Something Rotten

7 The Literary Detectives

I found Bowden fretting in the LiteraTec office and related what had happened.

'Well, well,' he said at last, 'I think old Braxton's got a crush.'

'Oh, stop it!'

The office we were sitting in resembled a large library in a country house somewhere. It was two storeys high, with shelves crammed full of books covering every square inch of wall space. A spiral staircase led to a catwalk which ran around the wall, enabling access to the upper galleries. It was neat and methodical — but somehow less busy than I remembered.

'Where is everyone?'

'When you were here last we had a staff of eight. Now it's only Victor, me and Malm. All the rest were reassigned or laid off.'

'All SpecOps departments?'

Bowden laughed.

'Of course not! The bully boys at SO-I4 are alive and well and answer to Yorrick Kaine's every order. SO-1 haven't seen many cuts, either—'

'Thursday, 'what a delightful surprise!'

It was Victor Analogy, my old boss here at the Swindon LiteraTecs. He was an elderly gentleman with large mutton-chop sideburns, dressed in a neat tweed suit and bow tie. He had taken off his jacket owing to the summer heat but still managed to cut a very dashing figure, despite his advanced age.

'Victor, you're looking very well!'

'And you, dear girl. What devilry have you been up to since last we met?'

'It's a long story.'

'The best sort. Let me guess: inside fiction?'

'In one.'

'What's it like?'

'It's quite good, really. Confusing at times and subject to moments of extreme imaginative overload, but varied and the weather's generally pretty good. Can we talk safely in here?'

Victor nodded and we sat down. I told them about Jurisfiction, the Council of Genres and everything else that had happened to me during my tenure as Bellman. I even told them loosely about my involvement in The Solution of Edwin Drood, which amused them both no end.

'I've always wondered about that,' mused Victor thoughtfully. 'But you're sure about Yorrick Kaine being fictional?'

I told him that I was.

He stood up and walked to the window.

'You'll have a hard time getting close,' said Victor thoughtfully. 'Does he know you're back?'

'Definitely,' said Bowden.

'Then you could be threatening his position as absolute ruler of England almost as much as President Formby. I should keep on your toes, my girl. Is there anything we can do to help?'

I thought for a moment.

'There is, actually. We can't find which book Yorrick Kaine has escaped from. He could be using a false name and we should contact any readers who might recognise the Chancellor's somewhat crazed antics from an obscure character they might have encountered somewhere. We at Jurisfiction have been going through the Great Library at our end but we've still drawn a blank — every character in fiction has been accounted for.'

'We'll do what we can, Thursday — when can you rejoin us?'

'I don't know,' I answered slowly, 'I have to get my husband back. Remember I told you he was eradicated by the Chrono-Guard?'

'Yes; Lindane, wasn't it?'

'Landen. If it wasn't for him I'd probably stay inside fiction.'

We all fell silent for a moment.

'So,' I said cheerfully, 'what's been happening in the world of the LiteraTecs?'

Victor frowned.

'We don't hold with the book-burning lark of Kaine's. You heard about the order to start incinerating Danish literature?'

I nodded.

'Kierkegaard's works are being rounded up as we speak. I told Braxton that if we were asked to do any of it we'd resign.'

'Oh — ah.'

'I'm not sure I like the way you said that,' said Bowden.

I winced.

'I agreed to be the SO-14 Danish Book Seizure Liaison Officer for Flanker — sorry. I didn't have much of a choice.'

'I see that as good news,' put in Bowden. 'You can have them searching in places where they won't find any Danish books. Just be careful. Flanker has been suspicious ever since we said we were too busy to find out who was planning to smuggle copies of The Concept of Dread to Wales for safe-keeping.'

Bowden laughed and lowered his voice.

'It wasn't an excuse.' He chuckled. 'We actually were too busy — gathering copies of banned books ready for transportation to Wales!'

Victor grimaced.

'I really don't want to hear this, Bowden. If you get caught we'll all be for the high jump!'

