nd Tweed exchanged nervous glances.
'I've brought you Deane, Bellman,' I announced. 'I had no other way of proving my innocence. Vern, tell them what you told me.'
'Go to hell!'
I whacked him hard on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol and he fell to the ground, momentarily stunned. Blood welled up in his hairline and I winced; luckily, no one saw me.
'That's for Miss Havisham,' I told him.
'Miss Havisham?' echoed the Bellman.
'Oh yes,' I replied. 'Bastard.'
Deane touched the back of his head and looked at his hand.
'Bitch!' he muttered. 'I'd have killed you, too!'
He turned and leaped at me with surprising speed, grasping me by the throat before I could stop him, and we both crashed to the floor, knocking over a table as we went. It was an impressive charade.
'The little slut serving wench deserved to die!' he screamed. 'How dare she spoil the happy life that could have been mine!'
I couldn't breathe and started to black out. I had wanted it to look realistic – and so, I suppose, did he.
Tweed placed a gun under Deane's chin and forced him off. He spat in my face as I lay there, trying to get my breath back. Deane was then set upon by Heep, who took an unhealthy delight in beating him despite the fact that he apologised in a supercilious manner every time he struck him.
'Stop!' yelled the Bellman. 'Calm down, all of you!'
They propped the now bleeding Deane in a chair and Heep bound his hands.
'Did you kill Perkins?' asked the Bellman and Deane nodded sullenly.
'He was going to blow the whistle on me – Havisham too. Snell and Mathias just got in the way. Happiness should have been mine!' he sobbed. 'Why did the slut have to turn up with that little bastard? I should have married Miss O'Shaugnessy – all I wanted was something no evil squire in Farquitt ever gets—!'
'And what was that?' asked the Bellman sternly.
'A happy ending.'
'Pitiful, wouldn't you say, Tweed?'
'Pitiful, yes, sir,' he replied stonily, staring at me as I picked myself off the floor.
The Bellman tore up my termination order.
'It looks as if we have underestimated you,' said the Bellman happily. 'I knew Havisham couldn't be wrong. Tweed, I think you owe Miss Next an apology.'
'I apologise unreservedly,' said Tweed through gritted teeth.
'Good,' said the Bellman. 'Now, Thursday, what's the problem with UltraWord™?'
It was a sticky moment. We had to take this higher than the Bellman. With Libris and the whole of Text Grand Central involved, there was no knowing what they would do. I remembered an error from an early UltraWord™ test version.
'Well,' I began, 'I think there is a flight manual conflict. If you read an UltraWord™ book on an airship, it can play havoc with the flight manuals.'
'That's been cured,' said the Bellman kindly, 'but thank you for being so diligent.'
'That's a relief,' I replied. 'May I have some leave?'
'Of course. And if you find any other irregularities in UltraWord™, I want them brought to me and me alone.'