The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [545]
“That is the most insanely moronic story I have ever been forced to listen to,” announced Parks, not wanting to lose sight of reality for even one second. “If I listened to a gaggle of lunatics for a month, I’d not hear a crazier notion.”
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Parks, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
There was a pause as the SO-6 agent weighed up the facts.
“Do you think you can get him back?” he asked at last.
“I fear not. The spirits of the semidead will be flocking to him like moths to a light, trying to feed off his life force and return themselves to the land of the living. Such a trip would almost certainly be suicidal.”
Parks sighed audibly. “All right. How much?”
“Ten grand. Realm-of-the-dead-certain-to-die work pays extra.”
“Each?”
“Since you mention it, why not?”
“Okay then,” said Parks with a faint grin, “you’ll get your blood money—but only on results.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Spike beckoned me to follow him, and we climbed back over the fence, the SO-6 agents staring at us, unsure of whether to be impressed or have us certified or what.
“That really put the wind up them!” hissed Spike as we scrambled to the top of the embankment, across bits of broken bumpers and shards of plastic moldings. “Nothing like a bit of that wooo-wooo crossing-over-into-the-spirit-world stuff to scare the crap out of them!”
“You mean you were making all that up?” I asked, not without a certain degree of nervousness in my voice. I had been on two jobs with Spike before. On the first I was nearly fanged by a vampire, on the second almost eaten by zombies.
“I wish,” he replied, “but if we make it look too easy, then they don’t cough up the big moola. It’ll be a cinch! After all, what do we have to lose?”
“Our lives?”
“Dahhhh! You must loosen up a bit, Thursday. Look upon it as an experience—part of death’s rich tapestry. You ready?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s hit those semideads where it hurts!”
By the fifth time we had driven the circuit between Junctions 16 and 17 and without so much as a glimpse of anything other than bored motorists and a cow or two, I was beginning to wonder whether Spike really knew what he was doing.
“Spike?”
“Mmm?” he replied, concentrating on the empty field that he thought might contain the gateway to the dead.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“I don’t have the foggiest idea, but if the President can make his way in without dying, so can we. Are you sure you won’t put Biffo on midhoop attack? He’s wasted on defense. You could promote Johnno to striker and use Jambe and Snake to build up defense.”
“If I don’t find another five players, it might not matter anyway,” I replied. “I managed to get Alf Widdershaine out of retirement to coach, though. You used to play county croquet, didn’t you?”
“No way, Thursday.”
“Oh, go on.”
“No.”
There was a long pause. I stared out the window at the traffic, and Spike concentrated on driving, every now and then looking expectantly into the fields by the side of the road. I could see this was going to be a long day, so it seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of Cindy. I wasn’t keen to kill her, and Spike, I knew, would be less than happy to see her dead.
“So . . . when did you and Cindy tie the knot?”
“About eighteen months ago. Have you ever visited the realm of the dead?”
“Orpheus told me about the Greek version of it over coffee once—but only the highlights. Does she . . . er . . . have a job?”
“She’s a librarian,” replied Spike, “part-time. I’ve been there a couple of times; it’s not half as creepy as you’d have thought.”
“The library?”
“The abode of the dead. Orpheus would have paid the ferryman, but, you know, that’s just a scam. You can easily do it yourself; those inflatable boats from Wal-Mart work a treat.”
I tried to visualize Spike paddling his way to the underworld on a brightly colored inflatable boat but quickly swept it aside.
“So . . . which library does Cindy work in?”
“The one in Highclose. They have day care, so it’s very convenient. I want to have another kid, but