The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [207]
I snapped my fingers.
“Wait a moment!” I exclaimed. “This is the conversation you had in Alice in Wonderland, just after the baby turned into a pig!”
“Ah!” returned the Cat with an annoyed flick of his tail. “Fancy you can write your own dialogue, do you? I’ve seen people try; it’s never a pretty sight. But have it your own way. And what’s more, the baby turned into a fig, not a pig.”
“It was a pig, actually.”
“Fig,” said the Cat stubbornly. “Who was in the book, me or you?”
“It was a pig,” I insisted.
“Well!” exclaimed the Cat. “I’ll go and check. Then you’ll look pretty stupid, I can tell you!”
And so saying, he vanished.
I stood there for a moment or two wondering if things could get much odder. By the time I had thought that, no, they probably couldn’t, the Cat’s tail started to appear, then his body and finally his head and mouth.
“Well?” I asked.
“All right,” grumbled the Cat, “so it was a pig. My hearing is not so good; I think it’s all that pepper. By the by, I almost forgot. You’re apprenticed to Miss Havisham.”
“Miss Havisham? Great Expectations’ Miss Havisham?”
“Is there any other? You’ll be fine—just don’t mention the wedding.”
“I’ll try not to. Wait a moment—apprenticed?”
“Of course. Getting here is only half the adventure. If you want to join us you’ll have to learn the ropes. Right now all you can do is journey. With a bit of practice on your own you might learn to be page-accurate when you jump. But if you want to delve deep into the backstory or take an excursion beyond the sleeve notes, you’re going to have to take instruction. Why, by the time Miss Havisham has finished with you, you’ll think nothing of being able to visit early drafts, deleted characters or long-discarded chapters that make little or no sense at all. Who knows, you may even glimpse the core of the book, the central nub of energy that binds a novel together.”
“You mean the spine?” I asked, not quite up to speed yet.
The Cat lashed its tail in exasperation.
“No, stupid, the idea, the notion, the spark. Once you’ve laid your eyes on the raw concept of a book, everything you’ve ever seen or felt will seem about as interesting as a stair carpet. Try and imagine this: You are sitting on soft grass on a warm summer’s evening in front of a dazzling sunset; the air is full of truly inspiring music and you have in your hands a wonderful book. Are you there?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, now imagine a simply vast saucer of warm cream in front of you and consider lapping it really slowly until your whiskers are completely drenched.”
The Cheshire Cat shivered deliriously.
“If you do all of that and multiply it by a thousand, then perhaps, just perhaps, you will have some idea of what I’m talking about.”
“Can I pass on the cream?”
“Whatever you want. It’s your daydream, after all.”
And with a flick of his tail, the Cat vanished. I turned to explore my surroundings and was surprised to find that the Cheshire Cat was sitting on another shelf on the other side of the corridor.
“You seem a bit old to be an apprentice,” continued the Cat, folding its paws and staring at me with an unnerving intensity. “We’ve been expecting you for almost twenty years. Where on earth have you been?”
“I . . . I . . . didn’t know I could do this.”
“What you mean is that you did know that you couldn’t—it’s quite a different thing. The point is, do you think you have what it takes to help us here at Jurisfiction?”
“I really don’t know,” I replied, truthfully enough—although I hung to the hope that this was the only way I even had a chance to get Landen back. But since I didn’t see why he should ask all the questions, I asked: “What do you do?”
“I,” said the Cat proudly, “am the librarian.”
“You look after all these books?”
“Certainly. Ask me any question you want.”
“Jane Eyre,” I asked, intending only to ask its location but realizing when the Cat answered that a librarian here was far removed from the sort I knew at home.
“Ranked the 728th favorite fictional book ever written,” the Cat replied, parrot-fashion.