Early Riser_ The new standalone - Jasper Fforde Page 0,123
* *
‘… The Great Salt Marsh that stretches from Portland in the west and all the way round to the Dogger massif in the north-east opposite Hull represented a warmer period in the Earth’s history, when less water was locked up in glaciers and the ice-caps. Although it is still relatively impassable other than by the east and west causeways, drainage plans are in hand and could convert the land to much-needed agriculture within the next century …’
– The Albion Peninsula, by Roger Vanguard
‘I’m guessing the trip was a success,’ said Jonesy, who was lubricating the offside front drive sprocket of her Sno-Trac with a grease gun the size of her arm.
‘My charm won the day,’ said Fodder, ‘that and a few Debts, Favours and fifty kilograms of banana Nesquik – plus the implicit threat engendered by a Golgotha.’
‘The only live Golgothas we have are the ones in the museum,’ said Jonesy. ‘You used the dummy practice one?’
Fodder shrugged.
‘Big promise is the secret of every campaign.’
Fodder went inside to report everything to Toccata and I stood there for a moment with Jonesy.
‘Was it really just Debts and Nesquik that clinched the deal?’ she asked.
‘Yup,’ I replied. ‘Debts and Nesquik. Fodder’s a fine negotiator. Where did you find Ned’s body?’
‘Pretty close to where we found his clothes. He’d been buried under the snow, and aside from the surprised look on his face we couldn’t see how he died. Oh, and your theory about it being Gronk looks to be correct – his little finger was missing. Unless you removed it yourself. Did you?’
‘No, I didn’t. So you do believe in the Gronk?’
She thought for a moment.
‘I believe there’s something dreamy and inexplicable in the air, and if Gronk is the best way to describe it, then Gronk it is. Look,’ she added, ‘Toccata’s not going to be in a great mood, so why don’t you make yourself scarce for an hour?’
I took her advice and, deep in thought, walked across to the Wincarnis, where the snow had blown up against the door. Exterior doors were always double-hinged; outwards for fire, inwards for drift. There were early snows once at St Granata’s, and when we tried to get out there was merely a wall of snow facing us – with an impression of the front door in minutely fine detail. That sort of thing really sticks in your mind.
The winsomniacs had just lunched on spaghetti that looked as though it had been bulked up with string, and were settling down for a busy afternoon wholly committed to the fine art of not doing very much. Given the vivid nature of my dreams I wanted to speak at greater length to Shamanic Bob and I found him reading a book next to the unlit fire. There was paper and kindling and logs but they had so far failed to assemble themselves into anything useful. I knelt down and started to lay the fire.
‘Well, now,’ said Shambob when he saw me, ‘you’ve kinda been making a name for yourself. Killing Lucky Ned and you and Aurora a thing. Wow. Just … wow. Never would have thought it. Not of you. Hey, don’t let her fall asleep halfway through – she’d wake up as Toccata. That could take one whole heap of explaining.’
‘World-class awkward,’ I agreed, ‘but I didn’t kill Lucky Ned, and Aurora and me aren’t a thing.’
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not,’ he said, ‘it’s what everyone believes that’s important. Come to help us get seriously dreamed up?’
‘Another time.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Shamanic Bob cheerfully, ‘we’ve got a hiccup in supply anyway, but that will soon be sorted. So, what can I do for you?’
I struck a match and the newspaper flared as it caught.
‘When we last met, you told me Don Hector’s initial quest was not for us to dream less, but to dream better. I was wondering what you meant by that?’
He looked at me and narrowed his eyes.
‘You been dreaming, Newbie?’
‘Nope.’
‘Truthfully?’
‘Okay, a little.’
He smiled and moistened his lips.
‘I meant what I said. Don Hector’s initial research was not to find a way to stop us dreaming, but to help us do it better – and more productively.’
I said nothing, just waited for him to continue. He peered at me conspiratorially and looked around to ensure we were not overheard, which we were – the room was full of the sleep-shy. But there you go. Winsomniacs are like that.