Robert Rankin - Retromancer

‘Heading for America,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Everything falls neatly into place.’

‘It does?’ I said. ‘Then please explain it to me.’

And I am sure that he would have done just that.

Had it not been for the interruption.

Which came as if a bolt from the blue.

As our ship struck something-

HARD

We headed to the topmost deck, for that would be the last to go underwater. By the time we reached it chaos reigned, with rich folk screaming and beating each other and fighting over the lifeboats.

‘Would I be right in assuming,’ I shouted to Hugo Rune, ‘that this ship owns to a deficit in the lifeboat department, as did its sister ship the Titanic?’

‘I rather suspect this to be the case,’ yelled the Magus. And then he laid a hand upon a well-dressed seaman in a rather superior lifejacket, who was seeking to sneak on board the nearest lifeboat. Hugo Rune hauled this fellow from his feet and spoke to his dangling person.

‘Speak to me, please,’ said the guru’s guru. ‘And with precise phraseology, lest an ambiguity or inconsistency result in severe skull damage upon your part.’ And he waggled his stout stick meaningfully. ‘What exactly has happened?’

The dangling fellow squirmed about, but spoke as best he could. ‘The ship has wandered slightly off course,’ he cried, ‘and has entered the Sargasso Sea.’

‘Slightly off course!’ roared Mr Rune. ‘One thousand miles or more. And what was the nature of the obstacle we struck?’

‘An ancient galleon, sir.’

Mr Rune let the fellow fall into the crowd. ‘Come, Rizla,’ he called unto me. ‘It is to the bridge with us, to see how affairs might be righted.’

And so I got to go onto the bridge of the RMS Olympic. Which was a very exciting place to be. There was the big ship’s steering wheel. And it was a really big one, nearly as high as a man. And there were those things with the levers on that the captain orders to be pulled for FULL STEAM AHEAD and suchlike. And big red buttons to press for foghorns and emergency sirens and so on. And a chart table and a framed picture of Queen Victoria.

And there was also my father. Dressed as the captain.

With a rather guilty look upon his face.

‘Captain Pooley?’ asked Hugo Rune, pushing onto the bridge.

‘It is private up here,’ said Captain Pooley. ‘Please go back the way you came.’ And then Captain Pooley caught sight of me and said, ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Do you know each other?’ asked Hugo Rune.

And I looked hard at the Magus.

Surely he knew that this was my father. All that business with the tarot card and the SUN being father to the Earth and everything. And so on. And so forth. And suchlike.

‘This is my-’ And I looked up at my father. ‘My casual acquaintance, ’ I continued. ‘I met him in Brentford a while back.’

‘I had no idea you were of wealthy stock,’ said my father. ‘Are you enjoying the voyage?’

‘Well,’ I said. And I did sort of noddings over my shoulder to where all that chaos reigned below and where rich folk were now leaping into the murky waters.

And indeed those waters were truly murky. Because from the lofty prominence of the wheelhouse you could get a really decent overview of the Sargasso Sea.

I had read about this sinister area when I was a child. The Ocean’s Graveyard, it was called, amongst many other uncomplimentary things. It was a portion of the North Atlantic Ocean bogged with a surface-growing seaweed called Sargassum. It dwelt within the notorious horse latitudes, in an area known as the doldrums. When sailing ships found themselves windless and caught in this mire, they rarely if ever made home port again.

And legend had it that there were many ghost ships to be found there, barnacled up and choked with seaweed. With naught aboard but skeletons and the wraiths of long-dead sailors.

And yes, looking out from that wheelhouse you could see the wrecks. And there were many of them too, from ancient Romanesque sailing barques to twentieth-century shipping.

‘Have you tried putting the engines into reverse?’ asked Hugo Rune of the captain.

‘You are Mr Hugo Rune,’ said Captain Pooley, all of a suddenly sudden. ‘I recognise you from your photograph in John Bull. Being congratulated by the King, after your famous four-way Channel swim.’

‘A bet with George Formby,’ Hugo Rune explained to me and he shook my father by the hand.

And that really meant quite a lot to me, though I would not perhaps wish to put into words just why.

‘I would be grateful for any advice you might have to offer, Mr Rune,’ said Captain Pooley. ‘I did try reversing the engines, but it seemed to make matters worse. Both screws are now jammed and there appears to be imminent danger of the boilers blowing up.’

Himself gazed over the mayhem below. ‘I think I see the stokers fighting their way into one of the lifeboats,’ he said, ‘so the boilers will probably be safe for now. Do you have any rum about yourself?’

‘The special captain’s bottle,’ said the special captain.

‘Then let’s crack it open and discuss matters,’ suggested Mr Rune, ‘until all the foolish people have left the ship and there is some peace and quiet.’

And so that is what we did. We drank rum up there in the wheelhouse and watched the rich people bashing each other up, falling over the side, crowding the lifeboats and generally carrying on in a manner which, I have to confess, I found most amusing indeed.

Schadenfreude I know it is called. Or epicaricacy, as the English will have it. From the original Greek.

But they would have let me be eaten.

It was nightfall before it began to grow quiet. There came a few distant cries for help as foolish people went down on the overcrowded lifeboats. A number of piercing screams which, I was given to understand, might have something to do with the shark-infested waters. But then mostly calm.

And we had the great ship to ourselves.

We had left the wheelhouse by this time and, as the special captain’s rum had all gone, adjourned to the bar to take advantage of the easy access to the counter.

And behind this counter stood Fangio.

And next to him sat his monkey.

‘Jolly good to see you, Fange,’ said I. ‘Decided against fighting your way aboard a lifeboat, then? Wise.’

‘Lifeboat?’ said Fangio. ‘I’ve been having a sleep and have only just come on shift. It’s very quiet in here this evening. What is all this about lifeboats?’

‘Nothing you should worry yourself about,’ I told him. ‘But this is the captain and the drinks are on him.’

‘Are they?’ asked my father. ‘Well, I suppose they are. Or on the house, at least. I’ll have a pint of Cooper Black, please, barman.’

‘I think the running gag about typeface beer names has run its course,’ I said.

‘Pint of Cooper Black coming up,’ said Fangio.

‘Then make that two,’ I said.

And, ‘Three,’ said Hugo Rune.

‘So,’ I said to my father, ‘the ship is not actually in imminent danger of sinking?’

‘Not in the least,’ he replied. ‘It’s just a bit stuck, that’s all.’

‘I find this encouraging,’ I said.

‘I did miss something, didn’t I?’ said Fangio. Presenting us with our ales.

‘I never saw you pull those,’ I said.

‘Because I never pulled them, it was my monkey. Did you know that if you sat an infinite number of monkeys down before an infinite number of typewriters, one of them would accidentally type out a book called Retromancer? So what did I miss?’ implored Fangio. ‘And why do you smell of white-wolf gonads, Rizla? I did miss something, didn’t I?’