The Well Of Lost Plots Part 40

'Tell me what?'

'I didn't get the Amis part,' began Randolph, 'but I've been short-listed for a minor speaking appearance in the next Wolfe.'

'That's excellent news!' I responded happily. 'When?'

'Some time in the next couple of years. I'm going to do some stand-in work until then; the C of G has opened up travel writing as holiday destinations for Generics. No more awayday breaks in Ba.r.s.etshire I'm to cover for Count Smorltork while he goes on holiday for two weeks in Wainwright's A Pictorial A Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells Guide to the Lakeland Fells.'

'Congratulations.'

He thanked me but was still somehow distant. He stared out of the porthole at the lake, deep in thought.

'What about you?' asked Arnie. 'What will you do? Your demotion is all over the Well!'

'It's not a demotion,' I said. 'Well, perhaps it is.'

'Word is that Harris Tweed is up to be the next Bellman,' murmured Arnie. 'Despite his lack of experience, Jurisfiction favours an Outlander.'

'What's so special about Outlanders?' asked Randolph.

'We have skills that few Generics possess.'

'Such as?'

I picked up the leather-bound UltraWord copy of The Little Prince The Little Prince that had been lying on the table and gave it to Arnie. that had been lying on the table and gave it to Arnie.

'Smell anything?'

He held it to his nose and shook his head. I took the book and sniffed at it delicately; I had expected the odour of leather but instead I could smell sweet melons cantaloupes. I was transported back to the last time I had come across this particular scent; the odd and boxy truck in Caversham Heights Caversham Heights. The truck without texture, the automaton driver without personality. Something clicked.

'It was an UltraWord truck,' I murmured, searching through my bag for the angular and textureless bolt I had picked up after the truck had departed. I found it and sniffed at it cautiously, my mind racing as I tried to think of a connection.

'If this is anything to go by,' said Arnie, flicking through the pages of The Little Prince The Little Prince, 'then the readers are in for a treat.'

'They are indeed,' I replied as Randolph tried to open the cover but couldn't.

I took it from him and the book opened easily. I handed it back but the cover was still stuck fast.

'Odd,' I said as Arnie took the book and opened it once again without any problem. 'It's Havisham's copy,'

I added slowly. 'She's read it, and me, and now you.'

'A book which only three people can read!' said Randolph scornfully. 'A bit mean, I must say!'

'Only three readers,' I murmured, my heart going cold as I recalled the three witches' prophecy: Thrice is Thrice is once and thrice is twice and thrice again once and thrice is twice and thrice again- Perhaps the new operating system was not quite the egalitarian advance it claimed if it was really the case that UltraWord books could only be opened three times then libraries would be a thing of the past. And the angular truck, the strange bolt? What did all that mean? I shivered. If something was so wrong with the new system that they would kill to keep it quiet, then the 'thrice read' rule was just the beginning. The orders for my transfer had come from Text Grand Central via the Bellman's clipboard. Perhaps I was being removed for a reason who other than the grieving apprentice to ask awkward questions? If so, Havisham's accident had been nothing of the sort.

'Problems?' asked Arnie, sensing my disquiet.

'Could be. Miss Havisham was sure there was something wrong with UltraWord. I think Perkins found out and so did Snell.'

'Did they actually say so?' asked Randolph, who had obviously been studying law as part of his upcoming Wolfe bit-part. 'Without any evidence this will be hard to prove.'

'Perkins and Havisham told me nothing and all I got from Snell was gobbledegook on his deathbed. He may have told me everything but it was so badly spelled I didn't understand a word.'

'What did he say?'

'He said: "Thirsty! Wode Cone, udder whirled doughnut Trieste-!" or something quite like it.'

Arnie exchanged looks with Randolph.

'The "Thirsty" must be "Thursday",' murmured Randolph.

'I figured that,' I returned, 'but what about the rest?'

'Do you suppose,' said Randolph thoughtfully, 'that if you were to recite those words near a source of mispeling they would revert back again?'

There was one of those long pauses that always accompany an epiphanic moment.

'It's worth a try,' I replied, thinking hard. Where would I find some mispeling vyrus without anyone asking questions?

