Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

'What are you doing?'

'I'm trying—'

'You are not, my girl There are two sorts of people in this world, doers and tryers. You are the latter and I am trying to make you the former. Now concentrate, girl!'

So I had another attempt and this time found myself in a curious tableau resembling the graveyard in Chapter 1 but with the graves, wall and church little more than cardboard cut-outs. The two featured characters, Magwitch and Pip, were also very two-dimensional and as still as statues – except that their eyes swivelled to look at me as I jumped in.

'Oi,' hissed Magwitch between clenched teeth, not moving a muscle, 'piss off.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Piss off!' repeated Magwitch, this time more angrily.

I was just pondering all this when Havisham caught up with me, grabbed my hand and jumped to where we were meant to be.

'What was that?' I asked.

'The frontispiece. You're not a natural at this, are you?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Never mind,' said Miss Havisham in a kindlier tone, 'we'll make a Prose Resource Operative out of you yet.'

We walked down a jetty to where Havisham's boat was moored. But it wasn't any old boat. It was a polished-wood-and-gleaming-chrome Riva. I stepped aboard the motor launch and stowed the gear.

'Cast off!' yelled Havisham, who seemed to take on a new lease of life when confronted by anything with a powerful engine. I did as I was told. Miss Havisham started the twin Chevrolet petrol engines and to a throaty growl from the exhausts we made our way into the darkness of the Thames. I pulled two cloaks from the bag, donned one and took the other to Miss Havisham, who was standing at the helm, the wind blowing through her grey hair and tugging at her tattered veil.

'Isn't this a bit anachronistic?' I asked.

'Officially yes,' replied Havisham, weaving to avoid a small jollyboat, 'but we're actually in the back-story minus one day, so I could have brought in a squadron of hurricanes and the entire Ringling Brothers circus and no one would be any the wiser. If we had to do this anytime during the book then we'd be stuck with whatever was available – which can be a nuisance.'

We were moving upriver against a quickening tide. It was gone midnight, and I was glad of the cloak. Billows of fog blew in from the sea and gathered in great banks that caused Miss Havisham to slow down, within twenty minutes the fog had closed in and we were alone in the cold and clammy darkness. Miss Havisham shut down the engines, doused the navigation lights and we gently drifted in with the tide.

'Sandwich and soup?' she asked, peering in the picnic basket.

'Thank you, ma'am.'

'Do you want my Wagon Wheel?'

'I was about to offer you mine.'

We heard the prison ships before we saw them – the sound of men coughing, cursing and the occasional shout of fear. Miss Havisham started the engines and idled slowly in the direction of the sounds. Then the mist parted and we could see the prison hulk appear in front of us as a large black shape that rose from the water, the only light visible the oil lamps that flickered through the gunports. The old man-of-war was secured fore and aft by heavily rusted anchor chains against which flotsam had collected in a tangle. After checking the name of the ship, Miss Havisham slowed down and stopped the engines. We drifted down the flanks of the prison hulk, and I used the boathook to fend us off. The gunports were above us and out of reach, but as we moved silently down the ship we came across a home-made rope draped from a window on the upper gun deck. I quickly fastened the boat to a projecting ring and the motor launch swung around and settled facing the current.

'Now what?' I hissed.

Miss Havisham pointed to the life preserver and I quickly tied it on to the end of the home-made rope.

'That's it?' I asked.

'That's it,' replied Miss Havisham 'Not much to it, is there? Wait! Look there!'

She pointed to the side of the prison hulk where a strange creature had attached itself to one of the gunports It had large bat-like wings folded untidily across the back of its body, which was covered by patchy tufts of matted fur. It had a face like a fox, sad brown eyes and a long, thin beak that was inserted deep into the wood of the gunport. It was oblivious to us both and made quiet sucky noises as it fed.

There was a loud explosion and a bullet struck close to the strange creature. It immediately unfolded its large wings in alarm and flew off into the night.

'Blast!' said Miss Havisham, lowering her pistol and pushing the safety back on. 'Missed!'

The noise had alerted the guards on the deck.