The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [91]
“I dare say I won’t make it up there today.”
Victor slapped his own forehead with the ball of his hand.
“Mind like a string bag. I must have left it at home. Imagine, coming to an Earthcrossers meet and forgetting my catcher’s glove!”
They all laughed with him dutifully; the first guard said:
“Have a good time, sir. Earthstrike is at 14:32.”
He thanked them both and hopped into the waiting Land Rover before they changed their minds. He looked at the catcher’s glove uneasily. What on earth were they up to?
The Land Rover dropped him at the east entrance to the hill-fort. He could see about fifty people milling around, all wearing steel helmets. A large tent had been set up in the center of the fort and it bristled with aerials and a large satellite dish. Farther up the hill was a radar scanner that revolved slowly. He had expected to see a large telescope or something, but no such apparatus seemed to have been set up.
“Name?”
Victor turned to see a small man staring up at him. He was holding a clipboard and wearing a steel helmet and seemed to be taking full advantage of his limited authority.
Victor attempted a bluff.
“That’s me there,” he said, pointing at a name at the bottom of the list.
“Mr. Continued Overleaf, are you?”
“Above that,” Victor countered hurriedly.
“Mrs. Trotswell?”
“Oh, er, no. Ceres. Augustus Ceres.”
The small man consulted his list carefully, running a steel ballpoint pen down the row of names.
“No one of that name here,” he said slowly, looking at Victor suspiciously.
“I’m from Berwick-upon-Tweed,” explained Victor. “Late entry. I don’t suppose the news filtered through. Dr. Müller said I could drop in any time.”
The small man jumped.
“Müller? There’s no one here of that name. You must mean Dr. Cassiopeia.” He winked and smiled broadly. “Okay. Now,” he added, consulting his list and looking around the fort, “we’re a bit thin on the outer perimeter. You can take station B3. Do you have a glove? Good. What about a helmet? Never mind. Here, take mine; I’ll get another from stores. Earthstrike at 14:32. Good-day.”
Victor took the helmet and wandered off in the direction that the small man had indicated.
“Hear that, Thursday?” he hissed. “Dr. Cassiopeia.”
“I heard it,” I replied. “We’re seeing what we’ve got on him.”
Bowden was already contacting Finisterre, who was waiting back at the Litera Tec office for just such a call.
Victor filled his briar pipe and was walking toward station B3 when a man in a Barbour jacket nearly marched straight into him. He recognized Dr. Müller’s face from the mugshot immediately. Victor raised his hat, apologized and walked on.
“Wait!” yelled Müller. Victor turned. Müller raised an eyebrow and stared at him.
“Haven’t I seen your face somewhere else?”
“No, it’s always been right here on the front of my head,” replied Victor, attempting to make light of the situation. Müller simply stared at him with a blank expression as Victor carried on filling his pipe.
“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” continued Müller, but Victor was not so easily shaken.
“I don’t think so,” he announced, offering his hand. “Ceres,” he added. “Berwick-upon-Tweed spiral arm.”
“Berwick-upon-Tweed, eh?” said Müller. “Then you know my good friend and colleague Professor Barnes?”
“Never heard of him,” announced Victor, guessing that Müller was suspicious. Müller smiled and looked at his watch. “Earthstrike in seven minutes, Mr. Ceres. Perhaps you’d better take your station.”
Victor lit his pipe, smiled and walked off in the direction he had been given earlier. There was a stake in the ground marked B3, and he stood around feeling slightly stupid. All the other Earthcrossers had donned their helmets and were scanning the sky to the west. Victor looked around and caught the eye of an attractive woman of about his own age a half-dozen paces away at B2.
“Hello!” he said cheerfully, tipping his helmet.
The woman fluttered her eyelashes demurely.