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'Thank you, Brik – how's Mum?'
'The trouble with you, Miss Next,' said Schitt-Hawse, 'is that you are far too trusting. Did you really think for one moment that we were going to give up on such an important man as Jack?'
'You promised!' I said somewhat uselessly.
'Goliath doesn't keep promises,' replied Schitt-Hawse. 'The profit margin is too low.'
'Lavoisier!' I yelled. 'You promised!'
Lavoisier walked from the room without looking back.
'Thank you, Monsieur!' shouted Schitt-Hawse after him. 'The wedding picture was a touch of genius!'
I leaped forward to grab Schitt-Hawse but was pinned down by Chalk and Cheese. I struggled long, hard – and hopelessly. My shoulders sagged and I stared at the ground. How could I have been so stupid as to think they would keep to their part of the deal? Delusive hope, so often the partner of strong love, had blinded me. Landen had been right. I should have walked away.
'I want to wring her ghost upon the floor,' said Jack Schitt, staring in my direction, 'to still this beating of my heart. Mr Cheese, your weapon.'
'No, Jack,' said Schitt-Hawse. 'Miss Next and her unique attributes could open up a large and highly profitable market to exploit.'
Schitt rounded on his half-brother.
'Do you have any idea of the fantastic terrors I've just been through? Tapping … I mean trapping me in The Raven is something Next is not going to live to regret. No, Brik, the book slut will surcease my sorrow!
'
Schitt-Hawse held Jack by the shoulders and shook him.
'Snap out of that Raven talk, Jack. You're home now. Listen: the book slut is potentially worth billions.'
Schitt stopped and gathered his thoughts.
'Of course,' he murmured finally, 'a vast untapped resource of consumers. How much useless rubbish do you think we can offload on those ignorant masses in nineteenth-century literature?'
'Indeed,' replied Schitt-Hawse, 'and our unreprocessed waste – finally an effective disposal location. Untold riches await the Corporation. And listen – if it doesn't work out, then you can kill her.'
'When do we start?' asked Schitt, who seemed to be growing stronger by the second.
'It depends,' said Schitt-Hawse, looking at me, 'on Miss Next.'
'I would sooner die than be a party to your foul plans,' I said angrily.
'Oh!' said Schitt-Hawse. 'Hadn't you heard? As far as the outside world is concerned you're dead already! Did you think you could see all that was going on here and live to tell the tale?'
I tried to think of some way to escape but there was nothing to hand – no weapon, no book, nothing.
'I really haven't decided,' continued Schitt-Hawse in a patronising tone, 'whether you fell down a lift shaft or blundered into some machinery. Do you have any preferences?'
And he laughed a short and very cruel laugh. I said nothing. There didn't seem to be anything I could say.
'I'm afraid, my girl,' said Schitt-Hawse as they started to file out through the vault door, taking my travel book with them, 'that you are a guest of the Corporation for the rest of your natural life. But it won't all be bad. We will be willing to reactualise your husband. You won't actually meet him again, of course, but he will be alive – so long as you co-operate, and you will, you know.'
I glared at the two Schitts.
'I will never help you, as long as I have breath in my lungs.'
Schitt-Hawse's eyelid twitched.
'Oh, you'll help us, Next – if not for Landen then for your child. Yes, we know about that. We'll leave you for now. And you needn't bother looking for any books in here to pull your vanishing trick – we made quite sure there were none!'
