'Why did you come for me, Vern?'
'Because I don't believe you would kill Miss Havisham, and, like it or not, despite my rejection of Farquitt, I love stories as much as anyone. UltraWord™ is flawed. Havisham, Perkins, Snell and I were all trying to figure out some sort of a proof when Perkins was eaten.'
The tunnel opened out into a large chamber where a settlement of sorts had been built from rubbish and scrap wood – items that could be removed from the BookWorld without anyone noticing. The buildings were little more than tents with the orange flicker of oil lamps from within.
'Vern!' came a voice, and a dark-haired young woman waved at him from the nearest tent. She was heavily pregnant and Deane rushed up to hug her affectionately. I watched them with a certain degree of jealousy. I noticed I had placed my hand on my own tum quite subconsciously. I sighed and pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind.
'Mimi, this is Thursday,' said Vern. I shook her hand and she led us into their tent, offering me a small wooden box to sit on that I noticed had once been used to held past tenses.
'We scrounge a lot from the Well,' explained Deane, making some coffee. 'It's pretty unregulated down there and we can pinch almost anything.'
'So what's wrong with UltraWord™?' I asked him, my curiosity overcoming me.
'Flawed by the need for control,' he said slowly. 'Think the BookWorld is over-regulated? Believe me, it's an anarchist's dreamworld compared to the future seen by TGC!'
And so, over the next hour, he proceeded to tell me exactly what he had discovered. The problem was, it might very well be seen as hearsay. We needed something more than possibilities and allegations, we needed proof.
'Proof,' said Deane, 'yes, that was always the problem. I don't have any. Perkins died trying to protect the only proof he said we have. I'll go and fetch it.'
He returned with a birdcage containing a skylark and set it on the table.
I looked at the bird and the bird looked back.
'This is the proof?'
'So Perkins said.'
'Do you have any idea what he meant?'
'None at all.' He sighed. 'He was minotaur shit long before he tried to explain it to any of us.'
I leaned forward for a closer look and smelt – cantaloupes.
'It's UltraWord™,' I breathed.
'It is?' echoed Deane in surprise. 'How can you tell?'
'It's an Outlander thing. Do you still have your UltraWord™ copy of The Little Prince?'
He handed me the slim volume.
'What's on your mind?'
'I have a plan,' I told him, 'but to do it I have to be at liberty – and free from the Bellman's suspicions.'
'I can arrange that.' Deane smiled. 'Come on, let's do this thing before it gets any worse.'
24. Mimi was standing outside the footnoterphone tube entrance to Text Grand Central and looking at her watch. The words sped backwards and forwards, darting inside the tunnel, which had a sturdy grate across it streaked with rust. Every now and then messages were deflected off. It was a textual sieve – used here for deleting unwanted junk footnoterphone messages.
She gestured to the man accompanying her and stepped back.
Quasimodo – who had found sanctuary, finally – grunted in reply and gently placed a copy of Das Kapital next to Mein Kampf, separating them with only a thin metal sheet. The 'book sandwich' was held together by rubber bands and a string was attached to the metal sheet. Quasimodo tied the books to the grate and then retired down the conduit, paying out the string as he went. He joined Mimi at a little-used sub-genre pipe entitled 'Squid Action/Adventure' and waited for Thursday's signal.
25. Mimi nodded to Quasimodo, who pulled the string. The steel plate shot out and Das Kapital and Mein Kampf came together, their conflicting ideologies starting to generate heat. The books turned brown, smouldered for a moment and then, as Mimi and Quasimodo scurried away, the two volumes reached critical mass, turned white hot, and exploded. The detonation echoed down the footnoterphone pipes, followed by a deathly silence. They had done it. The footnoterphone conduit was destroyed – Libris and Tweed were cut off from Text Grand Central.
26. 'Thursday! It's Mimi, are you there?'
27. 'They are rerouting messages through the auxiliary ducts past Spy Thrillers and through Horror. If you haven't got a vote, get one now!'
Jasper Fforde, The Well of Lost Plots
(Series: Thursday Next # 3)
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