The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [742]
Mr. Bennet stopped reading, gave a smile and looked around the room. “Well, my children?”
“It sounds like an excellent task,” said Jane, clapping her hands together. “Lizzie?”
“I confess I cannot fault it.”
“Then it is agreed,” opined Mr. Bennet with a twinkle in his eye. “Truly an audacious plan—and it might just work. How long before we begin?”
“Forty-seven seconds,” answered Bradshaw, consulting his pocketwatch.
“I don’t understand,” said Lydia. “This new task—isn’t that what usually happens?”
“Duh,” replied Kitty, making a face.
“Places, everyone,” said Mr. Bennet, and they all obediently sat in their allotted chairs. “Lizzie, are you ready to narrate?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good. Mary, would you let Mrs. Bennet out of the cupboard? Then we can begin.”
Myself, Thursday5 and Bradshaw scurried out into the corridor as Lizzie began the reality book show with words that rang like chimes, loud and clear in the canon of English literature:
“‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’” we heard her say through the closed door, “‘that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”
“Thursday,” said Bradshaw as he, Thursday5 and I walked to the entrance hall, “we’ve kept the book exactly as it is—but only until the Council of Genres and the Interactive Book people find out what we’ve done. And then they’ll be down here in a flash!”
“I know,” I replied, “so I haven’t got much time to change the CofG’s mind over this interactivity nonsense. Stay here and try to stall them as long as possible. It’s my guess they’ll let this first task run its course and do the stupid bee thing for task two. Wish me luck.”
“I do,” said Bradshaw grimly, “and you’re going to need it.”
“Here,” said Thursday5, handing me an emergency TravelBook and my bag. “You’ll need these as much as luck.”
I didn’t waste a moment. I opened the TravelBook, read the required text and was soon back in the Great Library.
36.
Senator Jobsworth
Senatorial positions in the Council of Genres are generally pulled from the ranks of the individual book council members, who officiate on all internal book matters. They are usually minor characters with a lot of time on their hands, so aside from a few notable exceptions, the Council of Genres is populated entirely by unimaginative D-4s. They meddle, but they don’t do it very well. It is one of the CofG’s strengths.
I impatiently drummed my fingers on the wall of the elevator as I rose to the twenty-sixth floor of the Great Library and the Council of Genres. I checked in my bag and found I still had two eraserheads but wasn’t sure if a show of force was the correct way to go about this. If what Bradshaw had said was true and Evil Thursday was commanding a legion of Danvers, I might not even have a chance to plead my own case, let alone Pride and Prejudice’s.
I decided that the best course of action was simply to wing it and was just wondering how I should approach even this strategy when the elevator doors opened and I was confronted by myself, staring back at me from the corridor. The same jacket, the same hair, trousers, boots—everything except a black glove on her left hand, which covered the eraserhead wound, I imagined. Bradshaw was right—Thursday1–4 had divested herself of her own identity and taken mine—along with my standing, integrity and reputation—an awesome weapon for her to wield. Not only as the