'I think I'd rather have my husband back,' I replied darkly.
'Oh!' said Cheese, suddenly remembering just what particular unpleasantness he and Goliath had done to me, then adding slowly: 'You must hate us!'
'Just a lot.'
'We can't have that. Repent is what Goliath do best. Have you applied for a Goliath Unfair Treatment Reversal?'
I stared at him and raised an eyebrow.
'Well,' he began, 'Goliath have been allowing disgruntled citizens to apply to have reversed any unfair or unduly harsh measures taken against them — sort of a big apology, really. If Goliath is to become the opiate of the masses, we must first atone for our sins. We like to right any wrongs, and then have a good strong hug to show we really mean it.'
'Hence your demotion to coffee shop attendant.'
'Exactly so!'
'How do I apply?'
'We've opened an Apologarium in Goliathopolis; you can take the free shuttle from the Tarbuck Graviport. They'll tell you what to do.'
'Harmonious peace, eh?'
'Peace is what Goliath do best, Miss Next. Just fill out a form and see one of our trained apologists. I'm sure they can get your husband back in a jiffy!'
I took the mocha-with-extra-cream and latte and sat by the window, staring at the SpecOps building in silence. Hamlet sensed my disquiet and busied himself with a list of things he wanted to tell Ophelia but didn't think he would be able to, then another list of things he should tell her, but wouldn't. Then a list of all the different lists he had written about Ophelia, and finally a letter of appreciation to Sir John Gielgud.
'I'm going to sort out a few things,' I said after a while. 'Don't move from here and don't tell anyone who you really are. Understand?'
'Yes.'
'Who are you?'
'Hamlet, Prince of . . . just kidding. I'm your cousin Eddie.'
'Good. And you have cream on your nose.'
6
SpecOps
'The Special Operations Network was the agency that looked after areas too specialised to be undertaken by the regular police. There were over thirty SpecOps divisions. SO-1 policed us all, SO-12 were the ChronoGuard and SO-13 dealt with re-engineered species. SO-17 were the ''Vampire and Werewolf Disposal Operations" and SO-32 the Horticultural Enforcement Agency. I had been in SO-27, the Literary Detectives. Ten years authenticating Milton and tracking down forged Shakespeareana. After my work actually within fiction it all seemed a bit tame. At Jurisfiction I could catch a horse as it bolted — in the Literary Detectives it was like wandering around a very large field armed with only a halter and a photograph of a carrot.'
I pushed open the door to the station and walked in. The building was shared with Swindon's regular force and seemed slightly shabbier than I remembered. The walls were the same dismal shade of green and I could smell the faint aroma of boiled cabbage from the canteen on the second floor. In truth, my stay here in late '85 had not actually been that long — most of my SpecOps career had been undertaken in London.
I walked over to the main desk, expecting to see Sergeant Ross. He had been replaced by someone who seemed too young to be a police officer, much less a desk sergeant.
'I'm here to get my old job back,' I announced.
'Which was?'
'Literary Detective.'
He chuckled. Unkindly, I thought.
'You'll need to see the commander,' he replied without taking his gaze from the book he was scribbling in. 'Name?'
'Thursday Next.'
A hush descended slowly on the room, beginning with those closest to me and moving outwards with my whispered name like ripples in a pool. Within a few moments I was being stared at in silence by at least two dozen assorted police and SpecOps officers, a couple of Gaskell impersonators and an ersatz Colendge. I gave an embarrassed smile and looked from blank face to blank face, trying to figure out whether to run, or to fight, or what. My heart beat faster as a young officer quite close to me reached into his breast pocket and pulled out . . . a notebook.
'Please,' he said, 'I wonder if I might have your autograph?'
'Well, of course.'
I breathed a sigh of relief, and pretty soon I was having my back slapped and being congratulated on the whole Jane Eyre adventure. I'd forgotten the celebrity thing but also noticed that there were officers in the room who were interested in me for another reason — SO-1, probably.
'I need to see Bowden Cable,' I said to the desk sergeant, realising that if anyone could help, it was my old partner. He smiled, picked up a phone, announced me and wrote out a visitor's pass, then told me to go to interview suite sixteen on the third floor. I thanked my new-found acquaintances, made my way to the elevators and ascended to the third floor. When the lift doors rattled open I walked with a hurried step towards room sixteen. Halfway there I was accosted by Bowden, who slid his arm in mine and steered me into an empty office.
'Bowden!' I said happily. 'How are you?'
He hadn't changed much in the past two years. Fastidiously neat, he was wearing the usual pinstripe suit but without a jacket, so he must have been in a hurry to meet me.
'I'm good, Thursday, real good. But where the hell have you been?'
'I've been—'
'You can tell me later. Thank the GSD I got to you first! We don't have a lot of time. Goodness! What have you done to your hair?'
'Well, Joan of—'
'You can tell me later. Ever heard of Yorrick Kaine?'
'Of course! I'm here to—'
'No time for explanations. He's not fond of you at all. He has a personal adviser named Ernst Stncknene who calls us every day to ask if you've returned. But this morning — he didn't call!'
'So?'
'So he knows you're back. Why is the Chancellor interested in you, anyway?'
'Because he's fictional and I want to take him back to the BookWorld where he belongs.'
'Coming from anyone but you I'd laugh. Is that really true?'
'As true as I'm standing here.'
'Well, your life is in danger, that's all I know. Ever heard of the assassin known as the—'
'Windowmaker?'
'How did you know?'
'I have my sources. Any idea who took out the contract?'
'Well, they've killed sixty-seven people — sixty-eight if they did Samuel Pring — and they definitely did the number on Gordon DuffRolecks, whose death really only benefited—'
'Kaine.'
'Exactly. You need to take particular care. More than that, we need you back as a full serving member of the Literary Detectives. We've got one or two problems that need ironing out in our department.'
'So what do we do?'
'Well, you're AWOL at best and a cheese smuggler at worst. So we've concocted a cover story of such bizarre complexity and outrageous daring that it can only be true. Here it is: in a parallel universe ruled entirely by lobsters you—'
But at that moment the door opened and a familiar figure walked in. I say familiar but he was not exactly welcome. It was Commander Braxton Hicks, head of SpecOps here in Swindon.
I could almost hear Bowden's heart fall — mine too.
Hicks still had a job because of me but I didn't expect that to count for much. He was a company man, a bean counter — more fond of his precious budget than anything else. He had never given me any quarter and I didn't expect any now.
'Ah, found you!' said the commander in a senous tone. 'Miss Next. They told me you'd arrived. Been giving us the run-around, haven't you?'
'She's been—' began Bowden.
'I'm sure Miss Next can explain for herself, hmm?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good. Close the door behind you, eh?'
Bowden gave a sickly smile and slunk out of the interview room.