Swindon, December 1989 (Chapter 4-6)
Chapters 1-3
Chapter 4
Dinner at mum's was always eventful for two reasons - you were never sure if the food would be edible, and you were never sure who would be joining you at the dinner table. The latter was especially uncertain because of my father. In the conventional timeline, my father didn't exist. He worked for the Chronoguard for some time before going rogue, then came to an agreement and went back to official work. During his rogue period, the Chronoguard had eradicated him from existence through a timely knock on his parents' door the night he was supposed to be conceived.
Despite the Chronoguard's best efforts, my father still existed outside of the timeline and Mum, me and my brother Joffy still remembered him well. His rogue days were over from my perspective, and he was meant to be reactualised in this timeline, but even with all of the time in existence available to them, the Chronoguard was like any other government division when it came to paperwork. Namely, they hadn't gotten around to it yet.
That didn't stop Dad from continuing to work. His pet project was correcting timeline tampering by French revisionists. This often involved keeping certain historical figures out of harm's way by letting them stay with Mum for a while. As I said, the company at the dinner table often made dinner an eventful meal. Such was the case this particular night when I found myself sitting between my uncle Mycroft and Christopher Marlowe.
"So Kit," my brother, the Irreverent Joffy Next, said as he passed the mashed potatoes to Miles to pass it on to Aunt Polly. "Why did you produce so few plays? Compared to Will Shakespeare, I mean."
I may have, at that point, shuffled slightly away from Kit Marlowe, expecting a rather raucous retaliation. His temper, however, didn't flare like I expected and he responded quite politely, "Poetry is my focus." The calmness of his voice made it hard to believe that he would eventually die in a bar fight. Perhaps it was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, as Dad insisted, French revisionists.
Personally, I think he was probably rambunctuous when alcohol was brought into the equation.
Joffy knew when he was being fobbed off, but was one to pick and poke at people. Thankfully, Mum knew all too well what her son was like and interrupted before he could say anything else on the matter. She looked up from where she was trying to feed Friday some strained peaches. Friday didn't look remotely interested. "How's that dance going?"
"Dance?" I asked, eager to change the topic.
Joffy pointed a fork at me. "You should come, Doofus."
"I think you've mistaken my tone. I said 'dance?' as in 'what's this dance you're organising?' not 'dance? Oh please invite me dear brother of mine'."
"It's a charity ball," Joffy replied. "And I'd be worried, Doofus, if you ever called me 'dear brother of mine'."
"Affection between siblings is one thing that never changes," Marlowe said, digging into his peas.
"Very true, Kit," Joffy agreed. "Very true. So does this mean you're coming?" he asked me.
"I'd have to dress up."
"Well it is a ball."
"And wear shoes with heels."
"You could go bare foot for all I care."
"No."
"I really think you'll want to go."
"I really don't, Joff. Not this time."
"The new head of SpecOps is going to be there."
"And?"
"And he's a funny sort."
"Funny odd or amusing?"
"If I meant amusing, I would have said amusing."
"Does this have to go on at the dinner table?" Mum asked, despite knowing full well that this always went on at the dinner table, even when we had guests.
I hadn't known there was a new head of SpecOps, or that he or she was in Swindon. Victor and Bowden hadn't mentioned it. But if Joffy thought it necessary to bring the subject up without an obligatory gag tagged on the end, then perhaps this change of administration was worth investigating.
Tomorrow. Right now my son was attacking Christopher Marlowe with mashed pumpkin.
Chapter 5
Back in the Literatec office at SpecOps the next day, I decided to approach the topic with Bowden with my usual tact. "Why didn't you tell me we're under new management?"
"I thought you would have noticed," Bowden replied simply, as if any other alternative hadn't occurred to him. "Didn't it seem odd to you that you're back on the active duty payroll and the Commander hasn't said a word?"
Braxton Hicks was in charge of all of the SpecOps offices in Swindon. He was a nice enough fellow, but he was a bit obsessed when it came to our budget. "Where is Hicks anyway?"
