The Brightonomicon

by Robert Rankin

  ‘Trust to what he says,’ I said. ‘I have seen things that you people would not believe.’ Which rang a bell somewhere.

  ‘Thank you, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Lord Jeffrey dabbled in certain unspeakable arts.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Lord Lucas Lapp-Dancer. ‘We’ve all done that – it’s the duty of the aristocracy to behave as badly as we can get away with. It’s expected of us. It’s a tradition, or an old charter, or something.’

  ‘Time,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Always time. All of this is to do with time.’

  ‘We do have to take time to behave badly,’ agreed Lord Lapp-Dancer, ‘but we have plenty of time on our hands. That’s one of the benefits of being rich.’

  ‘And also your downfall,’ said Mr Rune. ‘It was Lord Jeffrey’s downfall. He sought to travel into the future. He discussed it with me many times and I advised strongly against it, but he was adamant and would not be shaken. As I wished for no harm to come to him, I offered my assistance in return for a small pecuniary sum. Together we built a cryogenic chamber and packed it with Arctic ice, shipped in by Fortnum and Mason. Lord Jeffrey was placed into a trance state by myself, as I am skilled in such matters, then placed in the chamber, which in turn was placed in a secret place, a safe place where it could lie undisturbed until more than a hundred years had passed. Certain details were lodged in a safety-deposit box, to be opened by his heirs upon a certain date, disclosing the whereabouts of the cryogenic chamber and the means by which Lord Jeffrey was to be defrosted.’

  Lightning flashed and thunder roared and rain thrashed down outside.

  ‘He could not make up this stuff, could he?’ I whispered to Fangio.

  ‘I could,’ said the barlord. ‘Do you think this bobble hat suits me?’

  ‘But,’ continued Mr Rune, ‘there is always the matter of the soul, of the existence of the soul. A man’s body might remain alive, in suspended animation, for more than one hundred years. But what of his soul? Might this perhaps detach itself from its host and go a-wandering?’

  ‘Is he speculating here?’ whispered Fangio, diddling with his hardhat.

  ‘I would not care to speculate,’ I whispered back. ‘The brim’s too big on your sombrero, by the way.’

  ‘And if the soul wandered,’ said Mr Rune, ‘while the sleeper slept, and then returned at length to find the body destroyed – shattered, perhaps, by a length of lead pipe – what then of the wandering soul?’

  ‘Wouldn’t it go to Heaven?’ asked Kelly, which I thought a reasonable question to ask.

  ‘Would it?’ said Mr Rune. ‘In the matter of a normal death, I would assume that this would be the case. But the destruction of Lord Jeffrey’s body when his soul had already detached itself – surely these are somewhat unusual circumstances.’

  ‘This is all twaddle,’ cried Lord Henry Myle-Hie. ‘Perhaps Lord Jeffrey did have himself frozen up, and perhaps you were there at that freezing up, but all this soul stuff is simply speculation.’

  Fange made a knowing face at me, but I could not see much of it under his snap-brimmed snood.

  ‘Speculation?’ said Mr Rune. ‘Then I would like to test a proposition. Would you kindly take yourself over to the fireplace?’

  ‘The fireplace?’ Lord Myle-Hie flustered and blustered. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Indulge me,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Let me test the substance of my supposed speculation. And you, too, young lady,’ he said to Kelly. ‘If you would be so kind as to stand beside him.’

  Kelly shrugged and wandered over to the fireplace.

  ‘Quite mad,’ said Lord Henry Myle-Hie. But he took himself, also as requested, to the fireplace. ‘Satisfied?’ he asked.

  ‘Take a step back, please,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Mind the brass companion set, which is missing the tongs, I notice.’

  ‘As you please.’ Lord Henry took a step back, as did Kelly. ‘Now are you satisfied?’ asked Lord Myle-Hie.

  And then there was a sudden whoosh and a lot of soot as well that billowed out into the room. And then there was a scream and a lot of muffled banging about. And then the soot sort of settled and Lord Henry Myle-Hie was gone. ‘I’m satisfied now,’ said Hugo Rune.

  ‘What? What?’ and ‘Scream! Scream!’ went most of those present. And I include myself amongst their number. And I flapped, too, I can tell you.

