One of Our Thursdays Is Missing - Jasper Fforde [109]
“So remove his tape and let’s get out of here.”
In reply the Duplex-6 took a large brass key from his jacket pocket and inserted it into the socket in the base of his neck. We could see he was almost run down, and before we could stop him, he had started to turn the key.
“Good Lord,” said Sprockett. “The Duplex-6 has a self-wind capability.”
Sprockett tried to stop the damaged Man in Plaid from winding himself up, but the 6’s superior strength was too much, and we watched with increased hopelessness as the Plaid’s tension indicator neared the red line.
“We’re leaving,” said Sprockett, and without waiting for a reply he took me by the hand and we ran to the bathroom window and out the fire escape at the back of the building.
We were two flights down when the Duplex-6’s mainspring finally ruptured in an almighty outburst of stored mechanical energy. There was a loud twuuung noise, and the shattered remains of the Man in Plaid erupted out the windows of Lyell’s apartment. We were showered with minute cogs, sprockets, bevel gears, and dogs, chains, pushrods and actuators.
“A self-winding capability,” said Sprockett, who was obviously deeply impressed. “I wonder if they would retrofit that feature for us Duplex-5s?”
32.
Homecoming
Islands to Visit #124: Photography. This beautifully expressive and lyrical island has been divided between Black-and-White and Color for many years, and the two factions are almost constantly at war, an event that is itself documented by resident war photographers. The recording of the war recording is also recorded, with Martin Parr photographing the ears and neckties of those who are recording the people who are recording the people recording the events.
Bradshaw’s BookWorld Companion (5th edition)
We dodged Jurisfaction officers for two hours and eventually negotiated a ride home aboard a copy of the recently discredited President Formby War Diaries, which was on a one-way trip to Historical Counterfactuals.
“May I be so bold,” said Sprockett once we had landed and were on the train heading back towards Fantasy and home, “as to inquire about our next move?”
“Placating an angry Carmine, I should imagine—I’ve been away a lot these past few days. After that we’ll have to recover anything Horace has stolen again, put up with petulant huffing and tutting from Pickwick—and my dopey father will be complaining about something, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“I was referring to Racy Novel, ma’am. Should you call Commander Bradshaw again?”
I’d asked myself the same question on the way back from Biography. I’d spoken to him briefly while on board the World Hotel Review. He had expressed surprise and alarm about the Men in Plaid and had also checked out Mediocre’s address and reported back to us no sign of metaphor—in bridges or otherwise. Unwisely, I had told him we were going on to Biography, and now I didn’t know if I could trust him or not.
“He might have tipped off the Men in Plaid,” I said after airing my thoughts, “or he simply might be having his footnoterphone messages read in transit.”
It wasn’t hard, apparently. All you needed do was to sit in the footnoterphone ducts and read the messages as they flitted past.
“Even if he is on the level,” I added, “it’s not like we have any answers or evidence—just a geologist out to grass and a rough sketch of the strata beneath the northern part of Fiction.”
Sprockett nodded agreement.
“But,” I added, “we know that Thursday would have been working to avert war at the peace talks. If she was silenced, the attacks by the Men in Plaid would seem to implicate the Council of Genres, but the CofG want to avoid a war, not start one. It was Senator Jobsworth himself who wanted me to go to the peace talks tomorrow. The only person we know who seems to actually welcome war is Speedy Muffler.”
“Would he have access to Duplex-6 automatons that could be made to look like Men in Plaid?” asked Sprockett.
“Duplex will sell to anyone with the cash,