The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [512]
17.
Emperor Zhark
The eight Emperor Zhark novels were written throughout the seventies by Handley Paige, an author whose previous works included Spacestation Z-5 and Revenge of the Thraals. With Zhark he hit upon a pastiche of everything a bad SF novel should ever be. Weird worlds, tentacled aliens, space travel and square-jawed fighter aces doing battle with a pantomime emperor who lived for no other reason than to cause evil and disharmony in the galaxy. His usual nemesis in the books was Colonel Brandt of the Space Corps assisted by his alien partner, Ashley. There have been two Zhark films starring Buck Stallion, Zhark the Destroyer and Bad Day at Big Rock, neither of which was any good.
Millon de Floss, The Books of H. Paige
Do you have to do that?” I asked.
“Dowhat?” replied the Emperor.
“Make such a pointlessly dramatic entrance? And what are those two goons doing here?”
“Who said that?” said a muffled voice from inside the opaque helmet of one of his minders. “I can’t see a sodding thing in here.”
“Who’s a goon?” said the other.
“It’s a contractual thing,” explained the Emperor, ignoring them both. “I’ve got a new agent who knows how to properly handle a character of my quality. I have to be given a minimum of eighty words’ description at least once in any featured book, and at least twice in a book a chapter has to end with my appearance.”
“Do you get book-title billing?”
“We gave that one away in exchange for chapter-heading status. If this were a novel, you’d have to start a new chapter as soon as I appeared.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not,” I replied. “If my mother was here, she’d probably have had a heart attack.”
“Oh!” replied the Emperor, looking around. “Do you live with your mother, too?”
“What’s up? Problems at Jurisfiction?”
“Take five, lads,” said Zhark to the two guards, who felt around the kitchen until they found a chair and sat down. “Mrs. Tiggy-winkle sent me,” he breathed. “She’s busy at the Beatrix Potter Characters Annual General Meeting but wanted me to give you an update on what’s happening at Jurisfiction.”
“Who’s that, darling?” called my mother from the living room.
“It’s a homicidal maniac intent on galactic domination,” I called back.
“That’s nice, dear.”
I turned back to Zhark. “So what’s the news?”
“Max de Winter from Rebecca,” said Zhark thoughtfully. “The BookWorld Justice Department has rearrested him.”
“I thought Snell got him off the murder charge.”
“He did. The department is still gunning for him, though. They’ve arrested him on—get this—insurance fraud. Remember the boat he sank with his wife in it?”
I nodded.
“Well, apparently he claimed the boat on insurance, so they think they might be able to get him on that.”
It was not an untypical turn of events in the BookWorld. Our mandate from the Council of Genres was to keep fictional narrative as stable as possible. As long as it was how the author intended, murderers walked free and tyrants stayed in power—that was what we did. Minor infringements that weren’t obvious to the reading public, we tended to overlook. However, in a masterstroke of inspired bureaucracy, the Council of Genres also empowered a Justice Department to look into individual transgressions. The conviction of David Copperfield for murdering his first wife was their biggest cause célèbre—before my time, I hasten to add—and Jurisfiction, unable to save him, could do little except train another character to take Copperfield’s place. They had tried to get Max de Winter before, but we had always managed to outmaneuver them. Insurance fraud. I could scarcely believe it.
“Have you alerted the Gryphon?”
“He’s working on Fagin’s umpteenth appeal.”
“Get him on it. We can’t leave this to amateurs. What about Hamlet? Can I send him back?”
“Not . . . as such,” replied Zhark hesitantly.
“He’s becoming something of a nuisance,” I admitted, “and Danes are liable to be arrested. I can’t keep him amused by watching Mel Gibson’s films forever.”
“I’d like Mel Gibson to