The Well Of Lost Plots Part 37

'Yes, very good. All the clothes and boyfriends she wants.'

'You're sour because you didn't get that male-mentor part you wanted,' retorted Lola.

'Not at all,' replied Randolph, resentment bubbling under the surface. 'I've been offered a small part in an upcoming Amis a proper novel. A literary literary one.' one.'

'Well, good luck to you,' replied Lola. 'Send me a postcard if you can be troubled to talk to anyone in chicklit.'

'Guys,' I said, 'don't part like this!'

Lola looked at Randolph, who turned away. She sighed, stared at me for a moment and then got up.

'Well,' she said, picking up her case, 'I've got to go. Fittings all morning then rehearsals until six. Busy, busy, busy. I'll keep in touch, don't worry.'

I got up, held my head for a moment as it thumped badly, then hugged Lola, who hugged me back happily.

'Thanks for all the help, Thursday,' she said, tears in her eyes. 'I wouldn't have made it up to B-3 without you.'

She went to the door, stopped for a moment and looked across at Randolph, who was staring resolutely out of the window at nothing in particular.

'Goodbye, Randolph.'

'Goodbye,' he said without looking up.

Lola looked at me, bit her lip and went across to him and kissed him on the back of the head. She returned to the door, said goodbye to me again and went out.

I sat down next to him. A large tear had rolled down his nose and dropped on to the table. I laid a hand on his.

'Randolph-!'

'I'm fine!' he growled. 'I've just got a bit of grit in my eye!'

'Did you tell her how you felt?'

'No I didn't!' he snapped. 'And what's more I don't want you dictating to me what I should and shouldn't do!'

He got up and stormed off to his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

'h.e.l.looo!' said a Granny Next sort of voice. 'Are you well enough to come upstairs?'

'Yes.'

'Then you can come and help me down.'

I a.s.sisted her down the stairs and sat her at the table, fetching a cushion or two from the living room.

'Thanks for your help, Gran. I made a complete fool of myself last night.'

'What's life for?' she replied. 'Don't mention it. And by the way, it was Lola and me who undressed you, not the boys.'

'I think I was past caring.'

'All the same. Aornis will have a lot more trouble getting at you in the Outland, my dear my experience of mnemonomorphs tends to be that once you dispose of a mindworm, the rest is easy. You won't forget her in a hurry, I a.s.sure you.'

We chatted for an hour, Gran and I, about Miss Havisham, Landen, babies, Anton and all other things besides. She told me about her own husband's eradication and his eventual return. I knew he had had returned because without him there would be no me, but it was interesting to talk to her nonetheless. I felt well enough to go into returned because without him there would be no me, but it was interesting to talk to her nonetheless. I felt well enough to go into Caversham Heights Caversham Heights at midday to see how Jack was getting on. at midday to see how Jack was getting on.

'Ah!' said Jack as I arrived. 'Just in time. I've been thinking about a reworking do you want to have a look?'

'Go on, then.'

'Is anything the matter? You look a bit unwell.'

'I got myself pickled to the gills last night. I'll be fine. What have you in mind?'

'Get in. I want you to meet someone.'

I climbed into the Allegro and he handed me a coffee. We were parked opposite a large red-brick semi in the north of the town. In the book we stake out this house for two days, eventually sighting the mayor emerging with crime boss Angel DeFablio. With the mayor character excised from the ma.n.u.script for an unspecified reason, it would be a long wait.

'This is Nathan Snudd,' said Jack, indicating a young man sitting on the back seat. 'Nathan is a plotsmith who's just graduated in the Well and has kindly agreed to help us. He has some ideas about the book that I wanted you to hear. Mr Snudd, this is Thursday Next.'

'Hi,' I said, shaking his hand.

'The Outlander Outlander Thursday Next?' Thursday Next?'

'Yes.'

'Fascinating! Tell me, why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?'

'I don't know. What are your ideas for the book?'

'Well,' said Nathan, affecting the manner of someone who knows a great deal, 'I've being looking at what you have left and I've put together a rescue plan that uses the available budget, characters and remaining high points of the novel to best effect.'

'Is it still a murder inquiry?'

'Oh yes; and the fight-rigging bit I think we can keep, too. I've bought a few cut-price plot devices from a bargain warehouse in the Well and sewn them in. For instance, I thought that instead of having one scene where Jack is suspended by DCI Briggs, you could have six.'

'Will that work?'

'Sure. Then there will be a "bad cop" routine where an officer close to you is taking bribes and betrays you to the Mob. I've got this middle-aged creepy housekeeper Generic we can adapt. In fact, I've got seventeen middle-aged creepy housekeepers we can pepper about the book.'

'Mrs Danvers, by any chance?' I asked.

'We're working to a tight budget,' replied Snudd coldly, 'let's not forget that.'

'What else?'

'I thought there could be several gangster's molls or a prost.i.tute who wants to go straight and helps you out.'

'A "tart with a heart"?'

'In one. They're ten a penny in the Well at the moment we should be able to get five for a ha'penny.'

'Then what happens?'

'This is the good bit. Someone tries to kill you with a car bomb. I've bought this great little scene for you where you go to your car, are about to start it but find a small piece of wire on the floor mat. It's a cinch and cheap, too. I can buy it wholesale from my cousin; he said he would throw in a missing consignment of n.a.z.i bullion and a sad loser detective drunk at a bar with whisky and a cigarette sad loser detective drunk at a bar with whisky and a cigarette scene. You are a sad loner loser maverick detective with a drink problem, yes?' scene. You are a sad loner loser maverick detective with a drink problem, yes?'

