The Brightonomicon (Brentford Book 8) (54 page)

‘Plah!’ was the best I could manage.

Mr Rune put his great hands to the doors and pushed the blighters open.

Beyond lay a wonderful room, black-carpeted and lit by massive
torchéres.
And there was a desk resembling a marble sarcophagus. And behind this desk was Count Otto Black.

He sat there on a gilded throne, stroking Nathaniel the spaniel.

And he smiled a wan smile in our direction.

And then all Hell broke loose.

PART IV

They came at us from everywhere and horrible they were. Nasty, spiny, evil things as black as the Bottomless Pit. They closed in about us and I closed my eyes and my hands began to flap. The smell of death was up my nose and Hell was in my ears. I tried to scream, but no sounds came, so I turned in small circles instead.

And then something smacked me right in the head.

‘Rizla, stop doing
that!’

I rubbed at my head and opened my eyes. The hideous things were gone.

‘You will have to do better than that, Count Otto,’ said Mr Rune. ‘An elementary calling, voided by a simple counter-spell.’

The Count made a bitter face behind his desk.

‘Magic,’ I said to Mr Rune. ‘And you—’

‘I am a Master of the Mystic Arts,’ said Mr Rune, ‘and enough is
enough.’ And he strode to the desk of Count Otto and brought his stout stick down hard upon it. ‘Return the Chronovision to me,’ he demanded, ‘and I will spare your life.’

The Count looked at Mr Rune and then the Count laughed. ‘Spare
my
life?’ he said. ‘You are in
my
world now, Mister Rune, it is
you
who must beg for
your
life.’

‘Such histrionics,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Such bluff and bluster.’

The Count’s hand strayed to a button that rose from his marble desk. It was a blood-red button. The Count’s finger hovered above it.

‘One little tap,’ said Count Otto, ‘and you will be despatched to your grave.’

‘Hm,’ went Mr Rune and in a flash, he had drawn from his stout stick a glittering blade that he held to Count Otto’s throat. ‘Then the two of us will die,’ he said, ‘and Rizla here will dispose of the Chronovision.’

The Count’s finger continued its hovering. ‘Thus and so,’ said he. ‘But why must we persist in this? Answer me truly, Hugo Rune, are we not made of special stuff, you and I? Are we not men above the faceless hordes of humankind? We are remarkable men, and together we could achieve remarkable things, extraordinary things.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ Mr Rune’s blade twinkled at Count Otto’s throat, its tip deep in amongst the great black beard.

‘An alliance, plain and simple. We are men of learning, men of great esoteric knowledge. Each of us seeks recognition for our unique talent. You crave fame, I crave infamy. Together we could aspire to a middle ground that would benefit us both. Together we could have it all.’

‘The world?’ said Hugo Rune.

‘Who could stand against us? With the aid of the Chronovision we could gain control of everything. We could create an Earthly paradise, a new Eden.’

‘You and I?’ said Mr Rune. ‘You are suggesting that
I
should trust
you?
’

‘We would swear an oath, a magical oath stating that neither would seek to deceive or destroy the other. Think of it, Hugo – you and I united, benign rulers of the world above. Better surely this than that we go on from age to age as antagonists?’

‘Well,’ said Mr Rune.

‘No!’ I shouted. ‘No!’

‘A noisy boy,’ said Count Otto, ‘but we could find a place for him. Perhaps he might like to be Prime Minister of England?’

‘What?’ I said.

‘He
is
a good boy,’ said Mr Rune. ‘He’d make a good Prime Minister.’

‘
What?’
I said again, but with greater emphasis.

‘And the other chap,’ said Count Otto, ‘he is the One, I assume. Perhaps he would like to be Pope?’

‘Is there a bar in the Vatican?’ asked Tobes.

‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘And you stop it, too, Mister Rune. You cannot side with this, this—’

‘Pungent turd?’ said Tobes.

‘Pungent turd,’ I said. ‘Remember the vision we had in Chief Whitehawk’s tepee. You do not want that to come true, surely?’