  ‘A most troubled spirit,’ said Mr Rune. ‘I wonder who will be next?’

  Perhaps they were not the best-chosen words, for they prompted another all-as-two rush towards the doors. And this time the French windows burst out and several giltless with them. And I confess that I turned away my face as out in the storm-lashed garden something murderous happened. Those on the threshold of the French windows drew themselves back in horror. Shrinking down and cringing became suddenly all the rage.

  ‘Eight more there, by my reckoning,’ said Mr Rune. ‘What price my speculations now?’

  The Honourable Nigel Fairborough-Countless fell wringing his hands at Mr Rune’s feet. ‘Save us,’ he wailed. ‘Save me. I will make it worth your while – I’m heir to the Countless millions.’

  ‘A tempting offer,’ said Mr Rune.

  ‘Save me!’ whined Lord Edward Marzipan-Fudge. ‘I’ll set you up with doughnuts for life.’

  ‘If it’s dogs you want,’ begged Lord Burberry Spaniel-Fondler, ‘I can get you really big ones – the size of a fully grown pig, some of them.’

  ‘I don’t know your sexual proclivities,’ fawned Lord Lucas Lapp-Dancer, ‘but name your chosen fancy and it’s yours.’

  ‘All most tempting offers,’ said Mr Rune.

  ‘I would not bother with the dog,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll take the dog,’ said Fange, ‘and Mister Rune, if you’ll see your way clear to protecting me from being sucked up the chimney, your credit will always be good at The Conjuror’s Hat. We’re a stage-magicians’-headwear theme bar today.’

  ‘At last an explanation for that,’ I said.

  Fangio raised his flat cap to me.

  Hugo Rune took a head-count. ‘Just nine left,’ he said, ‘including myself. This is a sorry business. What think you of it?’ And he turned to face the Fifth Earl.

  ‘I think this is a disaster,’ the Fifth Earl replied. ‘I called you here because of the outbreak of petty thievery.’

  ‘And my special low rates for members of the aristocracy,’ said Mr Rune.

  ‘Well, naturally that. But as for all this – do something, Rune. That’s what I’m paying you for.’

  ‘I do not recall that we discussed terms.’

  ‘Name your price. Just save us from this horror.’

  ‘You know what I want,’ said Mr Rune.

  ‘I don’t.’ And the Fifth Earl shook his head.

  ‘You do,’ said Mr Rune, ‘and I will have it, too. Lord Jeffrey will have it and so will I.’

  ‘You’re mad!’ cried the Fifth Earl. ‘As mad as he was.’

  ‘He was not mad,’ said Mr Rune. ‘He was a noble man and he was my friend. He was perhaps misguided, foolish – reckless, even, but he was brave and he was true.’

  ‘I have money,’ said the Fifth Earl. ‘I have cash.’

  ‘I’ll take what cash you have,’ said Mr Rune, ‘if you give it willingly.’

  ‘I do.’ And the Fifth Earl dragged out his wallet.

  I helped myself to a drink from the drinks cabinet, and I studied Mr Rune as I did so. I should be able to reason this out, I thought to myself. I am sure that all the clues are here, but I am also sure there is something missing. And it is all to do with ‘You know what I want. And I will have it, too. Lord Jeffrey will have it and so will I.’ But what, I wondered very hard, was it? It was not money, I was sure of that.

  The contents of the Fifth Earl’s wallet were now in Hugo Rune’s possession.

  ‘I made my offer first,’ said the Honourable Nigel. ‘Don’t forget the Countless millions I have coming to me.’

  ‘I fear that, regrettably, y
ou will not be here to collect them,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Look out, behind you. Zulus – thousands of them.’

  The Honourable Nigel covered his head and fled.

  Through the open French windows, as it happened.

  And out into—

  ‘Aaaaaaagh!’ went the voice of the Honourable Nigel.

  And then there was just more rain. And lightning and thunder.

  ‘You did that on purpose.’ The Fifth Earl raised his fists at Mr Rune.

  ‘You know what I want,’ said Mr Rune.

