The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [199]
“I’ve got to go!” said Durrell, handing Mum a card. “ Compensation can be claimed if you call this number. You might like to ask for our free leaflet ‘How to Make Your Garden Less Palatable to Proboscidea.’ Good morning!”
He tipped his hat and jumped over the wall to where his partner had pulled up in an SO-13 Land Rover. Buttercup gave out another call and the Land Rover screeched off, leaving my mother and me staring at her wrecked garden. The dodos, sensing the danger had passed, crept out from behind the potting shed and plock-plocked quietly to themselves as they pecked and scratched at the scoured earth.
“Perhaps it’s time for a Japanese garden,” sighed my mother, throwing down the broom handle. “Reverse engineering! Where will it all end? They say there’s a Diatryma living wild in the New Forest!”
“Urban legend,” I assured her as she started to tidy up the garden. I looked at my watch. I would have to run if I was to get to Osaka that evening.
I took the train to the busy Saknussum International Gravitube Terminus, located just to the west of London. I made my way into the departures terminal and studied the board. The next DeepDrop to Sydney would be in an hour. I bought a ticket, hurried to the check-in and spent ten minutes listening to a litany of pointless antiterrorist questions.
“I don’t have a bag,” I explained. She looked at me oddly, so I added: “Well, I did, but you lost it the last time I traveled. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a bag returned to me after tubing.”
She thought about this for a moment and then said: “If you had a bag and if you had packed it yourself, and if you had not left it unattended, might it contain any of the following?”
She showed me a list of prohibited items and I shook my head.
“Would you like an in-drop meal?”
“What are my choices?”
“Yes or no.”
“No.”
She looked at the next question on her sheet.
“Who would you prefer to sit next to?”
“Nun or a knitting granny, if that’s possible.”
“Hmm,” mused the check-in girl, studying the passenger manifest carefully. “All the nuns, grannies and intelligent nonamorous males are taken. It’s technobore, lawyer, self-pitying drunk or copiously vomiting baby, I’m afraid.”
“Technobore and lawyer, then.”
She marked me down on the seating plan and then announced: “There will be slight delay in receiving the excuse for the lateness of the DeepDrop to Sydney, Miss Next. The reason for the delay in the excuse has yet to be established.”
Another check-in girl whispered something in her ear.
“I’ve just been informed that the reason for the excuse for the delay has been delayed itself. As soon as we find out why the reason for the excuse has been delayed we will tell you—in line with government guidelines. If you are at all unhappy with the speed at which the excuse has been delivered, you might be eligible for a 1% refund. Have a nice drop.”
I was handed my boarding card and told to go to the gate when the drop was announced. I thanked her, bought some coffee and biscuits and sat down to wait. The Gravitube seemed to be plagued with delays. There were a lot of travelers sitting around looking bored as they waited for their trip. In theory every drop took under an hour irrespective of destination; but even if they developed a twenty-minute accelerated DeepDrop to the other side of the planet, you’d still spend four hours at either end waiting for baggage or customs or something.
The PA barked into life again.
“Attention, please. Passengers for the 11:04 DeepDrop to Sydney will be glad to know that the delay was due to too many excuses being created by the Gravitube