The Garden of Unearthly Delights (32 page)

‘I
think you have it slightly wrong,’ said the count. ‘Sir John Rimmer perfected
the Percussive Perlocution technique for drawing knowledge from the ether. At
the age of ten the boys are brought here. They are given the choice, remain
here, further their education and join the Knights of the Golden Grommet to
patrol the borders of the grid as an extra degree of protection against the denizens
of the red world. Or return to their parents.’

‘Without
their knowledge,’ said Maxwell.

‘They
still have all their knowledge, but they take an oath of allegiance not to
reveal the whereabouts of the University. And they’re very loyal. They
understand the importance of this institution for the future of this world. You
won’t find an adult out there who’ll give you directions to this University.
How did you find your way here, by the by?’

‘A
child of nine told me,’ said Maxwell.

‘That
shouldn’t have happened. The boys are supposed to be kept under the guidance of
their grandmothers, who are trained in the art of Percussive Perlocution. Is
the child here with you?’

‘No,’
lied Maxwell. ‘I came here on my own.’

The
count raised a hairless eyebrow. ‘I think, may-chance, that you speak an
untruth.’

‘If
it’s a lie, then it’s in good company. Because I think that all you’ve just
told me is a pack of bullshit.’

‘Indeed?’
The count puffed once more on his cigarette. ‘Well, your opinions are no
business of mine. I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave now. Something
most important has come up and requires my full attention.’

‘I’m
not leaving without Ewavett,’ said Maxwell. ‘I
cannot
leave without
Ewavett.’

‘Well,
you’re welcome to look all around the University,’ said the Count. ‘If you can
find this Ewavett, then please take her. I would gladly help you search, but
the important something will not keep.’

‘And
what important something is this?’

The
count sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘For several days now strange
events have occurred at the University. Pockets of non-causality in the
corridors. Bad poetry springing from nowhere. Hallucinatory episodes. Then
today, something that if you are this “Flashman” you witnessed with your own
eyes: an entire boys’ cricket team metamorphosed into a pagan pantheon of
animal gods. The only explanation for these curious circumstances that I can
think of is one of such far-reaching implication that the very thought sends
shudders through me.’

‘And
what is that?’ Maxwell asked.

‘That
somehow the unthinkable has occurred and someone has smuggled magic through the
grid.’

Maxwell’s
hand strayed towards his simply splendid coat pocket, wherein lay MacGuffin’s
pouch. ‘And this would be a bad thing, would it?’

‘Disastrous.
The natural laws of the red world are not our natural laws. Live magic here
could trigger a chain reaction, destroy everyone and everything.’

‘That’s
a slight exaggeration, surely?’

‘A room
full of gun powder is as safe as milk, until you add a single spark.’

‘And a
single spark of magic could—’ Maxwell mimed an explosion with his
non-gun-toting hand.

‘Chaos.
Natural laws overturned. Death and destruction.’

‘Good
grief,’ said Maxwell. ‘Are you really serious?’

‘Never
more so,’ said the count. ‘I am having the University thoroughly searched. If
the magic accoutrement is here, then possibly it can be neutralized in some
way to spare millions from a horrifying death.’

‘A
horrifying death?’

‘Horrifying.
So you understand the urgency of the situation?’

‘I do,’
said Maxwell, nodding his head.

‘Listen,’
said the count. ‘This Ewavett of yours. You say she is a metal woman.’

‘MacGuffin
says she is an automaton. But I believe she is something much more.

‘And
who is MacGuffin?’

‘A
magician in the red world.’

‘Heavens
above. You have
met
a magician?’

‘More
than met. MacGuffin has taken my soul. He will not return it to me unless I
bring him Ewavett.’

‘Taken
your soul? Can such a thing be possible?’

Maxwell
nodded gloomily. ‘Horrifying,’ said the count. ‘All magic is horrifying.’

‘It
is,’ said Maxwell. ‘I can vouch for that.’

‘Tell
you what.’ The count drummed his fingers on the desk top. ‘A thought occurs to
me. Sir John had a very large collection of bizarre items. I believe that
several automata were numbered amongst this. His collection is now boxed up in
the basement. There is a list somewhere.’

‘There
is?’ said Maxwell. ‘Where?’

‘In the
cupboard over there I think.’

Maxwell
leapt from his seat. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’

‘Please
help yourself. If this Ewavett is amongst the collection you are welcome to
take her. Sir John has no further use for any such thing.’

‘Splendid.’
Maxwell tucked his gun into one of his belts. He crossed the room and flung
open the cupboard door.

There
was a click and a whirring sound. Bands of metal sprung out from the cupboard,
secured Maxwell’s hands to his sides, clamped his legs, fastened about his
throat.

Held
him good and fast.

‘Ever
been had?’ asked Count Waldeck.

23

‘You bastard!’ Maxwell
raged and struggled, but all to no avail. The count strolled over to the
cupboard and turned a little handle on the side. Cogs engaged and Maxwell
swivelled around to face the grinning villain.

‘You
bastard!’ he continued. ‘You lied to me.’

‘I
never lied to you at all. Well,
hardly,
at all. I did lie when I said
that I didn’t know who you were. And I did neglect to mention that the boys
swear allegiance because I demonstrate to them the extent of
my
magic
and what will happen should they defy me.’

‘Let me
free,’ raged Maxwell. ‘Let me free this instant.

‘Don’t
be absurd. I must say that I’m impressed with you though. You’re the first of
MacGuffin’s minions ever to reach here. Tell me, does the fool still sport a
ring through his nose?’

Maxwell
nodded.

