Part 2 (2/2)

I placed my hand on his shoulder.

'I've tried tried to make it more interesting,' he sobbed, 'but nothing seems to work. My wife won't speak to me, my job's on the line, drugs are flooding into Reading, and if I don't make the narrative even remotely readable then we all get demolished and there's nothing left at all except an empty hole on the bookshelf and the memory of a might-have-been in the head of the author.' to make it more interesting,' he sobbed, 'but nothing seems to work. My wife won't speak to me, my job's on the line, drugs are flooding into Reading, and if I don't make the narrative even remotely readable then we all get demolished and there's nothing left at all except an empty hole on the bookshelf and the memory of a might-have-been in the head of the author.'

'Your wife only left you because all all loner maverick detectives have domestic problems,' I explained. 'I'm sure she loves you really.' loner maverick detectives have domestic problems,' I explained. 'I'm sure she loves you really.'

'No, no, she doesn't,' he sobbed again. 'All is lost. Don't you see? It's customary for detectives to drive unusual cars and I had a wonderful 1924 Delage-Talbot Supersport. The idea was stolen and replaced with that dreadful Austin Allegro. If any scenes scenes get deleted, we'll really be stuffed.' get deleted, we'll really be stuffed.'

He looked up at me.

'What's your name?'

'Thursday Next.'

He perked up suddenly.

'Thursday Next? The Outlander Jurisfiction agent apprenticed to Miss Havisham Thursday Next?'

I nodded. News travels fast in the Well.

An excited gleam came into his eye.

'I read about you in The Word The Word. Tell me, would you have any way of finding out when the Book Inspectorate are due to read our story? I've lined up seven three-dimensional B-2 freelancers to come in and give the book a bit of an edge just for an hour or so. With their help we might be able to hang on to it; all I need to know is the when when.'

'I'm sorry, Mr Spratt.' I sighed. 'I'm new to all this; what exactly is the Council of Genres?'

'They look after fictional legislature,' he replied. 'Dramatic conventions, mainly. A representative from every genre sits on the council it is they they who decide the conventions of storytelling and it is who decide the conventions of storytelling and it is they they through the Book Inspectorate who decide whether an unpublished book is to be kept or demolished.'

'Oh,' I replied, realising that the BookWorld was governed by almost as many rules and regulations as my own, 'then I can't help you.'

'What about Text Grand Central? Do you know anyone there?'

TGC I had had heard of: they monitored the books in the Great Library and pa.s.sed any textual problems on to us at Jurisfiction, who were purely a policing agency but I knew no more than that. I shook my head Jasper Fforde - Thursday Next 03 - The Well of Lost Plots heard of: they monitored the books in the Great Library and pa.s.sed any textual problems on to us at Jurisfiction, who were purely a policing agency but I knew no more than that. I shook my head again.

'Blast!' he muttered, staring at the ground. 'I've applied to the C of G for a cross-genre makeover but you might as well try and speak to the Great Panjandrum himself.'

'Why don't you change the book from within within?' I asked.

'Change without permission?' he replied, shocked at my suggestion. 'That would mean rebellion. I want to get the C of G's attention but not like that we'd be crushed in less than a chapter!'

'But if the inspectorate haven't been round yet,' I said slowly, 'then how would they even know anything had changed?'

He thought about this for a moment.

'Easier said than done if I start to fool with the narrative it might all collapse like a pack of cards!'

'Then start small,' I proposed, 'change yourself yourself first. If that works, you can try to bend the plot slightly.' first. If that works, you can try to bend the plot slightly.'

'Y-esss,' said Jack slowly. 'What did you have in mind?'

'Give up the booze.'

'How did you know about my drink problem?'

'All maverick loner detectives with domestic strife have drink problems,' I commented. 'Give up the liquor and go home to your wife.'

'That's not how I've been written,' replied Jack slowly. 'I just can't do it it would be going against type the readers-!'

'Jack, there are no readers. And if you don't at least try what I suggest, there never never will be any readers or any Jack Spratt. But if things go well, you might even be in ... a sequel.' will be any readers or any Jack Spratt. But if things go well, you might even be in ... a sequel.'

'A sequel?' repeated Jack with a sort of dreamy look in his eyes. 'You mean a Jack Spratt series series?

'Who knows,' I added, 'maybe even one day a boxed set.'

His eyes gleamed and he stood up.

'A boxed set,' he whispered, staring into the middle distance. 'It's up to me, isn't it?' he added in a slow voice.

'Yes. Change yourself, change the book and soon, before it's too late, make the novel into something the Book Inspectorate will want want to read.' to read.'

'Okay,' he said at last, 'beginning with the next chapter. Instead of arguing with Briggs about letting a suspect go without charging them, I'll take my ex-wife out to lunch.'

'No.'

'No?'

'No,' I affirmed. 'Not tomorrow or next chapter or even next page or paragraph you're going to change now now.'

'We can't!' he protested. 'There are at least nine more pages while you and I discuss the state of the body with Dr Singh and go through all that boring forensic stuff.'

'Leave it to me,' I told him. 'We'll jump back a paragraph or two. Ready?'

He nodded and we moved to the top of the previous page, just as Briggs was leaving.

Jack did indeed get it and Briggs departed.

He s.h.i.+vered in the cold and looked at the young DS again. 'Mary Jones, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What have you found out so far?'

She dug in her pocket for a notebook, couldn't find it so counted the points off on her fingers instead. instead.

'Deceased's name is Sonny DeFablio.'

'What else?'

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