  I counted the heads. We still had the Lords Edward, Burberry and maybe Lord Lucas. It is difficult to remember and they all looked very much the same. And there was the beautiful Kelly, too, but she was not aristocracy. And there was me and there was Fange, and we were just commoners, of course.

  And there was the Fifth Earl.

  And there was Mr Hugo Rune.

  And I really, truly should have been able to figure this thing out.

  I poured another drink and took it over to Kelly. She looked all dishevelled and a bit sweaty, too. And God, is that not sexy with women?

  ‘This is a very bad business,’ I whispered to her as I handed her the drink (a triple). ‘I truly do not know whether we are going to get out of it alive.’

  Kelly said nothing.

  And so I continued, ‘You are a very beautiful woman,’ I said, surveying her beautiful frontage. ‘In fact, you are the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. And I am sorry I offended you earlier. But as it does not seem likely that we will get out of this alive, could you see your way clear to giving me a—’ And I whispered.

  And damn me if she did not punch me once again.

  ‘Time is running out,’ said Mr Rune to the Fifth Earl. ‘Will you give me what I want, what Lord Jeffrey wants, or not?’

  ‘You can go to Hell,’ cried the Fifth Earl, ‘and Lord Jeffrey, too.’

  ‘I think that he’s already been there,’ said Mr Rune, ‘which is why he knows so much torment. He has seen the Burrowers beneath, experienced the horrors of the Great Old Ones, the Worlds Between, the Minds Outside Of Time. And now he wants what I want.’

  And I do not know why I did not see it coming. Probably because, although rubbing at my grazed jaw, I was still most drawn to Kelly’s beautiful frontage. But if I had been paying more attention to other people’s body language and so on, I would have noticed the way that the remaining lords and the Fifth Earl had been gathering themselves about Mr Rune in a manner that can only be described as menacing.

  And so when they fell upon him in a most violent manner, I was not close enough to offer my support.

  ‘Out with him!’ cried the Fifth Earl. ‘Offer him up in sacrifice. It’s the only way to save ourselves.’

  And they had him. And I suppose that in desperation weight is no object. You hear stories of little women lifting cars off their trapped loved ones. I have read of several in the Weekly World News. These lords had Mr Rune off his feet in moments and over to the French windows and out.

  And lightning flashed and thunder roared and I was somewhat horrified.

  ‘You b*st*rds!’ I cried.

  ‘Don’t try to fool us by putting on an upper-class accent,’ said the Fifth Earl. ‘You’re next. Get him, boys.’

  Now, I was impressed by Fangio. He brought down Lord Burberry with a neat rugby tackle. And Kelly put up a struggle, too, and clocked the Fifth Earl a really decent one in his mouth.

  And as for myself, well, I do pride myself that when faced with a violent confrontation, I do know how to handle myself and—

  And suddenly I was very wet. And Fange was wet and Kelly, she was wet, too. And she looked good very wet, I can tell you.

  And suddenly something burst past us. It burst through the open French windows and into the library and hideous bloody business occurred, which happily I did not see.

  I just lay in the rain with my eyes closed.

  Beside Kelly and Fange.

  And Mr Rune, who stood in the storm and grinned down upon me.

  ‘That all went rather well, don’t you think?’ said he.

  We took shelter from the storm in the drinkies tent. I did not fancy the library. Fangio took his place behind the bar and served us with drinkies.

  ‘Is it over?’ I asked Mr Rune. ‘Are we safe?’

  ‘It is over,’ said he. ‘It is done. We are safe. This case is concluded.’

  ‘Concluded?’ I said. ‘There are at least a dozen dead. That is not what I would call “concluded”. Or perhaps I have some misunderstanding as to what the word “concluded” means.’

  ‘It means that the soul of Lord Jeffrey is now at peace.’

  ‘That is pleasing to my ears,’ I said, ‘but what of the souls of those murdered?’

  ‘They will be judged,’ said Mr Rune, and he swallowed booze.

  ‘I tried really hard,’ I said, ‘to figure it out, but I could not. Will you please explain? Please.’

