‘Oh yes, you will.’ Cornelius smiled at Anna. ‘You can wear my daddy’s gardening apron if you want. Shame to get blood all over your T-shirt.’

  ‘I know where Hugo Rune is,’ gushed Arthur Kobold.

  It was still three minutes past two. But at least it wasn’t raining. ‘We will have to walk,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘Although I could call you a cab.’

  ‘You could,’ Cornelius agreed. ‘But it’s a very old gag.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Tuppe.

  ‘No,’ said Arthur. ‘Call us call a cab, to save the walk.’

  Cornelius shook his head carefully. ‘The walk will do us good.’

  ‘I’d prefer the cab,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘Not his cab, you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Quite so, Cornelius. Which way then, Mr Kobold?’

  ‘This way.’ Arthur Kobold set off. His hands were tied at his sides. A rope had been secured around his neck. Anna held the end of this. Tightly.

  ‘It’s just the other side of Kew Bridge,’ said Arthur Kobold.

  It’s a good ten-minute walk from Moby Dick Terrace to Kew Bridge. And it was nearly four minutes past two by the time they got there. Nearly, but not quite.

  Halfway over the bridge they came upon a scene of no small singularity. A large green muscular thingy leaned upon the parapet. It was captured in the act of drawing on a handmade cigarette and wore a blissful look upon its gruesome visage.

  A few short feet behind it another figure was posed. This one was attired in mud-bespattered underlinen.

  Clasped in hands, held high above a face that wore an anything but blissful expression, was a shining blade. The second figure was frozen in the act of plunging down this blade into the large and vulnerable backside of the first.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘That’s not supposed to happen. Would you mind if I just made one or two adjustments?’

  Cornelius smiled grimly. ‘That would hardly be sporting.’

  ‘But he’s going to ... Owww!’ Arthur Kobold leapt into the air.

  ‘So sorry.’ Anna examined the tip of the power drill.

  ‘Keep that woman off me.’

  ‘Get moving,’ said Cornelius Murphy.

  They stood before the house of Hovis.

  ‘This is it,’ said Arthur. ‘You can untie me now.

  ‘I think not.’ Cornelius looked up at the great dark house. It was a fine enough building. Constructed to one of Sir John Soane’s neo-classical designs. Demonstrating his predilection for horizontal skylines and love of an aurora in the tympanum of the central pediment. This latter being a well-placed detail, which, although small, conferred a certain distinction to the elevation.

  ‘And Hugo Rune is here?’

  ‘Bottom bell,’ said Arthur. ‘The one marked A. THOTH.’

  ‘A Thoth?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘Well, you didn’t expect it to read H. Rune?’

  ‘Oh. I don’t know. But then, I don’t really expect H. Rune to be in there.’

  ‘But he is. Go on, press the button.’

  Cornelius stretched forward a long slim finger, but he could not quite bring himself to press the button. Somewhere inside his head, the needle of suspicion fluttered into the red zone.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you pressed it, Mr Kobold.’

  ‘With pleasure. Untie my hands.’

  ‘Use your nose.

  ‘Oh really!’

  Anna made little drilling noises with her mouth.

  Arthur craned his nose towards the bell push.

  ‘Er, just a moment.’ Tuppe put up his hand to speak. ‘Before anyone presses anything, there’s just a couple of small points I’d like cleared up.’

  ‘Speak on, my friend,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘Well,’ Tuppe began, ‘I have been following all this quite carefully. And if Hugo Rune really is in there, how is he going to open the door? I mean, if we’re in a different time frame from everyone else on earth, we will be invisible to him and he’ll just be a statue to us. Oh, and the bell-push won’t ring the bell, will it? Remember the telephones and the bottles that won’t pour and everything?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Cornelius. ‘Good points. What do you think, Mr Kobold, good points?’

  ‘Very good points.’ Arthur Kobold made an uneasy face. This being a face which now displayed signs of unease to an even greater degree than the one which he was previously wearing. Which had already had a great amount of unease on it. So to speak. ‘Ideas anyone?’

  ‘I have one,’ said Anna.

  ‘I thought you might,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘Does it involve you sticking that drill up my bottom again?’