Jack looked at me and smiled.

'No,' he said, 'not any more. I live with my wife and have four amusing children.'

'Not on this budget.' Snudd laughed. 'Humorous sidekicks kids or otherwise cost bundles.'

There was a tap on the window.

'h.e.l.lo, Prometheus,' said Jack. 'Have you met Thursday Next? She's from the Outland.'

Prometheus looked at me and put out a hand. He was an olive-skinned man of perhaps thirty, with tightly curled black hair close to his head. He had deep black eyes and a strong Grecian nose that was so straight you could have laid a set-square on it.

'Outland, eh? What did you think of Byron's retelling of my story?'

'I thought it excellent.'

'Me too. When are we going to get the Elgin marbles back?'

'No idea.'

Prometheus, more generally known as the fire-giver, was a t.i.tan who had stolen fire from the G.o.ds and given it to mankind, a good move or a terrible one, depending on which papers you read. As punishment Zeus had him chained to a rock in the Caucasus where his liver was picked out every night by eagles, only to regrow during the day. He looked quite healthy, in spite of it. Quite what he was doing in Caversham Heights Caversham Heights, I had no idea.

'I heard you had a spot of bother,' he said to Jack. 'Something about the plot falling to pieces?'

'My attempts to keep it secret don't appear to be working,' muttered Jack. 'I don't want a panic. Most Generics have a heart of gold but if there is the sniff of a problem with the narrative they'll abandon Heights Heights like rats from a ship and an influx of Generics seeking employment in the Well could set the Book Inspectorate off like a rocket.' like rats from a ship and an influx of Generics seeking employment in the Well could set the Book Inspectorate off like a rocket.'

'Ah,' replied the t.i.tan, 'tricky indeed. I was wondering if I could offer my services in any way?'

'As a Greek drug dealer or something?' asked Nathan.

'No,' replied Prometheus slightly testily, 'as Prometheus.'

'Oh yeah?' Snudd laughed. 'What are you going to do? Steal fire from the DeFablio family and give it to Mickey Finn?'

Prometheus stared at him as though he were a twit which he was, I suppose.

'No, I thought I could be here awaiting extradition back to the Caucasus by Zeus' lawyers or something, and Jack could be in charge of witness protection, trying to protect me against Zeus' hitmen sort of like The Client The Client but with G.o.ds instead of the Mob.' but with G.o.ds instead of the Mob.'

'If you want to cross genre we have to build from the ground up,' replied Snudd disparagingly, 'and that takes more money and expertise than you guys possess.'

'What did you say?' asked Prometheus in a threatening manner.

'You heard me. Everyone thinks it's easy to be a plotsmith.' He stabbed a finger in Prometheus' direction.

'Well, let me tell you Mr smart-alec-Greek-t.i.tan-fire-giver, I didn't spend four years at plotschool to be told my job by an ex-convict!'

Prometheus' lip quivered.

'Okay,' he snarled, pulling up his sleeves. 'You and me. Right now, here on the sidewalk.'

'C'mon,' said Jack in a soothing manner, 'this isn't going to get us anywhere. Snudd, I think perhaps you should listen to what Prometheus has to say. He might have a point.'

'A point?' cried Snudd, getting out of the car but avoiding Prometheus. 'I'll tell you the point. You came to me wanting my help and I gave it now I have to listen to dumb ideas from any myth that happens to wander along. This was a favour favour, Jack my time isn't cheap. And since this is an ideas free-for-all, let me tell you a home truth: the Great Panjandrum himself couldn't sort out the problems in this book. And you know why? Because it was s.h.i.t to begin with. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got two sub-plots to write for proper, paying, clients!'

And without another word, he vanished.

'Well,' said Prometheus, getting into the back seat, 'who needs cretins like him?'

'Me,' sighed Jack. 'I need all the help I can get. What do you care what happens to us anyway?'

'Well,' said the t.i.tan slowly, 'I kind of like it here and all that mail redirection is a pain in the a.r.s.e. What shall we do now?'

'Lunch?' I suggested.

'Good idea,' said Prometheus. 'I wait tables at Zorba's in the high street I can get us a discount.'

29.

Mrs Bradshaw and Solomon (Judgements) Inc.

'The "police officer being suspended by reluctant boss" plot device was pretty common in the crime genre. It usually happened just before a down-ending second act, when the author sets things up so the reader thinks that there is no way the hero can extricate himself. A down-ending second usually heralds an up-ending third but not always; you can finish a third down but it usually works better if the end of the second is up which means the end of the first should be up, not down.'

JEREMY FNORP The Ups and Downs of Act Breaks The Ups and Downs of Act Breaks I went to work as normal the following morning, my head cleared and feeling better than I had for some time. Randolph, however, was inconsolable without Lola and had moped all the previous evening, becoming quite angry when I believed him when he said that nothing was the matter. Gran was out and I slept well for the first time in weeks. I even dreamed of Landen and wasn't interrupted during the good parts, either.

'I share your grief for Miss Havisham,' murmured Beatrice when I arrived at Norland Park.

'Thank you.'

'Rotten luck,' said Falstaff as I walked past. 'There were the remains of a fine woman about Havisham.'

'Thank you.'

'Miss Next?'

It was the Bellman.

'Can I have a word?'