Authors: Tom Holt

Tags: #Fiction / Fantasy - Contemporary, Fiction / Humorous, Fiction / Satire

Overtime (27 page)

BOOK: Overtime

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âWe're lost, aren't we?' Isoud said.

Guy sat down on the step and nodded. They'd been down here for a very long time, and there were no more sausage rolls left. This was a silly game.

âIt's not your fault,' said La Beale Isoud reassuringly, and while Guy was still recovering from that one, she added, âI think you're coping very well, in the circumstances.'

âYou do?' Guy asked, bewildered.

âOh yes.'

âOh.'

They sat together for a while in silence. If it wasn't so dark, Guy would have been able to see that Isoud was looking at him with something approaching affection. It was probably just as well that it was so dark.

âMr Goodlet.'

âCall me Guy,' Guy said wearily. âIf it's all the same to you, I mean.'

âThank you, Guy,' Isoud replied. âAnd you can call me Isoud, if you like.'

âThank you, Isoud, that's a great weight off my mind.'

Isoud either didn't hear that or else she ignored it. âGuy,' she went on, âI've been thinking.'

âOh yes?'

âWould it help,' said Isoud, âif we had a map?'

Women, thought Guy darkly. âProbably,' he said. âBut we don't.'

âNo,' Isoud agreed. âBut perhaps we could get hold of one.'

âOh yes? How do we manage that?'

Isoud was fumbling in her handbag. It was the first time that Guy had noticed she'd got one with her; but women's handbags aren't things one tends to notice, not consciously at any rate. One assumes that they have them without looking, just as one assumes that they have feet.

âWe could try the hyperfax,' she said.

âYou mean,' Guy said, as sweetly as he could manage, âthat you've had that ... that thing with you all this time and you haven't seen fit toâ'

âSorry,' Isoud said, girlishly. âHave I been very silly?'

On balance, Guy said to himself, I think I preferred her when she was being unpleasant. âNo,' he said, ânot at all. You
have
got the wretched thing?'

âHere,' Isoud replied. She took a tiny metal cube from her bag and handed it to him.

âThis is it, is it?'

âIt folds away,' La Beale Isoud replied. âI'd forgotten all about it untilâ'

âThat's fine,' Guy said. âNow, just show me how it works, and we can be getting on.'

Isoud reached across and pressed a tiny little knob on one side of the cube. At once it opened up into a miniature replica of itself. âNow all we have to do is plug it in,' Isoud said.

âPlug it in?'

âYes.'

âPlug it into what?'

âOh.'

Guy made a tiny, thin noise like linen tearing. âOh, for crying outâ'

âSorry,' Isoud said, and snuffled indistinctly.

Very much against his better nature, Guy reached out a tentative hand and patted Isoud on the shoulder. Under normal circumstances it was the very last thing he would have done, but if the bloody woman started crying on him he doubted whether he'd be able to cope. There are limits.

âThere there,' he said stiffly, like a bank manager addressing a small, overdrawn child, âit doesn't matter. And it was a very clever idea, really. Just a shame there isn'tâ'

To his horror, Guy felt a small, warm hand slip into his. His mouth went dry and he felt like a fish who has realised, too late, that if earthworms suddenly appear out of thin water and hover invitingly above one's head, there is probably a catch in it somewhere. Numbly, he gave the hand a little squeeze. One must, after all, be civil.

âAnyway,' he said in a strained voice, âwe mustn't sit about here all day, must we? Let's be getting along.'

âYes, Guy,' said Isoud, meekly. âShall I put the hyperfax away again?'

âYes,'Guy replied. âOr rather, no. I've just had an idea.'

Which was actually true.

The President of Oceania was sweating.

What he wanted to do most of all was get out his handkerchief and wipe his forehead; but if he did that, the Chairman of the Eurasian People's Republic would see him do it on her Visiphone monitor, and might take it as a sign of weakness. And that would never do.

âIs that your last word, Madam Chairman?' he said.

âIt is.'

