‘The second.’ As the king was quite speechless, Cornelius went straight on to the second. ‘The second is that you refuse this. In which case, I will stand aside and let Hugo Rune march in here with the army behind him, take the throne from you by force and probably kill you into the bargain. Me, I’m easy. But I’d be interested to learn your preference.’
‘Hugo?’ spluttered the king. ‘Hugo? Army? Force? Kill? What? What? What?’
‘There’s been a bit of a situation,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘Apparently Hugo Rune has kidnapped the Queen and is planning to blame it on us and lead an army down here to wipe us all out. That’s why Murphy’s here, you see. Sort of.’
The king groaned and buried his face in his hands.
‘I’m sure this must be very distressing for you,’ said Cornelius. ‘And I’m sure you’d like some time to think about it.’
‘I would,’ mumbled the king.
‘But regrettably you can’t have any. So what’s it going to be? The first option, or the second option?’
‘I think it will probably have to be the second option,’ said the voice of Hugo Rune.
29
Father Christmas suddenly found his throne pulled from under him, and himself sprawling in a most unregal manner on the flagstone floor.
The throne then rose into the air, moved back a few feet and settled down. And Hugo Rune materialized upon it. He was smoking a green cigar.
‘It is I, Rune,’ said Rune. ‘None other. So mote it be.’
‘Get off my throne.’ The king thrashed about on the floor. ‘Help me up, Kobold. Help me up.’
Arthur Kobold hastened to oblige. ‘Get off the king’s throne, you blackguard,’ he said.
Hugo Rune ignored the both of them. He took out his pocket watch, flipped open the golden cover and perused the hour. ‘We have some time left to pass before the overthrow of this evil empire,’ he declared. ‘Now, how best might we pass it? I know, don’t tell me, you would like me to entertain you with fascinating episodes from my life.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Tuppe.
Rune threw him the merest of withering glances.
‘That would be nice,’ said the small fellow, hanging onto his mouth.
‘I recall a time in Brunei.’ Rune settled back in the king’s throne and puffed at his cigar. Arthur struggled to right the king, but wasn’t making much of a job out of it. ‘The sultan had taken on my services as financial adviser. He wasn’t the sultan then, of course, he was a rickshaw repair man, called Kwa-Ling, that’s Mandarin for Colin. Now, I say that he took on my services, this is not strictly true. For he did not know it then, nor has he ever known it.’
Cornelius was fascinated. Not by the tale. But by the man.
‘Allow me to set the scene,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘A bar, roofed in bamboo and walled in native silks. It overlooks the South China Sea. I am seated therein, looking much as you see me today. Distinguished. Stately. In repose. The year is 1923.’
‘Stop,’ cried the king. ‘Just you stop. Kobold, get me up.’
‘I’m doing my best, sire.’
‘Silence.’ Rune stretched out his right hand and plucked at something in the air. A table materialized. It was a pedestal table. And this time it was not covered by a silken cloth. On top of the table was displayed a perfect representation of the great hall and all who sat, stood, or had fallen over and were being helped back up, in it.
‘Oh dear,’ said Cornelius Murphy.
‘What’s that?’ asked the king. ‘A present? Has Hugo brought his old friend a present?’
‘Hugo has not,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Now kindly do not interrupt me again. I am dining with a close chum of mine, Sigmund Freud. Our chosen fare, vichyssoise, Blue Point oysters, lobster tails with drawn butter, clam chowder and soft-shell crabs. Washed down with Iced Finlandia vodka and white Almaden. All brought in for me from Honolulu on the flying boat. In those days a gentleman was treated like a gentleman. The masses knew their place.’
‘Those were the days,’ said the king.
‘Shut up,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Now, where was I?’
‘Dining out with Clement Freud,’ said Tuppe. ‘You were having crab sticks and jellied eels. You didn’t say who footed the bill.’
‘The meal was concluded,’ Rune went on. ‘We drank brandy and shared a pipe of opium. Siggy, as was his way, when three sheets to the wind and stoned as a six-day camel, asked me this question, “Guru,” he asked, “what’s it all about then, eh?”
