Uriah Hope – or Heep as he was now – had survived the mispeling but had been changed irrevocably. While before he had been adventurous he was, thanks to the vyrus, cadaverous; thin instead of lithe, fawning instead of frowning. But that wasn't the worst of it. Tweed had planned things well – Uriah was holding the stained pillowcase that contained Snell's head. Not his own, of course – the plot device he had paid so much for in the Well.

'We found this in Thursday's home,' announced Tweed, 'hidden in the broom cupboard. Heep, would you?'

The thin and sallow youth, whose hair was now oily rather than curly, laid the bag on a table and lifted the head out by its hair. A gasp came from Benedict's lips and the Red Queen crossed herself.

'Heavens above,' murmured the Bellman, 'it's Godot!'

31

Tables turned

'Insider trading: Slang term for Internal Narrative Manipulation. Illegal since 1932 and contrary to Item B17(g) of the Narrative Continuity Code, this self-engineered plot fluctuation is so widespread within the BookWorld that it has to be dealt with on a discretionary basis to enable it to be enforced at all. Small manipulations such as dialogue violations are generally ignored, but larger unlicensed plot adjustments are aggressively investigated. The most publicised flaunting of these rules was by Heathcliff when he burned down Wuthering Heights. Fined and sentenced to 150 hours' community service within Green Eggs and Ham, Heathcliff was just one of many high-profile cases that Jurisfiction were prosecuting at that time '

UA OF W CAT – The Jurisfiction Guide to the Great Library (glossary)

Heep grasped me painfully by the arm and twisted it around, pushing me into a bookcase as he did so.

'I be ever so humbly sorry about this, Miss Next,' he whined, the mispeling having gone deeper than his skin and rotted his very soul. 'Imagine me, an A-7 arresting a pretty Outlander such as yourself!'

His breath smelt rotten; I breathed through my mouth to avoid gagging. He reached for my TravelBook and took the opportunity to slide his hand across my breast; I struggled harder – but to no avail.

'That head's not mine!' I shouted, realising how stupid it sounded straight away.

'That is one thing we are certain of,' replied Tweed quietly. 'Why did you kill him?'

'I didn't. It's Snell's,' I said somewhat uselessly. 'He bought it for use in his next book and asked me to keep it for him.'

'Snell insider-trading? Any other ills you'd like to heap on the dead? I don't think that's very likely – and how did it turn out to be Godot's? Coincidence?'

'I'm being framed,' I replied. 'UltraWord™ is—'

I stopped. I had been told many times by my SpecOps instructors that the biggest mistake anyone can make in a high-stress situation is to act too fast and say too much before thinking. I needed time – a commodity that was fast becoming a rarity.