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'What did he say?'
'He said: "Thirsty! Wode – Cone, udder whirled – doughnut Trieste—!" or something quite like it.'
Arnie exchanged looks with Randolph.
'The "Thirsty" must be "Thursday",' murmured Randolph.
'I figured that,' I returned, 'but what about the rest?'
'Do you suppose,' said Randolph thoughtfully, 'that if you were to recite those words near a source of mispeling they would revert back again?'
There was one of those long pauses that always accompany an epiphanic moment.
'It's worth a try,' I replied, thinking hard. Where would I find some mispeling vyrus without anyone asking questions?
I got up, checked the clip of my automatic and opened my TravelBook.
'Where are you going?' asked Arnie.
'To visit the Anti-mispeling Fast Response Group on the seventeenth floor. I think they might be able to help.'
'Will they want to?'
I shrugged.
'Irrelevant. Asking wasn't part of my plan.'
The elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor. This held all the books whose authors began with Q, and since there weren't that many of them, the remainder of the space had been given over to the Jurisfiction Anti-mispeling Fast Response Group – if there was any live mispeling vyrus at Jurisfiction, this would be the place to find it.
This floor of the Great Library was more dimly lit than the others, and the rows of bunk beds containing the numerous DanverClones began soon after the Quiller-Couch novels ended. The Danvers were all sitting bolt upright, their eyes following me silently as I walked slowly down the corridor. It was disquieting to be sure, but I could think of no other place to look.
I reached the central core of the Library, a circular void surrounded by a wrought-iron rail at the centre of the four corridors. The way I had come was all Danvers, and so were two of the others. The fourth corridor was lined with packing cases of dictionaries, and beyond them was the medical area in which I had last seen Snell. I approached, my feet making no noise on the padded carpet. Perhaps Snell had known as much as Perkins? They were partners, after all. I cursed myself for not thinking of this before but felt slightly better knowing that Havisham hadn't thought of it either.
I arrived at the small medical unit that was ready and waiting to deal with any infected person, with its shielded curtains and bandages over-printed with dictionary entries. They could soothe and contain but rarely cure – Snell was doomed as soon as he was soaked in the vyrus and he knew it.
I opened a few drawers here and there but found nothing. Then I noticed a large pile of dictionaries stacked by themselves in a roped-off area. I walked up to them, repeating the word ambidextrous as I did so.
'Ambidextrous … ambidextrous … ambidextrous … ambidextruos.'
Bingo. I'd found it.
'Miss Next?' said a voice. 'What in heaven's name are you doing here?'
I nearly jumped out of my skin. If it had been Libris I would have been worried; but it wasn't – it was Harris Tweed.
'You nearly scared me half to death!' I told him.
'Sorry!' He grinned. 'What are you up to?'
'There's something wrong with UltraWord™,' I confided.
Tweed looked up and down the corridor and lowered his voice.
'I think so too,' he hissed, 'but I'm not sure what – I've a feeling that it uses a faster "memory fade" utility than Version 8.3 so the readers will want to reread the book more often. The Council of Genres is interested in upping its published ReadRates – the battle with non-fiction is hotting up; more than they care to tell us about.'
It was the sort of thing I had suspected.
'What have you discovered?' he asked.