Despite the flickering screen he could see that her face was set in an expression of monolithic determination. Bloody woman.

âIn that case,' he said âI fear that the United States of Oceania has no alternative but to consider itself at war with the Eurasian People's Republic. Madam Chairman, we have switched out a light that shall not be relit within our ...'

Hold on, thought the President, somebody
has
switched out the light. âAre you still there, Madam Chairman?' he asked. But the screen had gone blank.

âHey,' said the President angrily, âwhat the hell is going on around here?'

From a corner of the darkened room a voice said, âSorry.'

The President wheeled round in his swivel chair. âWho is that?' he demanded.

âIt's all right,' said the voice, âwon't keep you a minute. Just borrowing your plug.'

The President groped for the security buzzer under his desk, and then realised that that wouldn't work either. All the electrics in the room were fed off just the one plug. Damn fool of an electrician had said it would be cheaper that way.

âWho are you?' said the President. âAnd what do you want?'

âWe're just using your plug,' said the voice. âSorry if we're disturbing you. Is that something coming through, Isoud?'

âPut that plug back on
immediately.'

âCertainly, certainly,' replied the voice. âWon't be two ticks.'

The President leapt to his feet, tripped over the leg of his desk, and fell over. âOuch,' he said.

âCareful.'

âHow did you get in here?'

âThrough that door over there,' replied the voice. âIt's probably got No
Entry
written on it, all the others do. I assure you it's nothing personal,' the voice added. âIt's just that yours was the first door we came to that didn't lead to somewhere in the Middle Ages.'

âI...'

âYup, it's the map all right,' said the voice, âjust the ticket. All right, then, Isoud, you can switch the thing off and let the gentleman have his electricity back. Sorry for any inconvenience,' the voice added.

A few seconds later, the lights went on, just in time for the President to catch a glimpse of the door marked
Maintenance Staff Only
closing. The Visiphone screen crackled and lit up. He dived for his chair and tried to look nonchalant.

âAll right,' said the voice of the Chairman, âyou win.'

âYou what?'

âYou win,' replied the Chairman bitterly. âYou have - how you say? - called our bluff. We withdraw our missiles from Sector Three.'

âOh,' said the President. âThank you.'

âMr President.'

The screen went blank. Gasping slightly, the President found his handkerchief and wielded it vigorously. Obviously, the screen had been switched off
before
he'd made his declaration of war. Lucky.

He switched on the intercom. âFrank,' he said, âget me the briefing room. And,' he added, âget me that god-damn electrician.'

âThis way.'

Guy folded the map, put it away and pointed. Absolutely no doubt in his mind this time. The map had said
Stage Door of Blondel's Concert
on it in big-bold letters. He turned the handle and pushed.

And fell forward.

A split second later, Isoud followed him, landing on the small of his back. He complained.

âSorry,' Isoud said. âAre you all ...?'

Guy raised his head and groaned. It wasn't just because Isoud had nearly broken his spine; it was more because he had a very strong feeling that he knew exactly where he was.

âGuy, are you all right?' Isoud repeated. Then, sensibly, she moved off his back and let him breathe.

Guy rolled over on to his side and groped for the map. Not that there was any light to read it by, of course. Something small and furry brushed past his hand.

âHello,' said a sleepy voice in the depths of the gloom, âwho's there?'

âOh, hellfire,' Guy moaned. He was right.

âHello?' said the voice again. âWhy, my dear fellow, you've come back again.'

Guy moved his hand - slowly, so as not to startle the rat - and buried his face in it. A trap. The faxed map hadn't been sent from the Chastel de Nesle at all. It had come from ... Well, it didn't take a genius to work it out. From here.

âGuy?' Isoud said.

âYes, all right,' Guy replied testily. âExcuse me,' he said, projecting his voice into the darkness, âbut I wonder if you can tell me, is this the Chastel des Larmes Chaudes?'

âCertainly, my dear fellow,' replied the voice. âDidn't they tell you at Reception when they brought you in?'

