“Thank you, Sprockett,” I said. “For everything.”
The automaton inclined his head politely, but my eyes were fixed on his eyebrow to see what it would do. I wanted to see what loyal friendship meant to him—whether a man of cogs, dials, chains and sprockets could really feel as humans feel.
But I was to be disappointed. He pressed a white-gloved finger to his eyebrow, blocking any movement. All I could see in his face was blank molded porcelain, two lenses for eyes and a slot through which he spoke.
“May I ask a question, ma’am?”
“Of course.”
“Was it a compassionate act to take over Whitby’s backstory to enable you to be together?”
“Yes.”
“I believe I have learned something of value here today, ma’am. But what made Whitby retake the backstory?”
“He knew it was the right thing to do.”
Sprockett buzzed briefly to himself. “Does that sort of thing happen out there in the RealWorld, or is it just in books?”
I thought for a moment. Of the untidy chaos I had seen in the RealWorld; of not knowing what was going to happen; of not knowing what, if anything, had relevance. The RealWorld was a sprawling mess of a book in need of a good editor. I thought then of the narrative order here in the BookWorld, our resolved plot lines and the observance of natural justice we took for granted.
“Literature is claimed to be a mirror of the world,” I said,
“but the Outlanders are fooling themselves. The BookWorld is as orderly as people in the RealWorld hope their own world to be—it isn’t a mirror, it’s an aspiration.”
“Humans,” said Sprockett, “are the most gloriously bizarre creatures.”
“Yes,” I said with a smile. “They certainly are.”
Acknowledgments
First, my thanks to Carolyn Mays and Josh Kendall and all the team at Hodder and Viking for their steadfast support and understanding during the final stages of the book, where events of a daughtering nature conspired to render the manuscript past the ideal delivery time.
My thanks to Dr. John Wooten for his valuable contributions to the understanding of Nextian Physics, and for being at the end of an e-mail if I had a query with regard to the best way to mangle physics while still looking vaguely correct.
The illustrations were drawn by Bill Mudron and Dylan Meconis of Portland, Oregon, and they have, as usual, surpassed themselves in their depiction of the Nextian Universe. Bill can be found at www.excelsiorstudios.net and Dylan at www.dylanmeconis.com.
My apologies to the many, many authors who have used the “hollow earth” notion as the setting for a book. It must have been done before, and I would expect the mechanics of how it functions would be universal, as the concept has a tendency to write itself. In case of unavoidable parallels, my apologies.
BookWorld cartographers. My thanks to the following for submitting wonderful ideas to me about the possible shape and layout of Fiction Island: Alex Maunders, Robert Persson, Laura, Catherine Fitzsimons, Geoffrey Elliot-Howell, Michael O’Connor, Ellie Randall, Steve James, Elizabeth Walter, Derek Walter, Theresa Porst, Sarah Porter, Dhana Sabanathan, Alex Clark, Loraine Weston, Elisabeth Parsons, Jane Ren, Birgit Prihodko and Helen Griin-Looveer.
I am also indebted to my new agents, Will Francis and Claire Paterson, who have filled Tif’s recently vacated shoes with an aplomb and unswerving professionalism of which I know she would approve.
No thanks would be complete without special mention of Mari, whose constant and overwhelming support allows me to function as a vaguely sentient creature rather than a mass of quivering jelly. I would also like to thank Ingrid and Ian for much support when we needed it, and finally thanks to my in-laws, Maggy and Stewart, for help and assistance on occasions too numerous to mention.
This book took 108 days to write between December 22, 2009, and September 3, 2010. It was written on a Mac Pro using Pages software. I’ve been Mac since 1995, when it was OS 7.9.2, and I have used Apple writing software on all my projects. During the writing I consumed thirty-two gallons of coffee, eighteen gallons of tea, and I walked 192 miles. The filing backed up to a depth of seven and a half inches, and I received 1,672 e-mails and sent 380. The average daytime temperature was 9.2 degrees Celsius and I burned 1.2 tons of logs in my wood burner. In that time I lost a faithful hound but gained a fourth daughter.