‘Now, I am not one to sing my own praises, but I pride myself that this is one question I can answer to complete and utter satisfaction.’
Cornelius wondered whether he should ask Anna to shoot Hugo Rune. Possibly just in the foot or something.
‘“There are exactly twenty-three really wonderful things in this world,” I told Siggy, “and always to be in the right place at the right time is one of them.” Siggy sniffed at this Ultimate Truth. He had a touch of the tropical ague.’
‘Kobold,’ said the king, ‘remove Rune from my sight. He has lost the last of his marbles.’
Hugo Rune reached over to the pedestal table and gave it a little shake.
The great hall shuddered. Tabards tumbled from the walls. All those standing fell to the floor. The king, who was almost half up, collapsed on to Arthur Kobold. Cornelius clung to the king’s table. Rune clung to his throne.
‘Siggy sniffed,’ said Rune, when some degree of normality had been restored. ‘“Allow me to demonstrate,” I told him. “Pick the most useless individual you see in the bar.” Siggy squinted all about the place, his eyesight was never up to much, but finally he pointed to the said Kwa-Ling, rickshaw repair man and town drunk. “Now,” said I, viewing this specimen, “what say you if I could make this fellow the richest man in the world?” “I would say,” Siggy replied, “ask him for the lend of fifty guineas, that you might repay the loan I made you last year.” Always the wag and the tight-wad, Siggy.’
The king had now manoeuvred himself to his knees and was wondering where Arthur Kobold had got to. Arthur, for his part, was now lodged firmly between the redly trousered cheeks of the king’s bottom.
Tuppe considered this quite amusing.
Arthur Kobold did not.
‘Will you please stop?’ the king implored. ‘You have told me this story before. And nonsense it all is. You uttered the words of some magic spell. The rickshaw repair man stumbled into the street and is immediately struck down by a passing car. The driver, an American philanthropist, mortified by this, pays for his hospital bills and awards him a small sum of money. The rickshaw repair man buys himself a plot of land. The land turns out to be rich in mineral resources. He leases out the rights, buys more land, same thing happens, does it again and the same thing happens again and soon he’s the richest man in the world. It’s rubbish.’
‘It certainly is the way you tell it. But true, nevertheless.’
‘No it’s not. Because the Sultan of Brunei is not the richest man in the world, I am. And I have all the best spells and even I don’t have that one.’ The king found his feet (yes, they were on the ends of his legs, I know). ‘Ugh!’ went the king, plucking Arthur Kobold from his bottom. ‘And all this is quite enough. Down to the dungeons, the lot of you. Kobold, lead them out.’
Rune’s hand strayed once more towards the pedestal table.
‘If I might just ask a question,’ said Cornelius Murphy.
‘Yes?’ said Rune.
‘Where is Her Majesty the Queen?’
Inspectre Hovis had been thrusting and parrying for quite some time.
‘Have at you,’ he cried, taking up the classic fencer’s position. Elbows on the desk, cigar in the mouth, and ‘I know it’s good gear, but the stuff’s red hot and I can’t move it on the open market, Plod would be down on me as quick as winking. I’ll give you a “monkey” for it and no questions asked.’
The big green thingy scratched his head. ‘Is that a misprint, or what?’
‘Have at you.’ Slice. Twist. Cut. Thrust.
‘Grab his legs, Terence,’ cried the big green thingy.
‘Leave me out.’ Mulligan shook his head. ‘I’m just a cabbie. I don’t get involved in no bother.’
‘What do you do if someone cuts up rough?’ the other big green thingy asked him.
‘Bung on the central locking and drive them straight round to the nearest nick.’
‘Central locking. I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘It’s compulsory on a black cab now. You’re not allowed on the road without it.’
Hovis kicked the other big green thingy in the teeth, scattering many of these about the torture chamber.
‘I know not of what you speak.’ Rune flicked ash from the end of his cigar. ‘The Queen? What of this?’
‘If you’ve done anything to harm my wife,’ roared the king.
‘His wife?’ said Anna.
