The Well of Lost Plots (Thursday Next 3)

'Of course,' he went on, 'the new system will need new work procedures and all of you have had ample time to study our detailed seven-hundred-page prospectus; all jobs will be protected, the status of all Generics will be maintained. In a few minutes I will ask for a vote to carry the new system as required by the Council of Genres. But before I do, let us go over the main points again. Firstly, UltraWord™ will support the possibility of a "no frills" range of books with only forty-three different words, none of them longer than six letters. Designed for the hard-of-reading, these …'

I leaned forward and spoke to Tweed as Libris carried on talking to the audience.

"Is that why you invited all the C- and D-class Generics, Tweed?'

'What do you mean?'

'So you could force the vote? Your lies have greatest effect on those with little influence in the Well – give them the power to change something and they'll meekly follow you. After Libris has finished I'll give a rebuttal. When I'm done you and Libris and UltraWord™ will be history.'

Tweed stared at me as Libris went on to his third point.

'UltraWord™ is too important to be loused up by you,' said Tweed with a sneer. 'I agree there might be certain downsides but overall the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks.'

'Benefits to who, Tweed? You and Kaine?'

'Of course. And you too if only you'd stop meddling.'

'What did Kaine buy you with?'

'He didn't buy me, Next. We merged. His contacts in the Outland and my position at Jurisfiction. A fictional person in the real world and a real person in fiction. A better partnership it would be hard to imagine!'

'When they hear what I have to say,' I replied calmly, 'they'll never give you the vote.'

Tweed smiled that supercilious smile of his and stepped aside.

'You want to have your say, Thursday? Go ahead. Make a fool of yourself. But remember this: anything you say we can refute. We can modify the rules, change the facts, deny the truth, with written proof. That's the beauty of UltraWord™ – everything can be keyed in direct from Text Grand Central and, as you've so correctly gathered, everything there is controlled by Kaine, Libris and me. It's as easy to change the facts as it is to write a stub axle failure on the Bluebird – or unlock a padlock, or spill mispeling vyrus. Merely keystrokes, Next. We have the Great Library within our control – with the source text at our fingertips we can do anything. History will be good to us because we are the ones who shall write it!'

He laughed.

'You might as well try and canoe up a waterfall.'

He patted me patronisingly on the shoulder.

'But just in case you've got something up your sleeve,' he added, 'seven thousand highly trained Mrs Danvers are on call, ready to move in on my word. We can even write a rebellion if we want – the Council won't be able to tell the difference between a real one and a written one. We will have this vote, Thursday.'

'Yes, you might,' I conceded. 'All I want is for the characters to have their say with all the facts, not just yours.'

I looked at Libris on the stage.

'Point ten,' he went on as Heathcliff looked at his watch impatiently, 'all characters wherever they reside will be given four weeks' holiday a year in whichever book they choose.'

There was a roar of applause; he was offering everything they wanted to hear, buying the inhabitants of the BookWorld with hollow promises.

Tweed spoke into his mobile footnoterphone.

'Miss Next wants to have her say.'

I saw Libris touch his ear and turn round to stare at me contemptuously.

'But before the vote,' he added, 'before you say the word and we move upwards into broad sunlit pastures, I understand we have a Jurisfiction agent who wants to offer a counterpoint to my statement. This is her right. It is your right to ask for proof if you wish – and I most strongly request that you do so. Ladies and gentlemen, things – Miss Thursday Next!'

I murmured into my mobile footnoterphone.

'Go, Mimi, go!'25

Everyone in the Starlight Room reacted slightly to the distant explosion. Tweed steadied himself and spun round to glare at me.

'What was that?'