The Eyre Affair

‘Die easy,’ I told him. ‘Where is Hades?’

He smiled for the last time and shook his head slowly. I had been trying to plug his wounds as he lay dying, but it was no good. His breathing became more laboured and finally stopped altogether.

‘That’s Mr Schitt to you, Next!’ said a voice behind us. We turned to see my second-least favourite person and two of his minders. He didn’t look in a terribly good mood. I surreptitiously pushed Felix7’s wallet under a workbench with my foot and stood up.

‘Move to the side.’

We did as we were told. One of Schitt’s men reached down and felt Felix7’s pulse. He looked up at Schitt and shook his head.

‘Any ID?’

The minder started to search him.

‘You’ve really screwed things up here, Next,’ said Schitt with barely concealed fury. ‘The only lead I’ve got is flatline. When I’ve finished with you, you’ll be lucky to get a job setting cones on the M4.’

I put two and two together.

‘You knew we were in here, didn’t you?’

He glared at me.

‘That man could have taken us to the ringleader and he has something that we want,’ asserted Schitt.

‘Hades?’

‘Hades is dead, Miss Next.’

‘Horseshit, Schitt. You know as well as I do that Hades is alive and well. What Hades has belongs to my uncle. And if I know my uncle, he would sooner destroy it for ever than sell out to Goliath.’

‘Goliath don’t buy, Next. They appropriate. If your uncle has developed a machine that can help in the defence of his country, then it is his duty to share it.’

‘Is it worth the life of two officers?’

‘Most certainly. SpecOps officers die pointlessly every day. If we can, we should try our best to make those deaths worthwhile.’

‘If Mycroft dies through your negligence, I swear to God—!’

Jack Schitt was unimpressed. ‘You really have no idea who you are talking to, do you, Next?’

‘I’m talking to someone whose ambition has throttled his morality.’

‘Wrong. You’re talking to Goliath, a company that has the welfare of England foremost in its heart; everything that you see about you has been given to this country by the benevolence of Goliath. Is it little wonder that the Corporation should expect a small amount of gratitude in return?’

‘If Goliath is as selfless as you suggest, Mr Schitt, then they should expect nothing in return.’

‘Fine words, Miss Next, but cash is always the deciding factor in such matters of moral politics; nothing ever gets done unless motivated by commerce or greed.’

I could hear sirens approaching. Schitt and his two minders made a quick exit, leaving us with Felix7 and Archer’s bodies. Bowden turned to me.

‘I’m glad that he’s dead and I’m glad that I’m the one that pulled the trigger. I thought it might be hard but I did not have the slightest hesitation.’

He said it as though it were an interesting experience, nothing less; as though he had just been on the rollercoaster at Alton Towers and was describing the experience to a friend.

‘Does that sound wrong?’ he added.

‘No,’ I assured him. ‘Not at all. He would have killed until someone stopped him. Don’t even think about it.’

I reached down and picked up Felix7’s wallet. We examined the contents. It contained everything you might expect to find, such as banknotes, stamps, receipts and credit cards—but they were all just plain white paper; the credit cards were simply white plastic with a row of zeros where the numbers usually were.

‘Hades has a sense of humour.’

‘Look at this,’ said Bowden, pointing at Felix7’s fingertips. ‘Wiped clean by acid. And see here, this scar running down behind the scalp line.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘it might not even be his face.’

There was a screech of tyres from downstairs. We put down our weapons and held our badges in the air to avoid any misunderstandings. The officer in charge was a humourless man named Franklin who had heard slightly garbled stories in the canteen about the new LiteraTec.

‘You must be Thursday Next. Heard about you. LiteraTec, eh? Kind of a drop from SO-5?’

‘At least I made it up there in the first place.’

Franklin grunted and looked at the two bodies.

‘Dead?’

‘Very.’

‘You lot are becoming quite action-packed. I can’t remember the last time a shot was fired in anger by a LiteraTec. Let’s not make it a habit, eh? We don’t want Swindon turning into a killing field. And if you want a piece of advice, go easy with Jack Schitt. We hear the man’s a psychopath.’

‘Thanks for the tip, Franklin,’ I said. ‘I’d never have noticed.’

It was after nine when we were finally allowed to leave. Victor had turned up to ask us a few questions out of earshot of the police.

‘What the deuce is going on?’ he asked. ‘I’ve had Braxton yelling on the phone for half an hour; it takes something serious to get him away from his golf club AGM. He wants a full report on the incident on his desk first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘It was Hades,’ I said. ‘Jack Schitt was here with the intention of following one of Acheron’s killers after he’d dispatched us both.’

Victor looked at me for a moment and was about to comment further when a call came over the wireless for an officer in need of assistance. It was the unmistakable voice of Spike. I went to pick up the microphone but Victor grabbed me by the wrist with a surprising turn of speed. He looked at me grimly.

‘No, Thursday. Not with Spike.’

‘But an officer in need of assistance—?’

‘Don’t get involved. Spike is on his own and it’s best that way.’

I looked at Bowden, who nodded agreement and said:

‘The powers of darkness are not for everyone, Miss Next. I think Spike understands that. We hear his calls from time to time but I see him in the canteen the following morning, as regular as clockwork. He knows what he’s doing.’

The wireless was silent; the channel was an open one and perhaps upward of sixty or seventy officers had heard the call. No one had answered.

Spike’s voice came over the airwaves again: ‘For God’s sake, guys—!’

Bowden moved to switch the wireless off but I stopped him. I got into my car and keyed the mike.

‘Spike, this is Thursday. Where are you?’

Victor shook his head. ‘It was nice knowing you, Miss Next.’

I glared at them both and drove off into the night.

Bowden moved across to where Victor was standing.

‘Quite a girl,’ murmured Victor.

‘We’re going to be married,’ answered Bowden matter-of-factly.

Victor frowned and looked at him. ‘Love is like oxygen, Bowden. When’s the happy day?’

‘Oh, she doesn’t know yet,’ replied Bowden, sighing. ‘She is everything a woman should be. Strong and resourceful, loyal and intelligent.’

Victor raised an eyebrow. ‘When do you suppose you’ll ask her?’

Bowden was staring after the tail-lights of the car. ‘I don’t know. If Spike is in the sort of trouble that I think he is, perhaps never.’