The Brightonomicon (Brentford Book 8) (29 page)

‘I will bring you something,’ I said to Mr Rune and left him chatting with Quentin, the Fifth Earl of Hangleton, who, I have to say in all honesty, I was not too taken with.

I suppose it was obvious that my face did not fit there – it had a chin on it, for one thing – but I was prepared to make the best of things, especially regarding the matter of the free drinks.

And so I entered the drinkies tent.

And it was there that I saw her.

She was surely the most beautiful young woman that I had ever seen in my life. She had long golden hair, and her eyes were blue and her lashes long. She wore a flowery frock and sunlight shone upon her, though I do not know how this could be inside the tent. She was sipping a long glass of something through lips that I desperately wanted to kiss. And I knew that I was in love.

‘Well, helllllllo,’ I said, in my finest Terry Thomas.

She looked at me rather blankly.

‘Heeeelo,’ I said once more. But I got it right this time – it was not Terry Thomas, but rather Lesley Phillips.

‘Heeeelo to you,’ she said with the voice of an angel.

‘My name is Rizla,’ I said. ‘I am the … er … business associate of Sir Hugo Rune.’

‘Oh,’ said the beauty. ‘Is
he
here? Would you introduce me?’

‘I do not know your name,’ I said.

‘It’s Kelly,’ she said. ‘Kelly Anna Sirjan.’

‘A very beautiful name.’

‘So will you introduce me to Sir Hugo? My cousin Quentin says that he is the greatest poet, adventurer, swordsman, philosopher, philanthropist, exorcist and problem-solver extraordinaire of this or any other age.’

‘Really?’ I said. ‘I wonder how your cousin came by this intelligence.’

‘I think he read it on the flyer that was recently pushed through his letterbox. It offered cheap rates to members of the aristocracy who needed problems solving. It was delivered, I understand, by a curious chap in an anorak, with dark glasses and a scarf around his face.’

I sighed.

Very deeply.

‘What saddens you?’ asked Kelly Anna Sirjan.

‘The way that I never see the obvious coming,’ I said. ‘However.’

‘However?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘the situation is this: Sir Hugo is a
very
busy man, what with all the poetry-writing and adventuring and sword-fighting, philosophising, exorcising and problem-solving. Not to mention the philanthropy.’

Kelly Anna Sirjan did not mention the philanthropy.

‘Which is why he employs me exclusively in the capacity to – how shall I put this? –
vet
folk who wish to speak to him, which is inevitably a life-changing experience. The meeting of him, I mean. He insists that I gain – how shall I put this? –
intimate knowledge
of those who wish to have such a life-changing experience. Would you care for another drink?’

‘Oh, yes please – a large G and T.’

‘I will return with it in a moment.’

*

I took myself up to the bar in the drinkies tent. Behind this bar stood a smartly dressed barman: white tuxedo, pink bow tie, caste mark on his forehead beneath his natty turban.

‘Good afternoon, sahib,’ said this barman, bowing with exaggerated politeness. ‘How might I be helping you?’

I gazed upon the swarthy son of the Raj. ‘Fange,’ I said. ‘It is you.’

‘Blessings be upon you, sahib, and upon your memsab also.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Fange, it is me.’

‘Oh, so it is,’ said Fangio. ‘Pint of Old Antifreeze, would it be?’

‘I will have it, if you have it,’ I said. ‘Do you have it?’

‘No,’ said Fange. And he shook his turban. ‘Only the posh stuff – care for a half of Frangelico?’

‘I am easy,’ I said.

‘And so would I be, wearing a beret like that.’

Oh, how we laughed. I had quite forgotten the beret.

‘So what are
you
doing
here?’
I asked Fangio once I had acquired my half of Frangelico and a G and T for Kelly.

‘The brewery sent me out,’ said Fange. ‘I have left The Pudding and Puller in the capable hands of my twin brother Nuvelari for the afternoon.’

‘I never knew you had a twin brother.’

‘Nor did I. But then I might be one of triplets. There’s just no telling, is there?’

‘Or quads,’ I said.

‘Or quintets.’