  ‘No. It involves you voiding the spell.’

  ‘Void the spell?’ Arthur took a step backwards. But just the one. Anna held him tightly by the halter rope. ‘I have no idea what you mean, young woman.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do.’ Anna looped the rope around her hand and gave it a significant jerk. ‘This different time frame business sucks. And do you want me to tell you why?’

  Cornelius looked at Tuppe.

  And Tuppe looked at Cornelius.

  ‘Yes please,’ they said.

  ‘Then I will. I don’t pretend to understand how “magic” works. Before tonight. I would have doubted that it worked at all. But I do understand some things about the laws of motion. So tell me this, if we’re all moving faster than a speeding bullet, how come we aren’t experiencing friction from the surrounding air? If we were moving that fast under normal circumstances, we’d be glowing white hot by now, having first had the flesh stripped straight off our bones, of course. But we’re not, Mr Kobold, are we?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Arthur. ‘It would appear not. Although I am experiencing a degree of sweatiness at the present time.’

  ‘So,’ Anna continued, ‘it is my supposition that we are held within some kind of protective cocoon. A magical cocoon.

  ‘She’s good for a girl, isn’t she?’ said Tuppe to Cornelius.

  Anna turned a glare towards the small fellow. ‘You will get a smack’, said she, ‘if you make any more remarks like that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘I should think so too. Now, if you and Cornelius would care to bend Mr Kobold over, I will drill all the necessary details out of him.’

  ‘No no no.’ Arthur edged his back to the wall. ‘No need for any of that. It is a spell, yes. But it’s not my spell. It belongs to the guvnor. It’s his special birthday spell. I’m not supposed to use it.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  ‘Because you stole the guvnor’s favourite car. The alarm went off in my office. It seemed the best thing to do at the time. We couldn’t have anyone seeing that car. The guvnor was asleep, so I used his spell. Why couldn’t you have stolen one of the other cars? There’s hundreds of them in there to choose from.’

  ‘Hundreds?’ Cornelius made with the open mouth. ‘Oh dear,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘You didn’t see all the rest then?’

  ‘Void the spell,’ said Anna. ‘And do it now.

  ‘I can’t. It’s more than my job’s worth. The spell is only to be used once a year, on the guvnor’s birthday. And only by him. You’ll just have to get used to life in the fast lane, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The bastard,’ said Tuppe. ‘He never had any intention of returning us to our normal time.’

  ‘Down with his pants,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve had quite enough.’

  ‘No,’ wailed Arthur. ‘No, no, no.

  ‘Then void the spell. This is the last time of asking.’

  ‘All right. All right. But you’ll have to untie my hands.’

  ‘I’ll be right behind you.’ Anna gestured with the drill. ‘One dodgy move and it’s the steel suppository for you.’

  ‘No dodgy moves. I swear.’

  ‘Right then. Cornelius, untie his hands.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Cornelius loosened the ropes. ‘There now,’ he said. ‘Do your thing.’

  ‘Hm.’ Arthur pressed his fingers to his temples and began to rock gently on his heels. And then he uttered the magic words. They appeared to be the standard bogus-latin gobbledegook that you get in the movies. But, then, this wasn’t the movies. This was real life. Oh yes.

  There was a crash, a bang, a wallop and the sound of water going the wrong way down the plughole. And then.

  Cornelius felt the breeze on his face. And a million smells rushed into his nostrils. He opened his eyes, because evidently he must have closed them, and he saw that the world was right once more.

  Well, almost right. Anna was there. And Tuppe was there.

  But Mr Kobold wasn’t there. And neither were the ocarina, the route map or Rune’s annotated A-Z.

  11

  ‘Have at you, varlet!’ The hands of Hovis drove down the steel, thrice blessed. Right up to the pommel in the big green beast’s backside.

  The creature spat reefer, mingled with profanity, and screamed. Inspectre Hovis turned his blade. ‘You have my diamonds, I believe,’ said he, administering another vicious twist.

  ‘Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!’ went the creature.

  And then, BANG!

  It was a particularly messy kind of a BANG! Inspectre Hovis was showered with odorous ooze. He toppled backwards as the fetor engulfed him.

