“No,” he said quickly, “it’s not that. Girls Make All the Moves didn’t find a publisher and the author burnt the only manuscript in a drunken rage! That’s why she wasn’t at the awards last night!”

I stopped. If a book had been destroyed in the Outland, then all the characters and situations would be up for salvage—

“Yes,” said Randolph, reading my thoughts, “they’re going to auction off Lola!”

I quickly changed out of my dress and we arrived as the sale was winding up. Most of the descriptive scenes had already gone, the one-liners packaged and sold as a single lot, and all the cars and most of the wardrobe and furniture were disposed of. I pushed through to the front of the crowd and found Lola looking dejected, sitting on her suitcase.

“Lola!” said Randolph, as they hugged. “I brought Thursday to help you!”

She jumped up and smiled, but it was a despairing half smile at best and it spoke volumes.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing her by the hand, “we’re out of here.”

“Not so fast!” said a tall man in an immaculate suit. “No goods are to be removed until paid for!”

“She’s with me,” I told him as several hulking great bouncers appeared from nowhere.

“No, she’s not. She’s lot ninety-seven. You can bid if you want to.”

“I’m Thursday Next, the Bellman-elect, and Lola is with me.”

“I know who you are and you did good, but I have a business to run. I haven’t done anything wrong. You can take the Generic home with you in ten minutes—after you have won the bidding.”

I glared at him. “I’m going to close down this foul trade and enjoy it every step of the way!”

“Really? I’m quaking in my boots. Now, are you going to bid or do I withdraw the lot and put it up for private tender?”

“She’s not an it,” snarled Randolph angrily, “she’s a Lola—and I love her!”

“You’re breaking my heart. Bid or bugger off, the choice is yours.”

Randolph made to plant a punch on the dealer’s chin, but he was caught by one of the bouncers and held tightly.

“Control your Generic or I’ll throw you both out! Get it?”

Randolph nodded and he was released. We stood together at the front watching Lola, who was weeping silently into her handkerchief.

“Gentlemen. Lot ninety-seven. Fine female B-3 Generic, ident: TSI-1404912-A, attractive and personable. An opportunity to secure this sort of highly entertaining and pneumatic young lady does not come often. Her high appetite for sexual congress, slight dopiness and winsome innocence mated to indefatigable energy makes her especially suitable for ‘racy’ novels. What am I bid?”

It was bad. Very bad. I turned to Randolph. “Do you have any money?”

“About a tenner.”