Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

I thought about Brik Schitt-Hawse, the odious Goliath agent •who had my husband eradicated in the first place.

'What about Schitt-Hawse? Where does he work these days?'

'I think he moved into some post in Goliathopolis. I really don't move in those circles any more. Mind you, we should all get together for a reunion and have a drink! What do you think?'

'I think I'd rather have my husband back,' I replied darkly.

'Oh!' said Cheese, suddenly remembering just what particular unpleasantness he and Goliath had done to me, then adding slowly: 'You must hate us!'

'Just a lot.'

'We can't have that. Repent is what Goliath do best. Have you applied for a Goliath Unfair Treatment Reversal?'

I stared at him and raised an eyebrow.

'Well,' he began, 'Goliath have been allowing disgruntled citizens to apply to have reversed any unfair or unduly harsh measures taken against them – sort of a big apology, really. If Goliath is to become the opiate of the masses, we must first atone for our sins. We like to right any wrongs, and then have a good strong hug to show we really mean it.'

'Hence your demotion to coffee shop attendant.'

'Exactly so!'

'How do I apply?'

'We've opened an Apologarium in Goliathopolis; you can take the free shuttle from the Tarbuck Graviport. They'll tell you what to do.'

'Harmonious peace, eh?'

'Peace is what Goliath do best, Miss Next. Just fill out a form and see one of our trained apologists. I'm sure they can get your husband back in a jiffy!'

I took the mocha-with-extra-cream and latte and sat by the window, staring at the SpecOps building in silence. Hamlet sensed my disquiet and busied himself with a list of things he wanted to tell Ophelia but didn't think he would be able to, then another list of things he should tell her, but wouldn't. Then a list of all the different lists he had written about Ophelia, and finally a letter of appreciation to Sir John Gielgud.

'I'm going to sort out a few things,' I said after a while. 'Don't move from here and don't tell anyone who you really are. Understand?'

'Yes.'

'Who are you?'

'Hamlet, Prince of . . . just kidding. I'm your cousin Eddie.'

'Good. And you have cream on your nose.'

6

SpecOps

'The Special Operations Network was the agency that looked after areas too specialised to be undertaken by the regular police. There were over thirty SpecOps divisions. SO-1 policed us all, SO-12 were the ChronoGuard and SO-13 dealt with re-engineered species. SO-17 were the ''Vampire and Werewolf Disposal Operations" and SO-32 the Horticultural Enforcement Agency. I had been in SO-27, the Literary Detectives. Ten years authenticating Milton and tracking down forged Shakespeareana. After my work actually within fiction it all seemed a bit tame. At Jurisfiction I could catch a horse as it bolted – in the Literary Detectives it was like wandering around a very large field armed with only a halter and a photograph of a carrot.'

THURSDAY NEXT – Private Journals

I pushed open the door to the station and walked in. The building was shared with Swindon's regular force and seemed slightly shabbier than I remembered. The walls were the same dismal shade of green and I could smell the faint aroma of boiled cabbage from the canteen on the second floor. In truth, my stay here in late '85 had not actually been that long – most of my SpecOps career had been undertaken in London.

I walked over to the main desk, expecting to see Sergeant Ross. He had been replaced by someone who seemed too young to be a police officer, much less a desk sergeant.

'I'm here to get my old job back,' I announced.

'Which was?'

'Literary Detective.'