‘Flying boots,’ said Boris. ‘Issued as standard to the air corps in case you have to bail out. Hang onto me now, stay within the telekinetic field.’
‘Telekinetic field?’ Cornelius asked, as the three drifted down towards the sand.
‘Did I mention to you about the trans-perambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter?’
‘Once, in passing. I should have listened more carefully.’
‘Still, here we are.’ And the three bumped down onto solid ground.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Cornelius.
‘Yeah,’ said Tuppe. ‘And then some.’
‘My pleasure, lads. Lucky Cornelius mentioned ray guns, I’d quite forgotten about my boots.’
Tuppe cast frightened glances towards the big pile of fallen cliff. ‘Is it safe now, do you think?’
‘Let us depart in haste,’ said Cornelius Murphy. ‘We have much to do.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Boris asked. ‘I don’t have much to do at all, now the undersea joy-riding’s finished and everything.’
‘Of course you can,’ said Tuppe.
‘Of course he can’t,’ said Cornelius. ‘He’s not involved in any of this, we can’t put him in such danger.’
‘Such danger, eh?’ Boris whistled. ‘Well, perhaps I’ll catch you blokes later. I’ve been thinking anyway. I may have lost my saucer, but if I can still go ahead and have my meeting, pass on the advanced technological secrets of my race, in exchange for a signed deal to leave the people of Magonia in peace, I could walk home across the sea bed. Everything will be OK.’
Tuppe opened his mouth to speak.
Cornelius didn’t let him. ‘I thought you’d missed your meeting,’ he said.
‘Yeah, but as chance would have it, I’ve heard that the chap I was supposed to meet is still right here.’
‘Still right here?’
‘Yeah, I heard it from a prawn, who got it off a whelk who’d overheard two seagulls talking about something a pigeon told them.’
‘You can’t argue with that kind of evidence,’ said Tuppe.
‘So like I say,’ Boris went on, ‘he’s still here, so I can still have my meeting with him.’
‘Who is this person?’ Cornelius asked.
‘Well, I shouldn’t really say. After all, it is a secret. But you blokes are mates, so . . .’ Boris did furtive glances to right and left. ‘Your King,’ he said.
‘Our King?’ asked Tuppe.
‘King Hugo,’ said Boris proudly. ‘King Hugo Rune of England.’
Now a King, if a good King he shall be,
must give his subjects liberty.
There was no hint of liberty around and about the court of King Hugo. Up on the downs that flowed inland above Skelington Bay, hundreds toiled. Blowtorch flames tongued through girders, bulldozers prised pylons from their mounts, high-tension cables snapped and whiplashed.
One after another the pylons fell, almost with the dignity of trees. But not quite. Jagged steel arms penetrated the soil, creak and crash. Chains and trucks, bulldozers and people-power. Inch by inch, yard by yard.
‘Faster,’ cried Rune through the loud hailer. ‘We have a deadline to meet. A deadline.’
And someone tripped and fell. But no-one dared to stop and lend a hand. They turned away their faces, though they could not shield their ears, as the churning wheels and steely tracks ground on their way and stifled screams. And crushed out life. Without a shred of pity.
‘Faster,’ Rune cried. ‘One less to pull, the harder each of you must try.’
And dark shapes circled in the sky above. The clock ticked on towards the hour of four.
And most of Sussex now lacked for electrical power.
‘Electrical what?’
‘Like I said.’
‘But he can’t.’
‘But he will.’
‘But then he’ll—’
‘I know he will.’
‘Then we—’
‘Yes, we must.’
‘More coffee, anyone?’ Tuppe asked. ‘More beans on toast?’
‘Yes,’ said Cornelius. ‘Thank you.’
‘But then I—’ said Boris.
‘You,’ said Cornelius.
‘And he was—‘
‘I know he was.’
‘Then we certainly must—’
‘You’re quite right there.’
‘Exactly what are you talking about?’ Tuppe asked. ‘And where are we, in case anyone should ask.’
‘As you know full well,’ said Cornelius. ‘We are on a twenty-foot motor yacht called The Lovely Lynne, which Boris kindly swam round the next bay to and slipped from its moorings.’
