Chapter One
The Adrian Lush ShowSample viewing figures for major TV networks in England, September1985
NetworkToad The Adrian Lush Show (Wednesday) (Chat show) 16,428,316 The Adrian Lush Show (Monday) (Chat show) 16,034,921 Bonzo the Wonder Hound (Canine thriller) 15,975,462
MoleTV Name That Fruit! (Answer questions for cash prizes) 15,320,340 65 Walrus Street (Soap opera; Episode 3,352) 14,315,902 Dangerously Dysfunctional People Argue Live on TV (Chat show)
11,065,611
OwlVision Will Marlowe or Kit Shakespeare? (Literary quiz show) 13,591,203 One More Chance to See! (Reverse extinction show) 2,321,820
Goliath Cable Channel (1 TO 32) Whose Lie Is It Anyway? (Corporate comedy quiz show) 428 Cots to Coffins: Goliath. All you'll ever need. (Docuganda) 9 (disputed)
Neanderthal Cable Network 4 Powertool Club Live (Routers and power planers edition) 9,032 Jackanory Gold (Jane Eyre edition) 7,219
WARWICK FRIDGE,
The Ratings War
I DIDN'T ASK to be a celebrity. I never wanted to appear onThe Adrian Lush Show. And let's get one thing straight rightnow-the world would have to be hurtling toward imminentdestruction before I'd agree to anything as dopey as The ThursdayNext Workout Video.
The publicity surrounding the successful rebookment ofJane Eyre was fun to begin with but rapidly grew wearisome. Ihappily posed for photocalls, agreed to newspaper interviews,hesitantly appeared on Desert Island Smells and was thankfullyexcused the embarrassment of Celebrity Name That Fruit. Thepublic, ever fascinated by celebrity, had wanted to know everythingabout me following my excursion within the pages ofJane Eyre, and since the Special Operations Network have a PRrecord on par with that of Vlad the Impaler, the Top Brassthought it would be a good wheeze to use me to boost theirflagging popularity. I dutifully toured all points of the globe doingsignings, library openings, talks and interviews. The samequestions, the same SpecOps-approved answers. Supermarketopenings, literary dinners, offers of book deals. I even met theactress Lola Vavoom, who said that she would simply adore toplay me if there was a film. It was tiring, but more than that-itwas dull. For the first time in my career at the Literary DetectivesI actually missed authenticating Milton.
I'd taken a week's leave as soon my tour ended so Landenand I could devote some time to married life. I moved all mystuff to his house, rearranged his furniture, added my books tohis and introduced my dodo, Pickwick, to his new home. Landenand I ceremoniously partitioned the bedroom closet space,decided to share the sock drawer, then had an argument overwho was to sleep on the wall side of the bed. We had long andwonderfully pointless conversations about nothing in particular,walked Pickwick in the park, went out to dinner, stayed infor dinner, stared at each other a lot and slept in late everymorning. It was wonderful.
On the fourth day of my leave, just between lunch with Landen's mum and Pickwick's notable first fight with the neighbor'scat, I got a call from Cordelia Flakk. She was the seniorSpecOps PR agent here in Swindon and she told me that AdrianLush wanted me on his show. I wasn't mad keen on the idea-orthe show. But there was an upside. The Adrian Lush Showwent out live, and Flakk assured me that this would be a "noholds barred" interview, something that held a great deal of appeal.Despite my many appearances, the true story about JaneEyre was yet to be told-and I had been wanting to drop theGoliath Corporation in it for quite a while. Flakk's assurancethat this would finally be the end of the press junket clinchedmy decision. Adrian Lush it would be.
I traveled up to the NetworkToad studios a few days later onmy own; Landen had a deadline looming and needed to get hishead down. But I wasn't alone for long. As soon as I steppedinto the large entrance lobby a milk-curdling shade of greenstrode purposefully towards me.
"Thursday, darling!" cried Cordelia, beads rattling. "So gladyou could make it!"
The SpecOps dress code stated that our apparel should be"dignified," but in Cordelia's case they had obviously stretcheda point. She looked about as far from a serving officer as onecould get. Looks, in her case, were highly deceptive. She wasSpecOps all the way from her high heels to the pink-and-yellowscarf tied in her hair.
She air-kissed me affectionately. "How's married life treatingyou?"
"Very well."
"Excellent, my dear, I wish you and ... er ..."
"Landen?"
"Yes; I wish you and Landen both the best. Love what you'vedone with your hair!"
"My hair? I haven't done anything with my hair!"
