The Well Of Lost Plots Part 14

'I think it's already happened,' said the Bellman, then checked himself quickly, apologised for the interruption and let Libris carry on.

'But,' continued Libris, 'to understand the problem we need a bit of history. When we first devised the BOOK system eighteen hundred years ago, we designed it mainly to record events we never thought there would be such a demand for story story. By the tenth century story usage was so low that we still had enough new plots to last over a thousand years. By the time the seventeenth century arrived this had lowered to six hundred but there was still no real cause for worry. Then, something happened that stretched the operating system to the limit.'

'Ma.s.s literacy,' put in Miss Havisham.

'Exactly,' replied Libris. 'Demand for written stories increased exponentially during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Ten years before Pamela Pamela was published in 1740 we had enough new ideas to last another four hundred years; by d.i.c.kens' time ideas were almost wholly recycled, something we have been doing on and off since the thirteenth century to stave off the inevitable. But by 1884, to all intents and purposes, we had depleted our stock of original ideas.' was published in 1740 we had enough new ideas to last another four hundred years; by d.i.c.kens' time ideas were almost wholly recycled, something we have been doing on and off since the thirteenth century to stave off the inevitable. But by 1884, to all intents and purposes, we had depleted our stock of original ideas.'

There was muttering among the collected Jurisfiction agents.

' Flatland Flatland,' said Bradshaw after pausing for a moment's reflection. 'It was the last original idea, wasn't it?'

'Pretty much. The few leftover pieces were mopped up by the SF movement until the 1950s, but as far as pure pure ideas are concerned, 1884 was the end. We were expecting the worst a meltdown of the whole BookWorld and a wholesale departure of readers. But that didn't happen. Against all expectations, recycled ideas were ideas are concerned, 1884 was the end. We were expecting the worst a meltdown of the whole BookWorld and a wholesale departure of readers. But that didn't happen. Against all expectations, recycled ideas were working working.'

'But isn't it the way they are told?' asked Havisham in her not-to-be-argued-with voice. 'Surely the permutations permutations of storytelling are endless!' of storytelling are endless!'

'Large perhaps, but not infinite infinite, Miss Havisham. What I'm trying to say is that once all the permutations are used up there will be nowhere for us to go. The twentieth century has seen books being written and published at an unprecedented rate even the introduction of the Procrastination1.3 and Writer'sBlock2.4 Outlander viruses couldn't slow the authors down. Plagiarism lawsuits are rising in the Outland; authors are beginning to write the same books. The way I see it we've got a year possibly eighteen months before the well of fiction runs dry.'

He paused to let this sink in.

'That's why we had to go back to the drawing board and rethink the whole situation.'

He flipped the chart again and there were audible gasps. On the chart was written '32-plot story systems'.

'As you know,' he went on, 'every Book Operating System has at its heart the basic eight-plot architecture we inherited from OralTrad. As we used to say: "No one will ever need more than eight plots." '

'Nine if you count Coming of Age Coming of Age,' piped up Beatrice.

'Isn't that Journey of Discovery Journey of Discovery?' said Tweed.

'What's Macbeth Macbeth, then?' asked Benedict.

' Bitter Rivalry/Revenge Bitter Rivalry/Revenge, my dear,' answered Havisham.

'I thought it was Temptation Temptation,' mused Beatrice, who liked to contradict Benedict whenever possible.

'Please!' said the Bellman. 'We could argue these points all day. And if you let Libris finish, you can.'

The agents fell silent. I guessed this was a perennial argument.

'So the only way forward,' continued Libris, 'is to completely rebuild the operating system. If we go for a thirty-two-plot basis for our stories, there will be more ideas than you or I will know what to do with. The BookWorld won't have seen such an advance since the invention of movable type.'

'I'm always supportive of new technology, Mr Libris,' said Lady Cavendish kindly, 'but isn't the popularity of books a fair indication of how good the current system actually is?'

'It depends what you mean by "popular". Only thirty per cent of the Outland read fiction on a regular basis with UltraWord we aim to change all that. But I'm running ahead of myself an abundance of new ideas is only half the story. Let me carry on and tell you what other benefits the new system will give us.'

He flipped the chart again. This time it read: 'Enhanced Features'.

'Firstly, UltraWord is wholly reverse compatible with all existing novels, plays and poetry.