"Probably playing golf."
"Extended leave?"
"Forced extended leave, by order of the new head of SpecOps."
"Who is he...she?"
"He is is Commissioner Sullivan Pheces."
My eyebrows rose immediately. "Sully Pheces? The Sully Pheces?" Bowden nodded. Sullivan Pheces had been part of the controversial supporting group that would have brought SpecOps under Goliath control ten years ago. As it was, Goliath used to interfere in SpecOps operations whenever they wanted, but if Pheces' attempts had succeeded, the force would have been reduced by half in order to meet Goliath's expected annual turnover. He disappeared out of sight after the decision was overruled by then President-for-life George Formby. "Where did he appear from?"
"No one knows. The Toad reported that he was in the private sector for a while. I suppose with Goliath no longer as big as it was, he decided to come back into the public. He was made Commissioner not long after you disappeared."
The situation was odd, but I thought nothing more of it at the time. This largely had to do with Bowden passing me the case file we were working on, and my thoughts being divided between work and waiting for my father to finally see me and let me know what was going on with Landen. I focused back on the work at hand. "People try to break into the Swindon Globe's special collections all the time. What makes this any different?" The Swindon Globe was a recreation of the original Globe theatre and was the showcase for many valuable items relating to William Shakespeare's work. Swindon and Stratford-Upon-Avon were the two finalists in the bidding war for the Globe recreation, but Swindon won out after Stratford-upon-Avon's Mayor had a change of heart and decided to bid for the fully heated indoor ski resort. It was a guaranteed money maker, but the residents of Stratford-upon-Avon were so irritated that the Mayor didn't stay Mayor for very long.
I'd thought it over during the night and couldn't work out what Bowden expected of me when it came to this case.
"They didn't try to steal anything."
I looked back over the file. The special collections facility at the Swindon Globe had been broken into, but nothing had been disturbed. All of the security reports indicated that someone had gone to great lengths to get into the building, but then left almost immediately. It was almost as if to prove they could get in. "Bowden, has the Globe changed its security system since the break-in?"
Bowden reached over and flipped through another painstakingly organised manilla folder. "Yes," he replied. "They decided to go through another security firm and they're set to install the new system tomorrow. Fletcher & Kyd Security Firm."
Something didn't feel right. "Have someone find out who owns the firm, then grab your jacket and meet me downstairs. I think we should pay them a visit."
I headed downstairs to get the car ready and was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't see Cordelia Flakk, SpecOps' publicist, before she latched onto my arm.
"Thursday!" she all but squealed. "So good to see you, darling. Where have you been? I had whole tour planned out after you recovered and you disappeared. It would have been great publicity."
"Cordelia," I greeted. I wouldn't call my reception warm, but I didn't dislike Cordelia. She was just a pain in my side sometimes when all I wanted to do was my job and not The Adrian Lush Show. "You're looking well."
"You noticed! Well, I have lost weight. Since you're in town," she launched into her PR stance now that the small talk was dispensed with, "There's a charity ball on. You simply must go. Everyone who's anyone will be there." Cordelia looked ready to put up a fight, but I decided to nip it in the bud.
"I'm going."
Cordelia was thrown for a loop. "You are?"
"My brother Joffy invited me."
"Of course! Silly Dilly," she replied. "I should have known he would have got in first."
"Hello darling," Bowden said from behind us. I frowned and turned around. He placed a chaste kiss on Cordelia's cheek. Bowden and Cordelia? I realised then that Cordelia must have been the lady friend that Victor had mentioned.
"Bowie," Cordelia gushed. "Thursday's back. Isn't it wonderful? The whole team will be there." Bowie? I did my best to keep a straight face.
"Yes," Bowden replied, "I'm looking forward to it." He really wasn't. "We should press on. Thursday?"
"Right, must go Cordelia. Official business. Keeping up our image, you know how it is."
"Of course! Don't let me keep you. Bowie, darling, let me know if you'll be home for dinner."
