Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

The operator came back on the line.

'I'm sorry, we had a crossed line. You are through now, caller, thank you for using FNP Communications.'

Now all I could hear was the low murmur of conversation above the sound of ship engines. At a loss to know what to say I just garbled:

'Antonio?'

There was the sound of a confused voice and I hurriedly replaced the plug.

'You'll get the hang of it,' said Havisham kindly, putting her report down. 'Paperwork! My goodness. Come along, we've got to visit Wemmick in Stores. I like him so you'll like him. I won't expect you to do much on this first assignment – just stay close to me and observe. Finished your tea? We're off!'

I hadn't, of course, but Miss Havisham grabbed my elbow and before I knew it we were back in the huge entrance lobby. Our footsteps rang out on the polished floor as we crossed to one side of the vestibule, where a small counter not more than six feet wide was set into the deep red marble wall. A battered notice told us to take a number and we would be called.

'Rank must have its p

rivileges!' cried Miss Havisham gaily as she walked to the front of the queue. A few of the Jurisfiction agents looked up but most were too busy swotting up on their pass notes, cramming for their impending destinations.

Harris Tweed was in front of us, kitting up for his trip into The Lost World. On the counter before him there was a complete safari suit, knapsack, binoculars and revolver.

'—and one Rigby .416 sporting rifle, plus sixty rounds of ammunition.'

The storekeeper laid a mahogany rifle box on the counter and shook his head sadly.

'Are you sure you wouldn't prefer an M16? A charging Stegosaurus can take some stopping, I'll be bound.'

'An Mi6 would be sure to raise suspicions, Mr Wemmick. Besides, I'm a bit of a traditionalist at heart.'

Mr Wemmick sighed, shook his head and handed the clipboard to Tweed for him to sign. Harris grunted his thanks to Mr Wemmick, signed the top copy, had the docket stamped and returned to him before he gathered up his possessions, nodded respectfully at Miss Havisham, ignored me and then murmured: '… long, dark, wood-panelled corridor lined with bookshelves …' before vanishing.

'Good day, Miss Havisham!' said Mr Wemmick politely as soon as we stepped up. 'And how are we this day?'

'In health, I think, Mr Wemmick. Is Mr Jaggers quite well?'

'Quite well to my way of thinking I should say, Miss Havisham, quite well.'

'This is Miss Next, Mr Wemmick. She has joined us recently.'

'Delighted!' remarked Mr Wemmick, who looked every bit as he was described in Great Expectations. That is to say, he was short, had a slightly pockmarked face, and had been that way for about forty years.

'Where are you two bound?'

'Home!' said Miss Havisham, laying the docket on the counter.

Mr Wemmick picked up the piece of paper and looked at it for a moment before disappearing into the storeroom and rummaging noisily.

'The stores are indispensable for our purposes, Thursday. Wemmick quite literally writes his own inventory. It all has to be signed for and returned, of course, but there is very little that he doesn't have. Isn't that so, Mr Wemmick?'

'Exactly so!' came a voice from behind a large pile of Turkish costumes and a realistic rubber bison.

'By the way, can you swim?' asked Miss Havisham.

'Yes.'

Mr Wemmick returned with a small pile of items.

'Life vests, life-preserving for the purpose of – two. Rope, in case of trouble – one. Lifebelt, to assist Magwitch buoyancy – one. Cash, for incidental expenses – ten shillings and fourpence. Cloak, for disguising said agents Next and Havisham, heavy duty, black – two. Packed supper – two. Sign here.'

Miss Havisham picked up the pen and paused before signing.