"Exactly!" replied Flakk quickly. "It's so incredibly you.What do you think of the outfit?"
"One's attention is drawn straight to it," I replied ambiguously.
"This is 1985," she explained. "Bright colors are the future.See this top? Half price in the sales. I'll let you loose in mywardrobe one day."
"I think I've got some pink socks of my own somewhere."
She smiled.
"It's a start, my dear. Listen, you've been a shining star aboutall this publicity work; I'm very grateful-and so is SpecOps."
"Grateful enough to post me somewhere other than the LiteraryDetectives?" I asked hopefully.
"Well," murmured Cordelia reflectively, "first things first. Assoon as you've done the Lush interview your transfer applicationwill be aggressively considered, you have my word onthat."
I sighed. "Aggressively considered" had the ring of "definitelyperhaps" about it and wasn't as promising as I could havewished. Despite the successes at work, I still wanted to moveup within the Network. Cordelia, reading my disappointment,took my arm in a friendly gesture and steered me towards thewaiting area.
"Coffee?"
"Thanks."
"Spot of bother in Auckland?"
"Brontk Federation offshoot caused a bit of trouble," I explained."They didn't like the new ending of Jane Eyre."
"There'll always be a few malcontents," observed Flakk witha smile. "Milk?"
"Just a tad."
"Oh," she said, staring at the milk jug, "this milk's off. Nomatter. Listen," she said quietly, "I'd love to stay and watch, butsome SpecOps-17 clot in Penzance staked a Goth by mistake;it's going to be PR hell on earth down there."
SO-17 were the Vampire and Werewolf Disposal Operation.Despite a new three-point confirmation procedure, a jumpycadet with a sharpened stake could still spell big trouble.
"Everything is all absolutely hunky-dory here. I've spokento Adrian Lush and the others so there won't be anyembarrassments."
"No holds barred, eh?" I grimaced, but Flakk wasunapologetic.
"Needs must, Thursday. SpecOps requires your support inthese difficult times. President Formby himself has called for aninquiry into whether SpecOps are value-for-money-or evennecessary at all."
"Okay," I agreed, quite against my better judgment, "butthis is the very last interview, yes?"
"Of course!" agreed Flakk hastily, then added in an overdramaticmanner: "Oh my goodness is that the time? I have tocatch the airship to Barnstaple in an hour. This is Adie; she'll belooking after you and ... and-" here Cordelia leaned just a littlebit closer-"remember you're SpecOps, darling!"
She air-kissed me again, glanced at her watch and took toher heels in a cloud of expensive scent.
"How could I forget?" I muttered as a bouncy girl clutching aclipboard appeared from where she had been waiting respectfullyout of earshot. "Hi!" squeaked the girl. "I'm Adie. I'm so pleased to meet you!"
She grasped my hand and told me repeatedly what a fantastichonor it was.
"I don't want to bug you or anything," she asked shyly, "butwas Edward Rochester really drop-dead-gorgeous-to-die-for?"
"Not handsome," I answered as I watched Flakk slink offdown the corridor, "but certainly attractive. Tall, deep voice andglowering looks, if you know the type."
Adie turned a deep shade of pink.
"Gosh!"
I was taken into makeup, where I was puffed and primped,talked at mercilessly and made to sign copies of the FeMole Ihad appeared in. I was very relieved when Adie came to rescueme thirty minutes later. She announced into her wireless thatwe were "walking" and then, after leading me down a corridorand through some swing doors, asked:
"What's it like working in SpecOps? Do you chase bad guys,clamber around on the outside of airships, defuse bombs withthree seconds to go, that sort of stuff?"
"I wish I did," I replied good-humoredly, "but in truth it's70% form filling, 27% mind-numbing tedium and 2% sheerterror."
"And the remaining 1%?"
I smiled. "That's what keeps us going."
We walked the seemingly endless corridors, past large grinningphotographs of Adrian Lush and assorted other NetworkToadcelebrities.
"You'll like Adrian," she told me happily, "and he'll like you.Just don't try to be funnier than him; it doesn't suit the formatof the show."
"What does that mean?"
She shrugged.
"I don't know. I'm meant to tell all his guests that."
"Even the comedians?"
"Especially the comedians."
I assured her being funny was furthest from my mind, andpretty soon she directed me onto the studio floor. Feelingunusually nervous and wishing that Landen was with me, Iwalked across the familiar front-room set of The Adrian LushShow. But Mr. Lush was nowhere to be seen-and neither werethe "Live Studio Audience" a Lush show usually boasted. Instead,a small group of officials were waiting-the "others" Flakk hadtold me about. My heart fell when I saw who they were.