Bowden managed the smallest, weakest of smiles and then quickly rushed out the door. I followed close behind and got into the car. I contemplated saying something, but the look on Bowden's face suggested it was really best to just let 'Bowie' be.
Chapter 6
There were times in my SpecOps career when I shined. There were also times in my SpecOps career when I realised that something was amiss when it was already too late. This was one of the latter situations. By the time we reached the Swindon Globe, the media was already swarming. I barely had time to step out of the car before someone from The Toad news station shoved a microphone in my face. "No comment," I said calmly, years of practice allowing me to elbow my way through the crowd of reporters before they had a chance to pin me to the ground in demand of an official statement.
Bowden made it through the door after me, flashing his badge as I'd flashed mine. In most cases, the SO-27 badge didn't mean much to local authorities, but this was most certainly a situation where the LiteraTecs had jurisdiction. "Agent Next, SO-27. What happened?"
The curator of the Swindon Globe was a stammering mess. Her jaw kept trembling as she tried to explain. "Richard III. They took him."
"Your copy of Richard III?" I asked. The Swindon Globe had various early reprinted and replica copies of Shakespeare's plays on display. "They took that?"
"No," she hissed. "Where have you been? It's been all over the news!" I had obviously missed something vital. I looked to Bowden for an explanation.
"The oldest known copy of Richard III was supposed to start its tour around the country from here."
Someone had stolen the closest thing the world had to an original version of Richard III. The loss of such a national treasure was unthinkable. It was devastating. The Shakespeare supporters would take up arms. There could be riots. The Baconians would take their chance to stir up trouble. The Marlovian extremists would probably gloat.
This was definitely not good.
"Well if it isn't Thursday Next!" I knew that voice. I turned to see Spike Stoker walking towards me.
"Spike!" I greeted. Things had been tense between us when I last left, but as usual, Spike seemed to have bounced back as well as could be expected.
"Should've known you were in town. You show up and here comes trouble."
"It's a habit I'm trying to kick," I assured him. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighbourhood, then heard the call on the radio. All available agents in the area to come here. Should've guessed you'd be first on the scene with that car of yours. She still run well?"
"As well as can be expected. But we were already on our way here."
"Always one step ahead."
"Half a step behind this time, I'm afraid."
"Shame, eh? You'll nab 'em. You always do."
Our conversation was interrupted by the sudden increase in volume of the media frenzy outside. Bowden and I, with Spike following behind, exited the side door to see what was going on. On the front steps of the building, our fearless leader, Commissioner Pheces, was giving an impromptu press conference.
"...sorry state of affairs that cannot be allowed to continue," Pheces said into the microphones as we came within hearing distance. "First the break-in last week, and now Richard III has been stolen from our beloved Swindon Globe. The current readiness of our SpecOps forces are unacceptable, and as you know, I have been doing my best to bring our level of commitment and quality service up to a higher standard. These events are a catalyst for what has been a difficult decision to make," he continued and the incorrect use of language made me instinctively cringe, but nothing compared to what he said next. "That is why I have decided to close the SpecOps-27 division, the Literary Detectives, effectively immediately and outsource all services to the private sector. This will eventually require parliamentary ratification and parliament will vote as soon as possible. In the meantime, Fletcher & Kyd Security Services have a crack team of elite literary detectives from all over the world who will endeavour to solve this national crisis and take over immediately to ensure the safety of our literary treasures. Thank you."
Pheces' bodyguards got him out of there before the first reporter even had a chance to finish a question. Bowden and I couldn't do anything but stare at the makeshift podium. Spike clapped one hand on my shoulder and one on Bowden's. "Rough luck," he said sincerely, then perked up, "You can always come work for me. Same goes for those other LiteraTecs. SO-17's open for you lot any time!"
I finally looked at Bowden and he looked at me. We'd just been fired. The Literary Detectives were no more.
[OOC: NFB for distance. No IC because of distance. OOC welcome. One last batch to go!]
