The Well of Lost Plots (Thursday Next 3)

'We've got to go,' I said, urgently.

'Poppycock!' replied Miss Havisham.

'Place your hands on the bonnet of the car!' yelled the PA again as the airship droned past at treetop level. 'You have been warned!'

'Miss Havisham,' I said, 'if they find out who I am I could be in a lot of trouble!'

'Nonsense, girl. Why would they want someone as inconsequential as you?'

The airship swung round with the vectored engines in reverse; once they started asking questions I'd be answering them for a long time.

'We have to go, Miss Havisham!'

She sensed the urgency in my voice and beckoned for me to get in the car. Within a moment we were away from that place, car and all, back in the lobby of the Great Library.

'You're not so popular in the Outland, then?' Havisham asked, turning off the engine, which spluttered and shook to a halt, the sudden quiet a welcome break.

'You could say that.'

'Broken the law?'

'Not really.'

She stared at me for a moment.

'I thought it a bit odd that Goliath had you trapped in their deepest and most secure sub-basement. Do you have the film from the speed camera?'

I handed it over.

'I'll get double prints,' she mused. 'Thanks for your help. See you at roll-call tomorrow – don't be late!'

I waited until she had gone, then retraced my steps to the Library, where I had left Snell's 'head-in-a-bag' plot device, and made my way home. I didn't jump direct; I took the elevator. Bookjumping might be a quick way to get around, but it was also kind of knackering.

9

Apples Benedict, a hedgehog and Commander Bradshaw

* * *

'ImaginoTransference Recording Device: A machine used to write books in the Well, the ITRD resembles a large horn (typically eight foot across and made of brass) attached to a polished

mahogany mixing board a little like a church organ but with many more stops and levers. As the story is enacted in front of the collecting horn, the actions, dialogue, humour, pathos, etc., are collected, mixed and transmitted as raw data to Text Grand Central where the wordsmiths hammer it into readable story code. Once done it is beamed direct to the author's pen or typewriter, and from there through a live footnoterphone link back to the Well as plain text. The page is read and if all is well, it is added to the manuscript and the characters move on. The beauty of the system is that the author never suspects a thing – they think they do all the work.'

CMDR TRAFFORD BRADSHAW, CBE –

Bradshaw's Guide to the BookWorld

'I'm home!' I yelled as I walked through the door. Pickwick plocked happily up to me, realised I didn't have any marshmallows, and then left in a huff, only to return with a piece of paper she had found in the waste-paper basket, which she offered to me as a gift. I thanked her profusely and she went back to her egg.

'Hello,' said ibb, who had been experimenting, Beeton-like, in the kitchen, 'what's in the bag?'

'You don't want to know.'

'Hmm,' replied ibb thoughtfully. 'Since I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, your response must be another way of saying: "I'm not going to tell you, so sod off." Is that correct?'

'More or less,' I replied, placing the bag in the broom cupboard. 'Is Gran around?'

'I don't think so.'