The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [681]
“It is.”
“Then you can piss off back to your boxed set right now. Give me your badge.”
She seemed perturbed for an instant. Her all-consuming arrogance had not even once entertained the notion she might actually be fired. But, true to form, instead of even attempting conciliation, she went into more threats:
“The CofG cadet selection subcommittee won’t be happy.”
“Screw them. Your badge?”
She stared at me with a sense of rising confusion. “You’d fire…me?”
“Just have. Give me your badge or I’ll place you under arrest.”
She took the Jurisfiction Cadet’s shield from her pocket and slapped it into my open palm. Without that or a travel permit, she was technically a PageRunner and could be erased on sight.
“Good day,” I said. “I won’t say it’s been a plea sure, because it hasn’t.”
And I walked away, pulling out my mobilefootnoterphone as I did so.
“Hello, Bradshaw? I’ve just fired Thursday1–4. I’m amazed anyone lasted more than ten minutes with her—I didn’t.”
1
“Yes, already. Tell Jobsworth we did our best.”
2
“Too bad. I’ll take the flak for it. This one’s a serious piece of—”
“Wait, wait!” yelled Thursday, holding her head in a massive display of self-control. “That was my last chance, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She massaged her temples. “I can do this. I’m sor—I’m sor—Soooor—”
“You can say it.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
She screwed up her face and forced the word out. “I’m…soorry. I’ll be your apprentice. Jurisfiction has need of people like me, and I am willing to run the gauntlet of your overbearing mediocrity in order to achieve that.”
I stared at her for a moment. “Vague apology accepted.”
I moved away so Thursday1–4 couldn’t hear me and spoke into my mobilefootnoterphone again.
“Bradshaw, how badly do we need to suck up to Jobsworth right now?”
3
I told Bradshaw to rely on me. He thanked me profusely, wished me well and rang off. I snapped the phone shut and placed it back in my bag.
“Right,” I said, tossing Thursday1–4’s badge back at her. “For your first assignment, you are to get Thursday5 back here, chakras realigned or not, and apologize to her.”
Thursday1–4 stared at me for a moment, then dialed her own cell phone. I turned away and walked down the gravel drive, trying to relax. What a start.
I sat on an ornamental lion at the foot of the entrance steps and watched from a distance as Thursday5 reappeared and, after the briefest of altercations, they shook hands. There was a pause and then a few raised voices until finally, incredibly, and with Thursday1–4 as stiff as a poker, she allowed herself to be hugged. I smiled to myself, got up and walked back to where the pair of them were standing, Thursday5 looking optimistically positive and Thursday1–4 brooding stonily.
“Have you two sorted yourselves out?”
They both nodded.
“Good,” I said, consulting my watch. “We’ve got a few hours before we attend the Council of Genres’ policy-directive meeting, but before that—”
“We are attending the CofG meeting?” asked Thursday5 with eyes like saucers.
“Yes, but only in the sort of ‘we’ that means you stand at the back and say nothing.”
“Wow! What will they be discussing?”
“BookWorld policy. Such as whether we should be supplying characters to video games to give them added depth. It’s particularly relevant, as publishing these days doesn’t necessarily restrict books to being just books. It’s said that Harry Potter will make a rare appearance. Now, we’ve got to—”
“Will we really meet Harry Potter?” she asked in a soft whisper, her eyes going all dewy at the mention of the young wizard. Thursday1–4 looked to heaven and stood, arms crossed, waiting for us to get on with the day’s work.
“It depends,” I sighed. “If you pay attention or not. Now for this afternoon’s assignment: relieving the staff who are dealing with the BookWorld’s ongoing piano problem. And for that we need to go to Text Grand Central.”
23.
The Piano Problem
The piano was thought to have been invented by Bartolomeo Cristofori in the early eighteenth century and was originally called