The Big Over Easy

Jack greeted them both, took a satsuma from the fruit bowl and walked through to the living room. He stared out the window and peeled the fruit. He had bested Friedland and stopped him trying to pinch the Humpty investigation, but he didn’t feel as good as he thought he would. By unmasking Chymes as a charlatan, he had the feeling that he might have let the genie out of the bottle when it would have been better for everyone concerned to keep it in. Was Chymes the only one, or did all Guild detectives make up their investigations? Since Inspector Moose began at Oxford, there had been a huge upswing in the number of intricately plotted murders around the dreaming spires. And what about Miss Maple and the previously quiet village of St. Michael Mead? It was now almost a bloodbath, with every household harboring some form of gruesome secret. Coincidence? Or just some skillful invention by a talented sidekick?

“Your daughter is an exceptional woman.”

It was Prometheus. He was standing at the door with the light behind him. He looked ethereal, unreal almost.

“She takes after her mother.”

“And her father.”

“I was being overprotective last night, and I apologize,” said Jack as Prometheus moved forward into a pool of light thrown by the reading lamp.

“I’d be the same, Jack. I want to marry her.”

“What?”

Prometheus repeated it, and Jack sat on the edge of a table.

“But you’re immortal, Prometheus. I’m not sure I want my daughter marrying someone who will stay young as she grows old.”

“It’s more of a partnership than a marriage,” he explained. “I can get British citizenship and then we can—”

“So it’s a marriage of convenience?”

“Let me explain. Remember I told you about the ills of the world that the first Pandora let out of the jar?”

“Sure.”

“Your Pandora wants to put them back in!”

Jack frowned. “It seems quite a task.”

“A titanic one.” Prometheus grinned. “Mythology has been static for too long, Jack, I’ve decided we’ve got to get it moving again—and Pandora is the one to help me.”

Jack took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. “I never thought I’d have a Titan for a son-in-law. Promise me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Renounce your immortality.”

“I shall, after we locate the ills or, failing that, on Pandora’s fiftieth birthday. We’ve got it all planned.”

Prometheus smiled, and Jack put out his hand. As he grasped it, a strong feeling of power seemed to emanate from the Titan. There were so many questions still unanswered about him, but now there was plenty of time.

“Drink?” said Jack.

“Nah,” said the Titan, “Friday night is strippers night down at the Blue Parrot—Just kidding. Let’s have that drink. Let’s have several.”

37. The Man from the Guild

ALBINOS DEMAND ACTION ON MOVIE SLUR

The albino community demanded action yesterday to stop their unfair depiction as yet another movie featured an albino as a deranged hitman. “We’ve had enough,” said Mr. Silas yesterday at a small rally of albinos at London’s Pinewood Studios. “Just because of an unusual genetic abnormality, Hollywood thinks it can portray us as dysfunctional social pariahs. Ask yourself this: Have you ever been, or know anyone who has ever been, a victim of albino crime?” The protest follows hot on the heels of last week’s demonstrations when Colombians and men with ponytails complained of being unrelentingly portrayed as drug dealers.

—Extract from The Mole, July 31, 2003

Jack got into the station at nine. It was Saturday, and the whole place was buzzing with activity over the Jellyman’s visit later in the day. His Eminence’s Special Protection Group in collaboration with DCI Chymes had taken charge, and everyone had to go through a metal detector and be issued a color-coded badge that related to how close you could be to the Jellyman. It ranged from red for “close proximity” all the way through the spectrum to violet, which meant “no proximity.” Jack’s was violet.