The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [249]
“The Bellman!” hissed Miss Havisham as she took my arm and moved towards where a man dressed as a town crier stood on a low dais. “Showtime!”
The small group of people gathered around the crier; the Red Queen and Miss Havisham stood side by side, their argument seemingly forgotten. I looked around at the odd assortment of characters and wondered quite what I was doing here. Still, if I was to learn how to travel in books, I would have to know more. I listened attentively.
The Bellman put down his bell and consulted a list of notes.
“Is everyone here? Where’s the Cat?”
“I’m over there,” purred the Cat, sitting precariously atop one of the gold-framed mirrors.
“Good. Okay, anyone missing?”
“Shelley’s gone boating,” said a voice at the back. “He’ll be back in an hour if the weather holds.”
“O-kay,” continued the Bellman. “Jurisfiction session number 40311 is now in session.”
He tingled his bell again, coughed and consulted a clipboard.
“Item one is bad news, I’m afraid.”
There was a respectful hush. He paused for a moment and picked his words carefully.
“I think we will all have to come to the conclusion that David and Catriona aren’t coming back. It’s been eighteen sessions now, and we have to assume that they’ve been . . . boojummed.”
There was a reflective pause.
“We remember David and Catriona Balfour as friends, colleagues, worthy members of our calling, protagonists in Kidnapped and Catriona and for all the booksploring they did— especially finding a way into Barchester, for which we will always be grateful. I ask for a minute’s silence. To the Balfours!”
“The Balfours!” we all repeated. Then, heads bowed, we stood in silence. After a minute ticked by, the Bellman spoke again.
“Now, I don’t want to sound disrespectful, but what we learn from this is that we must always sign the outings book so we know where you are—particularly if you are exploring new routes. Don’t forget the ISBN numbers either—they weren’t introduced just for cataloguing, now were they? Mr. Bradshaw’s maps might have a traditionalist’s charm about them—”
“Who’s Bradshaw?” I whispered.
“Commander Bradshaw,” explained Havisham. “Retired now but a wonderful character—did most of the booksploring in the early days.”
“—but they are old and full of errors,” continued the Bellman. “New technology is here to be used, guys. Anyone who wants to attend a training course on how ISBN numbers relate to transbook travel, see the Cat for details.”
The Bellman looked around the room as if to reinforce the order, then unfolded a sheet of paper and adjusted his glasses.
“Right. Item two. New recruit. Thursday Next. Where are you?”
The assembled Prose Resource Operatives looked around the room before I waved a hand to get their attention.
“There you are. Thursday is apprenticed to Miss Havisham; I’m sure you’ll all join me in welcoming her to our little band.”
“Didn’t like the way Jane Eyre turned out?” said someone in a hostile tone from the back. Everyone watched as a middle-aged man stood up and walked up to the Bellman’s dais. There was silence.
“Who’s that?” I hissed.
“Harris Tweed,” replied Havisham. “Dangerous and arrogant but quite brilliant—for a man.”
“Who approved her application?” asked Tweed.
“She didn’t apply, Harris,” replied the Bellman. “Her appointment was forshadowed long ago. Besides, her work within Jane Eyre ridding the book of the loathsome Hades is good enough testimonial for me.”
“But she altered the book!” cried Tweed angrily. “Who’s to say she wouldn’t do the same again?”
“I did what I did for the best,” I said in a loud voice, feeling I had to defend myself against Tweed. This startled him—I got the feeling no one really stood up to him.
“If it wasn’t for Thursday we wouldn’t have a book,” said the Bellman. “A full book with a different ending is better than half a book without.”
“That’s not what the rules say, Bellman.”
To my great relief, Miss Havisham spoke up.
“Truly competent Literary Detectives are as rare as truthful men, Mr. Tweed—you can see