The Woman Who Died a Lot: A Thursday Next Novel by Jasper Fforde Read Free Book Online

daughter he’d wished he had and not the one he did have, who was a bit of a tramp. In fact, Braxton wasn’t having much luck with his son, Herbert, either—he was currently in prison for armed robbery.
    “Don’t get up, old girl,” he said as he sat at the counter next to me. “How’s the leg? Smarts a bit, I shouldn’t wonder. Once had a spiral fracture of the femur m’self. Skydiving for my seventieth, courtesy of Mrs. Hicks, who never tires of attempting to cash in on my life-insurance policy. Didn’t stop me running a half marathon afterward, which was odd, since I never could before.”
    Despite being now well into his seventies, Braxton had lost none of his vigor, from either his tall and somewhat gangly frame nor his mustache, which was still a luxuriant red.
    “I’m okay, sir—a bit busted up, but I’ll get over it. Physio helps enormously.”
    He stared at me for a moment. “They nearly succeeded, didn’t they?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Never been the victim of an assassination attempt myself, y’know. Never upset enough people.”
    “You upset a lot of people, sir.”
    “Agreed, but usually only SpecOps agents when in defense of my budget. Now, how does this work? I’ve never been in to Yo! Toast before.”
    I explained that you could either have the highly skilled toasti-chef make you something special or just simply choose something as it came around on the conveyor.
    “Hmm,” he said, helping himself to a couple of slices of white with peanut butter as the belt moved past, “never thought toast would catch on—not as a restaurant anyway. Did you hear that a topless toast bar is about to open in the Old Town?”
    “Tooters, it’s going to be called. My daughter Tuesday is picketing the opening night.”
    “Good for her. How’s she getting on with the shield?”
    “Coming along . . . okay.”
    “In time for Swindon’s scheduled smiting at the end of the week?”
    “We’re hoping so, but Anti-Smite Defense Shields aren’t exactly standard physics. And besides, Tuesday only guaranteed a solution in eight years and thirty billion pounds—it’s been barely three, and she’s only twenty-seven percent over budget.”
    Braxton nodded sagely.
    “May I ask a question, sir?”
    “Of course.”
    “Do you know anything about the plan for evacuation on Friday? It’s not like anyone in the city council seems that troubled.”
    “They are, believe me. With the whole of the financial district and the cathedral up for destruction, they’ve been hunting about for another plan. The price of cathedrals is simply shocking these days, and insurance is impossible, as you know.”
    “The ‘act of God’ clause?”
    “Right. You know Councilor Bunty Fairweather?”
    “Very well.”
    “She’s in charge of smite avoidance as well as fiscal planning, so you should talk to her. I hear whispers of a ‘grand plan’ to save Swindon from His wrath.”
    “Any idea what? Just in case Tuesday doesn’t manage to get the defense shield working?”
    “I’m afraid not. All a bit hush-hush. I can make inquiries, though.”
    I thanked him for this. From past experience I knew that a smiting could take out an area half a mile in diameter right in the middle of the city—easily evacuated. But if that was the case, something would surely be planned by now. Perhaps the council had more confidence in Tuesday than I did.
    “And your son?” asked Braxton, who was big on family. We rarely met without comparing our relative fortunes. “Is he coming to terms with his non–career move at SO-12?”
    “Slowly. Knowing that you were once going to save the planet seven hundred and fifty-six times but now won’t do it even once takes some adjusting. He’ll be okay when he discovers a new function for himself.”
    “What about house, car, wife and babies? Not strikingly original, but as functions go, it has the benefit of long tradition.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “My daughter could do with a stable hand on her