The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [595]
“Thursday!” he gasped. “Thank heavens I got to you before you went across!”
“You’re alive?”
“Of course. It took me two days of driving up and down the M4 to get here. Looks like I was just in time.”
“In time? In time for what?”
“I’m taking you home.”
He gave me his car keys.
“That’s the ignition, but the engine starter is a pushbutton in the middle of the dash.”
“Middle of the dash, okay. What about you?”
“I’ve got some unfinished business with Chesney, so I’ll see you on the other side.”
He gave me a hug and trotted off towards the newsagents’.
I walked outside and got into Spike’s car, grateful that I had a friend like him who knew how to deal with things like this. I’d be seeing Friday and Landen again, and everything would be just hunky-dory. I pressed the starter, reversed off the rubbish bin and drove towards the exit. I wondered if we’d won the SuperHoop. I should have asked Spike. SPIKE!!!
I stomped on the brakes and reversed rapidly back to the services, jumped out of the car and ran across the footbridge leading to the Northside of the Dauntsey services.
Only it wasn’t the Northside, of course. It was a large cavern of incalculable age lit by dozens of burning torches. The stalactites and stalagmites had joined, giving the impression of organic Doric columns supporting the high roof, and snaking amongst the columns and the boulder-strewn floor was an orderly queue of departed souls who had lined up ready to cross the river that guarded the entrance to the underworld. The lone ferryman was doing a brisk trade; for an extra shilling, you could be taken on a guided tour on the way. Another entrepreneur was selling guides to the underworld: how best to ensure that the departed soul went to a land of milk of honey and, for the more dubious characters, a few helpful hints on how to square yourself with the Big Guy on Judgment Day.
I ran up the queue and found Spike ten souls from the front.
“Absolutely no way, Spike!”
“Shhh!” said someone ahead of us.
“Nuts to you, Thursday. Just look after Betty, would you?”
“You are not taking my place, Spike.”
“Let me do this, Thursday. You deserve a long life. You have many wonderful things in front of you.”
“So do you.”
“It’s debatable. Battling the undead was never a bowl of cherries. And without Cindy?”
“She’s not dead, Spike.”
“If she pulls through they’ll never let her out of jail. She was the Windowmaker. No, after the shit I’ve been through, this actually seems like a good option. I’m staying.”
“You are not.”
“Try and stop me.”
“Shhh!” said the man in front again.
“I won’t let you do it, Spike. Think of Betty. Besides, I’m the one that’s dead, not you. SECURITY!”
A moldy skeleton holding a lance and dressed in rusty armor clanked up. “What’s going on here?”
I stabbed a finger at Spike. “This man’s not dead.”
“Not dead?” replied the guard in a shocked tone. The queue of people all turned around to stare as the guard drew a rusty sword and pointed it at Spike, who reluctantly raised his hands and, head shaking sadly, walked back towards the footbridge.
“Tell Landen and Friday I love them!” I yelled at his departing form, suddenly realizing that I should have asked him who’d won the SuperHoop. I turned to the queue behind me that snaked amongst the boulder-strewn cavern and said, “Does anyone know the results of SuperHoop-88?”
“Shhh!” said the man in front again.
“Why don’t you poke your ‘shhh’ up your—Oh. Hello, Mr. President.”
As soon as he recognized me, Formby gave me a broad toothy grin. “Eeee, Miss Next! Is this that theme park again?”
“Sort of.”
I was glad that the trip across the river led up as well as down. One thing was for sure: unless there had been some sort of dreadful administrative mix-up, Formby was certainly not bound for eternal torment within the all-consuming