Furthermore, new books written with this system will offer bonus features that will enhance and delight.'

'I say,' asked Bradshaw slowly, 'how do you hope to improve a book?'

'Let me give you an example,' replied Libris enthusiastically. 'In books that we know at present, dialogue has to be dedicated to the people who are talking as the reader has no idea who is speaking from the words alone. This can be tricky if we want a large scene with many people talking to one another it's very easy to get bogged down in the "... said George", "... replied Michael", "... added Paul" and suchlike; with the UltraWord Enhanced Character Identification, a reader will have no trouble placing who is speaking to whom without all those tedious dialogue markers. In addition, UltraWord will be bundled with PlotPotPlus, which gives the reader a potted precis if they are lost or have put the book down unfinished for a few months or more. Other options will be ReadZip, PageGlow and three music tracks.'

'How will the reader get these new features to work?' asked Lady Cavendish.

'There will be a preferences page inserted just after the frontispiece.'

'Touch sensitive?' I asked.

'No,' replied Libris excitedly, ' read read sensitive. Words that know when they are being read. On the preferences page you can also select WordClot, which adjusts the vocabulary to the reader no more difficult words, or, if you sensitive. Words that know when they are being read. On the preferences page you can also select WordClot, which adjusts the vocabulary to the reader no more difficult words, or, if you like like difficult words, you can difficult words, you can increase increase the vocabulary complexity.' the vocabulary complexity.'

There was silence as everyone took this in.

'But to get back to your point, Lady Cavendish, a lot of people reject fiction because they find reading tedious and slow. At present levels the fastest throughput we can manage is about six words per second.

With UltraWord we will have the technology to quadruple the uptake something that will be very attractive to new readers.'

'Cards on the table and all that, Libris,' said Bradshaw in a loud voice. 'Technology is all very well but unless we get it absolutely absolutely right, it could turn out to be a debacle of the highest order.' right, it could turn out to be a debacle of the highest order.'

'You didn't like the ISBN positioning system either, Commander,' replied Libris, 'yet book navigation has never been easier.'

They stared at one another until a loud belch rent the air. It was Falstaff.

'I have lived,' he said, getting to his feet with a great deal of effort, 'through much in my time; some good, some bad I was witness to the great vowel s.h.i.+ft, and remember fondly those better days when puns, fat people and foreigners were funny beyond all. I saw the novel rise and the epic poem fall, I remember when you could get blind drunk, eat yourself ill and still have change for a wh.o.r.e out of sixpence. I remember when water would kill you and spirits would save you; I remember-'

'Is there a point to all this?' asked Libris testily.

'Ah!' replied Falstaff, trying to figure out where he was going with his speech. 'Oh, yes. I was there for the much-heralded Version 4 upgrade in 1841. "Change the way we read for ever," quoth the Council of Genres. And what happened? The Deep Text Crash. Almost everything by Euripides, Aeschylus and Sophocles gone for ever and we created grammasites.'

'It was never proven that Version 4 created the grammasites, Sir John-'

'Come, come, Libris, have you dried your brain? I was there. I saw it. I know know.'

Libris put up his hands.

'I didn't come here to argue, Sir John I just want to stick to the facts. Anyhow, UltraWord is incompatible with grammasites; text will be locked they'll have nothing to feed on.'

'You hope, sir.'

'We know know,' replied Libris firmly, adding more slowly: 'Listen, Version 4 was was a big mistake, we freely admit that which is why we have taken so long to design and rigorously test UltraWord. It is no small boast that we call it the Ultimate Reading Experience.' a big mistake, we freely admit that which is why we have taken so long to design and rigorously test UltraWord. It is no small boast that we call it the Ultimate Reading Experience.'

He paused for a moment.

'It's here to stay, ladies and gentlemen so get used to it.'

He expected another attack from Falstaff but King Hal's old friend had sat down and was shaking his head sadly. No one else added anything.

Libris took a step back and looked at the Bellman, who tingled his bell.

'Well, thank you all for listening to WordMaster Libris' presentation, and I would like to thank him for coming here today to tell us all about it.'

He started to clap his hands and we joined in with the notable exceptions of Falstaff and Bradshaw.

'Presentation booklets will be available shortly,' said the Bellman. 'Individual a.s.signments will be given out in ten minutes. And remember: let's be careful out there. That's it. Session's over.'

