The Well of Lost Plots (Thursday Next 3)

'Thursday!' she yelled out pitifully. 'You can control it! Make it stop!'

She slammed the door to the staircase, her hands shaking as she hurriedly threw the bolt.

'I could hide it if I chose,' I said staring at the terrified woman, 'but I choose not to. You asked me to gaze upon my fears – now you may join me.'

The lighthouse shifted again and a crack opened in the wall, revealing the storm-tossed sea beyond; the arc light stopped rotating with a growl of twisted metal. There was a thump at the door.

'There are always bigger fish, Aornis,' I said slowly, suddenly realising who she was as my past began to reveal itself from the fog. 'Like all Hades, you were lazy. You thought Anton's demise was the worst thing you could dredge up. You never looked farther. Hardly looked into my subconscious at all. The old stuff, the terrifying stuff, the stuff that keeps us awake as children, the nightmares we can only half glimpse on waking, the fear we sweep to the back of our minds but which is always there, gloating from a distance.'

The door collapsed inwards as the lighthouse swayed and part of the wall fell away. An icy gust blew in, the ceiling dropped two feet and electricity sparked from a severed cable. Aornis stared at the form lurking in the doorway, making quiet slavering noises to itself.

'No!' she whined. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, I—'

I watched as Aornis' hair turned snow white but no scream came from her dry throat. I lowered my eyes and turned to the door, seeing out of the corner of my eye only a vague shape advancing towards Aornis. She had dropped to her knees and was sobbing uncontrollably. I walked past the shattered door and down the stairs two at a time. As I stepped outside, the outcrop shivered again and the conical roof of the lighthouse came wheeling down amid masonry and scraps of rusty iron. Aornis found her voice, finally, and screamed.

I didn't pause, nor break my pace. I could still hear her yelling for mercy as I climbed into the small jolly-boat she had kept for her escape and rowed away across the oily black water, her cries drowned out only as the lighthouse collapsed into the abyss, taking the malevolent spirit of Aornis with it.

I paused for a moment, then put my back into rowing, the oars rattling in the rowlocks.

'That was impressive,' said a quiet voice behind me. I turned and found Landen sitting in the bows. He was every bit as I remembered him. Tall and good looking with hair greying slightly at the temples. My memories, which had been blunted for so long, now made him more alive than he had been for weeks. I dropped the oars and nearly upset the small boat in my hurry to fling my arms around him, to feel his warmth. I hugged him until I could barely breathe, tears coursing down my cheeks.

'Is it you?' I cried. 'Really you, not one of Aornis' little games?'

'No, it's me all right,' he said, kissing me tenderly, 'or at least, your memory of me.'

'You'll be back for real,' I assured him, 'I promise!'

'Have I missed much?' he asked. 'It's not nice being forgotten by the one you love.'

'Well,' I began as we made ourselves more comfortable in the boat, lying down to look up at the stars, 'there's this upgrade called UltraWord™, see, and—'

We stayed in each other's arms for a long time, the small rowing boat adrift in the museum of my mind, the sea calming before us as we headed towards the gathering dawn.

28

Lola departs and Heights again

* * *

Daphne Farquitt wrote her first book in 1936 and by 1988 had written three hundred others exactly like it. The Squire of High Potternews was arguably the least worst although the best you could say about it was that it was a 'different shade of terrible'. Astute readers have complained that Potternew

s originally ended quite differently, an observation also made about Jane Eyre. It is all they have in common.'

THURSDAY NEXT – The Jurisfiction Chronicles

My head felt as if there were a jackhammer in it the following morning. I lay awake in bed, the sun streaming through the porthole. I smiled as I remembered my dream of the night before and mouthed out loud:

'Landen Parke-Laine, Landen Parke-Laine!'

I sat up slowly and stretched. It was almost ten. I staggered to the bathroom and drank three glasses of water, brought it all up again and brushed my teeth, drank more water, sat with my head between my knees and then tiptoed back to bed to avoid waking Gran. She was fast asleep in the chair with a copy of Finnegans Wake on her lap. I knew I was going to have to apologise to Arnie and thank him for not taking advantage of the situation. I couldn't believe I had made such a fool of myself but felt that I could, at a pinch, lay most of the blame at Aornis' door.

I got up half an hour later and went downstairs, where I found Randolph and Lola at the breakfast table. They weren't talking to one another and I noticed Lola's small suitcase at the door.

'Thursday!' said Randolph, offering me a chair. 'Are you okay?'

'Groggy,' I replied as Lola placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me, which I inhaled gratefully. 'Groggy but happy – I got Landen back. Thanks for helping me out last night – and I'm sorry if I made a complete idiot of myself. Arnie must think I'm the worst tease in the Well.'

'No, that's me,' said Lola innocently. 'Your gran explained to us all about Aornis and Landen. We had no idea what was going on. Arnie understood and he said he'd drop around later and see how you were.'