‘As Lord Tobes said,’ said Mr Rune, ‘a premonition cannot be a premonition if that which occurs in it does not come to pass. Perhaps it would be for the best if the Count and I forgot our differences and worked together for the good of all.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Do not do it. You cannot trust him. You must not side with him.’

‘Think of it, Hugo,’ said the Count, ‘think what you could do for Mankind if you were in control of it. You could end all wars, all suffering. And you know how to do it, don’t you? You are the All-Knowing One. You wrote
The Book of Ultimate Truths.’

‘An alliance,’ said Mr Rune. ‘A magical oath. Complete and utter trust between us?’

‘Absolutely,’ said the Count. ‘We will draw up a contract and sign it with our blood, and together we will set the world above to rights.’

Mr Rune nodded thoughtfully.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Do not do it. Do not trust him. It is just a trick.’

‘Silence, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune. ‘I cogitate, don’t interrupt.’

‘Tell him, Lord Tobes,’ I said to Lord Tobes. ‘Tell him, Lord Tobes – do something.’

‘I’m for peace, me,’ said Tobes. ‘If these two fellows can make it up
and be friends, well, I think that’s very nice. And we should all have a drink to celebrate.’

‘This is wrong,’ I said. ‘All wrong.’

‘Perhaps it isn’t,’ said Tobes. ‘It was in my vision, after all. Perhaps it was a good vision, not like all the others.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It is not right.’

‘Imagine, Hugo,’ the Count continued, ‘your
Book of Ultimate Truths
upon every bedside table of every home in the world. The
Third Testament,
as it were. The recognition you so justly deserve. With myself at your side, what companionship we would enjoy, what amazing things might we achieve.’

‘If trust were to exist between us,’ said Mr Rune.

‘Which it does,’ said Count Otto. ‘Does it not?’

Mr Rune eyed Count Otto Black. ‘The button,’ he said.

‘The blade,’ said Count Otto Black.

Mr Rune drew back his blade and sheathed it in his stick. ‘Trust,’ said he.

‘You schmuck!’ cried Black and his finger hit the button.

The floor beneath Mr Rune dropped away and the Perfect Master plunged down. Smoke and flames belched up from below and a terrible scream belched with them.

And Count Otto Black placed his spaniel down and clapped his hands together.

‘No!’ I shouted. ‘No, no, no!’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Count Otto. ‘And now farewell to you.’ And his fingers reached once more to the button and my hands started to flap.

‘Do something!’ I shouted at Tobes. ‘And do it now, or he’ll do for the both of us.’

But the Count laughed his laugh and his finger plunged down and the floor beneath us fell away.

But we did not fall. We hovered there. Hovered in thin air.

Smoke and flames roared round us. But the fire did not hurt and the smoke did not make me cough. I looked down in wonder at my floating feet and then across at the Count, who had suddenly ceased his laughing.

And then I saw him, Hugo Rune, rising from the flaming pit below. Up and up he came, like a leather-bound blimp, until he, too, did hovering above the marble desk of Count Otto Black.

And Mr Rune shook his head and said, ‘You really are a very wicked man, Count Otto. I feel that there is no hope for you.’

And then Mr Rune drew the blade from his stick and cleaved off Count Otto’s head.

‘He never did?’ said Fangio. ‘In a single stroke, like a Samurai?’

We were back in the bar once more and we were drinking hugely.

‘Swish,’ I said. And I mimed swishing. ‘And blood came shooting out of the Count’s neck and everything.’

‘Urgh!’ said Fangio. ‘I think that would have made me sick.’

‘It made
me
sick,’ I said, ‘but it was a good kind of sick.’

‘It didn’t make me sick,’ said Tobes. ‘But then I never get sick. A waste of good drink, sick is.’

‘So you really have mastered the art of levitation, Mister Rune,’ said Fangio. ‘Taught to you by your chum the Dalai Lama, I suppose.’

Mr Rune made a certain face and then he shook his head.

