The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [555]
We looked around the workshop at the odd and mostly anonymous contraptions. Any one of them might have been used to erase memories, but then any one of them might have been a device for coring apples, too.
We stood in silence for a moment.
“I still think you ought to have Smudger on defense,” said Polly, who was probably the biggest croquet fan in the house.
“You’re probably right,” I said, suddenly feeling that it would be easier just to go with the flow. “Uncle?”
“Polly knows best,” he replied. “I’m a bit tired. Who wants to watch Name That Fruit! on the telly?”
We all agreed that it would be a relaxing way to end the day, and I found myself watching the nauseating quiz show for the first time in my life. Halfway through, I realized just how bad it was and went to bed, temples aching.
30.
Neanderthal Nation
Neanderthals “of Use” at Politicians’ Training College
Neanderthals, the reengineered property of the Goliath Corporation, found unexpected employment at the Chipping Sodbury College for Politicians yesterday when four selected individuals were inducted as part of the Public Office Veracity Economics class. Neanderthals, whose high facial-acuity skills make them predisposed to noticing an untruth, are used by students to hone their lying skills—something that trainee politicians might find useful once in a position of office. “Man, those thals can spot everything!” declared Mr. Richard Dixon, a first-year student. “Nothing gets past them—even a mild embellishment or a tactical omission!” The lecturers at the college declared themselves wholly pleased with the neanderthals and privately admitted that “if the proletariat were even half as good at spotting lies, we’d really be in the soup!”
Article in The Toad (political section), July 4, 1988
The hunt for At Long Last Lust had been going on all morning, but with little success. Kaine had almost two years’ head start on us. Of the one hundred copies in the print run, sixty-two of them had changed hands within the past eighteen months. Initially they had been sold for modest sums of £1,000 or so, but there is nothing like a mystery buyer with deep pockets to push up the price, and the last copy sold was for £720,000 at Agatha’s Auction House—an unprecedented sum, even for a prewar Farquitt.
The likelihood of finding a copy of Lust was looking increasingly desperate. I called Farquitt’s agent, who said that the author’s entire library had been confiscated and the septuagenarian author questioned at length about pro-Danish political activism before being released. Even a visit to the Library of Farquitt in Didcot didn’t bear any fruit—both their original manuscript of At Long Last Lust and a signed copy had been seized by “government agents” nearly eighteen months before. The librarian met us in the sculpted marble hall and after telling us not to talk so loudly, reported that representative copies of all Farquitt’s works were packed and ready for removal “as soon as we wanted.” Bowden responded that we’d be heading towards the border just as soon as we finalized the details. He didn’t look at me as he said it, but I knew what he was thinking—I still needed to figure out a way to get us across the border.
We drove back to the LiteraTec office in silence, and as soon as we got in, I called Landen. My wedding ring, which had been appearing and disappearing all morning, had been solid for a good twenty minutes.
“Yo, Thursday!” he said enthusiastically. “What happened to you yesterday? We were talking, and you just went quiet.”
“Something came up.”
“Why don’t you come around for lunch? I’ve got fish fingers, beans and peas—with mashed banana and cream for pudding.”
“Have you been discussing the menu with Friday?”
“Whatever made you think that?”
“I’d love to, Land. But you’re still a bit existentially unstable at the moment, so I’d only end up embarrassing myself in front of your parents again—and I’ve got to go and