'Pretty good, lass. One moment I was giving a concert, next thing I was in the cafeteria ordering pie and chips for one.'
Spike had said he had driven for two days to get to me, so it must be the 24th — and, as Dad had predicted, Formby had died as he had meant to, performing for the Lancaster Regiment Veterans. My heart fell as I realised that the days following Formby's death would mark the beginning of the Third World War. Still, it was out of my hands now.
The boat arrived for the ex-President and he stepped in.
The ferryman pushed the small craft into the river and dropped his pole into the dark water.
'Mr Formby, isn't it?' said the ferryman. 'I'm a big fan of yours. I had that Mr Garrick in the back of my boat once. Do you do requests?'
'Ooh, aye,' replied the entertainer, 'but I don't have me uke with me.'
'Borrow mine,' said the ferryman. 'I do a bit of entertaining myself, you know.'
Formby picked up the ukulele and strummed the strings.
'What would you like?'
The ferryman told him and the dour cavern was soon filled with a chirpy rendition of 'We've Been a Long Time Gone'. It seemed a fitting way to go for the old man, who had given so much to so many — not only as an entertainer, but as a freedom fighter and elder statesman. The boat, Formby and the ferryman disappeared into the mist that drifted across the river, obscuring the far bank and muting the sound. It was my turn next. What had Gran said? The worst bit about dying is not knowing how it all turns out? Still, at least I got Landen back, so Friday was in good hands.
'Miss Next?'
I looked up. The ferryman had returned. He was dressed in a sort of dirty muslin cloth; I couldn't see his face.
'You have the fare?'
I dug out a coin and was about to hand it over when—
'WAIT!!!'
I turned around as a petite young woman trotted up, out of breath. She brushed the blonde hair from her face and smiled shyly at me. It was Cindy.
'I'm taking her place,' she told the ferryman, handing over a coin.
'How can you?' I said in some surprise. 'You're almost dead yourself!'
'No,' she corrected me, 'I'm not. And what's more, I pull through. I shouldn't, but I do. Sometimes the Devil looks after his own.'
'But you'll leave Spike and Betty—
'Listen to me for a moment, Thursday. I've killed sixty-eight people in my career.'
'So you did do Samuel Pring.'
'It was a fluke. But listen: sixty-eight innocent souls sent across this river before their time, all down to me. And I did it all for cash. You can play the self-righteous card for all I care, but the fact remains that I'll never see the light of day when I recover, and I'll never get to hold Betty again, or hug Spike. I don't want that. You're a better person than me, Thursday, and the world is far better off with you in it.'
'But that's not the point, surely?' I said. 'When it's time to go—
'Look,' she interrupted angrily, 'let me do one good thing to make up for even one quarter of one per cent of the misery I've caused.'
I stared at her as the skeleton in rusty armour clanked up again.
'More trouble, Miss Next?'
'Give us a minute, will you?'
'Please,' implored Cindy, 'you'd be doing me a favour.'
I looked at the skeleton, who probably would have rolled his eyes if he had had any.
'It's your decision, Miss Next,' said the guard, 'but someone has to take that boat or I'm out of a job — and I've got a bony wife and two small skeletons to put through college.'
I turned back to Cindy, put out my hand and she shook it, then pulled me forward and hugged me tightly while whispering in rny ear:
'Thank you, Thursday. Keep an eye on Spike for me.'
She hopped quickly into the boat before I had a chance to change my mind. She gave a wan smile and sat in the bows as the ferryman leaned on his pole, sending the small boat noiselessly across the river. In terms of the burden of her sins, saving me was only small recompense, but she felt better for it, and so did I. As the boat containing Cindy faded into the mists of the river I turned and walked back towards the pedestrian footbridge, the southside of Dauntsey services, and life.
42
Explanations
STATE FUNERAL ATTRACTS WORLD'S LEADERS
Millions of heartbroken citizens of England and the most important world leaders arrived in Wigan yesterday to pay tribute to President George Formby, who died two weeks ago. The funeral cortege was driven on a circuitous route round the Midlands, the streets lined with mourners eager to bid a final goodbye to England's President of the past thirty-nine years. At his memorial service in Wigan Cathedral the new Chancellor, Mr Redmond van de Poste, spoke warmly of the great man's contribution to world peace. After the Lancashire Male Voice Choir sang 'With My Little Stick of Blackpool Rock' accompanied by two hundred ukuleles, the Chancellor invited the Queen of Denmark to accompany him in a duet of 'Your Way Is My Way', something that might well serve to mend the rift between our respective nations.
'It was touch and go for a moment,' said Landen, who was sitting by my hospital bed holding my hand. 'There was a moment when we really didn't think you'd make it.'
I gave a wan smile. I had regained consciousness only the day before and every movement felt like a dagger in my head. I looked around. Joffy and Miles and Hamlet were there, too.
'Hi, guys.'
They smiled and welcomed me back.
'How long?' I asked in a whisper.
'Two weeks,' said Landen. 'We really thought—
I gently squeezed his hand and looked around. Land divined my thoughts perfectly.
'He's with his grandmother.'
I raised a hand to touch the side of my head but could feel only a heavy bandage. Landen took my hand and returned it to the sheet.
'What—?'
'You were astonishingly lucky,' he said in a soothing tone. 'The doctors say you'll make a full recovery. The calibre was quite small and it entered your skull obliquely; by the time it had gone through most of the energy was gone.' He tapped the side of his head. 'It lodged between your brain and the inside of the skull. Gave us quite a fright, though.'
'Cindy died, didn't she?'
Joffy answered.
'Looked to be improving but then septicaemia set in.'
'They really loved one another, you know, despite their differences.'
'She was a hit-woman, Thursday, a trained assassin. I don't think she regarded death as anything more than an occupational hazard.'
I nodded. He was right.
Landen leaned forward and kissed my nose.
'Who shot me, Land?'
'Does the name "Norman Johnson" mean anything to you?'
'Yes,' I said, 'the Minotaur. You were right. He'd been trying to slapstick me to death all week — steamroller, banana skin, piano — I was a fool not to see it. Mind you, a gun's hardly slapstick, is it?'
Landen smiled.
'It had a large "bang" sign that came out of the barrel, as well as the bullet. The police are still trying to make sense of it.'
I sighed. The Minotaur was long gone but I'd still have to be careful. I turned to Landen. There was still something I needed to know.
'Did we win?'
'Of course. You pegged a foot closer than O'Fathens. Your shot has been voted "sporting moment of the century" — in Swindon, at any rate.'
'So we aren't at war with Wales?'
Landen shook his head and smiled.
'Kaine's finished, my darling — and Goliath have abandoned all attempts to become a religion. St Zvlkx does indeed work in mysterious ways.'
'Are you going to tell me?' I said with a wan smile. 'Or do I have to beat it out of you with a stick?'