And he tingled his bell once more.

Libris stepped down from the dais and melted away before Bradshaw had a chance to question him further. Miss Havisham rested her hand on his shoulder. Bradshaw was the only man to whom I had ever seen Miss Havisham show any friendliness at all. Born of a long working a.s.sociation, I think.

'I'm too long in the tooth for this game, Havisham, old girl,' he muttered.

'You and me both, Trafford. But who'd teach the young ones?'

She nodded in my direction. I hadn't been described as 'young' for over a decade.

'I'm spent, Estella,' said Bradshaw sadly. 'No more new technology for me. I'm going back to my own book for good. At least I won't have to put up with all this nonsense in Bradshaw of the Congo Bradshaw of the Congo. Goodbye, old girl.'

'Goodbye, Commander send my regards to Mrs Bradshaw.'

'Thank you. And to you, too. Miss ... I'm sorry, what was your name again?'

'Thursday Next.'

'Of course it is. Well, toodle-oo.'

And he smiled, tipped his pith helmet and was gone.

'Dear old Bradshaw.' Miss Havisham smiled. 'He's retired about twelve times a year since 1938. I expect we'll see him again next week.'

'Ah!' muttered the Bellman as he approached. 'Havisham and Next.'

He consulted his clipboard for a moment.

'You weren't in the Outland on another land speed attempt, were you?'

'Me?' replied Havisham. 'Of course not!'

'Well,' murmured the Bellman, not believing her for an instant, 'the Council of Genres have told me that any Jurisfiction staff found abusing their privileges will be dealt with severely.'

'How severely?'

' Very Very severely.' severely.'

'They wouldn't dare,' replied Havisham haughtily. 'Now, what have you got for us?'

'You're chairing the Wuthering Heights Wuthering Heights rage counselling session.' rage counselling session.'

'I've done my six sessions,' replied Havisham. 'It's Falstaff's turn.'

'Now that's not true, is it?' replied the Bellman, 'You're only on your third. Changing counsellors every week is not the best way to do it. Everyone has to take their turn, Miss Havisham, even you.'

She sighed. 'Very well.'

'Good. Better not keep them waiting!'

The Bellman departed rapidly before Havisham could answer. She stood silently for a moment, a bit like a volcano deciding whether to erupt or not. After a few moments her eyes flicked to mine.

'Was that a smile?' she snapped.

'No, Miss Havisham,' I replied, trying to hide my inner amus.e.m.e.nt that someone like her would try to counsel anyone about anything especially rage.

'Please do tell me what you think is so very funny,' she demanded. 'I really am very keen to know.'

'It was a smile,' I said carefully, 'of surprise.'

'Was it now?' she replied. 'Well, before you get the mistaken belief that I am somehow concerned about the feelings of such a pathetic bunch of characters, let's make it clear that I was ordered ordered to do this job to do this job same as being drafted on to Heathcliff Protection Duty. I'd sooner he were dead, personally speaking but orders are orders. Fetch me a tea and meet me at my table.'

There was a lot of excited chatter about the upgrade to UltraWord and I picked up s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation that ran the full gamut from condemnation to full support. Not that it mattered; Jurisfiction was only a policing agency and had little say in policy that was all up to the higher powers at the Council of Genres. It really was like being back at SpecOps. I b.u.mped into Vernham Deane at the refreshment table.

'Well,' said Vernham, helping himself to a pastry, 'what do you think?'

'Bradshaw and Falstaff seem a bit put out.'

'Caution is sometimes an undervalued commodity,' he said warily. 'What does Havisham think?'

'I'm really not sure.'

'Vern!' said Beatrice, who had just joined us along with Lady Cavendish. 'Which plot does Winnie-the-Pooh Winnie-the-Pooh have?' have?'

' Triumph of the Underdog Triumph of the Underdog?' he suggested.

'Told you!' said Beatrice, turning to Cavendish. '"Bear with little brain triumphs over adversity." Happy?'

'No,' she replied. ' It's Journey of Discovery It's Journey of Discovery all the way.' all the way.'

'You think every story is Journey of Discovery Journey of Discovery!'

'It is.'

They continued to bicker as I selected a cup and saucer.

'Have you met Mrs Bradshaw yet?' asked Deane.

I told him that I hadn't.

'When you do, don't laugh or anything.'