Chapter 4
Dinner at mum's was always eventful for two reasons - you were never sure if the food would be edible, and you were never sure who would be joining you at the dinner table. The latter was especially uncertain because of my father. In the conventional timeline, my father didn't exist. He worked for the Chronoguard for some time before going rogue, then came to an agreement and went back to official work. During his rogue period, the Chronoguard had eradicated him from existence through a timely knock on his parents' door the night he was supposed to be conceived.
Despite the Chronoguard's best efforts, my father still existed outside of the timeline and Mum, me and my brother Joffy still remembered him well. His rogue days were over from my perspective, and he was meant to be reactualised in this timeline, but even with all of the time in existence available to them, the Chronoguard was like any other government division when it came to paperwork. Namely, they hadn't gotten around to it yet.
That didn't stop Dad from continuing to work. His pet project was correcting timeline tampering by French revisionists. This often involved keeping certain historical figures out of harm's way by letting them stay with Mum for a while. As I said, the company at the dinner table often made dinner an eventful meal. Such was the case this particular night when I found myself sitting between my uncle Mycroft and Christopher Marlowe.
"So Kit," my brother, the Irreverent Joffy Next, said as he passed the mashed potatoes to Miles to pass it on to Aunt Polly. "Why did you produce so few plays? Compared to Will Shakespeare, I mean."
I may have, at that point, shuffled slightly away from Kit Marlowe, expecting a rather raucous retaliation. His temper, however, didn't flare like I expected and he responded quite politely, "Poetry is my focus." The calmness of his voice made it hard to believe that he would eventually die in a bar fight. Perhaps it was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, as Dad insisted, French revisionists.
Personally, I think he was probably rambunctuous when alcohol was brought into the equation.
Joffy knew when he was being fobbed off, but was one to pick and poke at people. Thankfully, Mum knew all too well what her son was like and interrupted before he could say anything else on the matter. She looked up from where she was trying to feed Friday some strained peaches. Friday didn't look remotely interested. "How's that dance going?"
"Dance?" I asked, eager to change the topic.
Joffy pointed a fork at me. "You should come, Doofus."
"I think you've mistaken my tone. I said 'dance?' as in 'what's this dance you're organising?' not 'dance? Oh please invite me dear brother of mine'."
"It's a charity ball," Joffy replied. "And I'd be worried, Doofus, if you ever called me 'dear brother of mine'."
"Affection between siblings is one thing that never changes," Marlowe said, digging into his peas.
"Very true, Kit," Joffy agreed. "Very true. So does this mean you're coming?" he asked me.
"I'd have to dress up."
"Well it is a ball."
"And wear shoes with heels."
"You could go bare foot for all I care."
"No."
"I really think you'll want to go."
"I really don't, Joff. Not this time."
"The new head of SpecOps is going to be there."
"And?"
"And he's a funny sort."
"Funny odd or amusing?"
"If I meant amusing, I would have said amusing."
"Does this have to go on at the dinner table?" Mum asked, despite knowing full well that this always went on at the dinner table, even when we had guests.
I hadn't known there was a new head of SpecOps, or that he or she was in Swindon. Victor and Bowden hadn't mentioned it. But if Joffy thought it necessary to bring the subject up without an obligatory gag tagged on the end, then perhaps this change of administration was worth investigating.
Tomorrow. Right now my son was attacking Christopher Marlowe with mashed pumpkin.
Chapter 5
Back in the Literatec office at SpecOps the next day, I decided to approach the topic with Bowden with my usual tact. "Why didn't you tell me we're under new management?"
"I thought you would have noticed," Bowden replied simply, as if any other alternative hadn't occurred to him. "Didn't it seem odd to you that you're back on the active duty payroll and the Commander hasn't said a word?"
Braxton Hicks was in charge of all of the SpecOps offices in Swindon. He was a nice enough fellow, but he was a bit obsessed when it came to our budget. "Where is Hicks anyway?"
