One of Our Thursdays Is Missing - Jasper Fforde [23]
“About time,” he said when I appeared. “Places to be, people to visit—wheels within wheels.”
“Wheels within wheels,” echoed the man next to him.
“This is Martin Lockheed,” explained Herring. “You’ll answer to him, as I am a busy man. After this meeting I do not expect us to meet again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your Three Men in a Boat investigation didn’t really impress,” he began.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that.”
“Apologies don’t really cut it, Next, but I am a man loyal to friends, and the real Miss Next has always intimated in the past that you may show promise one day.”
“I’m very grateful to her . . . and you,” I managed to stammer.
“So I look upon you as an investment,” replied Herring, “and a long-standing favor to a valued colleague. Which is why we are here now. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
“That’s good,” said Lockheed, as if I might not have heard what Herring said. The regional commander waved a hand at the wreckage.
“Easy one for you to cut your teeth on. It has all the signs of being another unprecedented event that despite all expectations has become repeatedly unrepeatable. Don’t let me down, will you? Wrap it up nice and neat and don’t get all showy or anything. Fiction has a 99.97 percent book-safety record, and the last thing we want is the residents of this fair island worried that the fabric of their world is prone to shredding itself at the drop of a participle, hmm?”
“I’ll do my very best to discover that it’s an unrepeatable accident,” I told him, “and with indecent haste.”
“Very good. Twenty-four hours should suffice, yes?”
“I’ll see what I can do, sir, and I’d like to thank you for the opportunity.”
“No need. Lockheed?”
“Yes, sir?”
Herring snapped his fingers impatiently, and the rather harassed Lockheed passed him a clipboard.
“These are the reported items of debris,” Herring said, handing the clipboard straight to me without looking at it. “Not good, having narrative falling from the skies, so let’s keep it simple, eh? Wheels within wheels, Thursday.”
“Wheels within wheels,” added Lockheed earnestly.
“Wheels within wheels, sir. Would you thank Miss Next for me when you see her?”
“When next I see her. She’s very busy.”
He then looked at Sprockett, who was standing off from the group, being unobtrusive. “Who’s that?”
“Sprockett,” I replied, “my butler.”
“I didn’t know you had a butler.”
“Everyone needs a butler, sir.”
“I have no argument with that. Duplex-3, is he?”
“Duplex-5, sir.”
“The Fives were prone to be troublesome without sufficient winding. I’ll let you get on. You can call Lockheed anytime you want for guidance. Any questions?”
I thought of asking him if he had seen the real Thursday Next recently but decided against it. The red-haired gentleman had spoken of “being able to trust no one but myself,” and besides, I didn’t want to look a fool if the man on the tram really was a murderous nutjob.
“No questions, sir.”
“Good luck, Miss Next.”
He gave me a half smile, shook my hand and vanished.
“I’ll be off, too,” said Lockheed, handing me a business card and a folder full of health-and-safety literature. “Commander Herring is a great and good man, and you are lucky to have been given this opportunity to converse. He doesn’t usually speak to people as low as you.”
“I’m honored.”
“And so you should be. I was his assistant for three years before he deigned to look me in the eye. One of my proudest moments. If you need me, the JAID offices are at Norland Park.”
And he walked off. Eager not to waste the opportunity I had just been given, I turned my attention to the wreckage.
The chunk of book had splintered off the main novel as it broke up. But this wasn’t pages or