The One Who Is Two (Book 1 of White Rabbit)

Loofah pulled open the white wood door at the end of the corridor and found himself in the foyer. The main entrance beckoned, a mere thousand miles away across the Great Marble Plain; he was nearly free. There was, of course, one last obstacle – perched like Scylla on her cliff, the flint-faced receptionist hovered over his route, ready to strike – but the time to hesitate was passed. And so, with a quick glance at the fax, he set a straight course for the exit, striding out briskly with shoulders back and eyes forward.

  Once out of the security of the corridor, however, he was exposed and vulnerable. He felt again the pressure of the space and the silence, the acres of marble stretching out on all sides and the ceiling and the staircase soaring away into the stratosphere over his head. His courage evaporated under the throbbing sun of corporate power and his bold stride had soon decayed into a feeble mince. And then Scylla struck.

  'Would sir care to sign out?' called the receptionist, in a chilling tone.

  'Er…' He quickly read a single word on the crumpled paper: '…no.' Delivered in a quavering bleat, his defiance lost some of its effect.

  'No? It is normal procedure for all persons leaving the Office – .'

  'Special instructions from the Under Manager,' he read, 'Overrides all previous orders.'

  'This is all highly irregular,' said the receptionist, 'I'm sure Miss Leggett would have informed me. Perhaps I'd better just check with her secretary.'

  Terror flared up as she reached for her telephone; Loofah grappled with the crackling paper, searching for instructions. She snatched up the receiver. In a blind panic he fumbled and festoons of paper tumbled onto the marble in a glossy white waterfall. A scarlet-tipped talon stabbed into the keypad. He went to pick up the fallen fax – but knew there was no time.

  'It's OK,' he said in a high voice, the improvised words falling unbidden from his mouth, 'Here it is – in black and white.'

  The receptionist paused mid-dial. Picking up the formless, crackling mass between both hands, Loofah carried it over to the desk. She considered for a moment – and then replaced the receiver.

  'These are Miss Leggett's special instructions?' she asked in a tone of frank disbelief.

  'Er… yes.'

  His heart was fluttering like a trapped sparrow while, with a grimace akin to revulsion, she pulled a creased loop from the pile and examined it. Loofah considered his options: run for the door; confess, surrender and take his punishment like a man; or sit down, pull his jacket over his head and metamorphose into a screen-save newt…

  'Well, this all seems to be in order, sir,' said the receptionist, looking up from the fax with a pleasant smile.

  'It is?'

  'Yes, sir, no problem at all. Have a nice day and do visit us again soon.'

  Loofah stopped at the end of the office driveway and scrutinised the surface of the fax – now a huge sphere of crumpled paper, a light-weight medicine ball – for further instructions. At first he found nothing, just screwed up creases and smudged figures. Then, in tiny typescript on a postage-stamp section of uncrushed paper, he read: 'Fax message terminates. Further information available by telephone. Any problems with this transmission should be reported to the sender.'