Part 6 (2/2)

'It's so rude,' muttered Mr Grnksghty. 'Why can't he go outside if he wants to talk on one of those things?'

'It's probably nothing but I'll go and have a look,' said Snell, staring into s.p.a.ce. He turned to look at us, saw Mr Grnksghty glaring at him and waved absently before going outside the shop, still talking.

'Where were we, young lady?'

'You were talking about Charlotte Bronte ordering backstories and then not using them.'

'Oh, yes.' The man smiled, delicately turning a tap on the apparatus and watching a small drip of an oily coloured liquid fall into a flask. 'I made the most wonderful backstory for both Edward and Bertha Rochester, but do you know she only used a very small part of it?'

'That must have been very disappointing.'

'It was.' He sighed. 'I am an artist, not a technician. But it didn't matter. I sold it lock, stock and barrel a few years back to The Wide Sarga.s.so Sea The Wide Sarga.s.so Sea. Harry Flashman from Tom Brown's Schooldays Tom Brown's Schooldays went the same way. I had Mr Pickwick's backstory for years but couldn't make a sale I donated it to the Jurisfiction museum.' went the same way. I had Mr Pickwick's backstory for years but couldn't make a sale I donated it to the Jurisfiction museum.'

'What do you make a backstory out of, Mr Grnksghty?'

'Treacle, mainly,' he replied, shaking the flask and watching the oily substance change to a gas, 'and memories. Lots Lots of memories. In fact, the treacle is really only there as a binding agent. Tell me, what do you think of this upgrade to UltraWord?' of memories. In fact, the treacle is really only there as a binding agent. Tell me, what do you think of this upgrade to UltraWord?'

'I have yet to hear about it properly,' I admitted.

'I particularly like the idea of ReadZip,' mused the small man, adding a drop of red liquid and watching the result with great interest. 'They say they will be able to crush War and Peace War and Peace into eighty-six words and still retain the scope and grandeur of the original.' into eighty-six words and still retain the scope and grandeur of the original.'

'Seeing is believing,' I replied.

'Not down here,' Mr Grnksghty corrected me. 'Down here, reading reading is believing.' is believing.'

There was a pause as I took this in.

'Mr Grnksghty?'

'Yes?'

'How do you p.r.o.nounce your name?'

At that moment Snell strolled back in.

'That was Miss Havisham,' he announced, retrieving his head. 'Thank you for your time, Mr Grnksghty come on, we're off.'

Snell led me down the corridor past more shops and traders until we arrived at the bronze-and-wood elevators. The doors opened and several small street urchins ran out holding cleft sticks with a small sc.r.a.p of paper wedged in them.

'Ideas on their way to the books-in-progress,' explained Snell as we stepped into the elevator. 'Trading must have just started. You'll find the Idea Sales and Loan department on the seventeenth floor.'

The elevator plunged rapidly downwards.

'Are you still being bothered by junk footnoterphones?'

'A little.' 8 'You'll get used to ignoring them.'

The bell sounded and the elevator doors slid open, introducing a chill wind. It was darker than the floor we had just visited and several disreputable-looking characters stared at us from the shadows. I moved to get out but Snell stopped me. He looked about and whispered: 'This is the twenty-second sub-bas.e.m.e.nt. The roughest place in the Well. A haven for cut-throats, bounty hunters, murderers, thieves, cheats, shape-s.h.i.+fters, scene-stealers, brigands and plagiarists.'

'We don't tolerate these sorts of places back home,' I murmured.

'We encourage encourage them here,' explained Snell. 'Fiction wouldn't be much fun without its fair share of scoundrels, and they have to live somewhere.' them here,' explained Snell. 'Fiction wouldn't be much fun without its fair share of scoundrels, and they have to live somewhere.'

I could feel the menace as soon as we stepped from the elevator.

Low mutters were exchanged among several hooded figures who stood close by, the faces obscured by the shadows, their hands bony and white. We walked past two large cats with eyes that seemed to dance with fire; they stared at us hungrily and licked their lips.

'Dinner,' said one, looking us both up and down. 'Shall we eat them together or one by one?'

'One by one,' said the second cat, who was slightly bigger and a good deal more fearsome, 'but we'd better wait until Big Martin gets here.'

'Oh yeah,' said the first cat, retracting his claws quickly, 'so we'd better.'

Snell had ignored the two cats completely; he glanced at his watch and said: 'We're going to the Slaughtered Lamb to visit a contact of mine. Someone has been cobbling together Plot Devices from half-damaged units that should have been condemned. It's not only illegal it's dangerous.

The last thing anyone needs is a Do we cut the red wire or the blue wire Do we cut the red wire or the blue wire? plot device going off an hour too early and ruining the suspense how many stories have you read where the bomb is defused with an hour to go?'

'Not many, I suppose.'

'You suppose right. We're here.'

The gloomy interior of the Slaughtened Lamb was shabby and smelt of beer. Three ceiling fans stirred the smoke-filled atmosphere and a band was playing a melancholy tune in one corner. The dark walls were s.p.a.ced with individual booths where sombreness was an abundant commodity; the bar in the centre seemed to be the lightest place in the room and gathered there, like moths to a light, were an odd collection of people and creatures, all chatting and talking in low voices. The atmosphere in the room was so thick with dramatic cliches you could have cut it with a knife.

'See over there?' said Snell, indicating two men who were deep in conversation.

'Yes.'

'Mr Hyde talking to Blofeld. In the next booth are Von Stalhein and Wackford Squeers. The tall guy in the cloak is Emperor Zhark, tyrannical ruler of the known galaxy. The one with the spines is Mrs Tiggy-winkle they'll be on a training a.s.signment, just like us.'

'Mrs Tiggy-winkle is an apprentice?' I asked incredulously, staring at the large hedgehog who was holding a basket of laundry and sipping delicately at a dry sherry.

'No; Zhark is the apprentice Tiggy's a full agent. She deals with children's fiction, runs the Hedge-pigs Society and does our was.h.i.+ng.'

'Hedge-pigs society?' I echoed. 'What does that that do?' do?'

'They advance hedgehogs in all branches of literature. Mrs Tiggy-winkle was the first to get star billing and she's used her position to further the lot of her species; she's got references into Kipling, Carroll, Aesop and four mentions in Shakespeare. She's also good with really stubborn stains and never singes the cuffs.'

' Tempest, Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth Tempest, Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth,' I muttered, counting them off on my fingers. 'Where's the fourth?'

' Henry VI Part 1 Henry VI Part 1, act four, scene 1: ”hedge-born swaine”.'

'I always thought that was an insult, not a hedgehog,' I observed. ' Swaine Swaine can be a can be a country lad country lad just as easily as a just as easily as a pig pig perhaps more so.' perhaps more so.'

Snell sighed. 'Well, we've given her the benefit of the doubt it helps with the indignity of being used as a croquet ball in Alice Alice. Don't mention Tolstoy or Berlin when she's about, either conversation with Tiggy is easier when you avoid talk of theoretical sociological divisions and stick to the question of was.h.i.+ng temperatures for woollens.'

'I'll remember that,' I murmured. 'The bar doesn't look so bad with all those pot plants scattered around, does it?'

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