The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [240]
“You had to mean to kill me! He might be the personification of all that is evil within the heart of man, but he’s no fool.”
“Oops.”
“Oops indeed, knucklehead! Right, we’d better be out of here!”
“Isn’t there a plan C?” I asked as we headed for the door.
“Shit no!” replied Spike as he fumbled with the key. “B is as high as I ever get!”
Another creature was arising from behind some upended tables that once held a harvest festival display; I caught it before it was even upright. I turned back to Spike, who had the key in the lock and was muttering something about how he wished he was working at Somme World™.
“Stay away from the door, Spike.”
He recognized the serious tone in my voice. He turned to face the barrel of my automatic.
“Whoa! Careful, Thursday, that’s the end that bites.”
“It ends here and tonight, Spike.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“No joke, Spike. You’re right. I have to kill you. It’s the only way.”
“Er—steady on, Thursday—aren’t you taking this just a little bit too seriously?”
“The Supreme Evil Being must be stopped, Spike—you said so yourself!”
“I know I said that, but we can come back tomorrow with a plan C instead!”
“There is no plan C, Spike. It ends now. Close your eyes.”
“Wait!”
“Close them!”
He closed his eyes and I pulled the trigger and twitched my hand at the same time; the slug powered its way through three layers of clothing, grazed Spike’s shoulder and buried itself in the wood of the old door. It did the trick; with a short and unearthly wail, a wispy entity like smoke emerged from Spike’s nostrils and coalesced into the ethereal version of an old and long-unwashed dishcloth.
“Good work!” muttered Spike in a very relieved voice as he took a step sideways and started to fumble with the bag that contained the vacuum cleaner. “Don’t let it get near you!”
I drew back as the wraithlike spirit moved in my direction.
“Fooled!” said a low voice. “Fooled by a mere mortal, how utterly, utterly depressing!”
The thumping had now increased and was also coming from the vestry door; I could see the hinge pins start to loosen in the powdery mortar.
“Keep him talking!” yelled Spike as he pulled out the vacuum cleaner.
“A vacuum cleaner!” sneered the low voice. “Spike, you insult me!”
Spike didn’t answer but instead unwound the hose and switched the battery-powered appliance on.
“A vacuum cleaner won’t hold me!” sneered the voice again. “Do you really believe that I can be trapped in a bag like so much dust?”
Spike turned the vacuum cleaner on and sucked up the small spirit in a trice.
“He didn’t seem that frightened of it,” I murmured as Spike fiddled with the machine’s controls.
“This isn’t any vacuum cleaner, Thursday. James over at R&D dreamt it up for me. You see, unlike conventional vacuum cleaners, this one works on a dual cyclone principle that traps dust and evil spirits by powerful centrifugal force. Since there is no bag, there is no loss of suction—you can use a lower-wattage motor. There’s a hose action—and a small brush for stair carpets.”
“You find evil spirits in stair carpets?”
“No, but my stair carpets need cleaning just the same as anyone else’s.”
I looked at the glass container and could see a small vestige of white spinning round very rapidly. Spike deftly placed the lid on the jar and detached it from the machine. He held it up, and there inside was a very angry and now quite dizzy spirit of the Evil One—well and truly trapped.
“As I said,” went on Spike, “it’s not rocket science. You had me scared, though; I thought you really were going to kill me!”
“That,” I replied, “was plan D!”
“Spike . . . you . . . you . . . you . . . bastard!” said the small voice from inside the jar. “You’ll suffer the worst torments in hell for this!”
“Yeah, yeah,” replied Spike as he placed the jar in the holdall, “you and all the rest.”
He slung the bag round his body, replaced the spent cartridge in his shotgun with another from his pocket and flicked off the safety.
“Come on, those deadbeats are starting to get on my tits. Whoever nails the least is a sissypants.