Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,104

you got it wrong,” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz replied. “Hence, as Mr Bernstein pointed out, all the water.”

Pieter smiled and shook his head. “No, it came out just right,” he said. “This is the planet where they found out how to put right the damage. It must be. I found it.”

“Hm.”

“But,” Pieter went on, “like you say, it hasn’t happened yet. Therefore, it’s going to happen, at some point, most likely in the very near future.”

“I’m sure that’s a great comfort, Pieter. Meanwhile—”

“My program,” Pieter went on, somehow managing to override her command protocols, “was designed to put a visitor down at the most interesting place and time for any given venue. Therefore, we’ve arrived at the point where they make the great discovery. Stands to reason. Inevitable.”

“If you say so, Pieter, dear.” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz made a show of looking round. “I have to say, though, it’s not looking particularly likely.”

“You think so?”

“Oh come on,” she said. “This is hardly the sort of place where you’d expect to find a scientific genius doing epoch-making work.”

Pieter lifted his head and gave her a beautiful smile. “Well,” he said. “Not if you will insist on interrupting me.”

The effect was as though she’d just found a dead frog in her terrine of venison. “You—”

“Obvious when you think about it,” Pieter said cheerfully. “I’m the key element in the program. I come here, solve the problem—”

“Pieter.”

“And as soon as I realised that,” Pieter went blithely on, “as soon as I knew I was bound to succeed, I had this really rather wonderful idea. You see, basically, what you need is two huge great refrigeration units, one at each pole. What’s the main active agent in refrigeration? Propane gas. And what vast untapped natural resource lies directly under Alaska and Antarctica? Whopping great oil fields. So, all you’d need to do is—”

Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz let out a long but entirely dignified sigh. “When we get back home,” she said, “I’ll have to write to all the encyclopedias, because the Great Wall of China will no longer be the largest man-made structure on the planet. Your ego—”

“Dolly.” Pieter’s voice was quite quiet, but it shut her up instantly. “Young Theo here was just lecturing me on what a waste it’d be if I didn’t use my exceptional talents in the service of mankind—”

“Not quite how I put it,” Theo mumbled defensively, but he still got scowled at.

“Well,” Pieter went on, “for once he’s quite right. I’m here at this place, at this time, for a reason.”

“Manifest destiny,” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz said sourly.

“If you like, yes. I was sent here by a superior power. Me,” he added happily. “Not someone you argue with. Well, you do, of course, but that’s just your incredibly bossy nature. No, it’s quite plain. I ordained that I should come here and do this thing. So, obviously, it’s my duty.”

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz said. “Well? What do you want?”

The waiter, who’d appeared with a tray in his hand, shrank back a step. “Signora—”

“What? Oh, put it down. And where’s the pasta? I told you, simultaneously.”

“Si, signora. Un momento, per favore.” He darted away and came back a few seconds later with a second tray. When he was a yard or so from the table, Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz barked “Stop!” He stopped. “Put the tray down, and go away.”

The waiter put the tray down carefully on the ground, backed off a few paces, then turned and fled. Mrs Duchene-Wilamowicz examined both trays for a moment, then turned to face Pieter. “So,” she said. “You want to stay here, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I wash my hands of you. You can stay here, work your miracles and rot, for all I care. Just don’t expect me to come traipsing round after you when you realise you’re stuck here for ever.”

Pieter grinned. “Oh, I’ll be fine,” he said. “Theo’ll come back for me, won’t you?”

“Um,” Theo said.

“Of course you will. Dolly,” he went on, “exactly what do you think you’re doing with those trays?”

She was holding one tray directly over the other, lining up the edges with total precision. “Really, Pieter,” she said. “A genius like you. You ought to be able to work it out from first principles.”

Pieter shook his head. “Not a clue, sorry.”

“Ah well.” She paused for effect, then went on: “According to the instructions on the cork, in order to get home we need to trigger a massive carbon-oxygen implosion. The only way we can do this in this particular reality is the total annihilation