Robert Rankin - Retromancer

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘That is hardly fair. Well, some of it is, but, no.’

‘There is no room for a magician in this age. It is all machines and technology.’

‘You beat that evil clown through magic,’ I said.

‘You spoke the words, Rizla, not I.’

‘Then I am a sorcerer’s apprentice and I do not feel out of date.’

‘You fail to grasp my point, Rizla. To quote my disciple Brian Eno: “Energy fools the magician.” ’ [9]

‘Brian who?’ But I did not follow that up.

‘Think about it, Rizla. The reason why we are here. Technology, advanced technology. Atomic weapons, robots and computers. It is all to do with technology.’

‘Are you saying that the technology is evil?’ I asked.

‘Not the technology itself, but those who wield it. Although I wonder at times…’

‘You do? About what?’

‘There is a hand at work behind all the cases that we have dealt with so far. A hand far greater than the unwashed mitt of Count Otto Black. Some huge dark force. I feel it, Rizla, I do.’

‘It is Hitler,’ I said. ‘And many believe that he sold his soul to the Devil and that he himself is a black magician. Mr McMurdo said that his power comes from the dark arts. That he worships Wotan.’

‘Hitler is a buffoon,’ snarled the Magus. ‘His only gift is for oratory. He is no military strategist – brute force is all he knows. And if he really is a black magician, then I do not consider him to be much of one. Shall we say that I went along with McMurdo’s theories for reasons of my own. There is much more going on here. There is more at work than Herr Hitler. There is some vast inhuman force influencing events that I have yet to identify.’

‘And I am sure that you will,’ I said. ‘In fact, I know that you will.’

Hugo Rune smiled and rose in his chair.

And somehow was eating my sausage.

‘I need you to pick a card,’ he said, when breakfasting was done.

‘This will be our very last case here, because soon we must cross the Atlantic.’

‘I am having some doubts about that,’ I said, seating myself fireside and taking up the paper. ‘I believe I expressed them to you. I would like once more to reiterate them.’

‘Repetition does not enforce a point, Rizla, it merely belabours it. Our time is running out. Within days my other self will return here from Switzerland. I cannot come face to face with my other self-’

‘Because it might create a quantum paradox that could trigger the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter and bring about the collapse of the universe?’ I said.

‘That and the fact that I owe him money, which he will be eager to collect.’

I made whistling sounds through my teeth. ‘You even owe money to yourself,’ I said. ‘You are a first-class act.’

‘Why, thank you, Rizla.’ And Hugo Rune bowed. ‘But also I know the date when the atomic blast will devastate New York and trigger a chain reaction that will decimate the entire United States of America. And thus, allowing for our travelling time, we will need to make haste.’

‘Are you absolutely certain that repetition does not enforce a point?’ I asked. ‘Only-’

‘Cease, young Rizla,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘and pick a card, if you will.’

I chose a card that I felt appropriate, but in hindsight it was perhaps not the best choice.

The card I chose was THE MAGICIAN.

It did not make Hugo Rune smile.

As the local newspaper failed to yield anything remotely resembling Cosmic Conundrum material, we donned our linen suits and panama hats and took ourselves off for a stroll.

This stroll led at length to The Purple Princess, which I found less than surprising.

We entered the bar, placed our stylishly cased gas masks upon the bar counter and beheld the barlord, Fangio.

‘Now what in the name of all the unholies do you think you look like?’ I asked.

And Fangio did a little twirl. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Will I do?’

The barlord’s face was made up in that style that is forever known and loved as ‘Pantomime Dame’. And the costume that he wore was greatly in keeping with this look.

A blond wig covered his manly skull and a flowery frock his less than comely frame. I leaned over the bar counter, wondering if, perhaps, I might catch sight of a pair of Ruby slippers. But then could not quite remember which year The Wizard of Oz had actually come out.

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘Christmas has come unexpectedly early and you are playing an ugly sister, possibly in an all-gay panto called Cinderfella.’

‘Guess again,’ said Fangio.

‘No thank you,’ I said. ‘We will take two pints of Stone Informal and not in cocktail glasses.’

‘Mr Rune,’ said Fangio. ‘Tell this foolish boy who I am.’

Hugo Rune cocked his head on one side and said, ‘You are Vera Lynn.’

‘Precisely,’ said Fangio. ‘The Forces’ Sweetheart. An uncanny resemblance, don’t you think?’

‘Well, now that you mention it,’ I said, ‘I do not.’

‘Well, there better had be,’ said the barlord, pulling pints with fingers that were heavy on the nail varnish with some even on the nails. ‘Firstly because-’ And he nodded to a poster.

BRENTFORD INTER-PUB

LOOKALIKE

COMPETITION

‘Just our luck,’ I said to Hugo Rune. ‘These posters have all the potential for a half-decent running gag and we have to run off and leave them.’

‘And that also,’ said the barlord. ‘You will note perhaps the scarcity of any cardboard boxes hereabouts.’

I nodded that indeed this was the case and asked just why it was.

‘I’ve had the rozzers in,’ said Fangio, presenting us with our pints. ‘It seems that someone grassed me up for selling hokey goods.’

‘In the King’s English, Rizla,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘our noble barlord has been reported to the police for selling contraband. And so he intends to evade capture by cross-dressing, in the hope that no one will see through his cunning disguise.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘But I do see a flaw in this. Surely if you enter the lookalike competition you will give the game away that you are not the real Vera Lynn.’

‘Hm.’ Fangio stroked at his stubbled chin. ‘That is food for thought,’ he said. ‘And while we’re on the subject-’

‘It is a bit early for luncheon,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘in that we have only just finished breakfast.’

‘Ah,’ said Fangio. ‘This is not so much about you eating your lunch here. It is more of a pecuniary matter.’

Himself raised an eyebrow to this. His stout stick tapped at his leg. ‘Pecuniary?’ he asked politely. ‘What mean you by this?’

‘I will, I regret, have to ask you to settle your account, Mr Rune,’ said Fangio, taking a brisk step backwards beyond the range of the stout stick.

‘My…? My…?’ The word did not come easily to the mouth of Hugo Rune.

‘Your account, sir, yes. I hadn’t troubled you about it before because I felt that you’d probably settle up in your own time. I’ve kept an accurate tally of all that you and your companion have drunk and consumed here over the last six months. You’d be surprised just how much it has all added up to.’

‘I would not,’ I said.

‘So if perhaps you would care to take out your chequebook.’

And I now took a step back. It was of course possible that Hugo Rune did possess a chequebook. All gentlemen possessed cheque-books. But I had certainly never actually witnessed such a chequebook and felt it unlikely that I would do so now.

Violence, yes.

Chequebook, no.

‘I’ll go and fetch the bill,’ said Fangio. ‘You can have those two pints on the house, as it were.’

And with that said he left the bar, returning moments later with the bill. Well, I assume that he probably did return in such fashion. Mr Rune and I, however, were not there to meet this return. Our two now-empty glasses stood upon the otherwise empty counter and silence echoed all throughout the otherwise empty bar.