'Some things are worth going to jail for, Victor,' replied Bowden in an even tone. 'As LiteraTecs we swore to uphold and defend the written word — not indulge a crazed politician's worst paranoic fantasies.'

'Just be careful.'

'Of course,' replied Bowden, 'it might come to nothing if we can't find a way to get the books out of England — the Welsh border shouldn't be a problem since Wales aligned itself with Denmark. I don't suppose you have any ideas how to get across the English border post?'

'I'm not sure,' I replied. 'How many copies of banned books do you want to smuggle anyway?'

'About four truckloads.'

I whistled. Things — like cheese, for instance — were usually smuggled in to England. I didn't know how I'd get banned books out.

'I'll give it a shot. What else is going on?'

'Usual stuff,' replied Bowden. 'Faked Milton, Jonson, Swift . . . Montague and Capulet street gangs . . . someone discovered a first draft of The Mill on the Floss entitled The Sploshing of the Weirs. Also, the Daphne Farquitt Specialist Bookshop went up in smoke.'

'Insurance scam?'

'No — probably anti-Farquitt protesters again.'

Farquitt had penned her first bodice-ripping novel in 1932 and had been writing pretty much the same one over and over again ever since. Loved by many and hated by a vitriolic minority, Farquitt was England's leading romantic novelist.

'There's also been a huge increase in the use of performance-enhancing drugs by novelists,' added Victor. 'Last year's Booker speed-writing winner was stripped of his award when he tested positive for Cartlandromin. And only last week Handley Paige only narrowly missed a two-year writing ban for failing a random dope test.'

'Sometimes I wonder if we don't have too many rules,' murmured Victor pensively, and we all three sat in silence, nodding thoughtfully for a moment.

Bowden broke the silence. He produced a piece of stained paper wrapped in a cellophane evidence bag and passed it across to me.

'What do you make of this?'

I read it, not recognising the words but recognising the style. It was a sonnet by Shakespeare — and a pretty good one, too.

'Shakespeare — but it's not Elizabethan; the mention of Basil Brush would seem to indicate that — but it feels like his. What did the Verse Metre Analyser say about it?'

'Ninety-one per cent probability of Will as the author,' replied Victor.

'Where did you get it?'

'Off the body of a down-and-out by the name of Shaxtper killed on Tuesday evening. We think someone has been cloning Shakespeares.'

'Cloning Shakespeares? Are you sure? Couldn't it just be a ChronoGuard "temporal kidnap" sort of thing?'

'No. Blood analysis tells us they were all vaccinated at birth against rubella, mumps and so forth.'

'Wait — you've got more than one?'

'Three,' said Bowden. 'There's been something of a spate recently.'

'When can you come back to work, Thursday?' asked Victor solemnly. 'As you can see, we need you.'

I paused for a moment.

'I'm going to need a week to get my life into gear first, sir. There are a few pressing matters that I have to attend to.'

'What, may I ask,' said Victor, 'is more important than Montague and Capulet street gangs, cloned Shakespeares, smuggling Kierkegaard out of the country and authors using banned substances?'

'Finding reliable childcare.'

'Goodness!' said Victor. 'Congratulations! You must bring the little squawker in some time. Mustn't she, Bowden?'

'Absolutely.'

'Bit of a problem, that,' murmured Victor. 'Can't have you dashing around the place only to have to get home at five to make Junior's tea. Perhaps we'd better handle all this on our own.'

'No,' I said with an assertiveness that made them both jump. 'No, I'm coming back to work. I just need to sort a few things out. Does SpecOps have a creche?'

'No.'

'Ah. Well, I suspect I shall think of something. If I get my husband back there won't be a problem. I'll call you tomorrow.'

There was a pause.

'Well, we have to respect that, I suppose,' said Victor solemnly. 'We're just glad that you're back. Aren't we, Bowden?'

'Yes,' replied my ex-partner, 'very glad indeed.'