I got up, checked the clip of my automatic and opened my TravelBook.

'Where are you going?' asked Arnie.

'To visit the Anti-mispeling Fast Response Group on the seventeenth floor. I think they might be able to help.'

'Will they want to?'

I shrugged.

'Irrelevant. Asking wasn't part of my plan.'

The elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor. This held all the books whose authors began with Q, and since there weren't that many of them, the remainder of the s.p.a.ce had been given over to the Jurisfiction Anti-mispeling Fast Response Group if there was any live mispeling vyrus at Jurisfiction, this would be the place to find it.

This floor of the Great Library was more dimly lit than the others, and the rows of bunk beds containing the numerous DanverClones began soon after the Quiller-Couch novels ended. The Danvers were all sitting bolt upright, their eyes following me silently as I walked slowly down the corridor. It was disquieting to be sure, but I could think of no other place to look.

I reached the central core of the Library, a circular void surrounded by a wrought-iron rail at the centre of the four corridors. The way I had come was all Danvers, and so were two of the others. The fourth corridor was lined with packing cases of dictionaries, and beyond them was the medical area in which I had last seen Snell. I approached, my feet making no noise on the padded carpet. Perhaps Snell had known as much as Perkins? They were partners, after all. I cursed myself for not thinking of this before but felt slightly better knowing that Havisham hadn't thought of it either.

I arrived at the small medical unit that was ready and waiting to deal with any infected person, with its shielded curtains and bandages over-printed with dictionary entries. They could soothe and contain but rarely cure Snell was doomed as soon as he was soaked in the vyrus and he knew it.

I opened a few drawers here and there but found nothing. Then I noticed a large pile of dictionaries stacked by themselves in a roped-off area. I walked up to them, repeating the word ambidextrous ambidextrous as I did so. as I did so.

'Ambidextrous ... ambidextrous ... ambidextrous ... ambidextruos.'

Bingo. I'd found it.

'Miss Next?' said a voice. 'What in heaven's name are you doing here?'

I nearly jumped out of my skin. If it had been Libris I would have been worried; but it wasn't it was Harris Tweed.

'You nearly scared me half to death!' I told him.

'Sorry!' He grinned. 'What are you up to?'

'There's something wrong with UltraWord,' I confided.

Tweed looked up and down the corridor and lowered his voice.

'I think so too,' he hissed, 'but I'm not sure what I've a feeling that it uses a faster "memory fade" utility than Version 8.3 so the readers will want to reread the book more often. The Council of Genres is interested in upping its published ReadRates the battle with non-fiction is hotting up; more than they care to tell us us about.' about.'

It was the sort of thing I had suspected.

'What have you you discovered?' he asked. discovered?' he asked.

I leaned closer.

'UltraWord has a "thrice only" read capability.'

'Good Lord!' exclaimed Tweed. 'Anything else?'

'Not yet. I was hoping to find out what Snell said before he died. It was badly mispeled but I thought perhaps I could unmispel unmispel it by repeating it close to a mispeling source.' it by repeating it close to a mispeling source.'

'Good thought,' replied Tweed, 'but we must take care too much exposure to this stuff and you could be permanently mispeled.'

He donned a pair of DictoSafe gloves.

'Sit here and repeat Snell's words,' he told me, placing a chair not a yard from the pile of dictionaries. 'I'll remove the OEDs one at a time and we'll see what happens.'

' Wode Cone, udder whirled doughnut Trieste' Wode Cone, udder whirled doughnut Trieste' I recited as Tweed pulled a single dictionary from the large pile that covered the vyrus. I recited as Tweed pulled a single dictionary from the large pile that covered the vyrus.

' Wode Cone, ulder whirled dougnut Trieste Wode Cone, ulder whirled dougnut Trieste,' I repeated.

'Who else knows about this?' he asked. 'If what you say is true, this knowledge is dangerous enough to have killed three times I hate to say it but I think we have a rotten apple at Jurisfiction.'

'I tolled no-wun at Jurizfaction,' I a.s.sured him. ' Wede Caine, ulder whorled dogn'ut Triuste Wede Caine, ulder whorled dogn'ut Triuste.'

