The Brightonomicon (Brentford Book 8) (53 page)

‘Boom,’ I said once more. ‘Hello, where am I? Is anybody there?’

Flame suddenly welled from a cigar lighter and I viewed the smiling face of Hugo Rune. And also that of Tobes de Valois, but Tobes was not smiling at all.

‘We are alive,’ I observed. ‘But where are we?’

‘Upon the trail of Count Otto,’ said Mr Rune, ‘and once more within the Forbidden Zones.’

‘Then his vanishing act—’

‘Precisely.’

‘Precisely what?’ asked Tobes. ‘I all but wet myself. Though I managed to hang on to this champagne.’

By the lighter’s glow, Mr Rune took this bottle and emptied its contents down his throat. ‘Forward, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘and follow me.’

‘Precisely what?’ said Tobes once more. ‘Explain this to me, please.’

‘Do you know where he is heading?’ I asked Mr Rune.

‘I have my suspicions,’ said the All-Knowing One. ‘I feel that what you are about to see might well surprise you.’

And Mr Rune snuffed out his lighter and we stood in the dark.

‘And what precisely is
that?’
asked Tobes.

‘I have seen many surprising things since I made my acquaintance with you,’ I said to Mr Rune, ‘but to be honest, I do not find darkness sufficiently surprising as to be worthy of any particular note.’

‘Plah!’ said Mr Rune. ‘Look ahead there, in the distance.’

And so I looked and slowly beheld the light at the end of the tunnel. It was quite a dim light, but there was the promise of brightness about it.

‘Move towards the light,’ said Mr Rune, and Tobes and I did so, in his company.

We reached the end of the corridor and then we looked and further beheld. And what we looked at and further beheld was truly wonderful.

‘It is a city,’ I whispered to Mr Rune. ‘A subterranean city.’

And such a city it was. A mighty city, a vast and awesome city. Seemingly, too, a Victorian city, but unlike any other on the face of
the Earth. But then this city was
not
upon the face of the Earth; it was deep beneath it.

The buildings were of the style known as Victorian gothic, but they were vast, rising like countless cathedrals, all carved terracotta and gargoyles and fiddly bits. And between these incredible structures and rising above their lofty pinnacles rose slim metal towers topped by shining spheres, about which twinkled electrical sparks.

‘Tesla Towers,’ said Mr Rune. ‘The lost technology of the Victorian age. They transmit electricity upon a radio wave – the wireless transmission of energy. And see there,’ and he pointed upwards, ‘electrical airships, flying hansom cabs.’

‘People,’ I said. ‘There are people down here. An entire lost civilisation.’

‘The lost civilisation of Atlantis,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Mister Isambard Kingdom-Come was not incorrect regarding its location.’

‘Oh no!’ I said. ‘Look there,’ and I pointed.

‘That is a flying saucer,’ said Tobes. ‘I have surely died and gone to the bad place. Which is rather disappointing, really, considering who I am.’

‘You are
not
dead,’ said Mr Rune. ‘And those
are
flying saucers. I told you, Rizla, Mankind has been commuting between the planets and communicating with other off-world civilisations for years.’

‘But how?’ I asked. ‘How can all this be here? And how come no one above knows about it?’

‘There are those who know,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Those at the Ministry of Serendipity. Those in the places of power.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘I am stunned. I do not know what to say. But we will never find Count Otto here – he could be anywhere.’

Mr Rune tapped at his nose. ‘We’ll find him,’ he said and he took something from his pocket. Something small and furry. ‘We’ll find him with the aid of this.’

‘And what is
that?’
I asked.

‘A spaniel,’ said Tobes. ‘It’s a tiny spaniel.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘So it is.’

‘I kept it back when we freed all the other animals from Count Otto’s ark,’ Mr Rune explained. ‘It’s a homing spaniel. It will lead us to Count Otto.’

‘Ludicrous,’ I said.

‘I’m so glad you approve.’ Mr Rune placed the tiny spaniel on the ground before us. ‘Go on, Nathaniel, go and find your master,’ he said, and gave the tiny spaniel a little encouragement with the toe of his black leather boot.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Nathaniel the spaniel?’