  When he was able to rise, which he did to the accompaniment of much coughing, spluttering and gagging generally, he became aware of two things. The creature had gone. But so too had the diamonds.

  ‘It would seem that we have egg on our faces,’ said Cornelius Murphy.

  ‘And jam.’ Tuppe licked his lips. ‘Strawberry jam.’

  ‘The bastard!’ Anna threw her hands in the air. ‘Look at me. Look at me.’

  Now, a tall, seventeen-year-old woman can look good in most things. Dressed even in a plastic bin-liner, she can seem like heaven. But carrying off that covered-in-banana-custard-from-head-to-toe look, that’s asking a lot. And certainly more than Anna Gotting was prepared to be asked.

  ‘Look at my T-shirt! That was signed by the lead singer! Look at my hair! Oh my God!’ She turned upon Cornelius with the fury that hell hath none of. ‘This is all your fault, you bloody clown!’

  ‘My fault?’ Cornelius wiped egg from his face. ‘I don’t think that’s altogether fair.’

  ‘Fair? Fair?’ Anna made claws. Bright yellow ones. ‘Well,’ said Cornelius, ‘I was for pressing the bell-button. I was quite prepared to overlook the obvious fact that we were defying the laws of motion. At least until I’d got to meet Hugo Rune. I would have broached the subject then, of course.

  ‘What? What?’ Anna plucked at her T-shirt.

  ‘Er, excuse me..’ Tuppe raised his hand once more. ‘Perhaps we might push the bell-button now. I mean, if Hugo Rune is in there, maybe he’d let us use his bathroom.’

  ‘You press it.’ Anna’s voice rose to perilous heights. ‘Push the bell, bang the bloody knocker. Do what you damn well please. But I’ve had enough. You can stick your Forbidden Zones. Stick your fairies. Stick their magic spells. Stick Hugo Rune and his wonderful water car, which you lost! Stick it all and stick yourselves. You are a fool, Cornelius. And you, Tuppe, you re quite unspeakable.’

  ‘Does this mean that sexual intercourse is out, then?’ the small fellow enquired. ‘Ouch!’ he continued, as a sticky yellow fist caught him squarely in the face.

  ‘And stick your stupid old jokes. I’m finished. Goodbye.’ And with that she turned about and stormed away across Kew Green. Not quite as pretty as a picture.

  The two lads watched her go.

  ‘You might have handled that a mite better,’ said Cornelius, when she was finally out of sight.

  Tuppe rubbed his chin. ‘Good riddance,’ said he.

  ‘Good riddance? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well.’ Tuppe’s tiny face puckered and his bottom lip got a definite quiver on. ‘She spoiled things, Cornelius. It was much better when it was just the two of us. The Epic Duo, eh?’

  ‘But we weren’t very epic. We’ve lost everything this time.’

  Tuppe began to blubber. ‘You’ll figure it out, I know you will. And we always get girls along the way. You don’t need her hanging around all the time.’

  ‘She did come up with some rather good ideas.’

  ‘You come up with ideas all the time.’ Tuppe sniffled and snuffled. Cornelius offered him the use of his hankie, a nice oversized red gingham one.

  ‘Have a blow.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Tuppe made great foghorn noises into the handkerchief.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘It’s OK. We’ll get by.’

  ‘Of course we will. You and me, eh?’

  ‘You and me.

  Tuppe made another mighty blow into the handkerchief before offering it hack. ‘Thanks.’

  Cornelius considered the sodden germ-carrier. ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘A present.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’ Tuppe stuffed the thing down the front of his dungarees. ‘So what do we do now?’ he asked with considerable bright and breeziness. ‘Ring the bell? See if your real daddy is at home to callers?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. It occurs to me now that the name Thoth rings a bit of a bell itself. As in the Egyptian god Thoth.’

  ‘And is that bad?’

  ‘It could be when you translate the name into Greek. That would make it Hermes. Hermes Trismegistus to be precise.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ Tuppe took a step back from the front door. ‘As in Train of Trismegistus?’

  ‘That would be the one.

  ‘Best not ring for service, then?’

