Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

'With Joffy and Miles.'

'Ah,' I said, 'good.'

Thursday came out of surgery three hours later. The doctor, who had a haggard look but stared me in the eye, which I liked, told me that things weren't terrific but she was stable and a fighter and I wasn't to give up hope. I went to have a look at her with Mrs Next. There was a large bandage around her head and the monitors did that beep thing they do in movies. Mrs Next sniffed and said: 'I've lost one son already. I don't want to lose another. Well, a daughter, I mean, but you know what I mean — a child.'

I said: 'I know what you mean.'

I didn't, having never lost a son, but it seemed the right thing to say.

We sat with her for two hours while the light failed outside and the fluorescents flickered on. When we had been there another two hours Mrs Next said:

'I'm going to go now but I'll be back in the morning. You should try and get some sleep.'

I said: 'I know. I'm just going to stay here for another five minutes.'

I stayed there for another hour. A kindly nurse brought me a cup of tea and I ate some Battenberg. I got home at eleven. Joffy was waiting for me. He told me that he had put Friday to bed and asked me how his sister was.

I said: 'It's not looking very good,

Joff.'

He patted me on the shoulder, gave me a hug and told me that he and everyone at the GSD had joined the Idolatry Friends of St Zvlkx and the Sisters of Eternal Punctuality to pray for her, which was good of him, and them.

I sat on the sofa for a long time until there was a gentle knock at the kitchen door. I opened it to find a small group of people. A man who introduced himself as Thursday's 'Cousin Eddie' but whispered that actually his name was Hamlet said to me:

'Is this a bad time? We heard about Thursday and wanted to tell you how sorry we were.'

I tried to be cheery. I really wanted them to sod off but instead I said: 'Thank you. I don't mind at all. Friends of Thursday are friends of mine. Tea and Battenberg?'

'If it's not too much trouble.'

He had three others with him. The first was a short man who looked exactly like a Victorian big-game hunter. He wore a pith helmet and safari suit and had a large bushy white moustache. He gave me his hand to shake and said:

'Commander Bradshaw, don'tcha know. Damn fine lady, your wife. Appreciate a girl who knows how to carry herself in a scrap. Did she tell you about the time she and I hunted Morlock in Trollope?'

'No.'

'Shame. I'll tell you all about it one day. This is the memsahib, Mrs Bradshaw.'

Melanie was large and hairy and looked like a gorilla. In fact, she was a gorilla, but had impeccable manners and curtsied as I shook her large coal-black hand which had the thumb in an odd place so was difficult to shake properly. Her deep-set eyes were wet with tears and she said: 'Oh, Landen! Can I call you Landen? Thursday used to talk about you all the time when you were eradicated. We all loved her a great deal - I mean, we still do. How is she? How is Friday? You must feel awful!'

I said: 'She's not really very well,' which was the truth.

The fourth member of the party was a tall man dressed in black robes. He had a very large bald head and high arched eyebrows. He put out a finely manicured hand and said: 'My name's Zhark but you can call me Horace. I used to work with Thursday. You have my condolences. If it will help I would happily slaughter a few thousand Thraals as a tribute to the gods.'

I didn't know what a Thraal was but told him that it really wasn't necessary. He said: 'It's really no trouble. I've just conquered their planet and I'm really not sure what I should do with them.'

I told him that this really, really wasn't necessary and added that I didn't think Thursday would have liked it, then cursed myself for using the past tense. I put on the kettle and said:

'Battenberg?'

Hamlet and Zhark answered together. They were obviously quite keen on my mother-in-law's speciality. I smiled for the first time in eight hours and twenty-three minutes and said: 'There's plenty for everyone. Mrs Next keeps on sending it over and the dodos won't touch it. You can take away a cake each.'

I made the tea, Mrs Bradshaw poured it and there was an uncomfortable silence. Zhark asked whether I knew where Handley Paige lived, but the big-game hunter gave him a stern look and he was quiet.

They all talked to me about Thursday and what she had done in the fictional BookWorld. The stories were all highly unbelievable but I didn't think to question any of them — I was just glad of the company, and happy to hear about what she had been doing over the past two years. Mrs Bradshaw gave me a rundown of what Friday had been up to as well; and even offered to corne and look after him whenever I wanted. Zhark was more interested in talking about Handley, but still had time to tell me a wholly unbelievable story about how he and Thursday had dealt with a Martian who had escaped from The War of the Worlds and turned up in The Wind in the Willows.

'It's a "W" thing,' he explained, 'in the titles, I mean. Wind-War, Worlds-Willows, they are so similar that—