The Eyre Affair

‘Not at first. I proceeded down the fire escape and heard Snood yell out “Armed Police!” and “On the ground!” By the time I reached the second floor, Hades had convinced Snood to give up his weapon and had shot him. I fired twice from where I was; Hades stumbled slightly but he soon recovered and sprinted for the nearest car. My car.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I clambered down the ladder and dropped to the ground, landing badly on some trash and twisting my ankle. I looked up and saw Acheron punch in the window of my car and open the door. It didn’t take him much more than a couple of seconds to tear off the steering lock and start the engine. The street was, I knew, a cul-de-sac. If Acheron wanted to escape it would have to be through me. I hobbled out into the middle of the road and waited. I started firing as soon as he pulled away from the kerb. All my shots hit their mark. Two in the windscreen and one in the radiator grille. The car kept accelerating and I kept firing. A wing mirror and the other headlamp shattered. The car would hit me if it carried on as it was, but I didn’t really care any more. The operation was a mess. Acheron had killed Tamworth and Snood. He’d kill countless others if I didn’t give it my all. With my last shot I hit his offside front tyre and Acheron finally lost control. The car hit a parked Studebaker and turned over, bounced along on its roof and finally teetered to a stop barely three feet from where I stood. It rocked unsteadily for a moment and then was still, the water from the radiator mixing with the petrol that leaked on to the road.’

I took another sip of water and looked at the assembled faces. They were following my every word, but the hardest part of it was yet to come.

‘I reloaded, then pulled open the driver’s door of the upturned car. I had expected Acheron to tumble out in a heap, but Hades, not for the first time that night, had failed to live up to expectations. The car was empty.’

‘Did you see him escape?’

‘No. I was just pondering this when I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Buckett. He had returned.

“Where is he?’” Buckett yelled.

“I don’t know,” I stammered in reply, checking the back of the car. “He was here—!”

“Stay here!” shouted Buckett. “I’m going to check around the front!”

I was glad to be given orders and spared the burden of initiative. But as Buckett turned to leave he shimmered slightly and I knew something was wrong. Without hesitating, I shot Buckett in the back three times. He collapsed in a heap—‘

‘You shot another operative?’ said one of the SO-1 crowd with an incredulous tone. ‘In the back!’

I ignored her.

‘—only it wasn’t Buckett, of course. The figure that picked itself up from the road to face me was Acheron. He rubbed his back where I had hit him and smiled benignly.

“That wasn’t very sporting!” he said with a smile.

“I’m not here for the sport,” I assured him.’

One of the SO-1 officers interrupted me.

‘You seem to shoot a lot of people in the back, Next. Point-blank range with fluted slugs and he survived! I’m sorry, this is quite impossible!’

‘It happened.’

‘She’s lying—!’ he said indignantly. ‘I’ve had just about enough of this—!’

But Flanker laid a hand on his arm to quieten him. ‘Carry on, Miss Next.’

I did.

‘“Hello, Thursday,” Hades said.

“Acheron,” I replied.

He smiled. “Tamworth’s blood is getting cold on the concrete upstairs and it’s all your fault. Just give me your gun and we can finish this all up and go home.”

Hades reached out his hand and I felt a strong impulse to give him my weapon. But I had turned him down before when he was using more persuasive methods—when I was a student and he was a lecturer. Perhaps Tamworth knew I was strong enough to resist him; perhaps this was another reason he wanted me on his team. I don’t know.

Hades realised this and said instead in a genial manner: “It’s been a long time. Fifteen years, isn’t it?”

“Summer of ‘69,” I replied grimly. I had little time for his games.

“‘69?” he asked, having thought about it for a moment. “Sixteen years, then. I seem to remember we were quite chummy.”

“You were a brilliant teacher, Acheron. I’ve not met an intellect to compare with yours. Why all this?”

“I could say the same about you,” returned Acheron with a smile. “You were the only student of mine whom I could ever describe as brilliant, yet here you are, working as a glorified plod; a LiteraTec; a lackey for the Network. What brought you to SO-5?”

“Fate.”

There was a pause. Acheron smiled. “I always liked you, Thursday. You turned me down and, as we all know, there is nothing more seductive than resistance. I often wondered what I’d do if we met again. My star pupil, my protegee. We were nearly lovers.”

“I was never your protegee, Hades.”

He smiled again. “Have you ever wanted a new car?” he asked me quite suddenly.

I did, of course, and said so.

“How about a large house? How about two large houses? In the country. With grounds. And a Rembrandt.”

I saw what he was up to. “If you want to buy my compliance, Acheron, you have to choose the right currency.”

Acheron’s face fell. “You are strong, Thursday. Avarice works on most people.”

I was angry now. “What do you want with the Chuzzlewit manuscript, Acheron? To sell it?”

“Stealing and selling? How common,” he sneered. “I’m sorry about your two friends. Hollow-points make quite a mess, don’t they?”

We stood there facing one another. It wouldn’t be long before SO-14 were on the scene.

“On the ground,” I ordered him, “or I swear I’ll fire.”

‘Hades was suddenly a blur of movement. There was a sharp crack and I felt something pluck at my upper arm. There was a sensation of warmth and I realised with a certain detached interest that I had been shot.

“Good try, Thursday. How about with the other arm?”

Without knowing it, I had loosed off a shot in his direction. It was this that he was congratulating me on. I knew that I had thirty seconds at best before the loss of blood started to make me woozy. I transferred the automatic to my left hand and started to raise it again.

Acheron smiled admiringly. He would have continued his brutal game for as long as he could but the distant wail of police sirens hastened him into action. He shot me once in the chest and left me for dead.’

The SO-1 officials shuffled slightly as I concluded my story. They swapped looks, but I had no interest in whether they believed me or not. Hades had left me for dead but my time wasn’t yet up. The copy of Jane Eyre that Tamworth had given me had saved my life. I had placed it in my breast pocket; Hades’ slug had penetrated to the back cover but had not gone through. Broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a bruise to die for—but I had survived. It was luck, or fate, or whatever the hell you want to make of it.