The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [176]
“And how much profit do you expect to scavenge as you massage us from hatched to dispatched?”
“You can’t put a price on human happiness, Next. Political and economic uncertainty are the two biggest forms of stress. You’ll be pleased to know that the Goliath Cheerfulness Index has reached a four-year high this morning at nine point one three.”
“Out of a hundred?” asked Landen sarcastically.
“Out of ten, Mr. Parke-Laine,” he replied testily. “The nation has grown beyond all measure under our guidance.”
“Growth purely for its own sake is the philosophy of cancer, Schitt-Hawse.”
His face dropped and he stared at us for a moment, doubtless wondering how best to continue.
“So,” I said politely, “out to watch the mammoths?”
“Goliath don’t watch mammoths, Next. There’s no profit in it. Have you met my associates Mr. Chalk and Mr. Cheese?”
I looked at his two gorillalike lackeys. They were immaculately dressed, had impeccably trimmed goatees, and stared at me through impenetrable dark glasses.
“Which is which?” I asked.
“I’m Cheese,” said Cheese.
“I’m Chalk,” said Chalk.
“When is he going to ask you about Jack Schitt?” asked Landen in an unsubtly loud whisper.
“Pretty soon,” I replied.
Schitt-Hawse shook his head sadly. He opened the briefcase Mr. Chalk was holding, and inside, nestled in the carefully cut foam innards, lay a copy of The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe.
“You left Jack imprisoned in this copy of ‘The Raven.’ Goliath need him out to face a disciplinary board on charges of embezzlement, Goliath contractual irregularities, misuse of the corporation’s leisure facilities, missing stationery—and crimes against humanity.”
“Oh yes?” I asked. “Why not just leave him in?”
Schitt-Hawse sighed and stared at me.
“Listen, Next. We need Jack out of here, and believe me, we’ll manage it.”
“Not with my help.”
Schitt-Hawse stared silently at me for a moment.
“Goliath are not used to being refused. We asked your uncle to build another Prose Portal. He told us to come back in a month’s time. We understand he left on retirement last night. Destination?”
“Not a clue.”
Mycroft had retired, it seemed, not out of choice but out of necessity. I smiled to myself. Goliath had been hoodwinked and they didn’t like it.
“Without the Portal,” I told him, “I can’t jump into books any more than Mr. Chalk can.”
Chalk shuffled slightly as I mentioned his name.
“You’re lying,” replied Schitt-Hawse. “The ineptness card doesn’t work on us. You defeated Hades, Jack Schitt and the Goliath Corporation. We have a great deal of admiration for you. Goliath has been more than fair given the circumstances, and we would hate for you to become a victim of corporate impatience.”
“Corporate impatience?” I repeated, staring Schitt-Hawse straight in the eye. “What’s that, some sort of threat?”
“This unhelpful attitude of yours might make me vindictive— and you wouldn’t like me when I get vindictive.”
“I don’t like you when you’re not vindictive.”
Schitt-Hawse shut the briefcase with a snap. His left eye twitched and the color drained out of his face. He looked at us both and started to say something, stopped, got ahold of his temper and managed to squeeze out a half-smile before he climbed back into his car with Chalk and Cheese and was gone.
Landen was still chuckling as we spread a groundsheet and blanket on the well-nibbled grass just above the White Horse. Below us at the bottom of the escarpment a herd of mammoths were quietly browsing, and on the horizon we could see several airships on the approach to Oxford. It was a pleasant day, and since airships don’t fly in poor weather, they were all making the best use of it.
“You don’t have much fear of Goliath, do you, darling?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Goliath are nothing more than a bully, Land. Stand up to them and they’ll soon scurry away. All that large car and henchman stuff—it’s for