Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

'You forget,' said Kaine, as he stared at me with his unblinking eyes, 'that I have had many years to hone my powers, and as you can see, nobodies from the Farquitt canon are ten a penny.'

'Murderer!'

Kaine laughed.

'You can't murder a fictional person, Thursday. If you could, every author would be behind bars!'

'You know what I mean,' I growled, beginning to move forward. If I could just grasp hold of him I could jump into fiction and take him with me. Kaine knew this and kept his distance.

'You're something of a pest, you know,' he carried on, 'and I really thought the Windowmaker would have been able to dispose of you so I wouldn't have to. Despite the woefully poor odds on Swindon winning tomorrow, I really can't risk Zvlkx's Revealment coming true, no matter how unlikely. And my friends at Goliath agree with me.'

'This place is not your place,' I told him, 'and you are messing with real people's lives. You were created to entertain, not to rule.'

'Have you any idea,' he carried on as we slowly encircled one another about the airship's unfinished control gondola, just what it's like being stuck as a B-9 character in a self-published novel?

Never being read, having two lines of dialogue and constantly being bettered by my inferiors?'

'What's wrong with the character exchange programme?' I asked, stalling for time.

'I tried. Do you know what the Council of Genres told me?'

'I'm all ears.'

'They told me to do the best with what I had. Well, I'm doing exactly that, Miss Nex

t!'

'I have some swing with the council, Kaine. Surrender and I'll do the best I can for you.'

'Lies!' spat Kaine. 'Lies, lies, and more lies! You have no intention of helping me!'

I didn't deny it.

'Well,' he carried on, 'I said I needed to speak to you, and here it is: you've found out where I'm from, and despite my best efforts to retain all copies of At Long Last Lust there is still a possibility you might find a copy and delete me from within. I can't have that. So I wanted to give you the opportunity of entering into a mutually agreeable partnership. Something that will benefit both of us. Me in the corridors of power and you as head of any SpecOps division you want — or SpecOps itself, come to that.'

'I think you underestimate me,' I said quietly. 'The only deal I'm listening to tonight will be your unconditional surrender.'

'Oh, I didn't underestimate you at all,' continued the Chancellor with a slight smile. 'I only said that to give a Gorgon friend of mine enough time to creep up behind you. Have you met . . . Medusa, by the way?'

I heard a hissing noise behind me. The hairs on my neck rose and my heart beat faster. I looked down as I twisted and jumped to the side, resisting any temptation to glance at the naked and repellent creature that had been slinking towards me. It's difficult to hit a target that you are trying not to look at, and my fourth eraserhead impacted harmlessly on a gantry on the other side of the hangar. I stepped back, caught my foot on a piece of metal and collapsed backward, my gun skittering across the floor towards some packing cases. I swore and attempted to scrabble away from the mythological horror, only to have my ankle grasped by Medusa, whose head-snakes were now hissing angrily. I tried to kick out of her grasp but she had a grip like a vice. Her free hand grabbed my other ankle and then, cackling wildly, she crept her way up my body as I struggled in vain to push her away, her sharply nailed claws biting into my flesh and making me cry out in pain.

'Stare into my face!' screamed the Gorgon as we wrestled in the dust. 'Stare into my face and accept your destiny!' I kept my eyes averted as she pinned me against the cold concrete and then, when her bony and foul-smelling body was sitting on my chest, she cackled again and took hold of my head in both hands. I screamed and shut my eyes tight, gagging at her putrid breath. It was no escape. I felt her hands move on my face, her fingertips on my eyelids.

'Come along, Thursday, my love,' she screeched, the hissing of the snakes almost drowning her out, 'gaze into my soul and feel your body turn to stone—!'

I strained and cried out as her fingers pulled my eyelids open. I swivelled my eyes as low in their sockets as I could, desperate to stave off the inevitable, and was just beginning to see glimmers of light and the lower part of her body when there was the sound of steel being drawn from a scabbard and a soft whoop noise. Medusa fell limp and silent on my chest. I opened my eyes and pushed the severed head of the Gorgon into the shadows. I jumped up, slipped once in the pool of blood issuing from her headless corpse and ran backward, stumbling in my panic to get away.

'Well,' said a familiar voice, 'looks like I got here just in time!'

It was the Cat. He was sitting on an unfinished airship rib and was grinning wildly. He wasn't alone. Next to him stood a man. But it wasn't any ordinary man. He was tall - at least seven foot six and broad with it. He was dressed in rudimentary armour and grasped in his powerful hands a shield and sword that appeared to weigh almost nothing. He was a frightening warrior to behold; the sort of hero for whom epics are written — the likes of which we have no need of in our day and age. He was the most alpha of males - he was Beowulf. He made no sound, knees slightly bent in readiness, bloody sword moving elegantly in a slow figure-of-eight pattern.

'Good move, Mr Cat,' said Kaine sardonically, stepping from behind the gondola and facing us across the only open area in the hangar.

'You can end this right now, Mr Kaine,' said the Cat. 'Go back to your book and stay there — or face the consequences.'

'I choose not to,' he replied with an even smile, 'and since you have raised the stakes by invoking an eighth-century hero, I challenge you to a one-on-one invocation contest pitting my fictional champions against yours. You win and I stay forever in At Long Last Lust; I win and you leave me unmolested.'

I looked at the Cat, who was, for once, not smiling.