The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [760]
“Why didn’t they push for a divorce, the foolish pair!”
“Vronsky wanted her to but she kept putting it off. They moved to Moscow, but she was never happy. Vronsky spent his time involved in politics and she was convinced that he was with other women. A jealous, fallen disgrace of a woman she was. Then, at Znamanka station she could take it no longer—she flung herself upon the rails and was crushed by the 20:02 to Obiralovka!”
“No!”
“Yes—but don’t tell a soul—it is a secret between you and I! Come for dinner on Tuesday—we are having Turnips à l’Orange—I have a simply adorable new cook. Adieu, my good friend, adieu!”
1. “Thursday, are you there?”
2. “It’s the Cheshire Cat. Do you know how to play the piano?”
3. “Oh, no reason; I just thought I’d ask to be on the safe side.”
4. “Why the piano, of course!”
5. “You’ve got a hearing for your trial—remember the Fiction Infraction? Well, there have been some delays with Max De Winter’s appeal, so they’ve applied for a continuance—can you come this afternoon if you’re not too busy, say three o’clock?”
6. “Alice in Wonderland, just after the ‘Alice’s Evidence’ chapter. The Gryphon will be representing you. Don’t forget—three o’clock.”
1. “. . . Dear Friend, I am a fifty-year-old lady from the Republic of Gondal. I got your details from the Council of Genres and decided to contact you to see if you could help. My husband, Reginald Jackson, was the rebel leader in Gondal in Turmoil (RRP: £4.99), and just before he was assassinated, he gave me twelve million dollars and I departed the book to be a refugee in the Well of Lost Plots with my two children. On arrival, I decided to deposit this money in a security company for safekeeping. Right now, I am seeking assistance from you so that I can transfer the funds from the Well to your Outland account. If this offer meets your approval, you could reach me on my footnoterphone. Thank you, Mrs. R. Jackson . . .”
1. “Speaking!”
2. “I’m on it. How is she?”
3. “Okay. A cleanup gang of Danvers are on their way now.”
1. The Jurisfiction office vanished and was replaced by a large and shiny underground tube. It was big enough to stand up in, but even so I had to keep pressed against the wall as a constant stream of words flashed past in both directions. Above us, another pipe was leading upwards, and every now and then a short stream of words were diverted into this small conduit.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice echoing about the steel walls.
“Somewhere quite safe,” replied Deane. “They’ll be wondering where you went.”
“We’re in the Outland—I mean, home?”
Deane laughed. “No, silly, we’re in the footnoterphone conduits.”
I looked at the stream of messages again. “We are?”
“Sure.”
“Come on, let me show you something.”
We walked along the pipe until it opened out into a bigger room—a hub where messages went from one genre to another. The exits closest to me were marked Crime, Romance, Thriller and Comedy, but there were plenty more, all routing the footnoterphone messages towards some subgenre or other.
“It’s incredible!” I breathed.
“Oh, this is just a small hub,” replied Deane, “you should see the bigger ones. It all works on the ISBN number system, you know—and the best thing about it is that neither Text Grand Central nor the Council of Genres know that you can get down here. It’s sanctuary, Thursday. Sanctuary away from the prying eyes of Jurisfiction and the rigidity of the narrative.”
I caught his eye. “Tweed thinks you killed Perkins, Snell and that serving girl.”
He stopped walking and sighed. “Tweed is working with Text Grand Central to make sure UltraWordTM is launched without any hitches. He knew I wanted to conduct more tests. He offered me a plot realignment in The Squire of High Potternews to ‘garner my support.’ ”
“He tried to buy you?”
“When I refused, he threatened to kill me—that’s why we escaped.”
“We?”
“Of course. The maidservant