'Okay,' I said slowly, 'so what's the problem?'

'He doesn't really have a lot of, well, charisma.'

'There are lots of men out there, Lola,' I told her. 'Don't hurry. When I was seventeen I had the hots for this complete and utter flake named Darren. My mother disapproved, which made him into something of a magnet.'

'Ah!' said Lola. 'What about this bra?'

'I thought the pink suited you better.'

'Which pink? There were twelve.'

'The sixth pink, just after the tenth black and nineteenth lacy.'

'Okay, let's look at that one again.'

She rummaged through the pile, found what she wanted and said:

'Thursday?'

'Yes?'

'Randolph calls me a tart because I like boys. Do you think that's fair?'

'It's one of the great injustices of life,' I told her. 'If he did the same he'd be toasted as a "ladies' man". But Lola, have you met anyone who you really liked, someone with whom you'd like to spend more exclusive time?'

'You mean — a boyfriend?'

'Yes.'

She paused and looked at herself in the mirror.

'I don't think I'm written that way, Thurs. But you know, sometimes, just afterwards, you know, when there is that really nice moment and I'm in his big strong arms and feeling sleepy and warm and contented, I can feel there is something that I need just outside my grasp — something I want but can't have.'

'You mean love?'

'No — a Mercedes.'

She wasn't joking.[16]

It was my footnoterphone.

'Hang on, Lola — Thursday speaking.'[17]

I looked at Lola, who was trying on a basque.

'Yes,' I replied, 'why?'[18]

'The safe side of what?'[19]

'I see. What can I do for you apart from answering questions about pianos?'[20]

I wasn't busy. Apart from a Jurisfiction session tomorrow at midday, I was clear.

'Sure. Where and when?'[21]

'Okay.'

Lola was looking at me mournfully.

'Does this mean we'll have to miss out on the gym? We have to go to the gym — if I don't I'll feel guilty about eating all those cakes.'

'What cakes?'

'The ones I'm going to eat on the way to the gym.'

'I think you get enough exercise, Lola. But we've got half an hour yet — c'mon, I'll buy you a coffee.'

21

Who stole the tarts?

The Gryphon was a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. In his youth he must have been a frightening creature to behold, but in his later years he wore spectacles and a scarf, which somewhat dented his otherwise fearsome appearance.

He was, I was told, one of the finest legal eagles around, and after Snell's death he became head of the Jurisfiction legal team. It was the Gryphon who managed to secure the record pay-out following the celebrated Farmer’s Wife v. Three Blind Mice case and was instrumental in reducing Nemo's piracy charges to 'accidental manslaughter'.

The Gryphon was reading my notes when I arrived and made small and incomprehensible noises as he flicked through the pages, grunting here and there and staring at me over his spectacles with large eyes.

'Well!' he said. 'We should be in for some fun now!'

'Fun?' I repeated. 'Defending a Class II fiction infraction?'

'I'm prosecuting a class action for blindness against the Triffids this afternoon,' said the Gryphon soberly, 'and the Martians' war crimes trial in War of the Worlds just drags on and on. Believe me, a fiction infraction is fun. Do you want to see my case load?'

'No thanks.'

'Okay. We'll see what their witnesses have to say and how Hopkins presents his case. I may decide not to put you on the stand. Please don't do anything stupid like grow — it nearly destroyed Alice's case there and then. And if the Queen orders your head to be cut off, ignore her.'

'Okay.' I sighed. 'Let's get on with it.'

The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their thrones when we arrived, but they were the only people in the courtroom who were seemingly composed — Alice's exit two pages earlier had caused a considerable amount of distress to the jury, who were back in their places but were bickering furiously with the foreman, a rabbit who stared back at them, nibbling a large carrot that he had somehow smuggled in.

The Knave of Hearts was being escorted back to the cells and the tarts — exhibit 'A' — were being taken away and replaced by the original manuscript of Jane Eyre. Seated before the King and Queen was prosecuting attorney Matthew Hopkins and a collection of very severe-looking birds. He glared at me with barely concealed venom. He looked a lot less amused than when we last crossed swords in The Trial, and he hadn't looked particularly amused then. The King was obviously the judge because he wore a large wig, but quite which part the Queen of Hearts was to play in the proceedings, I had no idea.

The twelve jurors calmed down and all started writing busily on their slates.

'What are they doing?' I whispered to the Gryphon. 'The trial hasn't even begun yet!'

'Silence in court!' yelled the White Rabbit in a shrill voice.

'Off with her head!' yelled the Queen.

The King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to find out who had been talking. The Queen nudged him and nodded in my direction.

'You there!' he said. 'You will have your say soon enough, Miss, Miss …'

'Next,' put in the White Rabbit after consulting his parchment.

'Really?' replied the King with some confusion. 'Does that mean we're done?'

'No, Your Majesty,' replied the White Rabbit patiently, 'her name is Next. Thursday Next.'

'I suppose you think that's funny?'

'No indeed, Your Majesty,' I replied. 'It was the name I was born with.'

The jurymen all frantically started to write 'It was the name I was born with' on their slates.

'You're an Outlander, aren't you?' said the Queen, who had been staring at me for some time.

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'Then answer me this: when there are two people and one of them has left, who is left? The person who is left or the person who has left? I mean, they can't both be left, can they?'

'Herald, read the accusation!' said the King.

At this, the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:

'Miss Thursday Next is hereby accused of a fiction infraction Class II against the Jurisfiction penal code FAL/0605937 and pursuant to the BookWorld general law regarding continuity of plot lines, as ratified to the Council of Genres, 1584.'