The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [279]
CILLA BUBB,
Don’t Desert Your Desserts
IPEERED CAUTIOUSLY from the window as I ate my breakfast and could see a black SpecOps Packard on the street corner, doubtless waiting for me to make an appearance. Across the road from them was another car, this time the unmistakable deep blue of Goliath; Mr. Cheese leaned against the bonnet, smoking. I switched on the telly and caught the news. The break-in at Vole Towers had been heavily censored, but it was reported that an unknown “agency” had gained entrance to the building, killed a number of SO-14 agents and made off with Cardenio. Lord Volescamper had been interviewed and maintained that he had been “sound asleep” and knew nothing. Yorrick Kaine was still reported as “missing,” and early exit polls from the day’s election had shown that Kaine and the Whigs had not to have lived up to expectations. Without Cardenio, the powerful Shakespeare lobby had returned their allegiances to the current administration, who had promised to postpone, with the help of the ChronoGuard, the eighteenth-century demolition of Shakespeare’s old Stratford home.
I allowed myself a wry smile at Kaine’s dramatic fall but felt sorry for the officers who had had to face the Questing Beast. I walked through to the kitchen. Pickwick looked at me and then at her empty supper dish with an accusing air.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I poured her some dried fruit.
“How’s the egg?”
“Plock-plock,” said Pickwick.
“Well,” I replied, “suit yourself. I was only asking.”
I made another cup of tea and sat down to have a think. Dad had said the world was going to end this evening, but whether that was really going to happen or not, I had no idea. As for me, I was wanted by SpecOps and Goliath; I was going to have to either outwit them or lie very low for a long time. I spent most of the day pacing my apartment, trying to figure out the best course of action. I wrote out my account of what had happened and hid it behind the fridge, just in case. I expected Dad to turn up, but the hours ticked by and everything carried on as normal. The Goliath and SpecOps vehicles were relieved by two others at midday, and as dusk drew on I became more desperate. I couldn’t stay trapped inside my own apartment forever. Bowden and Joffy I could trust—and perhaps Miles, too. I elected to sneak out and use a public phonebox to call Bowden and was just about to open the door when someone pressed the intercom buzzer downstairs. I quickly ducked out of my apartment and started to run down the staircase. If I reached the bottom and made my way out through the service entrance I might be able to slip away. Then, disaster. One of the tenants was about to leave at that precise moment and opened the door for whoever it was. I heard a brusque voice.
“Here for Miss Next—SpecOps.”
I cursed Mrs. Scroggins as she replied: “Fourth floor, second on the left!”
The fire escape was out the front in full view of SpecOps and Goliath, so I ran all the way back upstairs to my flat, only to find that in my hurry I had locked myself out. There was nowhere to hide except behind a potted rubber plant about seven sizes too small, so I pushed open the letterbox and hissed: “Pickwick!”
She wandered out into the hall from the living room and stared at me, head cocked on one side.
“Good. Now listen. I know that Landen said you were really bright, and if you don’t do this I’m going to be looped and you’re going to be put in a zoo. Now, I need you to find my keys.”
Pickwick stared at me dubiously, took two steps closer and then relaxed and plocked a bit.
“Yes, yes, it’s me. All the marshmallows you can eat, Pickers, but I need my keys. My keys.”
Pickwick obediently stood on one leg.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Ah, Next!” said a voice behind me. I stopped, rested my head against the door and let the letterbox snap shut.
“Hello, Cordelia,” I said softly without turning round.
“Well, you have been giving us the runaround, haven’t you?”
I paused, turned and stood up. But Cordelia