Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

He chuckled. Unkindly, I thought.

'You'll need to see the commander,' he replied without taking his gaze from the book he was scribbling in. 'Name?'

'Thursday Next.'

A hush descended slowly on the room, beginning with those closest to me and moving outwards with my whispered name like ripples in a pool. Within a few moments I was being stared at in silence by at least two dozen assorted police and SpecOps officers, a couple of Gaskell impersonators and an ersatz Colendge. I gave an embarrassed smile and looked from blank face to blank face, trying to figure out whether to run, or to fight, or what. My heart beat faster as a young officer quite close to me reached into his breast pocket and pulled out . . . a notebook.

'Please,' he said, 'I wonder if I might have your autograph?'

'Well, of course.'

I breathed a sigh of relief, and pretty soon I was having my back slapped and being congratulated on the whole Jane Eyre adventure. I'd forgotten the celebrity thing but also noticed that there were officers in the room who were interested in me for another reason – SO-1, probably.

'I need to see Bowden Cable,' I said to the desk sergeant, realising that if anyone could help, it was my old partner. He smiled, picked up a phone, announced me and wrote out a visitor's pass, then told me to go to interview suite sixteen on the third floor. I thanked my new-found acquaintances, made my way to the elevators and ascended to the third floor. When the lift doors rattled open I walked with a hurried step towards room sixteen. Halfway there I was accosted by Bowden, who slid his arm in mine and steered me into an empty office.

'Bowden!' I said happily. 'How are you?'

He hadn't changed much in the past two years. Fastidiously neat, he was wearing the usual pinstripe suit but without a jacket, so he must have been in a hurry to meet me.

'I'm good, Thursday, real good. But where the hell have you been?'

'I've been—'

'You can tell me later. Thank the GSD I got to you first! We don't have a lot of time. Goodness! What have you done to your hair?'

'Well, Joan of—'

'You can tell me later. Ever heard of Yorrick Kaine?'

'Of course! I'm here to—'

'No time for explanations. He's not fond of you at all. He has a personal adviser named Ernst Stncknene who calls us every day to ask if you've returned. But this morning – he didn't call!'

'So?'

'So he knows you're back. Why is the Chancellor interested in you, anyway?'

'Because he's fictional and I want to take him back to the BookWorld where he belongs.'

'Coming from anyone but you I'd laugh. Is that really true?'

'As true as I'm standing here.'

'Well, your life is in danger, that's all I know. Ever heard of the assassin known as the—'

'Windowmaker?'

'How did you know?'

'I have my sources. Any idea who took out the contract?'

'Well, they've killed sixty-seven people – sixty-eight if they did Samuel Pring – and they definitely did the number on Gordon DuffRolecks, whose death really only benefited—'

'Kaine.'

'Exactly. You need to take particular care. More than that, we need you back as a full serving member of the Literary Detectives. We've got one or two problems that need ironing out in our department.'

'So what do we do?'