The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [58]
“The third man over there is Müller, a doctor whom I befriended after he was struck off. The particulars are a bit sordid. We’ll talk about it over dinner some time, as long as we’re not eating steak tartar. The fourth man is Felix7, who is one of my most trusted companions. He can remember no farther than a week in the past and has no aspirations for the future. He thinks only of the work he has been assigned to carry out. He is without conscience, mercy or pity. A fine man. We should have more like him.”
Hades clapped his hands together happily.
“Shall we get to work? I haven’t committed a singularly debauched act for almost an hour.”
Mycroft reluctantly walked over to the Prose Portal and started to ready it. The bookworms were fed, watered and cleaned, power supplies were laid on and all the details in the child’s exercise book neatly followed. As Mycroft worked, Acheron sat down and flicked through an old manuscript filled with spidery writing, replete with scribbled corrections and bound up with faded red ribbon. He skipped through various sections until he found what he was looking for.
“Perfect!” he chortled.
Mycroft finished the testing procedure and stepped back.
“It’s ready,” he sighed.
“Excellent!” Acheron beamed as he handed over the aged manuscript.
“Open the portal just here.”
He tapped the page and smiled. Mycroft slowly took the manuscript and looked at the title.
“Martin Chuzzlewit! Fiend!”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear professor.”
“But,” continued Mycroft, “if you alter anything in the original manuscript!—”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it, my dear Mycroft,” said Hades, clasping one of Mycroft’s cheeks between finger and thumb and shaking gently. “That’s . . . the . . . point. What good is extortion unless you show everyone what massive damage you could do if you wanted? And anyway, where’s the fun in robbing banks? Bang, bang, give me the money? Besides, killing civilians is never any real fun. It’s a bit like shooting rabbits that have been pegged to the ground. Give me a SWAT platoon to deal with any day.”
“But the damage!—” continued Mycroft. “Are you mad!?”
Acheron’s eyes flashed angrily as he grasped Mycroft tightly by the throat.
“What? What did you say? Mad, did you say? Hmm? Eh? What? What?”
His fingers tightened on Mycroft’s windpipe; the professor could feel himself start to sweat in the cold panic of suffocation. Acheron was waiting for an answer that Mycroft was unable to utter.
“What? What did you say?”
Acheron’s pupils started to dilate as Mycroft felt a dark veil fall over his mind.
“Think it’s fun being christened with a name like mine? Having to live up to what is expected of one? Born with an intellect so vast that all other humans are cretins by comparison?”
Mycroft managed to give out a choke and Acheron slackened his grip. Mycroft fell to the floor, gulping for breath. Acheron stood over him and wagged a reproachful finger.
“Don’t ever call me mad, Mycroft. I’m not mad, I’m just . . . well, differently moraled, that’s all.”
Hades handed him Chuzzlewit again and Mycroft needed no second bidding. He placed the worms with the manuscript inside the heavy old book; within half an hour of feverish activity the device was primed and set.
“It is ready,” announced Mycroft miserably. “I have only to press this button and the door will open. It will stay open for ten seconds at most.”
He sighed deeply and shook his head.
“May God forgive me!—”
“I forgive you,” replied Acheron. “It’s the closest you’ll get!”
Hades walked across to Hobbes, who was now dressed in black combat gear. He wore a webbing harness around his waist upon which hung all sorts of items that might be of use on an unplanned armed robbery—a large torch, bolt cutters, rope, handcuffs and an automatic.
“You know who it is you are after?”
“Mr. Quaverley, sir.”
“Splendid. I feel