‘I don’t like the swirly-whirly carpet tiles on the floor much,’ said Tuppe. ‘But carry on anyway.’
‘I have just been telling Boris about “King” Hugo’s plan.’
‘And I have been being appalled,’ said Boris. ‘As King Hugo’s plan will clearly lead to the extinction of my race.’
‘What I want to know,’ said Tuppe, ‘and I am probably not alone in this, is how Hugo Rune came to make contact with your race in the first place, Boris.’
‘Apparently he heard tell of our existence from a pet pigeon, who’d overheard two seagulls talking about something a whelk told them he’d got from a prawn.’
‘Obvious,’ said Tuppe. ‘I knew there was a simple explanation.’
‘He came down in a bathysphere; brought a lot of beads with him, apparently. Said he’d come in peace for all mankind.’
‘In exchange for your advanced technology.’
‘As soon as he realized we had it.’
‘And so what were you supposed to do for him at this meeting then?’
‘I was supposed to let him test drive the flying saucer.’
‘Ah,’ said Cornelius.
‘What is “Ah”?’ asked Tuppe.
‘Ah is, there you have Rune’s means of escape when the moment of the electrical discharging comes and zaps everyone else. Up and away.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t have the saucer now.
‘I wonder who does,’ said Boris, mournfully.
‘Hugo,’ said Hugo.
‘And Hugo,’ Hugo replied.
Hands were clasped, knuckles were pressed, shoulders were slapped. One Hugo in his mayoral cloak, the other in a sharp city suit as befitted Transglobe Publishing’s Managing Director. Which he was.
‘Pleasant journey?’ enquired Hugo One.
‘Peaceful enough until we reached Gatwick. They’ve had a bit of a power cut there. All the radar and ground-control systems were out. Planes were bumping into each other all over the place. Most amusing to watch. I stuck around until ours ran out of fuel from all the circling, took the captain’s parachute and bailed out.’
‘I’d have done the same.’
‘I know you would.’
The two Runes shared a laugh regarding this.
‘So how is the project progressing? I see you’ve indentured some peasants to lend a hand. And a few old chums circling in the sky. All on schedule, by the look of things.’
‘Not that you supposed it would be otherwise. You have brought the essential something I assume.’
‘The flying saucer? But of course. Had a bit of trouble uncovering its whereabouts. But once I’d confirmed with the Magonian ruler that his emissary had been sent, it was only a matter of figuring out what had become of him. I made a few discreet calls to mutual contacts at the MoD . . .’
‘And learned that the saucer had crashed and that their boffins now had it.’
‘Precisely.’
‘And learned where they had it and despatched a small task force to relieve them of it.’
‘Precisely.’
‘I’d have done the same.’
‘I know you would.’
A chuckle shared, and evilly done.
‘Then it is all systems go,’ said Rune of the mayoral hat. ‘The pylons will be re-erected in Skelington, with a line
leading from each pier to the top of Druid’s Tor. Heavy-duty cables will run along each line to terminate at the radio masts.’
‘You have them?’
‘They’re on their way. With the power cut and the communications network destroyed, we have this area all to ourselves.’
‘And at midnight?’
‘At midnight our brother at The Universal Reincarnation Company throws his big switch; broadcasts an across-the-band frequency which attunes to the electrical energy-potential of every soul that hangs in a glittering ring about the sun; feeds their massed energy down through the radio masts, along the power lines and into the piers. The result: the biggest jolt this planet has had since the Creation. We will be watching from beyond the Earth’s atmosphere, of course.’
‘You estimate ninety-nine point nine per cent fatalities.’
‘The almost complete collapse of civilization as we know it, yes.’
‘Which we shall rebuild.’
‘Oh as the richest men on Earth it will be our duty. To rebuild. And to rule, of course.’
‘Of course.’
Another chuckle evilly shared. ‘Roll on midnight,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘For tomorrow belongs to we.’
The two strode off, arms about one-another’s shoulders, with talk of golden mountains springing from the sea, of slavery and concubines, power and the pleasures of its abuse. And of midnight. Always midnight.
