Part 33 (1/2)

'This is for you.'

From the bottom drawer of her desk she had withdrawn a small green leather box of the sort that might contain a wedding ring. She pa.s.sed it over and I opened it. As I did I felt a flash of inspiration move through me. I knew what it was. No bigger than a grain of rice, it had value far in excess of its size.

'From the Last Original Idea,' murmured Havisham, 'a small shard from when the whole was cleaved in 1884, but a part nonetheless. Use it wisely.'

'I can't accept this,' I said, shutting the case.

'Rubbish,' replied Havisham, 'accept with good grace that which is given with good grace.'

'Thank you very much, Miss Havisham.'

'Don't mention it. Why do you have ”Landen” written on your hand?'

I looked at my hand but had no idea why. Gran had put it there she must have been having one of her fuzzy moments.

'I'm not sure, Miss Havisham.'

'Then wash it off it looks so vulgar. Come, let us adjourn to the Council of Genres you are to sign the pledge!'

24.

Pledges, the Council of Genres and searching for Deane 'Bookhound/booktracker: Name given to a breed of bloodhound peculiar to the Well. With a keen sense of smell (almost unheard of in the BookWorld) and boundless energy, a bookhound can track a PageRunner not only from page to page but from book to book.

The finest bookhounds, diligently trained, have also been known to track trans-genre PageRunners on occasion, to the Outland. They drool and s...o...b..r a lot. Not recommended as pets.'

UA OF W CAT The Jurisfiction Guide to the Great Library (glossary) The Jurisfiction Guide to the Great Library (glossary) We took the elevator. Miss Havisham told me that it was considered the height of poor breeding and vulgarity to jump all the way to the lobby at the Council of Genres and it was impossible to jump straight into the council chambers for security purposes. The chambers were situated on the twenty-sixth floor of the Great Library. Like the seventeenth floor, it was almost deserted; authors whose names begin with Q and Z are not that abundant. The doors opened and we stepped out. But it wasn't like the previous Library floors I had visited, all sombre dark wood, moulded plaster ceilings and busts of long-dead writers the twenty-sixth floor had a glazed roof. Curved spans of wrought iron arched high above our heads, supporting the gla.s.s through which we could see clouds and a blue sky beyond. I had always thought that the Library was created We took the elevator. Miss Havisham told me that it was considered the height of poor breeding and vulgarity to jump all the way to the lobby at the Council of Genres and it was impossible to jump straight into the council chambers for security purposes. The chambers were situated on the twenty-sixth floor of the Great Library. Like the seventeenth floor, it was almost deserted; authors whose names begin with Q and Z are not that abundant. The doors opened and we stepped out. But it wasn't like the previous Library floors I had visited, all sombre dark wood, moulded plaster ceilings and busts of long-dead writers the twenty-sixth floor had a glazed roof. Curved spans of wrought iron arched high above our heads, supporting the gla.s.s through which we could see clouds and a blue sky beyond. I had always thought that the Library was created conceptually conceptually to contain the books and had no use or existence outside that. Miss Havisham noticed me staring up at the sky and drew me towards a large window. to contain the books and had no use or existence outside that. Miss Havisham noticed me staring up at the sky and drew me towards a large window.

Although it was the twenty-sixth floor it seemed a lot higher and the Library, inwardly shaped like a fine cross many miles in length, was far squatter when seen from the outside. I looked down the rain-streaked exterior and beyond the stone gargoyles to a tropical forest far below us, where wispy clouds flecked the tops of the lush foliage.

'Anything is possible in the BookWorld,' murmured Miss Havisham. 'The only barriers are those of the human imagination. See the other libraries?'

Not more than five miles distant, just visible in the aerial haze, was another tower like ours, and beyond that, another and over to my right, six more. We were just one towering library among hundreds or perhaps thousands.

'The nearest one to us is German,' said Miss Havisham, 'beyond that French and Spanish. Arabic is just beyond them and that one over there is Welsh.'

'What are they standing on?' I asked, looking at the jungle far below. 'Where exactly exactly are we?' are we?'