‘I put
it there. Fecund as a bull, that MacGuffin.’

Maxwell
continued with the fruitless straining. ‘Would I be correct’, he asked, ‘in
supposing that you also lied to me about Ewavett?’

‘Yeah,
well, perhaps.’

‘And
the matter of Sir John’s senility?’

‘Yes,
that too.’

‘And
that magic coming through the grid would bring this world to an end?’

‘I’m a
villain,’ said the count. ‘I lie about all sorts of stuff. Do you think I look
a bit like Joss Ackland?’

‘No,’
said Maxwell.

‘So,’
said the count, ‘the big question is, what should I do with you now?’

‘You
could set me free,’ Maxwell suggested.

‘That
features rather low on the list of alternatives. Right at the very bottom, in
fact.’

‘And
what is at the top?’

‘Pulling
this little lever on the side of the cupboard and having the steel bands crush
the life out of you.’

‘Hm,’
said Maxwell. ‘What’s next on the list?’

‘Perhaps
I might employ you.’

‘That
is a fine idea. Release the bands at once.’

‘I
could dispatch you to MacGuffin, have you bring Aodhamm here to me.’

Maxwell
groaned. ‘MacGuffin holds my soul,’ he said.

‘Oh
yes. I’ve taken that into consideration. I’d have to remove something else from
you. Something that would encourage a speedy return on your part.’

‘I have
nothing left for anyone to take.’

‘Not
altogether true. I have magic at my disposal. I know of a spell that could
remove your genitalia.’

‘What?’
Maxwell made that gagging sound again. ‘Snatch off your old John Thomas. I’d
keep it safe for you, pickled in a jar beneath my bed.’

‘No!’
said Maxwell. ‘No. No. No!’

‘Oh
well, it was only a thought.’

‘What
else do you have on the list?’ Maxwell asked. ‘Just the pulling-the-lever
alternative, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m
sure we could think of something else, if we both put our minds to it.

‘Where
is the magical accoutrement MacGuffin gave you?’

‘I lost
it,’ said Maxwell.

‘Really?
And yet when I spoke to you of the terrible consequences of magic being brought
into this world, I’ll swear your hand strayed towards your coat pocket.
This
coat pocket.’ The count dug his hand in and removed the magic pouch.
‘My
pouch!’ he declared. ‘I wondered where that had gone.’

Maxwell
grinned a foolish face.

‘Now
let’s see what we have inside.’

‘It’s
empty,’ said Maxwell.

‘Really,
once more. And yet I’m prepared to bet it contains one small boy.’ The count
opened the pouch, turned it upside down and gave it a shake. Out tumbled
Maxwell’s substantial boots, the suit of golden armour and the hologram
projector. No small boy, however.

‘Bit of
a magpie, aren’t you?’ said the count, peering into the open neck of the pouch.
‘Anyone hiding in there? Speak now before the pouch is thrown onto the
fire.’

‘I’m
coming out,’ called the voice of William.

‘Good
boy.’ The count shook the pouch once more. William fell onto the floor.

‘William,’
said the count, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Hello,
Grandad,’ said William.

‘Grandad?’
Maxwell groaned once more.

‘This
bullygarve captured me,’ said William, picking himself up from the floor. ‘He
forced me to bring him here. He made me get inside the pouch.’

‘You
lying little shit!’

‘Silence,
Carrion. William, go and find my guards. Tell them to come here at once.
There’s a piece of rubbish that needs taking out.

‘Right
away, Grandad.’ William scurried from the room, slamming the door behind him.

‘Naughty
little boy that,’ said Count Waldeck. ‘Completely untrustworthy.’

‘So it
would appear.’ Maxwell sank into further dismal groanings.

‘Do you
have anything to say before I pull the lever?’

‘Yeah,’
said Maxwell. ‘Lots and lots and lots.’

‘I’ll
bet you do. However—’ The count reached out a hand.

‘No,’
implored Maxwell. ‘Not just yet please. Not without telling me.’

‘Telling
you what?’

‘Well,
everything really. How you came to be here. What actually happened between you
and Sir John. About Ewavett and Aodhamm.’

‘Nah.
It’s not all that interesting. Better I just pull the lever.’

‘I’d be
really really interested, honest.’

‘You’re
sure?’

‘Sure
as it’s possible to be.’

‘All
right.’ The count took himself over to Maxwell’s favourite armchair and sat
down upon it. ‘As you know,’ said he, ‘at the time of the great transition the
age of technology suddenly ceased and the new age of magic and myth began. This
occurred with the collision of the four worlds. The reality fracture spread
across the planet. It started in your back garden.’

‘My
back garden?’

‘Well,
it had to start somewhere. By happy chance it started in your back garden. You
were a writer, you see.’

‘I
wasn’t a writer. I wasn’t anybody. I didn’t write the Sir John Rimmer books, I
used to get them out of the library.’

‘You
did
write them, Maxwell. You had a breakdown. You lost your memory.’

‘How
can
you
know that?’

‘Because,
Maxwell, I used to be your doctor.’

‘This
is getting whackier by the moment,’ said Maxwell.

‘You
had this persecution complex. Believed that the characters in your books were
real. That they were out to get you. You believed that
I
was Count
Waldeck.’

‘But
you are.’

‘Yes,
but I wasn’t before the great transition. I was your doctor. When reality
fractured the world became the very sort of place you used to write about. I
metamorphosed into Count Waldeck, you into Max Carrion, Imagineer.’

‘Sounds
rather far-fetched,’ said Maxwell.

‘I
thought it sounded like a loose end being neatly tied up, myself.’

‘OK. So
how did I get projected into the future?’