‘Midnight?’ said Norman who had been lazing around unseen, listening to the entire conversation. ‘Midnight tonight? Midnight tonight? MIDNIGHT TONIGHT! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
Oh dear.
36
‘What time is it?’ Cornelius asked.
‘Nearly nine o’clock,’ said Boris. ‘I can’t wait to meet this dead friend of yours.’
‘I can’t see a thing,’ said Tuppe. ‘The entire coastline’s in complete darkness.’
‘I have pretty good night vision,’ said Boris. ‘But then I would, coming from a superior race and everything.’
Tuppe stuck his tongue out in the darkness.
‘I saw that,’ said Boris. ‘And I can see something else.’
‘Is it Norman?’
‘It’s a sort of three-wheeled bicycle and it’s moving by itself:’
‘That’s Norman.’ Cornelius had moored the boat as close into shore as he dared. Now he shinned over the side, dropped into the sea and waded towards the beach.
‘Ahoy there,’ called the voice of Norman.
‘Ahoy,’ Cornelius reached him in the near darkness. ‘What is that you’re riding on?’
‘It’s an ice-cream bike.’
‘You have discovered a formula for creating explosives from ice-cream?’
‘No, don’t be silly, I’ve dumped the lollies.’ Norman made grand gestures above the big portable-freezer affair beneath the handlebars. A selection of dangerous-looking military hardware gave off a blue-steel glint. ‘I nicked a couple of mortars, some rifles and a load of grenades. Did you get a boat?’
‘Certainly did.’
‘Then we’d better get to it. Rune has moved everything forward. He’s going to energize the piers tonight at midnight.’
‘What?’
‘And he estimates that ninety-nine point nine per cent of the world’s population will be killed off.’
‘What?’
‘And him and his brothers will be ruling the survivors. After they have returned from outer space in the flying saucer they’ve got hold of.’
‘What?’
‘Who said that “What”?’ Norman asked.
‘I did,’ said Boris, ambling up to say hello.
‘Aaaagh!’ went Norman, falling off his saddle. ‘It’s an alien from space, grab a gun, Cornelius, shoot it.’
‘He’s a friend,’ said the tall boy. ‘He’s here to help us.’
‘And I’m not from space,’ said Boris. ‘I’m from under the sea, and it’s my flying saucer Rune’s got, and I want it back. Where are you, by the way? I can’t see you at all.’
‘I’m here,’ said Norman.
‘Well, pleased to meet you. My name is Boris.’
‘Norman,’ said Norman. ‘Have you ever met Marina out of Stingray?’
‘Let’s get moving,’ said Cornelius, dragging out mortars and grenades. ‘If you’re right, Norman, then we have less than three hours.’
‘I’m right,’ Norman said. ‘Believe me. Please.’
‘I do.’
‘Is Marina the one who looks a bit like Joanna Lumley, but thankfully never speaks?’ Boris asked.
‘That’s her, but you’re being a bit harsh on Joanna, aren’t you? She was voted the woman most men in the country wanted to kiss.’
‘Bit old for me,’ said Boris. ‘But I meant it was thankful that Marina never speaks. She doesn’t look too bright, does she?’
‘No, I suppose not. But you’ve never met her, anyway?’
‘No, sorry. I once met Submariner out of Marvel Comics.’
‘You never did.’
‘I did too.’
‘Hurry up,’ called Tuppe, from the boat. ‘The tide’s going out. We’ll be stranded if we don’t go now.’
‘Hurry up,’ said Old Claude to the late Chunky Wilberforce. ‘We’ve got less than three hours to stop the bastard.’
‘I’m hurrying,’ puffed Chunky. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the big sky nozzle, I’ve programmed in some help for little Norman.’
‘Little who?’
‘Never mind. After I’ve sent it down to him. We’ll smash up the big sky nozzle so the bastard can’t tune it in to the souls and beam down their energy. He’ll be stuffed once we’ve reduced the big sky nozzle to scrap metal.’
‘Scrap metal?’ puffed Chunky. ‘Now that’s something I know all about.’
