One of Our Thursdays Is Missing - Jasper Fforde [84]
The man with the spade walked back to his position to the left of his boss. I noticed as he did that one edge of the spade had been sharpened.
“Okay,” said Potblack, who seemed annoyed that I wasn’t more frightened than I was. Perhaps if I’d known who he was, I would have been. But this was Thursday’s life, not mine.
“In the past,” began Potblack in a slow, deliberate speech, “we may have had an ‘understanding’ over who deals what cheese where. Perhaps you think I was being too harsh when I started dealing in really strong cheeses, but I am a businessman. The stronger the cheese, the more people will pay. Business is good, and we want to keep it that way. If the government lifts the cheese ban as threatened, then it could be very bad business for all of us. The last thing we want is legal cheese.”
I vaguely knew what he was talking about, but not the details. I’d heard that cheese in the Outland was subject to a swingingly large amount of duty, but it seemed the government, in an attempt to control the burgeoning illegal-cheese market, had tried cheese prohibition. Judging from Potblack’s jewelry, car and ability to supply, the ban didn’t seem to be working.
“So what do you want me to do?” I asked. “It’s not like I have the ear of the president, now, is it?”
The Stiltonista looked at his henchman with the spade, who picked it up again. I was wrong—I did have the ear of the president. Landen had said so earlier.
“Anymore. I don’t have his ear anymore. But I’m sure I could give him a call and advise him to keep the prohibition in place.”
Potblack stared at me and narrowed his eyes. “You’re being uncharacteristically compliant.”
“But characteristically realistic,” I said cheerfully. “You’re the one with the sharpened spade.”
“Hmm,” said the Stiltonista, “very well. But I want to offer an incentive to make sure that once released you don’t ‘forget’ your part of the bargain.”
“Bargain?” I echoed. “You mean I get something from this?”
“You do. You get to keep your life, your husband gets to keep his, and your children get to keep their fingers.”
The man with the spade tapped it on the ground as if to emphasize the point, and the steel rang out with a threatening ting-ting-ting-ting sound. I stared at the Stiltonista for a moment, and when I spoke, I tried to convey as much menace as I could—surprisingly easy, for I was angry—and it wasn’t the sort of anger I get when I fluff my lines or my father misses a cue and comes in late. Or even the sort of anger I felt when Horace the goblin nicked all my stuff or Carmine went AWOL. This was real anger. The sort of “don’t shit with me” stuff that mothers feel when you threaten their children.
“Dear, oh, dear,” I said, sadly shaking my head, “and we were getting on so well. I said I’d help you out, and you respond by threatening my kids. That’s not only insulting, it’s impolite. There’s a new deal: You let me go right now and promise never to even look at my husband or children, and I will let you live to see tomorrow’s dawn.”
The Stiltonista bit his lip ever so subtly. It was clear that I had a reputation, and it moved in front of me like a bulldozer. Despite the fact that I was outnumbered six to one, the Stiltonista obviously considered that at the very least I should not be underrated. Thursday, it seemed, was a formidable foe—and highly dangerous if you got on the wrong side of her.
“You’re not in any position to be doing deals.”
“I don’t want anyone to think me unfair,” I said. “I’ll give you until the count of three. One.”
There was the sound of safety catches being released from the men behind me. They were quite obviously armed and, from the sound of it, heavily.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t do any sort of deal, Miss Next,” said Potblack with renewed confidence. “Perhaps you would like to reconsider. My men will finish you before you get to three, and you’ll end up with all the others—six feet under the Savernake Forest, a feast for the worms. I apologize if I have been impolite, but as you understand, a lot rides on a lifted prohibition,