The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [366]
“Not. You can’t stop me. Maybe they’ll get away, but I can be here ready and waiting on the next reading—or even the one after that! Think you have enough Jurisfiction agents to put Maggie under constant protection?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” replied Miss Havisham, looking her squarely in the eye. “Is that your final word?”
“It is.”
“Then you are under arrest for attempted Fiction Infraction, contrary to Ordinance FMB/0608999 of the Narrative Continuity Code. By the power invested in me by the Council of Genres, I sentence you to banishment outside Mill on the Floss. Move.”
Miss Havisham ordered me to cuff Lucy and, once I had, held on to me as we jumped into the Great Library. Lucy, for an arrested ad-libber, didn’t seem too put out.
“You can’t imprison me,” she said as we walked along the corridor of the twenty-third floor. “I reappear in Maggie’s dream seven pages from now. If I’m not there, you’ll be in more trouble than you know what to do with. This could mean your job, Miss Havisham! Back to Satis House—for good.”
“Would it mean that?” I asked, suddenly wondering whether Miss Havisham wasn’t exceeding her authority.
“It would mean the same as it did the last time,” replied Havisham, “absolutely nothing.”
“Last time?” queried Lucy. “But this is the first time I’ve tried something like this!”
“No,” replied Miss Havisham, “no, it most certainly is not.”
Miss Havisham pointed out a book entitled The curious experience of the Patterson Family on the island of Uffa and told me to open it. We were soon inside, on the foreshore of a Scottish island in the late spring.
“What do you mean?” asked Lucy, looking around her as her earlier confidence evaporated to be replaced by growing panic. “What is this place?”
“It is a prison, Miss Deane.”
“A prison? A prison for whom?”
“For them,” said Havisham, indicating several identically youthful and fair-complexioned Lucy Deanes, who had broken cover and were staring in our direction. Our Lucy Deane looked at us, then at her identical sisters, then back to us again.
“I’m sorry!” she said, dropping to her knees. “Give me another chance—please!”
“Take heart in that this doesn’t make you a bad person,” said Miss Havisham. “You just have a repetitive character disorder. You are a serial ad-libber and the seven hundred and ninety-sixth Lucy we have had to imprison here. In less civilized times you would have been reduced to text. Good day.”
And we vanished back to the corridors of the Great Library.
“And to think she was the most pleasant person in Floss!” I said, shaking my head sadly.
“You’ll find that the most righteous characters are the first ones to go loco down here. The average life of a Lucy Deane is about a thousand readings; self-righteous indignation kicks in after that. No one could believe it when David Copperfield killed his first wife, either. Good day, Chesh.”
The Cheshire Cat had appeared on a high shelf, grinning to us, itself and anything else in view.
“Well!” said the Cat. “Next and Havisham! Problems with Lucy Deane?”
“The usual. Can you get the Well to send in the replacement as soon as possible?”
The Cat assured us he would, seemed crestfallen that I hadn’t brought him any Moggilicious cat food and vanished again.
“We need to find out anything unusual about Perkins’s death,” said Miss Havisham. “Will you help?”
“Of course!” I enthused.
Miss Havisham smiled a rare smile. “You remind me of myself, all those years ago, before that rat Compeyson brought my happiness to an end.”
She moved closer and narrowed her eyes. “We keep this to ourselves. Knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Start poking around in the workings of Jurisfiction and you may find more than you bargained for—just remember that.”
She fell silent for a few moments.
“But first, we need to get you fully licensed as a Jurisfiction agent—there’s a limit to what you can do as an apprentice. Did you finish the multiple choice?”
I nodded.
“Good. Then you can do your practical exam today. I’ll go and organize it while you take your Eject-O-Hat