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left school.'
'Ahab?' queried the emperor, brow furrowed.
'You remember. One leg and madder than the March Hare. Set fire to his own
trousers for a bet and stocked the school pond with piranhas.'
'Oh, him
,' replied Zhark. 'Last I heard he was convinced a white whale was after him
but that was years ago. We should have a reunion; one falls out of touch so
easily in the BookWorld.'
'Don't I know it,' returned Kenneth sadly.
They sat in silence for a moment, recalling various school friends, I imagine.
'So, Zharky old boy, how can I help you?'
'It's the Rambosians,' he said at last. 'They just refuse to cede power to
me.'
'How awkward for you. Is there any reason why they should?'
'Stability, old man, stability. The Rambosians have been responsible for
numerous acts of savage satire in the Galactic Federation's daily redtop,
Stars My Destination
. They lampoon me constantly and the cartoons are shockingly insulting.'
'So you want to invade?'
'Of course not; that would be wasteful of resources. No, I want them to open
their arms and worship me as their one true God. They will give ultimate
executive power to me, and in return I will protect them with the might of the
Zharkian Empire.'
'Hmm,' replied Kenneth thoughtfully, 'that wouldn't be because the planet
Rambosia is composed of eighteen trillion tons of valuable A-class nutmeg,
now, would it?'
'Not in the least,' replied the emperor unconvincingly.
'Very well,' said Kenneth. 'It is the Judgement of Solomon that you make
peace with the Rambosians.'
©
'What?!'
The emperor jumped to his feet and went as dark as a thundercloud. He wagged a
finger at Kenneth.
'You'll never play golf at the Old White Male Club again,' he yelled. 'I'll
have you blackballed so far out you won't be able to get your hat checked even
if you come in the company of the Great Panjandrum himself!'
And so saying, he threw his cloak behind him, made a large huffing noise,
turned on his heels and strode to the door.
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'Well,' said Kenneth, 'tyrants are all the same shocking temper when they
don't get their own way!
Who's next?'
30
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Jasper Fforde - Thursday Next 03 - The Well of Lost Plots
Revelations
'Commander Bradshaw did much of the booksploring in the early years, before
the outlying Rebel Book Categories were brought within the controlling sphere
of the Council of Genres. Inexplicably, novels can only be visited when
someone has found a way in
and a way out. Bradshaw's mapping of the known BookWorld (1927 1949) was an
extraordinary feat, and until the advent of the ISBN Positioning System
(1962), Bradshaw's maps were the only travel guide to fiction. Not all
booksploring ends so happily. Ambrose Bierce was lost trying to access Poe.
His name, along with many others, is carved on the Boojumorial, situated in
the lobby of the Great Library.'
RONAN EMPYHE
A History of Gibbons
I couldn't find the three witches, no matter how hard I looked. Their
prophecies bothered me but not enough to keep me from sleeping soundly that
night. It was two days later that I came home from a long day of Kenneth's
judgements to find Arnie waiting for me. He and Randolph were drinking beer in
the kitchen and talking about the correct time to use a long dash to designate
interrupted speech.
'You can use it any '
'Arnie, I owe you an apology,' I said, blushing deeply and forgetting my
manners. 'You must think me the worst tease in the Well.'
'No, that would be Lola. Forget it. Gran explained everything. How are you?
Memories returned?'
'All present and correct.'
'Good. Dinner some time as good friends, of course?' he added hastily.
'I'd love to, Arnie. And thanks for being so & well, decent.'
He smiled and looked away.
'Beer?' said Randolph, who seemed to have recovered from his Lola-induced
trauma.
'Anything non-alcoholic?'
He passed me a carton of orange juice and I poured myself a glass.
'Are you going to tell her?' said Arnie.
'Tell me what?'
'I didn't get the Amis part,' began Randolph, 'but I've been short-listed for
a minor speaking appearance in the next Wolfe.'
'That's excellent news!' I responded happily. 'When?'
'Some time in the next couple of years. I'm going to do some stand-in work
until then; the C of G has opened up travel writing as holiday destinations
for Generics. No more awayday breaks in Barsetshire
I'm to cover for Count Smorltork while he goes on holiday for two weeks in
Wainwright's
A Pictorial
Guide to the Lakeland Fells
.'
'Congratulations.'
He thanked me but was still somehow distant. He stared out of the porthole at
the lake, deep in thought.
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Jasper Fforde - Thursday Next 03 - The Well of Lost Plots
'What about you?' asked Arnie. 'What will you do? Your demotion is all over
the Well!'
'It's not a demotion,' I said. 'Well, perhaps it is.'
'Word is that Harris Tweed is up to be the next Bellman,' murmured Arnie.
'Despite his lack of experience, Jurisfiction favours an Outlander.'
'What's so special about Outlanders?' asked Randolph.
'We have skills that few Generics possess.'
'Such as?'
I picked up the leather-bound UltraWord"! copy of
The Little Prince that had been lying on the table and gave it to Arnie.
'Smell anything?'
He held it to his nose and shook his head. I took the book and sniffed at it
delicately; I had expected the odour of leather but instead I could smell
sweet melons cantaloupes. I was transported back to the last time I had come
across this particular scent; the odd and boxy truck in
Caversham Heights
. The truck without texture, the automaton driver without personality.
Something clicked.
'It was an UltraWord"! truck,' I murmured, searching through my bag for the
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