‘Or sextiquidalians.’

‘Or Seventh-Day Adventists.’

‘Or octoroons.’

‘Or nonets.’

‘Or decathlons.’

‘Or … what’s elevens?’ Fange asked.

‘Elevenses?’ I suggested.

‘Or twelve green bottles hanging on the wall.’

‘I would love to go on talking toot with you,’ I said, ‘but there is this really cracking young woman over there who I have recently fallen in love with and whom I am hoping like hell to pull.’

‘That would be Kelly Anna Sirjan, would it?’

‘Yes, it would.’

‘One of the famous Sirjan twenty-seventuplet sisters.’

‘You are kidding me, right?’

‘They do a human pyramid act with Count Otto Black’s Circus Fantastique.’

‘You are kidding me, right?’

‘In tiny little bikinis.’

‘You are kidding me, right?’

‘Of course I’m kidding you,’ said Fangio.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘Because in case you hadn’t noticed, if I’m not talking to you, I’m not talking to anyone. And it’s really lonely when you’re all on your own with no one to talk to.’

‘I will be back,’ I said. ‘I will need another drink soon.’

‘Couldn’t you include me in the conversation with Kelly?’

‘I want to chat her up,’ I said.

‘I’d only put in the occasional word or two, nothing flashy. Wouldn’t try to hog the conversation or anything.’

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘Bl**dy ingratitude,’ said Fangio.

‘Nice try,’ I said, ‘but I do not think we are doing the swearword/ asterisk running gag at the moment.’

‘Over there!’ cried Fangio, pointing. ‘Zulus – thousands of them.’

‘See you later,’ I said and returned to Kelly Anna Sirjan.

‘You spent a long time talking to that Sikh barman,’ she said.

‘Damn,’ I said. ‘I forgot to ask him about that. But I am not going back. So, let us talk about you.’ And I handed Kelly her drink. ‘What do you do with yourself?’

‘I’m in the circus,’ said Kelly. ‘My identical sisters and I do a pyramid act.’

‘You are kidding me, right?’

‘I’ve got two free tickets for the Captain Beefheart gig at the Hove Town Hall
^*
,’ called Fangio. ‘They’re yours if you want them; you don’t have to beat them out of me or anything. Speak to me, please.’

‘Let us go outside and chat,’ I said to Kelly.

*

Outside, the September sun was putting a brave face on it, and in its light Kelly looked achingly beautiful.

‘Pardon me for asking this,’ I said, ‘but do you have a boyfriend?’

Kelly laughed, most prettily. ‘Are you chatting me up?’ she said.

‘No, I was just asking. Information, you see – the vetting process for Sir Hugo, just standard questions.’

‘Oh, I see. Then ask away. Anything you want.’

‘Do you like it doggie-style?’ I asked.

And Kelly hit me right in the mouth.

‘Rizla,’ called the voice of Mr Rune. ‘I demand drinkies.’

I returned to the drinkies tent.

‘Thank God you’re back,’ said Fangio. ‘This chap here has been looking for you.’

‘New approach,’ I said. ‘And who is “this chap here”?’

‘Lord Jeffrey Primark,’ said Lord Jeffrey. ‘You are Sir Hugo’s associate?’

‘His confidant and spiritual advisor, as it happens.’

Fangio sniggered.

‘I can take this conversation outside,’ I warned him. ‘A pint of Pimm’s for Sir Hugo, my good man.’

‘Coming right up,’ said Fangio. ‘Stay where you are.’

‘I need your help,’ said Lord Jeffrey to me. And I looked this fellow up and down. He was of the gilded-youth persuasion, wearing tweeds and beret and also a dashing moustache.

I touched lightly upon my upper-lip area. My attempts at growing a fashionable goatee were still not coming to much.

‘The Man,’ said Lord Jeffrey in an urgent tone.
‘He
is amongst us. He means to harm us. These reports in the gutter press of petty thievery – the excuse with which the Earl has drawn Sir Hugo here – they are nothing to what is really going on. It is unspeakable. Evil. Beyond all reason.’

‘Sounds most intriguing,’ I said. ‘Have you been drinking, by the way?’