‘Follow me.’ Old Claude lead the way up a little staircase and out onto the vast roof area where the huge engines throbbed and the little men in overalls applied oil beads. The little men were two short in number now, but due to a continuity error, Jack Bradshaw had failed to find the missing pair at the bottom of the abandoned lift shaft.
These things happen.
‘Call my cock a kipper!’ whispered Chunky Wilberforce, espying all that spread around and about him. ‘How much do you want for the lot, Claude? Name your price and if it’s a fair’n, we’ll do the business now.’
‘Just follow me.’ The old boy limped on towards the single serviceable big sky nozzle.
‘What kind of help are you sending down to your little Norman?’ wheezed the dead Brig.
Old Claude reached the brass Karmascope contrivance with the computer screen. ‘I thought King Richard the Lionheart and a bunch of his crusaders.’
‘They won’t fare too well against Rune’s fire power.
‘Bloody will,’ crowed Claude.
‘Bloody won’t,’ went the Brig.
‘Bloody will’
‘Bloody won’t,’ said the voice of the large controller.
‘Bloody Hell!’ said Old Claude Buttocks.
‘Bloody Hell!’ said Norman. ‘Excuse my French, but it is Bloody Hell really, isn’t it?’
‘It’s something,’ said Cornelius. They had dropped to a quiet anchor half a mile out between the piers of Skelington Bay and now sat upon the deck of The Lovely Lynne, gazing in awe at the town.
It was floodlit. Big ex-army generator trucks chugged away, powering arc lights that bathed the piers and promenade in a sterilized glare. The town had surely gone to Bloody Hell.
Burnt-out cars had been bulldozed into a mangled mound that ran the length of the beach. The pylons were in place, towering over the piers, shops and houses having been dynamited to make way for them. The Grande was all but gone, of course, and to the east of its gutted shell seemed nothing but a great black void all charred about the edges.
There was a good deal of noise: cables being winched into place, loud hailers barking orders, a scream a
nd a call for mercy, the sound of a gunshot.
Bloody Hell.
‘It’s Bognor for me next year,’ whispered Tuppe.
‘Bastards,’ said Norman, who was really getting into swearing. ‘I was born here. Look what they’ve done to my town.’
‘See there,’ Cornelius pointed. Two military types were dragging something along the east pier. They stopped, looked over the rail. The skulkers on The Lovely Lynne heard the words, ‘Here’s far enough.’
The military types lifted the something. Eased it over the rail. Let it fall down into the sea.
It was the body of a young woman.
The two men laughed, turned and strolled back down the pier.
Cornelius snatched up a rifle from the deck, flipped off the safety catch.
‘No,’ said Tuppe. ‘You can’t.’
‘You saw what they did. I can.’
‘Then you mustn’t. We have to blow up these piers, we can’t get involved in a gunfight. They’ve got tanks, remember.’
‘All right,’ Cornelius clicked back the safety catch. ‘What we’ll do is—‘
‘I have a plan,’ said Norman.
‘The way I see it—’ said Boris.
‘The way I’d do it—’ said Tuppe.
‘All right,’ said Cornelius. ‘Let’s hear them all now.
‘Mine first,’ said Norman.
‘Mine,’ said Tuppe.
‘Yours, Boris,’ said Cornelius.
‘Right,’ said Boris. ‘Mine is that you lot stay here in the boat. I swim over to each pier in turn and load them up with hand-grenades. Give me twenty minutes then blast away at them with the mortars.’
‘What will you be doing?’ Cornelius asked. ‘We’ll wait for you to swim back here.’
‘I won’t be swimming back here. I’m going to find my flying saucer and radio to Magonia for reinforcements.’
‘Well, that’s some sort of plan. What’s yours, Norman?’
‘Mine’s quite simple and direct. I will take two hand-grenades, swim ashore, and hand one to each of the Hugo Runes. Minus the pins, of course.’
‘No!’ cried Cornelius. ‘One of those Runes might be my real dad. If he is then perhaps I could still reason with him.’
Norman shook his ruddy head. ‘There’s no time left for reason. The two I overheard are planning to wipe out the world. If you’re so certain that your dad wouldn’t behave like that, then neither of them can be your dad. Right?’
The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (The Cornelius Murphy Trilogy Book 3) Page 23
