The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [559]
I stared at his small brown eyes. By the quality I had seen of the players outside and my knowledge of neanderthals in general, we would be in with a chance—even with me locked up in a Welsh jail.
I shook his outstretched hand. “This is the deal.”
“Then we must eat. Do you like rabbit?”
We both nodded.
“Good. This is a speciality of ours. In Neanderlese it is called rabite’n’bitels.”
“Sounds excellent,” replied Bowden. “What’s it served with?”
“Potatoes and a . . . tangy, greeny-brown, crunchy sauce.”
I can’t be sure, but I think Stig winked at me. I needn’t have worried. The meal was excellent, and neanderthals are quite correct—beetles are severely underrated.
31.
Planning Meeting
Common Cormorants’ Numbers Decline
A leading ornithologist claimed yesterday that bear-bird incompatibility is to blame for the cormorant decline in recent years. “We have known for many years that cormorants lay eggs in paper bags to keep the lightning out,” explained Mr. Daniel Chough, “but the reintroduction of bears to England has placed an intolerable strain on the birds’ breeding habits. Even though bears and birds rarely compete for food and resources, it seems that wandering bears with buns steal the cormorants’ paper bags in order, according to preliminary research, to hold the crumbs.” That the bears are of Danish origin is suspected but not yet substantiated.
Article in Flap! magazine, July 20, 1988
So what do you know about the Elan?” asked Bowden as we drove back into the town.
“Not much,” I replied, looking at the charts of Mr. Shaxspoor’s teeth. Stig reckoned he had lived in the Elan for a lot longer than the others—perhaps until only a few years ago. If he had survived that long, why not some of the others? I wasn’t going to raise any false hopes quite yet, but at least it seemed possible we could save Hamlet after all.
“Were you serious about not being able to think of a way in?”
“I’m afraid so. We could always pretend to be water officials from Birmingham or something.”
“Why would water officials have ten truckloads of banned Danish books?” asked Bowden, not unreasonably.
“Something to read while doing water-officially things?”
“If we don’t get these books to safety, they’ll be burned, Thursday—we’ve got to find a way into the Republic.”
“I’ll think of something.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon fielding calls from numerous sports reporters, eager to get a story and find out who would be playing in what position on the field. I called Aubrey and told him that he would have five new players—but I didn’t tell him they’d be neanderthals. I couldn’t risk the press’s finding out.
By the time I returned to Mum’s house, my wedding ring was firmly back on my finger again. I pushed Friday around to Landen’s house and, noticing that everything seemed to be back to normal, knocked twice. There was an excited scrabble from within, and Landen opened the door.
“There you are!” he said happily. “When you hung up on me, I got kinda worried.”
“I didn’t hang up, Land.”
“I was eradicated again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Will I be again?”
“I’m hoping not. Can I come in?”
I put Friday on the floor, and he immediately started to try to climb the stairs.
“Bedtime already, is it, young man?” asked Landen, following him as he clambered all the way up. I noticed that in the spare room there were two as-yet-unpacked stair gates, which put my mind at rest. He had bought a cot, too, and several toys.
“I bought some clothes.”
He opened the drawer. It was stuffed with all kinds of clothes for the little chap, and although some looked a bit small, I didn’t say anything. We took Friday downstairs, and Landen made some supper.
“So you knew I was coming back?” I asked as he cut up some broccoli.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, “as soon as you got all that eradication nonsense sorted out. Make us a cup of tea, would you?”
I walked over to the sink and filled the kettle.
“Any closer to a plan for dealing with Kaine?” asked Landen.
“No,” I admitted, “I’m really banking