morning. The landlord proclaimed that he had not but added that his was not the only inn in the town. I thanked him and walked to the door, but was arrested by the incongruous sound of a camera shutter. I slowly turned around. Behind me were a Japanese couple, dressed in period costume but with one of them holding a large Nikon camera. The woman hastily tried to conceal the blatant anachronism and started to drag the man out of the door.
‘Wait!’
They stopped and looked nervously at one other.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Visiting from Osaka,’ affirmed the woman, at which the man—he seemed not to speak English—nodded his head vigorously and started to consult a Bronte guidebook written in Japanese.
‘How—?’
‘My name is Mrs Nakijima,’ announced the woman, ‘and this is Mr Suzuki.’
The man grinned at me and shook my hand excitedly.
‘This is crazy!’ I said angrily. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you two are
‘Indeed,’ admitted Mrs Nakijima, ‘I make the jump once a year and bring a visitor with me. We touch nothing and never speak to Miss Eyre. As you can see, we are dressed fittingly.’
‘Japanese? In mid-nineteenth-century England?’
‘Why not?’
Why not indeed.
‘How do you manage it?’
The woman shrugged.
‘I just
I didn’t have time for this at all.
‘Listen to me. My name is Thursday Next. I work with Victor Analogy at the LiteraTec office in Swindon. You heard about the theft of the manuscript?’
She nodded her head.
‘There is a dark presence in this book but my plan to extract him is dependent on there being only one way in and one way out. He will stop at nothing to use you to get out if he can. I implore you to jump back home while you still can.’
Mrs Nakijima consulted for some time with her client. She explained that Mr Suzuki was hoping to see Jane if possible, but that if he were taken back now he would want a refund. I reiterated my position on the matter and they eventually agreed. I followed them to their room upstairs and waited while they packed. Mrs Nakijima and Mr Suzuki both shook me by the hand, held on to each other and evaporated. I shook my head sadly. It seemed there were very few places that the tourist business hadn’t touched.
I left the warmth of the inn for the chill exterior and made my way past a stall selling late root vegetables and on to The Millcote, where I enquired about any new guests.
‘And who would be wanting to see Mr Hedge?’ enquired the innkeeper, spitting into and then polishing a crude beer mug.
‘Tell him Miss Next is here to see him.’
The innkeeper vanished upstairs and returned presently.
‘Room Seven,’ he replied shortly, and returned to his duties.
Acheron was sitting by the window, his back to the door. He didn’t move when I entered.
‘Hello, Thursday.’
‘Mr
‘Locals in mid-nineteenth-century England are a superstitious lot. I thought Hades might seem a little strong for them.’
He turned to face me, his piercing blue eyes seeming to look straight into me. But his power over me had waned; he could not read me as he had others. He sensed this immediately, gave a half-smile and resumed staring out of the window.
‘You grow strong, Miss Next.’
‘I thrive on adversity.’
He gave a short laugh.
‘I should have made quite sure of you back at Styx’s apartment.’
‘And spoilt all the fun? Your life would be considerably more dull without me and the rest of SpecOps to louse it up.’
He ignored me and changed the subject.
‘Someone as resourceful as you would never have come in here without a way out. What is it, Thursday? A prearranged code to let Mycroft know when to open the door?’
‘Something like that. If you give me the instruction manual and Polly I promise you shall have a fair trial.’
Hades laughed.
‘I think I am way beyond a fair trial, Thursday. I could kill you now and I feel a strong urge to do precisely that, but the prospect of being trapped in this narrative for all time bars me from that action. I tried to get to London but it’s impossible; the only towns that exist in this world are the places that Charlotte Bronte wrote about and which feature in the narrative. Gateshead, Lowood—I’m surprised that there is even as much of
‘No. You give me the manual and my aunt first.’
‘You see? Impasse. You’ll want to wait until the book is written again, though, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then you will expect no trouble from me until such time as Jane leaves Thornfield for good. After that, we negotiate.’
‘I won’t negotiate, Hades.’
Hades shook his head slowly. ‘You’ll negotiate, Miss Next. You may be disgustingly righteous but even you will balk at spending the rest of your life in here. You’re an intelligent woman; I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
I sighed and walked back outside, where the bustle of the shoppers and traders was a welcome break from the dark soul of Hades.
33. The book is written
‘From our position in the lounge of the Penderyn Hotel we could see Thursday’s good work. The narrative continued rapidly; weeks passed in the space of a few lines. As the words wrote themselves back across the page they were read aloud by Mycroft or myself. We were all waiting for the phrase “sweet madness” to appear in the text, but it didn’t. We prepared ourselves to assume the worst; that Hades was not caught and might never be. That Thursday might stay in the book as some sort of permanent caretaker.’
The weeks passed rapidly at Thornfield and I busied myself with the task of making Jane secure without her ever knowing it. I had a young lad positioned at the Millcote to warn of Hades’ movements, but he seemed quite happy just to go out walking every morning, borrow books from the local doctor, and spend his time at the inn. His inaction was a cause of some worry, but I was glad it was merely that for the time being.
Rochester had sent a note advising of his return and a party was arranged for local friends of his. Jane