‘Of
course
I’ve been drinking. You’d be drinking too if you knew what was
really
going on.’

‘I drink whenever I can,’ I said. ‘No matter what.’

‘I’ll back him up on that, sahib,’ said Fange, presenting me with Mr Rune’s pint of Pimm’s.

‘Ah, yes,’ I said. ‘The Sikh business.’

‘It’s an interesting story,’ said Fange. ‘You see—’

‘I can’t speak to you here,’ said Lord Jeffrey to me. ‘Let us repair to the library.’

‘No, hold on,’ said Fange. ‘Don’t rush away. It’s nice here. You can lean on the bar and everything. And I can serve you with more drinks and slip in the occasional bon mot for good measure.’

‘Follow me,’ said Lord Jeffrey to me.

And I followed him from the drinkies tent.

‘Rotten swine,’ muttered Fangio as we were leaving, ‘ungrateful, rotten swine.’

I really liked the library. All those leather-bound tomes – they were
real
quality,
real
class. And very old, too. And there were big leather button-backed chairs, and Lord Jeffrey poured brandy, and so I had two drinks and was at peace with the world.

‘Go on with what you were saying,’ I said to him, ‘about The Man.’

‘He’ll kill us all.’ Lord Jeffrey had a shake on now. His brandy swirled about in its balloon.

‘Who is The Man?’ I asked.

‘The Foredown Man,’ said Lord Jeffrey.

‘Ah,’ said I. ‘Go on.’

‘They say that he is only a legend.’ Lord Jeffrey swigged at his brandy and spoke as best as he could as he swigged. ‘This house, you see, is built upon an ancient Celtic burial ground. There are Burrowers beneath, you see. The land that time forgot, the Worlds Between, the Great Old Ones, the Minds Outside Of Time, the Time Out Of Mind, the time-mind mind-time—’

‘Perhaps we should go back to the drinkies tent,’ I suggested. ‘Fangio is good at this kind of thing.’

‘The terrible horror.’ Lord Jeffrey’s face was that grey mask of fear
that is rarely to be seen beyond the pages of the horror novel. He quivered and quaked and his eyes bulged out unappealingly. ‘He comes for us. He comes for me and my kind. The last of our kind. And soon he comes. And …’

He paused and seemed to freeze as a terrible coldness moved through the air. There came a crackling all around us and as I looked, I saw it, felt it, knew it to be …

Rippling fingers of frost spread like the leaves of ferns across the windows, over the carpet, up a vase of roses, turning the flowers to glass. My breath steamed from my mouth. Lord Jeffrey clutched at his throat. I raised my glasses and found that both of my drinks had turned to solid ice.

And I gawped at Lord Jeffrey. He sat there, opposite me, glass in hand. But still now, frozen. Lifeless.

And then it came. As from nowhere. But down from above, somehow. It arched through the arctic atmosphere, cleaved through the icy air.

And it struck Lord Jeffrey a murderous blow.

And he shattered.

Exploded.

Showered down in a multitude of subzero fragments that tinkled and tumbled all about me.

And then it came to rest at my feet.

The instrument of his destruction.

The length of lead pipe.

‘I knew it,’ I said. ‘Colonel Mustard.’

And then my hands began to do some flapping.

And then I fainted dead away.

PART II

And then there he was, a-looming: Mr Hugo Rune.

‘Oh!’ I went and ‘Wah!’ also.

Mr Rune was gazing down upon me. ‘I will not ask if you are all right,’ he said, ‘for clearly you are not. What has occurred here, Master Rizla?’

‘Lord Jeffrey,’ I went. ‘He froze, then he shattered. Did I get any of him on my suit?’ And I flapped and patted myself.

‘Lord Jeffrey?’ Mr Rune cocked his head to one side. ‘What
precisely
has occurred?’

I did blinkings of the eyes. I felt rather poorly and gaped up at Mr Rune. And also at those who stood with him, a-gazing down at me. The Fifth Earl was there, looking most suspicious. And the lovely Kelly. And Fangio, too, though he was not wearing his turban.