Obviously… Notepad or Scrapbook.
Nothing in either. Anyway, it was the Puzzle the blurbs were interested in now. Strange choice of food…
Daisy pressed.
It was a four-by-four array of tiles, with one square missing. The fifteen remaining tiles had to be dragged into the shape of a Big Whoomph. Shouldn’t be too difficult, but the blurbs beat her to it, their little bodies moving the tiles around at top speed. Puzzle done, ten seconds. Must be a world record. Then they started to eat. The puzzle burger actually vanished under their repeated attack. Dopejack must’ve concocted this, a fractal burger to hide his secret thoughts. Infinite flavours for the hungry and the wise. What now? Sixteen blank squares remained, and already the blurbs had started to merge and multiply.
Daisy tried to press on each square in turn. Nothing doing. Maybe there’s a password involved, something even the blurbs couldn’t get past. But what was it? And where to type it in anyway? Especially with a downed cursor. OK, consider that it’s a sixteen-letter term, one for each square. Seems reasonable. First choice, so obvious: Frank Scenario. Daisy counted the letters in the name. Thirteen. Fourteen including the space between the names. No good. OK, what was his full name, Jazir had mentioned it, surely? Francis? Francis Scenario. That’s sixteen letters, isn’t it, including the space? Let’s try it…
Daisy dragged the cursor’s clock to the top-left square. Pressed. Typed F. Moved the cursor. Typed R. Moved. Typed A. Moved. N. Moved. C. Moved…
Nothing was happening. No letters appearing. The drive was still down. She just had to hope Dopejack had some ancillary device in store. Some last trick. (Why say last? Don’t know anything yet.) Moved. Typed. N. A. R. I. O.
Waited. (As the blurbs darkened more and more of the screen.)
Pressed Enter.
Waited. (As the shadows grew cold…)
Waited. (As a car breathed slowly, down the night.)
The puzzle square became a hole, through which these words escaped:
not long left hakmust can;t jokerz00z jker
noow me can’t control eat must
be kill me pleas who nex mus bite wwho next
mmnot long mmwaaant to no
clos me dowwn wwhhhhhho biiite mmwwhooo
mmisjag mmgerad ammmis
ceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
The blurbs were floating over the broken text, slowly dying now, all food gone, eating themselves. The last one fell away.
Daisy stared at the message, lost in ciphering, finding fragments, writing in pain. Last moments, a message to Hackle (not long left hakmust can;t). Can’t what? Nigel Zuze had won the Joker Bone (jokerz00z)? The double-zero carefully imbedded. Zero penetration? But then saying the Joker was now himself, Dopejack (jker noow me can’t control eat must be kill me pleas). The Joker Bone could be passed on? Now Dopejack wants somebody to kill him? Was it really painful, winning the double? All that Desmond Targett business, toilet-cleaning business, just a ruse? And then lots of stuff about biting and eating and who’s next. Like Dopejack had to pass it on somehow, the prize. And then descending into gibberish.
Something there…
No.
A bell somewhere ringing, dragging Daisy away from the screen. The doorbell! The door swinging open, no doubt, with the slightest push, Vaz-style. Shit! Should have locked it, Daisy, but how? Voices. Footsteps on the stairs… the return of the Joker Bone?
Lights out and Daisy dives under the bed!
The bedroom door opening…
‘I’m sleeping here?’ Celia’s voice. ‘This dump?’
‘Stop complaining, squirt.’ Joe’s voice. ‘I’m your Big Eddie now.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
Daisy, from the dust and girlie mags and the soiled handkerchiefs, somehow had to let them know she was here, without scaring Celia too much.
‘Celia? Don’t be scared—’
‘Arhhhhhhh!’ Celia screaming.
‘Bloody hell!’ This from Joe, blazing at the monster that crept cobwebbed from beneath the bed. He hit the light as fast as possible. ‘Daisy?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Daisy!’ Celia threw her arms round the woman. ‘You scared me.’
‘Didn’t mean to. What are you doing here?’
‘Same to you,’ said Joe.
‘We’ve run away, Daisy,’ said Celia. ‘Run away from the horrible house. Moving in with Mr Dopejack. Aren’t we, Joe?’
Joe smiled, slightly.
‘That might be a bit difficult,’ said Daisy.
The next five minutes were spent in deciphering Dopejack’s final message.
‘You see all those double ems in there, Daisy?’ asked Joe.
‘His fingers slipping…’
‘Mister Million, isn’t it?’ cried Celia.