The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [583]
I knew what he was up to. The Ovinator. It would, as likely as not, have us all eating out of his hand in under a minute. But I wasn’t figuring on Hamlet, who appeared suddenly from behind Stricknene, rapier drawn.
It was now or nothing, and I yelled, “The briefcase! Destroy the Ovinator!”
Hamlet needed no second bidding, and he leapt into action, expertly piercing the case, which gave off a brief flash of green light and a short, high-pitched wail that started the police dogs outside barking. Hamlet was swiftly overpowered by two SO-6 agents, who handcuffed him.
“Who is this man?” demanded Kaine.
“He’s my cousin Eddie.”
“NO!” yelled Hamlet, standing up straight even though he had two men holding him. “My name is Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Danish, and proud of it!”
Kaine gave a smug laugh. “Captain, arrest Miss Next for harboring a known Danish person—and arrest the entire team for aiding and abetting.”
It was a bad moment. With no players, the game had to be forfeited. But Hamlet, actioneer that he had become, was not out of ideas.
“I shouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“And why not?” sneered Kaine, not without a certain quaver in his voice; he was now acting solely on his wits. He had neither his fictional roots nor the Ovinator to help him.
“Because,” announced Hamlet, “I am a very special friend of Ms. Daphne Farquitt.”
“And . . . ?” inquired Kaine with a slight smile.
“She is outside awaiting my return. If I fail to reappear or you try any sort of anti-Mallets skulduggery, she will mobilize her troops.”
Kaine laughed, and Stricknene, sycophant that he was, laughed with him.
“Troops? What troops are these?” Kaine asked, amused.
But Hamlet was deadly serious. He glowered at them for a moment before answering. “Her fan club. They’re highly organized, armed to the teeth, profoundly angry at having had their books burned and ready to move at her command. There are thirty thousand stationed near the stadium and a further ninety thousand in reserve. One word from Daphne and you’re finished.”
“I have reversed the law banning Farquitt,” replied Kaine hastily. “They will disperse when they learn this.”
“They will believe nothing from your lying tongue,” replied Hamlet softly, “only that which Ms. Farquitt tells them. Your power is waning, my friend, and destiny’s inelegant toe creaks the boards to your door.”
There was a tense silence as Kaine stared at Hamlet and Hamlet stared back at Kaine. I’d witnessed quite a few standoffs but none with so much at stake.
“You haven’t a hope in hell anyway,” announced Kaine after considering his options carefully. “I’m going to enjoy watching the Whackers trash you. Release him.”
The SO-6 agents uncuffed Hamlet and escorted Kaine out the door.
“Well,” said Hamlet, “looks like we’re back in the game. I’m going to watch with your mother. Win this one for the Farquitt fans, Thursday!”
And he was gone.
None of us had any time to ponder on the matter further, as we heard a Klaxon go off and an excited roar from the crowd echoed down the tunnel.
“Good luck, everyone,” said Aubrey with a good measure of bravado. “It’s showtime!”
The crowd erupted into screams of jubilation as we trotted down the tunnel onto the green. The stadium could seat thirty thousand, and it was packed. Large monitors had been set up outside for the benefit of those who could not get a seat, and the TV networks were beaming the match live to an estimated 2 billion people in seventy-three countries worldwide. It was going to be quite a show.
I stayed on the touchline as the Swindon Mallets lined up face-to-face with the Reading Whackers. They all glared at one another as the Swindon & District Wheel-Tappers’ Brass Band marched on, headed by Lola Vavoom. There was then a pause while President Formby took his seat in the VIP box and, again led by Ms. Vavoom, the audience stood to sing the unofficial English national anthem, “When I’m Cleaning Windows.” After the song had finished, Yorrick Kaine appeared at the VIP box, but his reception