"Probably playing golf."
"Extended leave?"
"Forced extended leave, by order of the new head of SpecOps."
"Who is he...she?"
"He is is Commissioner Sullivan Pheces."
My eyebrows rose immediately. "Sully Pheces? The Sully Pheces?" Bowden nodded. Sullivan Pheces had been part of the controversial supporting group that would have brought SpecOps under Goliath control ten years ago. As it was, Goliath used to interfere in SpecOps operations whenever they wanted, but if Pheces' attempts had succeeded, the force would have been reduced by half in order to meet Goliath's expected annual turnover. He disappeared out of sight after the decision was overruled by then President-for-life George Formby. "Where did he appear from?"
"No one knows. The Toad reported that he was in the private sector for a while. I suppose with Goliath no longer as big as it was, he decided to come back into the public. He was made Commissioner not long after you disappeared."
The situation was odd, but I thought nothing more of it at the time. This largely had to do with Bowden passing me the case file we were working on, and my thoughts being divided between work and waiting for my father to finally see me and let me know what was going on with Landen. I focused back on the work at hand. "People try to break into the Swindon Globe's special collections all the time. What makes this any different?" The Swindon Globe was a recreation of the original Globe theatre and was the showcase for many valuable items relating to William Shakespeare's work. Swindon and Stratford-Upon-Avon were the two finalists in the bidding war for the Globe recreation, but Swindon won out after Stratford-upon-Avon's Mayor had a change of heart and decided to bid for the fully heated indoor ski resort. It was a guaranteed money maker, but the residents of Stratford-upon-Avon were so irritated that the Mayor didn't stay Mayor for very long.
I'd thought it over during the night and couldn't work out what Bowden expected of me when it came to this case.
"They didn't try to steal anything."
I looked back over the file. The special collections facility at the Swindon Globe had been broken into, but nothing had been disturbed. All of the security reports indicated that someone had gone to great lengths to get into the building, but then left almost immediately. It was almost as if to prove they could get in. "Bowden, has the Globe changed its security system since the break-in?"
Bowden reached over and flipped through another painstakingly organised manilla folder. "Yes," he replied. "They decided to go through another security firm and they're set to install the new system tomorrow. Fletcher & Kyd Security Firm."
Something didn't feel right. "Have someone find out who owns the firm, then grab your jacket and meet me downstairs. I think we should pay them a visit."
I headed downstairs to get the car ready and was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't see Cordelia Flakk, SpecOps' publicist, before she latched onto my arm.
"Thursday!" she all but squealed. "So good to see you, darling. Where have you been? I had whole tour planned out after you recovered and you disappeared. It would have been great publicity."
"Cordelia," I greeted. I wouldn't call my reception warm, but I didn't dislike Cordelia. She was just a pain in my side sometimes when all I wanted to do was my job and not The Adrian Lush Show. "You're looking well."
"You noticed! Well, I have lost weight. Since you're in town," she launched into her PR stance now that the small talk was dispensed with, "There's a charity ball on. You simply must go. Everyone who's anyone will be there." Cordelia looked ready to put up a fight, but I decided to nip it in the bud.
"I'm going."
Cordelia was thrown for a loop. "You are?"
"My brother Joffy invited me."
"Of course! Silly Dilly," she replied. "I should have known he would have got in first."
"Hello darling," Bowden said from behind us. I frowned and turned around. He placed a chaste kiss on Cordelia's cheek. Bowden and Cordelia? I realised then that Cordelia must have been the lady friend that Victor had mentioned.
"Bowie," Cordelia gushed. "Thursday's back. Isn't it wonderful? The whole team will be there." Bowie? I did my best to keep a straight face.
"Yes," Bowden replied, "I'm looking forward to it." He really wasn't. "We should press on. Thursday?"
"Right, must go Cordelia. Official business. Keeping up our image, you know how it is."
"Of course! Don't let me keep you. Bowie, darling, let me know if you'll be home for dinner."
