Robert Rankin - Retromancer

The count took to comedy hopping about, followed by calls for my death.

‘Might we engage in jolly rogering first?’ asked a stinking salt. Which made the count grin as he rubbed at his leg, and that fair put the willies up me.

So to speak.

But now another unexpected arrival caught the attention of one and all. Through the burst-beyond-all-repair doorway marched a number of German soldiers. Smartly turned out special troops were these, all shiny helmets with death’s head motifs and lots of buckled leather. It had to be said that they seemed to me more fearsome than any bad pirate.

One who held rank amongst them stepped forwards, clicked heels and Heil-Hitlered Count Otto. The count did Heilings in reply and asked for a report.

‘The field generator has been located in the cargo hold, mein Herr,’ said the high-ranker. ‘It is now being loaded onto the motor torpedo boat, as were your orders.’ And this was followed by more heel-clicks and a little bit more Heil-Hitlering.

‘Good,’ said the count. ‘And keep a steady eye upon the torpedo boat’s propeller – I do not want it fouled up with Sargassum. Make ready to leave when fully loaded.’ And yet more heel-clicks followed these words.

The excrementitious pirates who still remained in the posh saloon bar eyeballed these finely dressed soldiers. And perhaps little ill-oiled and poorly maintained cogs were starting to mesh together within their scruffious heads. They exchanged bitter glances and one, no fouler than the rest, being of leprous aspect and dunghill disposition, was caused to offer up words to the effect that, ‘All don’t seem right hereabouts.’ And also, ‘I smells a rat.’

Which did give me the opportunity to stick in my three-pennyworth. Because I had to save Hugo Rune somehow and the best way I could think of doing that was to cause a big diversion here, during which I could quietly slip away.

‘He means to trick all of you,’ I shouted and I pointed to the count. ‘He was only using you to capture this ship. Now that he has what he wants he will desert you. Or probably have you all killed.’

‘Shoot this outspoken turd!’ cried the count and a soldier took aim at my person.

‘Belay that,’ called a pirate.

And I saw my father hurl the bottle that bounced off Count Otto’s head.

Now there is one thing in particular that pirates and soldiers have in common and that is their love for a good old fight. Sailors particularly love fighting in a dancehall (oh, man, look at those cavemen go). Soldiers prefer a bar, and pirates will basically have-at-you wherever and whenever the opportunity arises.

There were half a dozen pirates and quite as many soldiers, so it made for even sides and a rather decent fight.

I ducked down behind the bar counter where I found Fangio, cowering with his monkey. I think my father stepped back from the actual fighting, but then it would have been hard for him to either throw a punch or defend himself as he was so engaged in flapping his hands and turning around in small circles.

Bottles flew and smashed above my head, showering glass flecks upon Fangio, monkey and me. Great war cries welled from pirate throats, and warrior calls were returned against these by the Führer’s bully boys.

There was such a lovely row of etched-glass windows that looked out from that posh saloon bar towards a posh deck beyond and, even though I was not a betting man, I would have been prepared to put my money, if I had had any, upon these windows soon getting broken as fighting men crashed through them.

‘There goes that lovely row of etched-glass windows,’ wailed Fangio. With no one to hear him and offer a prize but me, and, it had to be faced, the Weeping and Wailing Competition was now unlikely to take place at all. Pirates and solders spilled out onto the posh deck beyond in a violent, horrid maelstrom.

And there they really got into the violence proper.

And then came strange and terrible sounds that chilled me to the marrow. I was rising from behind the bar counter, hoping that now would be my opportunity to flee from the bar and somehow save the life of Hugo Rune, when I saw the awful shapes and heard the awful cries. Great monstrous somethings were dropping down from above and wreaking a hideous havoc. In the darkness on deck, when all the light there was came only from this bar, flashes of twinkling scales were to be seen and glimpses of men being snatched up from the deck. And now the men on deck no longer fought each other. Now guns blazed into the sky and cutlasses swung above heads.

‘Whatever are those creatures?’ I asked.

But Fangio cowered below me.

Flashes of gun barrels, flashes of coloured scales, flashes of violence, flashes of death, all as in a strobe light of horror. I looked on and felt sick.

And then as suddenly as it had all begun, there was nothing. Silence only, darkness without, my father curled in a tight ball upon one side of the bar, Fangio likewise on the other and me standing there, shaking violently and peeping through my fingers.

But then a figure appeared beyond the shattered windows and waved to me and smiled, stepped into the bar and retrieved his stout stick.

For it was Hugo Rune.

The Magus entered the devastated bar and he was not alone. He was accompanied by warriors, beings of noble aspect with flowing locks of golden hair and romantic fairy-tale armour. They carried spears and antique weaponry and amongst their number was a beautiful young woman in silver trappings, a broadsword in her hand and a smile of triumph on her face.

‘Princess Roellen of Purple Fane,’ I said, recognising at once the gorgeous creature whose realm extended from the mountains of Ffafiod to the Sea of Garmillion, encompassing the forests of Caecomphap and Pemanythnod. And to whom I had played a part in returning the Ring of Power TM, which was also known as Isildur’s Bane TM.

‘Fair night to you, Rizla,’ called Princess Roellen. ‘My men and I will take wine, if you will kindly offer it.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I will. I will. And hello, Mr Rune.’

The Magus picked his way between broken tables and shattered glassware and joined me at the bar.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked of me. ‘No damage done at all?’

‘I am fine.’ I said. ‘But you? They were going to weight you down and throw you into the sea.’

‘And so they might well have done, had it not been for the chance but timely arrival of the beautiful Princess Roellen.’

This wonderful lady now joined us at the bar. ‘Purple Fane is but a few leagues from here,’ she said. ‘But this Magus seeks to disillusion you. I came here not by chance, but at his silent calling. He spoke a message into my dreams asking that I fly to your assistance, because his own life might already have been taken and there would be no one to save yours. He is a great magician and he clearly cares deeply for you.’

‘Well,’ said Hugo Rune. And I saw him blush. A most extraordinary sight to see and just for this one time only.

‘Drinks all round, then,’ said Fangio, fishing out unbroken glasses from beneath the bar counter and searching for unbroken bottles from which to fill them.

‘Those monsters,’ I said, ‘dropping down from the sky.’

‘Did you really see such things?’ asked Hugo Rune.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know I did – what were they?’

‘Do you believe in dragons?’ asked Princess Roellen.

‘Dragons?’ I said. And I made a certain face.

‘Perhaps in the darkness, with all the chaos and confusion,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘There’s just no telling really, is there?’

And he raised a glass to me.

And oh what a party we had. There was some concern because Count Otto had escaped along with the field generator. But Hugo Rune said not to worry about this because he now had a plan to thwart the evil count, so we partied until dawn and all had a really good time.