Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

'If she pulls through they'll never let her out of jail. She was the Windowmaker. No, after the shit I've been through, this actually seems like a good option. I'm staying.'

'You are not.'

'Try and stop me.'

'Sssh!' said the man in front again.

'I won't let you do it, Spike. Think of Betty. Besides, I'm the one that's dead, not you. SECURITY!'

A mouldy skeleton holding a lance and dressed in rusty armour clanked up.

'What's going on here?'

I stabbed a finger at Spike.

'This man's not dead.'

'Not dead?' replied the guard in a shocked tone. The queue of people all turned round to stare as the guard drew a rusty sword and pointed it at Spike, who reluctantly raised his hands and, shaking his head sadly, walked back towards the footbridge.

'Tell Landen and Friday I love them!' I yelled at his departing form, suddenly realising that I should have asked him who'd won the Superhoop. I turned to the queue behind me, which snaked around the boulder-strewn cavern, and said:

'Does anyone know the results of Superhoop '88?'

'Shhh!' said the man in front again.

'Why don't you poke your "shhhh" up your. . . Oh. Hello, Mr President.'

As soon as he recognised me he gave me a broad toothy grin.

'Eeee, Miss Next! Is this that theme park again?'

'Sort of'

I was glad that the trip across the river led up as well as down. One thing was for sure: unless there had been some sort of dreadful administrative mix-up, Formby was certainly not for eternal torment within the all-consuming flames of hell.

'So — how are you?' I asked, momentarily lost for words when confronted with the biggest — and last — celebrity I would be likely to meet.

'Pretty good, lass. One moment I was giving a concert, next thing I was in the cafeteria ordering pie and chips for one.'

Spike had said he had driven for two days to get to me, so it must be the 24th - and, as Dad had predicted, Formby had died as he had meant to, performing for the Lancaster Regiment Veterans. My heart fell as I realised that the days following Formby's death would mark the beginning of the Third World War. Still, it was out of my hands now.

The boat arrived for the ex-President and he stepped in.

The ferryman pushed the small craft into the river and dropped his pole into the dark water.

'Mr Formby, isn't it?' said the ferryman. 'I'm a big fan of yours. I had that Mr Garrick in the back of my boat once. Do you do requests?'

'Ooh, aye,' replied the entertainer, 'but I don't have me uke with me.'

'Borrow mine,' said the ferryman. 'I do a bit of entertaining myself, you know.'

Formby picked up the ukulele and strummed the strings.

'What would you like?'

The ferryman told him and the dour cavern was soon filled with a chirpy rendition of 'We've Been a Long Time Gone'. It seemed a fitting way to go for the old man, who had given so much to so many — not only as an entertainer, but as a freedom fighter and elder statesman. The boat, Formby and the ferryman disappeared into the mist that drifted across the river, obscuring the far bank and muting the sound. It was my turn next. What had Gran said? The worst bit about dying is not knowing how it all turns out? Still, at least I got Landen back, so Friday was in good hands.

'Miss Next?'