Tuppe nodded. ‘According to Rune, the Queen is one of them. She’s not really a human being.’
‘I never thought she was. She doesn’t go to the toilet. Everyone knows that.’
‘I knew it,’ said Tuppe.
‘The Queen is quite safe,’ said Rune. ‘Her exact whereabouts are known to myself alone.’
‘You fiend!’ cried the king.
Rune gave the pedestal table another little shake. Walls shook and the king fell over again. This time Arthur Kobold ducked well out of the way.
‘As you must now be well aware,’ said Hugo Rune, raising his bulk from the king’s throne and positioning it behind the pedestal table, ‘I am in control here. I have but to reach a finger into this microcosm and squash any one of you, as I might an ant.’
‘Squash her first,’ said Arthur, pointing at Anna.
‘Why don’t I have one of those tables?’ asked the king.
‘Pay attention.’ Rune raised a finger. Everyone paid attention. ‘You,’ Rune pointed to the king. ‘I would address your people. Summons them here.’
‘My people?’ The king was still in the supine position.
‘Your princes and princesses, lords and ladies, jugglers and fools. Your minions, underlings, peasants and peons. Elder statesmen, younger statesmen, artisans, maids in waiting, concubines, footmen. Your people.’
‘They’re all here really,’ said the king, who was now sitting up. ‘Except for a couple of guards and the woman who cleans on Tuesdays.’
‘What?’ cried Hugo Rune.
‘Well,’ the king explained, ‘it’s like this. Every generation there are fewer folk in the world. Take yourself. There is only one of you. Yet you had two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, sixteen great-great—’
‘Shut up,’ Rune raised the doom-laden finger. ‘I know all that. I discovered it.’
‘Well, there you are then. My missus walked out years ago and my daughter, who you got pregnant in your vain attempt to be made a prince, went with her. My grandson became a Scotsman and got blown up. And Arthur never married.’
‘Never fancied the cleaning woman,’ said Arthur.
‘And the guards aren’t really guards at all. They’re just conjurations.’
‘And they’re a right pain in the neck,’ said Arthur. ‘Always going on about overtime and bonus payments.’
Rune looked appalled. He was appalled.
Cornelius was appalled also. ‘You mean to say that there’s just Father Christmas, and his one little fairy left?’
‘I don’t like that term,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m a Kobold.’
‘Who does your cooking, then?’ Anna asked. ‘Who bakes the cakes?’
‘Fortnum & Mason’s,’ said the king. ‘Whoever did you think?’
‘Fortnum & Mason’s, eh?’ Tuppe climbed up on to the chair next to Cornelius. ‘Yum yum.’
‘Try the Black Forest Gâteau,’ said Cornelius.
‘Get away from my cakes.’ The king was finally back on his feet.
‘Interesting situation,’ said Cornelius to Hugo Rune. ‘When exactly might we expect the police force and the army and the world’s press to come bursting in here and arrest Father Christmas and his one little fairy?’
Rune took out his pocket watch once more and scrutinized its face. ‘Quite shortly now. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having a good time? Do you know why, by the way? I wrote a rather erudite monograph on the subject.’
Rune smiled upon Arthur Kobold. ‘How long would it take you to conjure up a few hundred guards? Put on a bit of a display of defence. Just for appearances’ sake? You could do that, couldn’t you?’
‘I could, but I won’t.’ Arthur folded his arms. Hugo Rune dipped into the microcosm on the pedestal table and twanged the head of the miniature Kobold. The full-sized version toppled sideways, clutching his skull. ‘About five minutes,’ he said.
‘Well hurry off, then.’
‘Now see here,’ said Cornelius.
‘Now see here,’ said the king.
‘No no,’ said Rune. ‘He that controls the magic table, controls all the “now see heres”. The king must have his guards. He must be seen to be putting up a struggle. Can’t disappoint the viewing public.’
The king stroked his whiskers. ‘These policemen and soldiers and whatnot. They will all have guns, I suppose.’
‘Of course.’ Rune nodded his big bald head. ‘Lots of guns.’
‘Will they have swords at all?’
