Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

'I think we shook him off. Blast!'

We were off again – Lavoisier had reappeared. We lost him for a moment but pretty soon he was back again, keeping pace with us.

'I'm too old to fall for that one!' He smiled.

Soon after two of his cronies reappeared as each one found us and matched the speed at which we were moving through history.

'I knew you'd come,' said Lavoisier triumphantly, walking towards us slowly as the time flashed past, faster and faster. A new road was built where we were standing, then a bridge, houses, shops. 'Give yourself up. What do you hope to gain from all this? You'll have a fair trial, believe me.'

The two other ChronoGuard operatives grabbed my father and held him tightly.

'I'll see you hang for this, Lavoisier! The Chamber would never sanction such an action. Give Landen back his life and I promise you I will say nothing.'

'Well, that's just it, isn't it?' replied Lavoisier scornfully. 'Who do you think they're going to believe? You with your record or me, third in command at the ChronoGuard? Besides, your clumsy attempt to get Landen back has covered any tracks I might have made getting rid of him!'

Lavoisier aimed his gun at my father. The two ChronoGuard held on to him tightly to stop him accelerating away, and we buffeted slightly as he tried. I had a sudden thought.

'Do you guys cross picket lines?'

The ChronoGuard agents looked at one another, then at the chronographs on their wrists, then at Lavoisier. The taller of the two was the first to speak.

'She's right, Mr Lavoisier, sir. I don't mind bullying and killing innocents, and I'll follow you beyond the crunch normally, but—'

'But what?' asked Lavoisier angrily.

'—but I am a loyal Timeguild member. I don't cross picket lines.'

'Neither do I,' agreed the other agent, nodding to his friend. 'Likewise and truly.'

Lavoisier smiled engagingly.

'Listen here, guys, I'll personally pay—'

'I'm sorry, Mr Lavoisier,' replied the operative, slightly indignantly, 'but we've been instructed not to enter into any individual contracts.' And in an instant they were gone as December arrived and the world turned pink. What was once the road was now a few inches of the same pink slime that Dad had shown me. We were beyond 12 December 1985, and where before there had been growth, change, seasons, clouds, now there was nothing but a never-ending landscape of shiny opaque curd.

'Saved by industrial action!' said Dad, laughing. 'Tell that to your friends at the Chamber!'

'Bravo,' replied Lavoisier sardonically, 'bravo. I think we should just say au revoir, my friends – until we meet again.'

'Do we have to make it au revoir?' I asked. 'What's wrong with goodbye?'

He didn't have time to answer as I felt Dad tense and we accelerated faster through the timestream. The pink slime was washed away, leaving only earth and rocks, and as I watched the river moved away from us, meandered off into the flood-plain and then snaked back, swept under our feet, and then undulated back and forth like a snake before finally being replaced by a lake. We moved faster, and soon I could see the earth start to buckle as the crust bent and twisted under the force of plate tectonics. Plains dropped to make seas, and mountains rose in their place. New vegetation established itself as millions of years swept past in a matter of seconds. Vast forests grew and fell in seconds. We were covered, then uncovered, then covered again, now by sea, now by rock, now surrounded by an ice sheet, now a hundred feet in the air. More forests, then a desert, then mountains rose rapidly in the east, only to be scoured flat a few moments later.

'Well,' said my father, 'Lavoisier in the pocket of Goliath. Who'd have thought it?'

'Dad,' I asked as the sun grew visibly bigger and redder, 'how do we get back?'

'We don't go back,' he replied. 'We can't go back. Once the present has happened, that's it. We just carry on going until we return to where we started. Sort of like a roundabout. Miss an exit and you have to drive around again. There are just a few more exits and the roundabout is much, much bigger.'

'How much bigger?'

'A shitload. Quiet, now – we're nearly there!'

And all of a sudden we weren't nearly there, we were there, back at breakfast in my apartment, Dad turning the pages of the newspaper.

'Well, we tried, didn't we?' said my father.

'Yes, Dad, we did. Thanks.'