Robert Rankin - Retromancer

Time, always time, and upon this occasion my timing was poor. I swung open the door as Lord Jason groped towards our knocker. The young aristocrat was clearly distracted, for he took hold of my nose and attempted to knock with it.

Which greatly amused a lady in a straw hat who was passing by at the time, but failed to bring joy unto me.

‘Dashed sorry, old bogie,’ said his Lordship, releasing his grip and examining his fingers with distaste. ‘Wish to see Rune, go fish him out for me, do.’

I eyed up this fellow and I did this with similar distaste. I had seen him around and about in the borough, whilst I was strolling in the company of Mr Rune, who still would not let me go out on my own. And the Perfect Master had pointed him out and told me all about him.

He was born to heroic stock; the bloodline of the Lark-Risings could be traced back to the time of Richard the Lionheart, when one of Lord Jason’s ancestors had saved that monarch’s life by decapitating a Mussulman who was taking a swing at him with a great big pointy sword. And so it had gone on since then, with the Lark-Risings performing noble deeds for King and country down through the ages and right up to the present day.

And in this present day that I now inhabited, there were still many members of the aristocracy to be found living upon Brentford’s historic Butts Estate. It was later, during the October mini-uprising of nineteen fifty-one that those who did not flee found themselves up against the wall. Brentford’s brief revolution and instigation as an independent communist republic had not proved popular with the locals, who soon ousted the ruling junta.

These in turn fled, including, my Aunt Edna told me, a certain local baker who had risen to prominence in the mini-revolution and who had it away upon his heels to Cuba. I think my Aunt Edna had quite a ‘thing’ for that baker Mr Castro.

But that was for the future and this was for the now. Before me, on Mr Rune’s doorstep, stood this young aristocrat. Surely hardly older than myself, but with that confident bearing and authoritative manner that marked him out from a common-as-mucker such as myself. Naturally I was jealous – well, of course I was. He was very good-looking and very well dressed and he came from a very good family.

‘Mr Rune is away on important business,’ I said, closing the door upon Lord Jason Lark-Rising.

‘Oh no I’m not, young Rizla,’ boomed a voice from within. ‘Allow His Lordship entry at the hurry-up.’

‘Apparently he just returned,’ I said and allowed his Lordship entry.

There was something very vibrant about this young man. He veritably bounced past me into the hall and pranced into Mr Rune’s study.

I followed him in and a certain joy was brought to me as I noticed the immediate change in his demeanour when he found himself in the presence of Hugo Rune.

A certain humility manifested itself.

‘Good day, sir,’ said Lord Jason. Sir! I liked that. ‘So sorry to trouble you, but something has come to my notice that I felt I must bring to yours. So to speak, suchlike and so on.’

‘Please seat yourself,’ said Hugo Rune. And directed Lord Jason to my chair. ‘Rizla, fetch coffee, if you will.’

‘And if I will not?’ I asked, huffily.

‘You will, Rizla, you will.’

And so I did. And I returned with it, in the bestest pot, with the bestest cups and saucers on the very bestest tray. And I did so in time to hear Mr Rune cry, ‘Now here’s a thing and no mistake. The sheer unbridled gall.’

So I set down the coffee tray upon an occasional table which no doubt had been yearning for an occasion such as this to arrive and I asked Mr Rune what the trouble might be.

‘This letter,’ said Himself. ‘Delivered anonymously to the house of Lord Jason. Here, read it aloud, if you will.’

‘Oh I say,’ His Lordship protested. ‘It’s not for common folk like him.’

But Hugo Rune stilled this protest with a gesture. ‘My amanuensis Rizla can be trusted,’ he said. ‘He is my valued companion. Now, Rizla, please read it aloud. And also let us have your observations.’ And he handed an envelope to me and I took this, examined it and said the following things.

‘A cheap envelope,’ I said, ‘which could have been purchased anywhere; no stamp, so as you say, hand-delivered. Opened with a paperknife.’

And Hugo Rune said, ‘Bravo.’

I drew the letter from the envelope and opened it up with care. ‘Folded seven times,’ I said. ‘Rather unusual and unnecessary. But typed-’ and I examined the typing carefully ‘-upon a somewhat superannuated typewriter, which has given several distinctive features to the print. And now the contents I shall read aloud.’

And so I did.

Dear Scum

I read. And, ‘Ahem,’ went I.

Dear Scum,

Know that the war is lost for you and your kind, you who have squeezed this country until the very pips bled. A Dawn of Gold shines from out of the darkness. Your end is nigh and know this too. We will take back what is ours, starting with your National Treasure. Before the Dawn comes. This shall be the first sign of our power.

‘It is not signed,’ I said. And I turned the letter over. ‘That is all it says.’

‘And what do you make of it, Rizla?’

‘Poison pen letter,’ I said. ‘From some local nutter who has it in for the swells.’

‘There is a great deal more to it than that, methinks. Pour coffee, if you will.’

I returned the letter and envelope to Mr Rune and poured coffee. Lord Jason helped himself to three spoonfuls of ersatz sugar and a Bourbon biscuit that I had set aside for myself. I sat down at the now-occasioned table and awaited further developments. These were not too long in coming.

‘National Treasure,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Now what would you take that to be, Rizla?’

‘A plot to kidnap George Formby?’ I suggested.

‘Try once more.’

‘Not Vera Lynn?’ And here I shrugged. ‘I have never liked her much anyway.’

‘No, Rizla,’ said Himself. ‘It is referring to the National Treasure. It is referring to the Crown jewels.’

‘Oooh,’ I went and I whistled as I went. ‘A plot to steal the Crown jewels, how exciting.’ But there was a certain tone to my voice. One that more than merely hinted that I was not convinced.

‘Are you suggesting that I am wrong?’

‘Why, perish the thought,’ said I. ‘But come on now, Mr Rune, that is a letter from a loony.’

‘Would you care to wager on this matter?’

‘Well…’ But I knew far better than to bet against Hugo Rune. ‘I will keep my money,’ I said. ‘Or would if I had any. Do you not think it is time that you started paying me some wages?’

But Hugo Rune was having none of that. ‘ “Before the Dawn comes,” ’ he quoted. ‘Which I must take to mean that the Crown jewels are to be stolen tonight.’

But I shook my head at this. ‘Oh, please,’ I said. ‘The Crown jewels? This will be only our second case, if it proves to be a case at all. The theft of the Crown jewels is a Crime-of-the-Century sort of occurrence. Surely that would merit it being at least our eighth or ninth case?’

And, pleased with the persuasiveness of this argument, I took to supping my coffee.

‘I shall take the case,’ said Hugo Rune to Lord Jason. ‘Is your Uncle Rottweiler still an equerry at Kensington Palace?’

Lord Jason nodded.

‘I already have an OBE and a Victoria Cross,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘When I save the National Treasure, I think perhaps a very special one-off knighthood would be in order, in honour of that particular day. What say you?’

And Lord Jason nodded once more.

‘Ludicrous,’ I said. And I threw up my hands, nearly taking my left eye out with my coffee spoon.