One of Our Thursdays Is Missing (Thursday Next 6)

“So what are you saying?” I asked.

My father nudged Bowden, who nudged Victor, who nudged Acheron Hades.

“We’re saying,” said Hades slowly, “that we might need to make some . . . changes.”

“Changes? What sorts of changes?”

“Changes in leadership.”

“You want to have me fired? You can’t do that.”

“In point of fact,” piped up Pickwick, “we can. Article 218 of the Textual Code states, ‘If the nominated leader of a book acts in an unlawful or reckless manner that might affect the smooth operation of a book, he or she can be removed by a simple show of hands.’”

There was a deathly hush as they waited to see what I would say.

“The series is operating smoothly. It will be hard to prove recklessness on my part.”

“We don’t need to,” replied Carmine. “We need only prove unlawfulness.”

“And how would you do that?”

“The Toast Marketing Board subplot. Totally illegal. You wrote out the new pages in your own handwriting.”

“Listen,” I said, changing my tone to one of conciliation, “we have an average weekly ReadRate of 3.7 at present—remaindered, out of print and, technically speaking, unread. You need my leadership to try to turn this series around. If you want to negotiate, we can negotiate—everything’s on the table. So let’s talk. Who’s for tea?”

They all stared at me in a stony-faced manner, and I suddenly felt that things were a lot worse than I’d thought. There had been grumblings before, but nothing like this.

“Well, then,” I said, my temper rising, “who’s going to lead the book? Carmine?”

“I can handle it.”

“You can handle it now. What if the ReadRate goes above forty? How screwed will you be then?”

“There is no need to be unkind,” said my father. “With our support she’ll manage. At least she doesn’t spend her days gallivanting around the BookWorld on arguably pointless quests for a namesake who doesn’t even like her.”

That hurt.

“Well,” I replied in a sarcastic tone, “how does consorting with a goblin fare on the ‘bringing the book into disrepute’ stakes?”

“You can talk,” retorted Carmine. “Your intended boyfriend set fire to a busload of nuns.”

“And puppies,” said Pickwick.

“Orphaned puppies,” added Rochester, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.

“Besides,” said Carmine, “Horace and I have agreed to a trial separation.”

“I think we’ve all said quite enough,” announced Bowden haughtily. “All in favor of replacing Thursday with Carmine, raise a hand.”

They all raised a hand except Stig, who I know liked me, Bertha Rochester who was in a straitjacket, and Pickwick.

“Thank you, Pickwick,” I said. “Nice to know some friends haven’t abandoned me.”

“Are we voting now?” asked Pickwick

, waking with a start. “I’m in.”

And she put a wing in the air.