‘No?’ I said. ‘Then how?’

‘You’d better ask Lord Tobes.’

I looked towards the great-many-times-descendant of Lord Jesus Christ. ‘Tobes?’ I said. ‘What is this?’

Tobes shrugged and tried to look humble. ‘I could hear what Mister Rune was thinking,’ he said, ‘and Mister Rune knew that I could. He wasn’t going along with Count Otto’s nonsense; he was only waiting to make his move. And he was praying that I would offer him my support when he did so. Which I suppose I did.’

‘That was a great deal of trust on your part,’ I said to Mr Rune. ‘What if Tobes had not been able to help?’

‘Naturally, I had a back-up plan.’

‘Did you?’ I asked.

‘No,’ said Mr Rune. ‘I did not.’

‘And what about this Chronovision thing?’ asked Fangio. ‘You said that your quest was all about that, all the cases and conundrums of the Brightonomicon.’

‘Rizla smashed it to pieces,’ said Mr Rune.

‘I did,’ I said. ‘Count Otto had it under his desk. It was a bit gory, but I gave it the rock ’n’ roll ending it deserved and threw it out of the window.’

‘Then the world as we know it is saved,’ said Fangio. ‘The next round is on me.’

And we enjoyed the next round.

And the next.

Which I am sure was Hugo Rune’s, but Hugo Rune did not pay.

PART V

At a little after ten-thirty of the Friday-evening clock, Mr Hugo Rune, Lord Tobes and I returned to the world above. We pushed open the manhole cover in the middle of the Pavilion lawns and struggled up through the opening.

We were a little gone with the drink and we each stood there aswaying. I gulped in the Brighton breeze, clicked my joints and gazed all around and about myself. We were less than twenty yards from the front door of what had once been forty-nine Grand Parade, my home for almost a year, now nothing but a blackened, gutted shell. I shook my head and shrugged.

And, ‘Well,’ I said, when I could find sufficient breath. ‘I can not believe it is all over. It seemed so sudden. And now it is done.’

‘Did it lack for excitement?’ asked Mr Rune. ‘Would you have preferred more explosions? Or perhaps a final rooftop showdown involving a guest appearance from Lazlo Woodbine?’

‘It did cross my mind,’ I said, ‘but the excitement was sufficient.’

‘You will find,’ said Mr Rune, ‘and you may quote me on this, that truth is more of a stranger than fiction.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘But tell me this: I know I saw Count Otto die, and horrible it was to see, but, is he
really
dead?’

Hugo Rune grinned down upon me. ‘He’s dead for now,’ he said.

‘For
now?’
I took to dusting myself down. I was somewhat besmirched from all the sewer-pipe climbing.

‘Time,’ said Mr Rune, ‘all this has been to do with time, as I have
told you before. And for the time being, we can consider the Count to be no more.’

‘For the time being?’ I did further dustings down. And I was still rather wobbly on my pins.

‘Consider it to be a game of chess,’ said Mr Rune. Who did not seem at all besmirched, or even wobbly now, and was clearly in the very best of spirits. ‘Checkmate and the game is over. But the players remain and so do the pieces, to be replaced upon the board for future games.’

‘And that is how it is for you and Count Otto?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. The Chronovision is destroyed. This game is over. But there will be other games in other times.’

‘And will I play in these games?’

‘No, young Rizla.’ And Hugo Rune patted my shoulder. ‘You have played your part, and loyally, too. But now you must return to your own life. You will have adventures of your own to engage in. Great adventures, be assured of that.’

‘But I still do not know who I am. And if truth be told, I think I would rather just stay here with you.’

‘That cannot be,’ and Mr Rune shook his great bald head. ‘Tonight you return to your own life. Oh, and in some far and distant future time, when the time is right and you take up your pen and record your adventures with me, do make sure that you spell my name correctly.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But no, I do not want to go.’

‘But nevertheless you must.’

‘And so must I,’ said Lord Tobes, ‘to that pub over there. Will either of you join me for a pint?’