‘Let’s be moving along, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune. ‘This is not the time for idle chitchat.’

And so we followed Nathaniel. We followed him on to a spiral staircase that measured our footsteps down and down to the city beneath. It was a long walk down and by the time we had reached the bottom I was very dizzy.

‘Pacey-pacey, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune, marching onwards. ‘The knotted condom of self-congratulation may well be—’

‘Please do not,’ I said. ‘I will pacey-pacey as best I can. Oh, look, Nathaniel seems to know the way.’

Now, if from our vantage point above the city had looked vast and tall, from below, where we now followed the spaniel across a broad marble plaza, it looked vaster and taller and very daunting indeed.

‘Mister Rune,’ I said, as I caught up with the Big Figure, marching along, ‘Mister Rune, I am somewhat concerned. The folk of this city might not extend us a hearty welcome. In fact, they might see fit to arrest us as undesirable aliens. Even to shoot us on sight.’

‘Fear not, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Follow the spaniel, all will be well.’

‘Are Atlanteans teetotal?’ asked Tobes. ‘Or is there likely to be a bar nearby?’

‘A bar,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Or possibly a restaurant.’ And his eyes sparkled as he said the word.

‘Let us just find the Count,’ I said, ‘then go home to bed, eh?’

‘Spirit of adventure deserted you?’ Mr Rune asked.

‘This is a lot to take in,’ I said, ‘and it has been a long and trying day.’

‘And it is far from over. Aha, Nathaniel has stopped and is doing that annoying whining that dogs do at doors. This must be the building we seek.’

We stood before a building of formidable size and structure that had a certain Hollywood feel to me. But then, what did
I
know?

‘Where
are
all the Atlanteans?’ Tobes asked. ‘The streets are deserted. Oh no – there’s someone, a lady in a straw hat. And who’s that there – surely it’s the masked walker. And there—’

‘This way,’ said Mr Rune and he pushed upon a door, which opened before him.

I shrugged at Tobes and Tobes shrugged at me. Nathaniel scurried between our legs and rushed on ahead of us both.

Tobes took stock of our present location and made approving sounds. ‘Oh yes indeed,’ said he. ‘We are in a bar.’

And yes indeed that is where we were. In a subterranean bar. It looked very much how a bar should look, which is not how most of them do. It was of the Victorian ilk, with Britannia pub tables, much etched glass, a really snazzily patterned carpet and lots of framed portraits of folk that I did not know.

Mr Rune approached the counter, which was all brass foot rails and mahogany top. There were copper spittoons as well, and I thought that I might just have a spit in one if the opportunity arose.

Behind the counter stood a barman all done up in Victorian garb. He wore a high starched collar with a blue silk cravat, a suit of dark stuff and much in the way of mutton-chop whiskers. And a smile.

‘How might I serve you, gentlemen?’ he asked.

‘Fange,’ I said, as I gaped at the barman. ‘Fangio, it is you.’

‘It is,’ said the barlord. ‘And it is you also.’

‘But what are
you
doing
here?’

‘I saw this ad in a newspaper,’ said Fange, ‘the
Weekly World News
– “Experienced bar staff required to serve in alternative reality. Ability to talk toot essential.” Well, I thought, I’ll have
that,
because, after all, my bar in Hove
had
been destroyed in all the looting that went on last month. I wonder who started all that chaos, eh?’

I did clearings of the throat. ‘Search me,’ I said.

‘Why?’ asked Fange. ‘What are you hiding?’

‘I am not hiding anything.’

‘I am,’ said the barlord. ‘Can you guess what it is?’

‘I’ll have to stop you there,’ said Mr Rune. ‘This, I regret, is not the time for toot.’

‘Aw,’ said Fange.

‘Aw,’ said I also.

‘We’ll just have some drinks, if we may,’ said Mr Rune. Firmly.

A broad smile crossed Fangio’s face. ‘Right,’ said he. ‘Drinks, is it? Well, we have a number here upon the hand pumps that you might not have tried before. Would you care for me to recommend something?’

