The Eyre Affair (Thursday Next 1)

I reached down and picked up Felix7’s wallet. We examined the contents. It contained everything you might expect to find, such as banknotes, stamps, receipts and credit cards—but they were all just plain white paper; the credit cards were simply white plastic with a row of zeros where the numbers usually were.

“Hades has a sense of humor.”

“Look at this,” said Bowden, pointing at Felix7’s fingertips. “Wiped clean by acid. And see here, this scar running down behind the scalp line.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “it might not even be his face.”

There was a screech of tires from downstairs. We put down our weapons and held our badges in the air to avoid any misunderstandings. The officer in charge was a humorless man named Franklin who had heard slightly garbled stories in the canteen about the new Litera Tec.

“You must be Thursday Next. Heard about you. Litera Tec, eh? Kind of a drop from SO-5?”

“At least I made it up there in the first place.”

Franklin grunted and looked at the two bodies.

“Dead?”

“Very.”

“You lot are becoming quite action-packed. I can’t remember the last time a shot was fired in anger by a Litera Tec. Let’s not make it a habit, eh? We don’t want Swindon turning into a killing field. And if you want a piece of advice, go easy with Jack Schitt. We hear the man’s a psychopath.”

“Thanks for the

tip, Franklin,” I said. “I’d never have noticed.”

It was after nine when we were finally allowed to leave. Victor had turned up to ask us a few questions out of earshot of the police.

“What the deuce is going on?” he asked. “I’ve had Braxton yelling on the phone for half an hour; it takes something serious to get him away from his golf club AGM. He wants a full report on the incident on his desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

“It was Hades,” I said. “Jack Schitt was here with the intention of following one of Acheron’s killers after he’d dispatched us both.”

Victor looked at me for a moment and was about to comment further when a call came over the wireless from an officer in need of assistance. It was the unmistakable voice of Spike. I went to pick up the microphone but Victor grabbed me by the wrist with a surprising turn of speed. He looked at me grimly.

“No, Thursday. Not with Spike.”

“But an officer in need of assistance?—”

“Don’t get involved. Spike is on his own and it’s best that way.”

I looked at Bowden, who nodded agreement and said:

“The powers of darkness are not for everyone, Miss Next. I think Spike understands that. We hear his calls from time to time but I see him in the canteen the following morning, as regular as clockwork. He knows what he’s doing.”

The wireless was silent; the channel was an open one and perhaps upward of sixty or seventy officers had heard the call. No one had answered.

Spike’s voice came over the airwaves again:

“For God’s sake, guys!—”

Bowden moved to switch the wireless off but I stopped him. I got into my car and keyed the mike.

“Spike, this is Thursday. Where are you?”

Victor shook his head.

“It was nice knowing you, Miss Next.”

I glared at them both and drove off into the night.