Bowden managed the smallest, weakest of smiles and then quickly rushed out the door. I followed close behind and got into the car. I contemplated saying something, but the look on Bowden's face suggested it was really best to just let 'Bowie' be.
Chapter 6
There were times in my SpecOps career when I shined. There were also times in my SpecOps career when I realised that something was amiss when it was already too late. This was one of the latter situations. By the time we reached the Swindon Globe, the media was already swarming. I barely had time to step out of the car before someone from The Toad news station shoved a microphone in my face. "No comment," I said calmly, years of practice allowing me to elbow my way through the crowd of reporters before they had a chance to pin me to the ground in demand of an official statement.
Bowden made it through the door after me, flashing his badge as I'd flashed mine. In most cases, the SO-27 badge didn't mean much to local authorities, but this was most certainly a situation where the LiteraTecs had jurisdiction. "Agent Next, SO-27. What happened?"
The curator of the Swindon Globe was a stammering mess. Her jaw kept trembling as she tried to explain. "Richard III. They took him."
"Your copy of Richard III?" I asked. The Swindon Globe had various early reprinted and replica copies of Shakespeare's plays on display. "They took that?"
"No," she hissed. "Where have you been? It's been all over the news!" I had obviously missed something vital. I looked to Bowden for an explanation.
"The oldest known copy of Richard III was supposed to start its tour around the country from here."
Someone had stolen the closest thing the world had to an original version of Richard III. The loss of such a national treasure was unthinkable. It was devastating. The Shakespeare supporters would take up arms. There could be riots. The Baconians would take their chance to stir up trouble. The Marlovian extremists would probably gloat.
This was definitely not good.
"Well if it isn't Thursday Next!" I knew that voice. I turned to see Spike Stoker walking towards me.
"Spike!" I greeted. Things had been tense between us when I last left, but as usual, Spike seemed to have bounced back as well as could be expected.
"Should've known you were in town. You show up and here comes trouble."
"It's a habit I'm trying to kick," I assured him. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighbourhood, then heard the call on the radio. All available agents in the area to come here. Should've guessed you'd be first on the scene with that car of yours. She still run well?"
"As well as can be expected. But we were already on our way here."
"Always one step ahead."
"Half a step behind this time, I'm afraid."
"Shame, eh? You'll nab 'em. You always do."
Our conversation was interrupted by the sudden increase in volume of the media frenzy outside. Bowden and I, with Spike following behind, exited the side door to see what was going on. On the front steps of the building, our fearless leader, Commissioner Pheces, was giving an impromptu press conference.
"...sorry state of affairs that cannot be allowed to continue," Pheces said into the microphones as we came within hearing distance. "First the break-in last week, and now Richard III has been stolen from our beloved Swindon Globe. The current readiness of our SpecOps forces are unacceptable, and as you know, I have been doing my best to bring our level of commitment and quality service up to a higher standard. These events are a catalyst for what has been a difficult decision to make," he continued and the incorrect use of language made me instinctively cringe, but nothing compared to what he said next. "That is why I have decided to close the SpecOps-27 division, the Literary Detectives, effectively immediately and outsource all services to the private sector. This will eventually require parliamentary ratification and parliament will vote as soon as possible. In the meantime, Fletcher & Kyd Security Services have a crack team of elite literary detectives from all over the world who will endeavour to solve this national crisis and take over immediately to ensure the safety of our literary treasures. Thank you."
Pheces' bodyguards got him out of there before the first reporter even had a chance to finish a question. Bowden and I couldn't do anything but stare at the makeshift podium. Spike clapped one hand on my shoulder and one on Bowden's. "Rough luck," he said sincerely, then perked up, "You can always come work for me. Same goes for those other LiteraTecs. SO-17's open for you lot any time!"
I finally looked at Bowden and he looked at me. We'd just been fired. The Literary Detectives were no more.
[OOC: NFB for distance. No IC because of distance. OOC welcome. One last batch to go!]