âI ...' Guy shook his head; for his own satisfaction more than anything else. He wanted to see if anything rattled about in it.

âIsoud,' he said, âI'm afraid we've come the wrong way.'

Pursuivant woke up, opened his eyes, and wiggled his toes. They still weren't right. Typical. If he'd mentioned the duff bearing in the offside right joint once, he'd mentioned it a hundred times, but nobody listened. Next time he was brought in to the Service Bay, he'd damn well insist.

âI don't know why I bother.'

It was the voice of the Head Technician, and now he came to think of it, Pursuivant could see his face glowering down at him. He shrugged his shoulders, only to find they weren't there. Probably off having the rubbers changed.

âI mean,' the Head Technician was saying, âwhy don't I just scoop the whole lot out and fill in the hole with wet newspaper or something? Then, next time you get them all bashed out, it won't take me an hour and a half with the small scalpel to put them back together again.'

âBad, was it?' Pursuivant asked.

The Head Technician pulled a face. âFor two pins,' he said, âI'd have binned the lot and put in a brand new unit. Only then I'd have the bloody Quartermaster down on me like a ton of bricks. First thing in the morning, I'm going to ask my brother-in-law if there's any jobs going down the canning factory.'

He waved to the orderlies, who switched on the conveyor, transporting Pursuivant to the Armery section.

âWhat the hell did you do to it this time?' the Armerer demanded. âRoll about on it? Try and use it to lever open a safe? These are precision instruments, you know.'

âSorry,' Pursuivant said. âCan I have a new one?'

âNo,' replied the Armerer. âInstead, you can have arthritis. I've fitted it,' he added with a malicious grin, âpersonally.'

âHey, doc, that isn'tâ'

âNobody said it had to be,' replied the Armerer, swinging his ratchet spanner like a football rattle. âNext.'

Three quarters of an hour later, Pursuivant was standing outside Mountjoy's office, waiting to be told he could come in.

âLet's just go through this one step at a time,' Mountjoy said. âYou and your colleagues captured the renegade Goodlet backstage and tied him up. Then you left him.'

âYes, sir.'

âThen,' Mountjoy went on, glimmering unpleasantly, âa quarter of an hour later you meet him sauntering down a corridor with a girl.'

âYes, sir.'

âWhereupon he kills you.'

âSir.'

âPursuivant,' Mountjoy said, glowing like a constipated firefly, âyou excel yourself. Thanks to you, they've disappeared. Completely. Without trace.'

âThey, sir?'

âThe Pope, you idiot. And the Anti-Pope, And ...' Mountjoy mimed a one-armed, partially-sighted man. âVanished into thin air. What were you playing at?'

âI was being killed, sir.'

âWhen I've finished with you,' Mountjoy roared, âyou'll wish you were dead ...' He tailed off, and a few desultory sparks crackled from his nose, singeing the hairs. Pursuivant stayed rigidly at attention. He knew from long experience that having your arms drawn tightly in towards your body made you a smaller target.

âAnyway,' said Mountjoy, âthe question now is, what are you going to do about it?'

âMe, sir?' Pursuivant said, realising as he did so that he'd gone and cocked it up again. âI mean, sirâ'

âYes, soldier, you.' Mountjoy stood silently for a moment, looking for all the world like a pensive table lamp. He turned as the door opened and White Herald came in. He was limping, probably because they'd run out of offside tibias in 63E again. He held a sheet of paper.

âFax just come through, sir,' he said. âMarked F.A.O.
Acting General Manager.
Brought it straight here.'

Mountjoy frowned and grabbed at the paper. A moment later he made an unpleasant noise in the back of his throat, grating and ominous, like the sound of hubcap on kerb.

âNow look what you've done,' he said. âThis is from de Nesle.'

âSir.'

âStop saying sir like that. He claims to have overpowered them and locked them up in his dungeons.' Mountjoy sighed. âWell now, this is a bit of a problem, isn't it? Well?'

âYes, sir.'

âYes, sir. And there's not really much point in sending you to get them out again, is there?'

BOOK: Overtime

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