this strategy when the elevator doors opened and I was confronted by myself, staring back at me from the corridor. The same jacket, the same hair, trousers, boots-everything except a black glove on her left hand, which covered the eraserhead wound, I imagined. Bradshaw was right-Thursday1-4 had divested herself of her own identity and taken mine-along with my standing, integrity and reputation-an awesome weapon for her to wield. Not only as the CofG’s LBOCS and as a trusted member of Jurisfiction, but everything. Jobsworth, in all his dreary ignorance, probably thought that this was me, having undergone a bizarre and-to him-entirely fortuitous change of mind about policy directives.