'Getting all philosophical, are we?' murmured Miss Havisham. 'The long and short answer is we really don't know. Some people claim we are just part of a bigger story that we can't see. Others maintain that we were created by the Great Panjandrum, and still others that we are merely in the mind mind of the Great Panjandrum.' of the Great Panjandrum.'

'Who,' I asked, my curiosity finally getting the better of me, 'is the Great Panjandrum?'

'Come and see the statue,' she said.

We turned from the window and walked along the corridor to where a large lump of marble rested on a plinth in the middle of the lobby. The marble was roped off and below it was a large and highly polished plaque proclaiming: 'Our Glorious Leader'.

'That's the Great Panjandrum?' I asked, looking at the crude block of stone.

'No,' replied Miss Havisham, 'that's only the statue of the great P or at least it will be, when we figure out what he or she looks like. Good afternoon, Mr Price.'

Mr Price was a stonemason but he wasn't doing anything; in fact, I don't think he had ever ever done anything done anything his tools were brightly polished, unmarked, and lying in a neat row next to where he was sitting, reading a copy of Movable Type Movable Type.

'Good afternoon, Miss Havisham,' he said, politely raising his hat.

Havisham indicated the surroundings. 'The Great Panjandrum is meant to be the architect of all this and control everything we do. I'm a little sceptical myself; no one controls my my movements.' movements.'

'They wouldn't dare,' I whispered.

'What did you say?'

'I said: they couldn't care they couldn't care. Not a great deal, given the violence in books.'

She looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

'Perhaps. Come along and see the Council at work.'

She steered me down the corridor to a door that opened into a viewing gallery above a vast council chamber with desks arranged in concentric circles.

'The main genres are seated at the front,' whispered Miss Havisham. 'The sub-genres are seated behind and make up a voting group that can be carried forward to the elected head of each genre, although they do have a veto. Behind the sub-genres are elected representatives from the Congress of Derivatives who bring information forward to the Sub-genres Inspectorate and behind them are the subcommittees who decide on day-to-day issues such as the Book Inspectorate, new words, letter supply and licensing the reworkings of old ideas. The Book Inspectorate also license plot devices, Jurisfiction agents and the supply and training schedules for Generics.'

'Who's that talking now?' I asked.

'The Thriller delegate. She's arguing against Detective having a genre all of its own at present Detective is under Crime, but if they break away the genres at Thriller will want to split themselves three ways into Adventure, Spy and Thriller.'

'Is it always this boring?' I asked, watching the Thriller delegate drone on.

'Always,' replied Havisham. 'We try to avoid any entanglements and let Text Grand Central take all the flak. Come on, you must sign the pledge.'

We left the viewing gallery and padded down the corridor to a door that led into the smallest room I had ever seen. It seemed to be mostly filing cabinet and desk. An equally small man was eating biscuits and most of them were falling down his front.

'Thursday Next to take the pledge,' announced Miss Havisham. 'I have the doc.u.ments all signed and sealed by the Bellman.'

'Work, work, work,' said the small man, taking a swig of tea and looking up at me with small yet oddly intense eyes. 'I rarely get any peace you're the second pledge this year.'

He sighed and wiped his mouth on his tie.

'Who seconds the application?'

'Commander Bradshaw.'

'And who vouches for Miss Next?'

'I do.'

'Good. Repeat the oath of the BookWorld.' Primed by Miss Havisham, I repeated: 'I swear by the Great Panjandrum that I shall uphold the rules of Jurisfiction, protect the BookWorld and defend every fictioneer, no matter how poorly written, against oppression. I shall not s.h.i.+rk from my duty, nor use my knowledge or position for personal gain. Secrets entrusted to me by the Council of Genres or Text Grand Central must remain secret within the service, and I will do all I can to maintain the power of storytelling within the minds and hearts of the readers.'

'That'll do,' said the small man, taking another bite of his biscuit. 'Sign here, here and er here here. And you have to witness it, Miss Havisham.'