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He raised his gun and fired repeatedly at us as he backed out of the lounge doors and into th
e darkness of the lobby outside. He had sensed his master’s escape and had no more work to do here.
“Where’s Hades?” said Bowden.
“In Jane Eyre,” I replied, standing up. “Cover the portal— and if he returns, use this.”
I handed him the anti-tank weapon as Schitt, alerted to the end of the gunfire, returned. He appeared at the door to the bar.
“Hades?”
“In Jane Eyre with the instruction manual.”
Schitt told me to surrender the Prose Portal to him.
“Without the instruction manual you’ve got nothing,” I said. “Once I have Hades out of Thornfield and have returned my aunt to Mycroft you can have the manual. There is no other deal; that’s it. I’m taking Jane back with me now.”
I turned to my uncle.
“Mycroft, send us back to just before Jane comes out of her room to put out the fire in Rochester’s bedroom. It will be as if she had never left. When I want to come back I’ll send a signal. Can you do that?”
Schitt threw up his arms. “What sweet madness is this?” he cried.
“That’s the signal,” I said, “the words ‘sweet madness.’ As soon as you hear them, open the door immediately.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” asked Bowden as I helped Jane to her feet.
“Never been more certain. Just don’t turn the machine off; much as I enjoy the book I’ve no desire to stay there forever.”
Schitt bit his lip. He had been outmaneuvered. His hand, such as it was, would have to be played upon my return.
I checked that my gun was still loaded, took a deep breath and nodded to Jane, who smiled back eagerly. We grasped each other’s hands tightly and stepped through the doorway.
32.
Thornfield Hall
It wasn’t how I imagined it. I thought Thornfield Hall would be bigger and more luxuriously furnished. There was a strong smell of polish and the air was chill in the upstairs corridor. There was barely any light in the house and the corridors seemed to stretch away into inky blackness. It was dour and unappealing. I noticed all this but most of all I noticed the quiet; the quiet of a world free from flying machines, traffic and large cities. The industrial age had only just begun; the planet had reached its Best Before date.
THURSDAY NEXT
—A Life in SpecOps
ISTAGGERED slightly as we made the jump; there had been a bright flash of light and a short blast of static. I found myself in the master bedroom corridor, a few lines above where Hobbes had taken Jane out. The fire was ablaze and Jane took her cue instinctively, opening the door and leaping into Rochester’s room to pour a ewer full of water over the burning covers. I looked quickly around the dark corridor but of Hades there was no sign; at the far end I could just see Grace Poole escorting Bertha to her attic room. The madwoman looked back over her shoulder and smiled crazily. Grace Poole followed her gaze and glared disapprovingly at me. I suddenly felt very alien; this world was not mine and I didn’t belong here. I stepped back as Jane rushed out of Rochester’s room to fetch some more water; upon her face, I noted, was a look of great relief. I smiled and permitted myself a peek inside the bedroom. Jane had managed to extinguish the fire and Rochester was swearing at finding himself in a pool of water.
“Is there a flood?” he asked.
“No, sir,” she replied, “but there has been a fire. Get up, do; you are quenched now. I will fetch you a candle.”
Rochester caught sight of me at the door and winked before rapidly returning his features to a look of consternation.
“In the name of all the elves in Christendom,” he asked, his eyes glistening at her return, “is that Jane Eyre? What have you done with me . . .”
I stepped outside the door, confident in the knowledge that back home the book would be starting to rewrite itself across the page. The reference to the “agent in black” would be over-written and with luck, and Hades willing, things could get back to normal. I picked up the candle that had been left on the mat and relit it as Jane came out, smiled her thanks, took it from me and returned to the bedroom. I walked down the corridor, looked at a particularly fine Landseer painting and sat down upon a Regency chair, one of a pair. Although the house was not big, it afforded all sorts of hiding places for Acheron. I spoke his name to let him know I was about and heard a door slam somewhere in the house. I pulled open a shutter and saw the unmistakable figure of Hades walking rapidly across the lawn by the light of the moon. I watched his form fade into the shadows. He would be as good as safe in the countryside but I still had the upper hand. I knew how to reopen the door and he didn’t; I thought it unlikely he would harm me. I sat down again and was just thinking about Daisy Mutlar and Landen when I drifted off to sleep. I was jolted awake as the door to Rochester’s bedroom opened and the figure of Edward emerged. He was holding a candle and spoke to Jane at the door.
“. . . I must pay a visit to the third story. Don’t move, remember, or call anyone.”
He padded softly down the corridor and hissed: “Miss Next, are you there?”
