Something Rotten (Thursday Next Novels)

Something Rotten (Thursday Next Novels)

Jasper Fforde

Language: English

Pages: 416

ISBN: 014303541X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The fourth installment in Jasper Fforde’s New York Times bestselling series follows literary detective Thursday Next on another adventure in her alternate reality of literature-obsessed England

The popularity of Jasper Fforde’s one-of-a-kind series of genre-bending blend of crime fiction, fantasy, and top-drawer literary entertainment builds with each new book. Now in the fourth installment, the resourceful literary detective Thursday Next returns to Swindon from the BookWorld accompanied by her son Friday and none other than the dithering Hamlet. But returning to SpecOps is no snap—as outlaw fictioner Yorrick Kaine plots for absolute power, the return of Swindon’s patron saint foretells doom, and, if that isn’t bad enough, The Merry Wives of Windsor is becoming entangled with Hamlet. Can Thursday find a Shakespeare clone to stop this hostile takeover? Can she vanquish Kaine and prevent the world from plunging into war? And will she ever find reliable child care? Find out in this totally original, action-packed romp, sure to be another escapist thrill for Jasper Fforde’s legions of fans. Thursday’s zany investigations continue with First Among Sequels. Look for the five other bestselling Thursday Next novels, including One of Our Thursdays is Missing and Jasper Fforde’s latest bestseller, The Woman Who Died A Lot. Visit for a ffull window into the Ffordian world!

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his room, then silence. I relaxed, took a sip of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, deep in thought. The SuperHoop was tomorrow and I had my team—the question was, would it make a difference? There was a chance we might find a copy of At Long Last Lust, too—but I wasn’t counting on this, either. Of equal chance and equal risk of failure was Shgakespeafe’s being able to unravel The Merry Wives of Elsinore, and Mycroft’s coming up with an Ovi-negator at short notice. But none of these pressing

thought about Brik Schitt-Hawse, the odious Goliath agent who’d had my husband eradicated in the first place. “What about Schitt-Hawse? Where does he work these days?” “I think he moved into some post in Goliathopolis. I really don’t move in those circles anymore. Mind you, we should all get together for a reunion and have a drink! What do you think?” “I think I’d rather have my husband back,” I replied darkly. “Oh!” said Cheese, suddenly remembering just what particular unpleasantness he and

I looked out again and saw three more gunmen appear. The Minotaur had clearly made a lot of friends during his stay in the western genre. “We need backup,” I murmured. Bradshaw clearly thought the same. He opened his TravelBook and pulled out something that looked a little like a flare gun. This was a TextMarker, which could be used to signal to other Jurisfiction agents. The TravelBook was dimensionally ambivalent; the device was actually larger than the book that contained it. “Jurisfiction

written upon it: 2216,091 minus 1, or 2 raised to the power of 216,091, minus 1. “It looks like a big number.” “It’s a medium-size number,” he corrected. “And?” “Well, if I were to give you a short story of ten thousand words, instructed you to give a value for each letter and punctuation mark and then wrote them down, you’d get a number with sixty-five thousand or so digits. All you need to do then is to find a simpler way of expressing it. Using a branch of Nextian Maths that I call

shithouse.” Mr. Shakespeare declined to comment, as he is already penning a follow-up. Article in Blackfriars News, September 1589 We turned to find a small man with wild, unkempt hair standing at the doorway. He was dressed in Elizabethan clothes that had seen far better days, and his feet were bound with strips of cloth as makeshift shoes. He twitched nervously, and one eye was closed—but beyond this the similarity to the Shakespeares Bowden had found was unmistakable. A survivor. I took a

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