"Ah, there you are, Next!" boomed Commander BraxtonHicks with forced bonhomie. "You're looking well, healthy, and,er, vigorous." He was my divisional chief back at Swindon, anddespite being head of the Literary Detectives, was not that goodwith words.
"What are you doing here, sir?" I asked him, straining notto show my disappointment. "Cordelia told me the Lush interviewwould be uncensored in every way."
"Oh it is, dear girl-up to a point," he said, stroking hislarge mustache. "Without benign intervention things can getvery confused in the public mind. We thought we would listento the interview and perhaps-if the need arose-offer practicaladvice as to how the proceedings should-er-proceed."
I sighed. My untold story looked set to remain exactly that.Adrian Lush, supposed champion of free speech, the man whohad dared to air the grievances felt by the neanderthal, the firstto suggest publicly that the Goliath Corporation "had shortcomings,"was about to have his nails well and truly clipped.
"Colonel Flanker you've already met," went on Braxton withoutdrawing breath.
I eyed the man suspiciously. I knew him well enough. Hewas at SpecOps-1, the division that polices SpecOps itself. Hehad interviewed me about the night I had first tried to tacklemaster criminal Acheron Hades-the night Snood and Tamworthdied. He tried to smile several times but eventually gave up andoffered his hand for me to shake instead.
"This is Colonel Rabone," carried on Braxton. "She is headof Combined Forces Liaison." I shook hands with the colonel.
"Always honored to meet a holder of the Crimean Cross,"she said, smiling.
"And over here," continued Braxton in a jocular tone thatwas obviously designed to put me at ease-a ploy that failedspectacularly-"is Mr. Schitt-Hawse of the Goliath Corporation."
Schitt-Hawse was a tall, thin man whose pinched featuresseemed to compete for position in the center of his face. Hishead tilted to the left in a manner that reminded me of an inquisitivebudgerigar, and his dark hair was fastidiously combedback from his forehead. He put out his hand.
"Would it upset you if I didn't shake it?" I asked him.
"Well, yes," he replied, trying to be affable.
"Good."
The Goliath Corporation's pernicious hold over the nationwas not universally appreciated, and I had a far greater reasonto dislike them-the last Goliath employee I had dealt with wasan odious character by the name of Jack Schitt. We had trickedhim into a copy of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven," a place inwhich I hoped he could do no harm.
"Schitt-Hawse, eh?" I said. "Any relation to Jack?"
"He was-is-my half brother," said Schitt-Hawse slowly,"and believe me, Ms. Next, he wasn't working for us when heplanned to prolong the Crimean War in order to create demandfor Goliath weaponry."
"And you never knew he had sided with Hades either, Isuppose?"
"Of course not!" replied Schitt-Hawse in an offended tone.
"If you had known, would you admit it?"
Schitt-Hawse scowled and said nothing. Braxton coughedpolitely and continued:
"And this is Mr. Chesterman of the Brontk Federation."
Chesterman blinked at me uncertainly. The changes I hadwrought upon Jane Eyre had split the federation. I hoped hewas one of the ones who preferred the happier ending.
"Back there is Captain Marat of the ChronoGuard," continuedBraxton. Marat, at this moment in his time, was a schoolboy ofabout twelve. He looked at me with interest. The ChronoGuardwere the SpecOps division that took care of Anomalous TimeRipplation-my father had been one or was one or would beone, depending on how you looked at it.
"Have we met before?" I asked him.
"Not yet," he replied cheerfully, returning to his copy of TheBeano.
"Well!" said Braxton, clapping his hands together. "I thinkthat's everyone. Next, I want you to pretend we're just not here."
"Observers, yes?"
"Absolutely. I-"
Braxton was interrupted by a slight disturbance offstage.
"The bastards!" yelled a high voice. "If the network dares toreplace my Monday slot with reruns of Bonzo the Wonder HoundI'll sue them for every penny they have!"
A tall man of perhaps fifty-five had walked into the studioaccompanied by a small group of assistants. He had handsomechiseled features and a luxuriant swirl of white hair that lookedas though it had been carved from polystyrene. He wore an immaculatelytailored suit and his fingers were heavily weigheddown with gold jewelry. He stopped short when he saw us.
Continues...
Excerpted from Lost in a Good Bookby Jasper Fforde Copyright © 2004 by Jasper Fforde. Excerpted by permission.
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