Harris carefully removed another dictionary. I could see the faint purple glow from within the stacked books.

'We don't know who we can trust,' he said sombrely. 'Who did did you tell, precisely? It's important, I need to know.' you tell, precisely? It's important, I need to know.'

He removed another dictionary.

'Twede Caine, ulter whorled dogn't Truste.'

My heart went cold. Twede Twede. Could that be Tweed Tweed? I tried to look normal and glanced across at him, trying to figure out whether he had heard me. I had good reason to be concerned; there he was, controlling a strong source of mispeling vyrus. If he removed one too many dictionaries I could be fatally mispeled into a Thirsty Neck Thirsty Neck or something and n.o.body knew I was here. or something and n.o.body knew I was here.

'I cane right you a liszt if it wood yelp,' I said, trying to sound as normal as I could.

'Why not just tell me,' he said, still smiling. 'Who was it? Some of those Generics at Caversham Heights Caversham Heights?

'I tolled the bell, man.'

The smile dropped from his face.

'Now I know you're lying.'

We stared at one another. Tweed was no fool; he knew his cover was blown.

' Tweed Tweed,' I said, the unmispeling now complete. ' Kaine UltraWord Kaine UltraWord Don't trust Don't trust!'

I jumped aside as soon as I had said it. I was only just in time Tweed yanked out three dictionaries near the bottom and the DictoSafe partially collapsed.

I sprawled on the ground as the heavy glow, emanating in one direction from the disrupted pile of dictionaries, instantly turned the hospital bed behind me into an hospitable ted hospitable ted, a furry stuffed bear who waved his paw cheerfully and told me to pop round for dinner any day of the week and to bring a friend.

I threw myself at Tweed, who was not as quick as I, my speech returning to normal almost immediately.

'Snell and Perkins?!' I yelled, pinning him to the ground. 'Who else? Havisham?'

'It's not important,' he cried as I took his gun and forced his chin into the carpet.

'You're wrong!' I told him angrily. 'What's the problem with UltraWord?'

'Nothing's wrong with it,' he replied, trying to sound reasonable. 'In fact, everything's right right with it! Think about it for a moment. With UltraWord control of the BookWorld will never have been easier. And with modern and free-thinking Outlanders like you and I, we can take fiction to new and dizzying heights!' with it! Think about it for a moment. With UltraWord control of the BookWorld will never have been easier. And with modern and free-thinking Outlanders like you and I, we can take fiction to new and dizzying heights!'

I pushed my knee harder into the back of his neck and he yelped.

'And where does Kaine come into this?'

'UltraWord benefits everyone, Next. Us in here and publishers out there. It's the perfect system!'

'Perfect? You need to resort to murder to keep it on track? How can it be perfect?'

'Murder happens all the time in fiction without it and the jeopardy it generates, we'd have lost a million readers long ago!'

'She was my friend, Tweed!' I yelled. 'Not some cannon fodder for a cheap thriller!'

'You're making a big mistake,' he replied, his face still pressed into the carpet. 'I can offer you a key position at Text Grand Central. With UltraWord under our control we will have the power to change anything we please within fiction. You gave Jane Eyre Jane Eyre a happy ending we can do the same with countless others and give the reading public what they want. We will dictate terms to that moth-eaten bunch of bureaucrats at the Council of Genres and forge a new, stronger fiction that will catapult the novel to greater heights no longer will we be looked down upon by the academic press and marginalised by non-fiction!' a happy ending we can do the same with countless others and give the reading public what they want. We will dictate terms to that moth-eaten bunch of bureaucrats at the Council of Genres and forge a new, stronger fiction that will catapult the novel to greater heights no longer will we be looked down upon by the academic press and marginalised by non-fiction!'

I had heard enough.

'You're finished, Tweed. When the Bellman hears what you've been up to-!'

'The Bellman is a powerless fool, Next. He does what we tell him to. Release me and take your place at my side. Untold adventures and riches await you we can even write your husband back.'

'Not a chance. I want the real Landen or none at all.'

'You won't know the difference. Take my hand I won't offer it again.'

'No deal.'