One of Our Thursdays Is Missing (Thursday Next 6)

“I took the opportunity to go through the mysterious passenger’s belongings, ma’am.”

“And?”

“I came across some shoulder pads, knee pads, a chest protector and a gallon of fire retardant.”

“What?”

“Shoulder pads—”

“I heard. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“All of it. From beginning to end. We reach Fanny Hill in half an hour, and the peace talks begin as soon as we are escorted to Pornucopia. It’s time to go over what we’ve found. I feel the answer is staring me in the face.”

“Shouldn’t we gather all the suspects in the bar?” asked Sprockett, who was fast becoming infected by the Metaphoric Queen’s capacity for narrative formulaicism.

“No. And another thing—”

I was interrupted by a cry from outside, and the engine went to slow ahead. We stepped out of the laundry cupboard to see several crewmen run past, and we followed them to the upper rear deck, from where we could see across the top of the sternwheel. Behind us in midstream was a figure in one of the riverboat’s four-man tenders. The man was rowing in a measured pace away from the boat, and given our forward speed, the distance between the two craft was rapidly increasing.

“Who is it?” asked Herring.

“It looks like the mysterious passenger from Cabin Twelve,” replied Drake, who had a small telescope, as befits an adventurer. “He’s even taken his luggage with him.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked Jobsworth, who had just arrived.

Herring explained, and Jobsworth looked at us all in turn. “Let me see.”

He peered through the telescope for a moment. “He’s taken his luggage with him.”

“That’s what I said,” remarked Drake.

“Mr. Herring,” said Jobsworth, “what’s going on here?”

“I’ve no idea, Senator.”

“Advice?”

“Um . . . carry on?”

“Sounds good to me. Captain?”

“Sir?”

“Carry on.”

But the captain, long a riverman, knew more of the perils that can be found on the Metaphoric.

“We can’t leave him out here, sir. The forests are full of Sirens eager to . . . well, how can I put it? He’ll be captured and made to . . . Listen, he’ll be killed.”

“Will it be quick?”

“No—it will be long and very drawn out. He might enjoy it to begin with, but he will eventually be discarded, a shriveled husk of a man devoid of any clothes, humanity or moisture.”

But the senator was made of sterner stuff.

“This mission is too important to delay, Captain. The mysterious passenger formerly of Cabin Twelve will have to remain exactly that. In every campaign there are always casualties. Full ahead.”