  ‘A case of murder,’ said Mr Rune, ‘murder, plain and simple: the murder of Lord Jeffrey Primark, which you observed, his frozen body shattered by a length of lead pipe. Although not in the library, but rather in the catacombs beneath these lands of the Primarks, which were once the site of an ancient Celtic burial ground. I interred him down there myself. He may have been foolish, Lord Primark, but he was no fool when it came to finance. He made many investments before he was interred, investments that would ensure that when he was resuscitated he would be a fabulously wealthy man. I put my name as signatory to several of them. As I mentioned earlier, the details of how he should be resuscitated lay in a safety-deposit box, awaiting the given time when they should be read by his descendants – all those who were gathered together in the library. But greed overcame them. They determined that the fortune should be theirs and chose not to resuscitate Lord Jeffrey. Instead, they followed the directions given in the papers that were in the safety-deposit box, which led them to the vault beneath the library where he lay frozen, and there they murdered him. They took a solemn vow that none would betray the other and that they would split the wealth between them. Then they took up the length of lead pipe – all put a hand upon it – and then they shattered Lord Jeffrey’s frozen body.’

  ‘The b*st*rds!’ said Fange.

  ‘Posh accent,’ said Mr Rune. ‘But that is what they did. They could have had no knowledge, of course, that his lordship’s soul was not inside his body, for such metaphysical matters are beyond the ken of such fellows. And so they could have had no knowledge that this soul would seek revenge upon those who had destroyed its bodily host. The Foredown Man, young Rizla, as in Forefather, down below.’

  ‘Far out,’ I said, in the popular parlance of the day. ‘And so it took its revenge upon all of them?’

  ‘A bloody and terrible revenge. Who knows what torments that wandering soul has suffered? I pray that it truly suffers no more.’

  ‘Very far out,’ I said. ‘But I have one question. You said to the Fifth Earl that he knew what you wanted, and that you wanted what Lord Jeffrey wanted. What was that?’

  ‘Simply justice,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Nothing more. Take this.’

  And he handed something to me.

  It was a badge. And on it were printed the Scales of Justice.

  I pinned the badge to my sodden lapel.

  ‘Time, gentlemen, please,’ said Fangio.

  8

  The Baffling Business Of The Bevendean Bat

  The Bevendean Bat

  PART I

  It was October and there were portents in the heavens. An odd conjunction of planets and a comet that was supposedly heading our way had all the local prophets of doom prophesying doom. There was talk of the end of the world, but I paid it no heed. All I knew was that it was October, and the weather was brisk.

  A brisk wind spun fallen leaves all around the Pavilion Gardens, heaping them up, whisking them about and stirring them around once again. There was something about that I did not like: it
looked like Art to me.

  It was warm enough indoors, though, and in our rooms at forty-nine Grand Parade, Mr Rune had got a fine fire going in the hearth. It was fuelled by unpaid bills, final demands, those letters that solicitors write and a quantity of yellow-covered local telephone directories, which always arrive when you are out, unexpectedly and in large numbers.

  I stood at the window and worried over those leaves. I liked the look of the Pavilion, though, with all those onion domes and minarets. I wondered what it might look like on the inside.

  ‘Tasteless,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Oriental rococo. If the Regent had taken my advice, the place would be a popular attraction today.’

  ‘As impressed as I am by you breaking in upon my thoughts,’ I said, ‘I think you will find that the Pavilion is a most popular tourist attraction.’

  ‘I did not mention the word “tourist”,’ said Mr Rune, spitting out the word as one might an out-of-season sprout that has been served up to you as a strawberry by mistake. ‘I meant popular with the residents. You will find that few folk who actually live in Brighton have ever actually been inside the Pavilion.’

  ‘I wonder why that is?’ I wondered.

  ‘They just won’t visit,’ said Mr Rune. ‘It’s probably a tradition, or an old charter, or something. But more likely it’s to do with all the gaudy décor.’

  ‘Yes, but they would not know about the décor unless they went inside.’

  ‘The suggestion that proves the rule, perhaps,’ said Mr Rune and he tossed another unpaid bill on to the fire.

  This one, as it happened, was from Bradbury’s of Piccadilly requesting that Mr Rune cough up the readies for the two most wonderful coats that had recently been delivered to our door. Dark they were, of worsted wool with great big Astrakhan collars.