'I think it's a bird of some sort.'
The second voice was no more distinctive than the first; indeed, if the second voice had not been answering the first, I might have thought they belonged to the same person.
As I descended the staircase I saw two figures standing in the middle of the room staring at Pickwick, who stared back, courageously protecting her egg from behind the sofa.
'Hey!' I said, pointing my gun in their direction. 'Hold it right there!'
The two figures looked up and stared at me without expression from features that were as insipid and muted as their voices. Because of their equal blandness it was impossible to tell them apart. Their arms hung limply by their sides, exhibiting no body language. They might have been angry, or curious, or worried, or elated – but I couldn't tell.
'Who are you?' I asked.
'We are nobody,' replied the one on the left.
'Everyone is someone,' I replied.
'Not altogether correct,' said the one on the right. 'We have a code number but nothing more. I am TSI-I4O49I2-A and this is TSI-I4049I2-C.'
'What happened to -B?'
'Taken by a grammasite last Tuesday.'
I lowered my gun. Miss Havisham had told me about Generics. They were created here in the Well to populate the books that were to be written. At the point of creation they were simply a human canvas without paint – blank like a coin, ready to be stamped with individualism. They had no history, no conflicts, no foibles – nothing that might make them either readable or interesting in any way. It was up to various institutions to teach them to be useful members of fiction. They were graded, too. A to D, one through ten. Any that were D-graded were like worker bees in crowds and busy streets. Small speaking parts were C-grades; B-grades usually made up the bulk of featured but not leading characters. These parts usually – but not always – went to the A-grades, hand picked for their skills at character projection and multi-dimensionality. Huckleberry Finn, Tess and Anna Karenina were all A-grades, but then so were Mr Hyde, Hannibal Lecter and Professor Moriarty. I looked at the ungraded Generics again. Murderers or heroes? It was impossible to tell how they would turn out. Still, at this stage of their development they would be harmless. I reholstered my automatic.
'You're Generics, right?'
'Indeed,' they said in unison.
'What are you doing here?'
'You remember the craze for minimalism?' asked the one on the right.
'Yes?' I replied, moving closer to stare at their blank faces curiously. There was a lot about the Well that I was going to have to get used to. They were harmless enough – but decidedly creepy. Pickwick was still hiding behind the sofa.
'It was caused by the 1982 character shortage,' said the one on the left. 'Vikram Seth is planning a large book in the next few years and I don't think the Well wants to be caught out again – we're being manufactured and then sent to stay in unpublished novels until we are called into service.'
'Sort of stockpiled, you mean?'
'I'd prefer the word billeted,' replied the one on the left, the slight indignation indicating that it wouldn't be without a personality for ever.
'How long have you been here?'
'Two months,' replied the one on the right. 'We are awaiting placement at St Tabularasa's Generic College for basic character training. I live in the spare bedroom in the tail.'
'So do I,' added the one on the left. 'Likewise.'
I paused for a moment.
'O-kay,' I began. 'Since we all have to live together I had better give you names. You,' I said, pointing a finger at the one on the right, are henceforth called ibb. You,' I added, pointing to the other, 'are now called obb.'
I pointed at them again in case they missed it as they made no sign of either comprehending what I'd said or even hearing it.
'You are ibb, and you are obb.'
I paused. Something didn't sound right about their names but I couldn't place it.
'ibb,' I said to myself, then: 'obb. ibb. ibb-obb. Does that sound odd to you?'
'No capitals,' said obb. 'We don't get capitalised until we start school – we didn't expect names so soon, either. Can we keep them?'