I winked at Fangio. ‘Go for it, Fange,’ I said.

‘Three whiskies,’ said Mr Rune, ‘from that bottle there behind the bar.’

‘Aw,’ said Fange.

And, ‘Aw,’ said I also.

‘And I’ll have a large one,’ said Tobes, who knew nothing of toot.

Fangio took up three glasses and placed them on the counter, took down the bottle and poured out the whiskies.

‘This reminds me of a funny story I heard,’ he said. ‘Would you care for me to relate it to you?’

‘Yes I would,’ I said.

‘No we wouldn’t,’ said Mr Rune.

‘Aw, come on,’ said Fangio, ‘this might well be my last appearance in this epic adventure. At least let me talk the last bit of toot.’

‘No,’ said Mr Rune, and he took up his glass.

‘Look out behind you!’ cried Fange. ‘Zulus, thousands of them.’

Mr Rune shook his head.

‘I could call you a cab,’ said Fangio.

Mr Rune shook his head once more.

‘I know where Count Otto Black is,’ said Fangio.

‘There,’ said Mr Rune. ‘At last.’

‘What a villain, that bloke,’ said Fangio. ‘Puts me in mind of that Brownfinger in the James Bond movie.’

I opened my mouth, but Mr Rune made me shut it again.

‘No takers, then?’ said Fangio. ‘I can get at least two pages out of getting the names of supervillains wrong. Some are quite saucy and prompt the occasional, “Oooh, Matron.’”

Mr Rune finished his whisky.
‘Where
is Count Otto Black?’ he asked.

‘Upstairs,’ said Fange, ‘top floor – he has the penthouse suite.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Follow me, gentlemen.’

‘Can I come, too?’ asked Fange.

‘No, you cannot. Which way to the lift?’

‘Through that door, you spoilsport.’

The lift was Art Deco style, big and full of polished brass, with spreading fanshaped design work and tortoiseshell floor buttons. Mr Rune pressed the one marked ‘Eagle’s Nest’ and the stylish lift sped upwards.

‘We are now on the Count’s home turf, as it were,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Be on your guard at all times and put your trust in me.’

‘I
could have waited in the bar,’ said Tobes.

‘You could have,’ Mr Rune agreed, ‘but I feel that your gifts may need to be called upon.’

‘I don’t have any gifts,’ said Tobes. ‘I was given a spaniel once, for Christmas, but it ran under a bus.’

‘Was it a Brighton bus, with a local celebrity’s name on the front?’ I asked.

Mr Rune made tooth-grinding sounds.

The lift came suddenly to a halt and Mr Rune’s podgy fingers took a firm grip upon the pommel of his stout stick.

The doors slowly opened and we peered out. At the penthouse suite of Count Otto Black.

It was a magnificent suite, extravagantly appointed with many an expensive-looking doodad. Leather-bound volumes bricked its walls and brass contraptions littered the horizontal surfaces of exquisite tables.

‘My books,’ said Mr Rune. ‘My scientific equipment. My tables.’

‘It looks as if he helped himself before he burned down our rooms,’ I observed.

‘The pungent turd,’ said Mr Rune. Which I found quite amusing.

‘Where do you think he’s hiding?’ asked Tobes.

‘I doubt if he is hiding at all,’ I said. ‘He will not be expecting us.’

Mr Rune shook his head slowly. ‘He
will
be expecting us,’ he said. ‘He knows that I can gain entry to the Forbidden Zones. However, I remain puzzled on one matter: he has access to this realm, but he could not find the entrance point to the place where the Chronovision was hidden.’

‘He is not the Reinventor of the Ocarina,’ I said. ‘Are you not
Mister Hugo Rune, whose eye is before E, except after C? Rune, whose navel knows the secrets of the ancients? Rune, whose bum is the square of the hypotenuse? Rune, whose—’

‘That is quite enough, thank you, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Now be on your guard and follow me, this way.’

Before us hung a magnificent pair of doors, tall and wide and heavily laden with ornamentation. I liked not the look of those doors, though, for the carvings upon them were of tortured souls being bothered by horrible demons.

‘Suggestive,’ said Mr Rune.