  ‘Best not. Let’s go home and get some sleep. We’ve screwed up quite enough for one night.’

  ‘Another day, another ocarina, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Something of that nature, yes.’

  ‘Then might I trouble you to give me a piggyback? My legs are all walked out.’

  ‘That’, said Cornelius Murphy. smiling like a good’n, ‘would be my pleasure.’

  Inspectre Hovis had quite forgotten the meaning of the word ‘pleasure’. He now sat in the gutter, cleaning the blade of his swordstick on a discarded Kentucky Fried Chicken box. A young woman all covered in custard had just passed him by. The two of them had clashed terribly, colourwise, and she had looked him up and down and denounced him as a pervert. The Inspectre shook his head. It was an un-funny old world and no mistake.

  Hovis shook green slime from his fingers and climbed to his feet. He was rightly perplexed.

  It is a fact, well known to those who know it well, that all policemen above the rank of sergeant are not only Freemasons, but Jesuits. The reason for this is quite obvious when you think about it. The coming of the Millennium and the inevitable appearance of The Antichrist.

  The exact dates and details of these earth-shattering events are known only to a chosen few. The Pope, his wife and their son Colin. Just how the pontiff came by this privileged information is a bit of a mystery. Some say that the dates and details were edited out of the New Testament, during its translation from the original Greek, in the year 999. Others, and this seems very much more likely, that the Pope is on first-name terms with the Almighty, who regularly drops in for a cappuccino and a ‘feet-up’ in front of the telly, to watch the Italian football.

  But, be all this as it may, the Church of Rome, seeking as ever to better the lot of the common man, has, over the years, taken certain steps to prepare itself for the big showdown.

  Making sure that the police forces of the world are in its back pocket being just one of them.

  Inspectre Hovis had mused upon the foregoing many times since his compulsory initiation into the Jesuit brotherhood. But he hadn’t believed one word of any of it.

  But all this business tonight had him rightly perplexed.

  The Inspectre sheathed his now once-more-immaculate blade and flexed his shoulders. He had best be away home before somebody reported him to the police.

  He didn’t see the silver car until it was almost upon him.

  It came without much sound, but at considerable speed. As it mounted the pavement the Inspectre and the driver stared for the briefest of moments into each other’s eyes. And then the great detective leapt for his life. Over the parapet of the bridge and down into the icy depths of the River Thames.

  Cornelius gaped in horror. He’d seen the whole thing. And now the silver car was heading straight in his direction.

  ‘Oh bugger!’ The tall boy turned and took flight, clutching the now slumbering Tuppe about his shoulders. The silver car whistled after him.

  Cornelius did not run down the middle of the road, as they do in the movies. He knew better than that. He made for the trees of Kew Green.

  The silver car bumped up on to the turf, gouging great ruts out of the grass. A strongly worded letter, from the local residents’ committee to the Home Secretary, would be penned the following day, regarding these ruts. Although they would be somewhat far down the list of complaints, as a lot worse was to follow this night.

  Cornelius dodged in and out of the oak trees, seeking a low bough to swing up on. But all had been clipped against such possible outrage.

  ‘Bugger,’ puffed the runner.

  The silver car swerved after him in hot pursuit.

  ‘Wake up, Tuppe. We’re in big trouble.’

  ‘Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz,’ went Tuppe.

  The church on Kew Green is a historic affair. Designed by Sir Christopher Wren, it presents a wealth of period detail to the lover of ecclesiastical architecture. The transept to the north is of particular interest, with its fan vaulting and distinctive gilded funerary escutcheons.

  Thomas Gainsborough lies buried in the churchyard and the walls enclosing this were built high against the ‘resurrection’ men. They remain high to this day. They may be scaled, using considerable care, but as to ‘leaping them in a single bound’? No way.

  Cornelius suddenly found himself pressed up against the south-facing wall, with nowhere left to run. The silver car moved forward, catching him to perfection in its headlights.

  The tall boy straightened the sleeper on his shoulders and raised a hand to stir him from his rest. But then he thought better of it. If they were both to die here, smashed up against a graveyard wall, perhaps it was kinder that Tuppe didn’t know about it. He could apologize later. In heaven.

 

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