‘Not in this day and age,’ said Rune. ‘Swords indeed.’
‘Ah,’ said the king. ‘Tell you what, Arthur, why don’t you conjure up five hundred guards and make a really decent show of it?’
Arthur and the king exchanged knowing winks. ‘Let’s make it an even thousand,’ said Arthur Kobold, heading for the door.
‘Help yourself to cake everyone,’ said the king.
It was taking reliable Ron Sturdy rather a long time to get up Star Hill. He kept getting distracted. There were all these old buses, with bald tyres and out-of-date tax discs. And no-one seemed keen to help him with his enquiries.
The Gandhis were rocking on. Prince Charles had joined them on stage and was playing his cello. Polly was glowering at him.
Mickey Minns sauntered over to her. He thought she was Anna. ‘Wanna dance?’ he asked.
Inspectre Hovis was making reasonable progress. He was out of the torture chamber now and fighting his way up a flight of stone steps. The big green thingy, whose brother Colin the great detective had pranged, was putting up quite a show of force. But it was keeping its back to the wall, just to be on the safe side.
Arthur Kobold was back in his office. The filing cabinet was open and Colin was out. Arthur was manipulating a foot pump.
‘You’re in for a bit of multiplication,’ he told the green thingy that was growing bigger by the moment. ‘Do your job properly and you’ll get double-bubble, time and a half, a big wodge of folding in your old “sky rocket” and a golden handshake.’
‘Did you have to stick the air pipe up my bottom?’ the big green thingy complained.
‘Mind if I sit back in my throne?’ the king asked Hugo Rune.
‘Be my guest,’ said Hugo.
‘So kind.’ The king eased himself into it.
‘Great cake,’ said Tuppe. ‘Are you really, truly, Father Christmas, by the way?’
‘I am he,’ said the king.
‘Then what ever happened to my train set? I sent a letter up the chimney three years running. Don’t tell me they all got lost in the Christmas post.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked the king.
‘Tuppe,’ said Tuppe.
‘As in Tupperware?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I remember your letters,’ said the king. ‘Such neat handwriting.�
��
‘Thank you,’ said Tuppe. ‘I did my best.’
‘Caravan,’ said the king. ‘You lived in a caravan.’
‘That’s right.’ Tuppe was very impressed. ‘So why didn’t you bring me a train set?’
‘Because you’re a bloody traveller,’ said the king. ‘And I don’t give presents to bloody travellers.’
‘What a shit!’ said Tuppe to Cornelius. ‘I reckon that dyslexic devil worshipper who sold his soul to Santa, sold it to the right bloke after all.’
‘Midnight,’ boomed the voice of Hugo Rune. And on that cue Inspectre Hovis burst through the open door.
‘Right on time,’ said Rune. ‘Magnificent.’
Hovis slammed the great door shut. Upon the fingers of the big green thingy. He shot the bolt into place and turned to gaze in no small wonder at all which lay before him.
‘Well bugger my boots,’ said the great detective.
And Rune smiled upon him. ‘Has all gone as we arranged? I trust you have the police force and the army and the world’s press with you. You didn’t forget to phone the BBC?’
‘I have called nobody.’ Hovis brushed a cobweb from his shoulder. ‘I made the mistake of hailing a black cab. You neglected to warn me about those. Some kind of secret organization, I understand. Are these the culprits?’
‘Him.’ Anna, Tuppe and Cornelius pointed to Father Christmas.
‘The shit,’ said Tuppe.
‘Him?’ The Inspectre sheathed his blade. ‘But surely this is none other than—’
Crash. Crash. Crash, went something going crash crash crash against the great door.
‘The army?’ Rune made a hopeful face.
‘A big green thingy,’ said Hovis. ‘One of the king’s conjured guards I do believe. A right evil crew they are too. Can’t be destroyed by normal means, guns and whatnot. Only respond to the kiss of the sword.’
‘What?’ Hugo Rune looked quite upset.
‘Some you win, some you lose,’ said the king, smiling hugely.
Raiders of the Lost Car Park (The Cornelius Murphy Trilogy Book 2) Page 24
