Something rotten

'Twenty-seven, actually — one of them was real. But I didn't do it alone. I needed someone to whip up a timephoon in the Dark Ages as cover. Someone with remarkable skills as a time traveller. An expert who can surf the timeline with a skill I will never possess.'

'Me?'

He chuckled.

'No, silly — Friday.'

The little boy looked up when he heard his name. He chewed the crayon, made a face and spat the bits on Pickwick, who jumped up in fright and ran away to hide.

'Meet the future head of the ChronoGuard, Sweetpea. How did you think he survived Landen's eradication?'

I stared at the little boy, who stared back, and smiled.

Dad looked at his watch.

'Well, I've got to go. Nelson's up to his old tricks again. Time waits for no man, as we say.'

44 Final Curtain

NEANDERTHALS MAKE NEW YEAR'S 'AT RISK' LIST

Neanderthals, the once extinct cousin of Homo sapiens, were yesterday granted 'at risk' status along with the edible dormouse and poorly crested grebe. Chancellor Mr Redmond van de Poste of the Toast Party granted them this honour in recognition of their work during the Swindon Reading Superhoop. Mr van de Poste met with Neanderthals and read from a specially prepared speech. 'Personally, I really don't give a button over your status,' he told them, 'but it's politically expedient and vote-winning to be doing something to help lowly clods like you gain some sort of limited Incoming freedom.' His speech was received warmly by the Neanderthals, who were expecting half-truths and disinformation. 'An application to become 'endangered', continued Mr van de Poste, 'will be looked at on its merits in the new year — if we can be bothered.'

Article in the Swindon Daily Eyestrain, 7 September 1988

I was well enough to be given an award three weeks later at a mayoral lunch. Lord Volescamper presented the whole Superhoop team with a special 'Swindon Star' medal, especially struck for the purpose. The only Neanderthal to show up was Stig, who understood what it meant to me, even if he couldn't truly understand the concept of individual aggrandisement.

There was a party afterwards and everyone wanted to chat to me, mostly to ask me whether I would play any more professional croquet. I met Handley Paige again; he jumped when he saw me and downed a drink nervously.

'I've decided not to kill off my Emperor Zhark character,' he announced quickly, 'I'd just like to make that point right now, in case anyone might think I was going to stop writing Zhark books, which I'm not. Not at all. Not ever.'

He looked around warily.

'I'm sorry?' I said. 'I'm not sure I understand.'

'Oh . . . right,' he replied sarcastically, tried to drink from his empty glass and then strode off to the bar.

'What was all that about?' asked Landen.

'Search me.'

Spike was at the party too and he sidled up to me as I was fetching another drink.

'What did she say to you when she took your place?'

I turned to face him; I wasn't surprised that he knew Cindy had replaced me. The semi-dead was his field of expertise, after all.

'She said that she wanted to make up for some of the misery she had caused, and she knew she would never hold either you or Betty again.'

'You could have refused her, but I'm glad you didn't. I loved her, but she was rotten to the core.'

He fell silent for a moment and I touched him on the arm.

'Not entirely rotten, Spike. She loved you both very much.'

He looked at me and smiled.

'I know. You did the right thing, Thursday. Thank you.'

And he hugged me, and was gone.

I answered lots more questions regarding the Superhoop match and when I decided enough was enough I asked Landen to take me home.

Landen drove the Speedster, with Friday in a baby seat in the back, right next to Pickwick, who didn't want to be left alone now that Alan had gone.

'Land?'

'Mm?'

'Did you ever think it odd that I survived?'

'I'm grateful that you did, of course—

'Stop the car a minute'

'Why?'

'Just do as I say.'

He pulled up and I very carefully climbed out and walked towards where two familiar figures were sitting on the pavement outside a Goliathe coffee shop. I approached silently and sat down next to the larger of the two before he'd even noticed. He looked round and jumped visibly when he saw me.

'Once,' said a sad and familiar voice, 'you would never have been able to sneak up on a Gryphon!'

I smiled. He was a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. He wore spectacles and a scarf under his trenchcoat, which somewhat dented his otherwise fearsome appearance. He was fictional, to be sure, but he was also head of jurisfiction's legal team, my lawyer — and a friend.

'Gryphon!' I said with some surprise. 'What are you doing in the Outland?'

'Here to see you,' he whispered, looking around and lowering his voice. 'Have you met Mock Turtle? He's now my number two at the legal desk.'

He gestured towards where a turtle with the head of a calf was staring mournfully into space. He was, like the Gryphon, straight out of the pages of Alice in Wonderland.

'How do you do?'

'Okay — I suppose.' The Mock Turtle sighed, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.

'So what's up?' I asked.

'It's quite serious — too serious for the footnoterphone. And I needed an excuse to do some Outlander research on traffic islands. Fascinating things.'

I felt hot and prickly all of a sudden. Not about traffic islands, of course, about my conviction. The fiction infraction. I had changed the ending of Jane Eyre and was found guilty by the Court of Hearts. All that was missing was the sentence.

'What did I get?'

'It's not that bad,' exclaimed the Gryphon, snapping his fingers at the Mock Turtle, who passed him a sheet of paper now stained with his own tears.