Robert Rankin - Retromancer

‘And what of Wotan and the worship of Him?’

‘A computer possessed by the spirit of a God? Did you really believe that to be true? But of course you did, for I am you now, as I was you then, and I remember. Magical thinking, Hugo Rune. Attributing the fantastic with the power to influence the mundane. Does Man really hear the voices of angels? Or are these voices simply the symptoms of mental illness that might be wafted away by carefully prescribed medication? You will find no Gods or magic here, my young self. We have moved beyond that now. Mankind is free of the shackles of religion and faith in the fantastic. This is a world of scientific reality. And you can play your part in bringing this world into being.’

The ancient Hugo Rune leaned back in his futuristic chair, which hovered as such a chair should, several inches above the balcony floor. And he regarded his younger self with a quizzical expression.

His younger self gazed back at him and there was a leaden silence.

‘The choice is yours,’ said the ancient one at length. ‘Embrace the future, or continue to live in the past. You are the Retromancer. The choice is yours to make.’

And then there was a whoosh and a flash and a crash-tinkle-tinkle and the city of the future faded and was gone and we were back in the bar of Hotel Jericho.

‘What just happened?’ asked Fangio. ‘I’m sure I just missed something. ’

I looked up at Hugo Rune. The Magus seemed to stare, but not to see.

‘Are you all right, Mr Rune?’ I asked him. ‘Was that really you that we met?’

‘A possible me in a possible future.’ Hugo Rune shook his head.

‘But a real future, surely?’ I said. ‘Because that was the you who appeared to me during our first case and warned me to beware of the number twenty-seven.’

‘And that is what concerns me,’ said Himself. ‘Without that future me warning you, we would surely be dead. But for that future me to exist, we must abandon our mission and let Germany win the war.’

‘And you abandon magic and embrace modern science?’

‘A paradox,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘But as my old pupil Wittgenstein was so fond of saying, “the laws of nature are not subject to the laws of nature”.’

‘I am not quite sure how that helps,’ I said.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Fangio. ‘It’s not déjà vu if it really has happened before.’

‘And that does not help at all,’ I said to Fangio. ‘In fact, what was the point of you actually saying it?’

‘Because you had that same conversation yesterday when you came in here. After those two blokes in trenchcoats appeared out of nowhere and spirited you away.’

‘Yesterday?’ I now said. ‘That does not make any sense. We just came in here this afternoon.’

‘Yesterday afternoon,’ said Fangio. ‘And you have just come in again and it’s morning now.’

And I looked at Hugo Rune.

And he looked at me.

And then, as one we looked to the wall clock that hung above the bar.

‘Eleven o’ clock,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Which means that we have but a single hour.’

‘Would this be just an hour left to destroy that jet-powered invisible Zeppelin that is going to drop the atomic bomb on New York?’ asked Fangio. ‘Like you mentioned yesterday?’

And very loudly he asked this question. So loudly in fact that it silenced all conversation in the bar. And there had been much conversation and jolly conversation too, with GIs chatting to fashionable ladies and a ragtime jazz band pumping out a syncopated version of the ever popular ‘I Took My Horse to Water But I Couldn’t Get It Drunk’. In four-four time.

‘What did you say, guy?’ asked a GI of Fangio.

‘My name isn’t Guy,’ replied the barman.

‘Oh, a wise guy, is it?’

And Fangio looked puzzled.

And then the GI hit him with a hot pastrami on rye.

And then, for no reason that I could see, other than it appeared to be some fashionable motif of the day, the leader of the jazz band punched the drummer’s lights out. And then the fists and fur began to fly.

‘I think we should be making tracks,’ I said to Hugo Rune. The Magus smote a sailor with his stout stick and then agreed that we should.

Now the taxi drivers in New York City are not as those in dear old London Town. Firstly you just cannot get at them. They cower behind (or rather in front of) a cage of steel, through a small slot in which you pass your payment for the trip. In advance.

‘In advance!’ cried Hugo Rune, raising his stout stick, before becoming painfully aware that he had no head to bring it down upon. ‘IN ADVANCE?’

‘There’s a war on, buddy,’ the taxi driver replied. ‘Even if you Limeys hadn’t noticed. But don’t worry yourselves about that, we’ll dig you out of the ****, just like we did in the sixteen-seventeen war.’

And I had never seen such whiteness on Mr Rune’s knuckles before. Positively Arctic became those stick-gripping knucks.

‘Money, Rizla!’ cried the Magus. ‘Pay this oaf and fast.’

‘I do not have any money,’ I said. ‘And if I did have any money it would be English money and I do not think these colonials understand English currency.’

‘Then give him your wristlet watch. Anything.’

‘I will tell you what,’ I said. ‘Here, Mr Cabby, do you see this? Take us as fast as you can to the Empire State Building.’

And the cabby perused what I held in my hand. For I had poked it through the little money slot in the cage of steel. And he said, ‘Yes, sir.’ And he put his foot down. Hard.

Mr Rune smiled fondly upon me and said, ‘Where did you get that?’

‘Oh, this?’ I said, glancing down at the revolver, whose snout I had poked through that little money slot and which I was now holding, trigger cocked, upon the cabby. ‘I found this in the glovebox of the cab that we chased Count Otto Black down the Mall in. I have kept it on me ever since. But I have never had the opportunity to get it out and point it at somebody until now.’

Hugo Rune now did shakings of the head. ‘But we were searched when we were captured by the US Marines. I do not recall them finding a pistol upon your person.’

‘If you are going to be picky,’ I said, ‘then yes, there are many flaws in this, continuity-wise. But let us not be picky, because time is running out.’

‘Excellent, Rizla, excellent.’ Hugo Rune leaned back in his seat. And sighed. ‘And no in-cab cocktail bar. A jolly poor show indeed.’

We raced across New York and I really did not have time to take in all of its wonder. And I know that I should have tried, because if Mr Rune failed in our mission, then within one short hour all of this would cease to be. And I did want to grab some moment in time, have something to cling to and remember, but my thoughts were whirling and my brain was all a-fog, because I just did not know what lay ahead.

For what did lie ahead?

Certainly we were heading for the Empire State Building. Where, if Mr Rune’s theories were correct, the Tesla field generator would be positioned upon its uppermost pinnacle. But then what?

Did Mr Rune actually want now to halt the progress of the invisible Zeppelin? Knowing what potential the future held, should Germany win the war? And having met his elderly self, an elderly self who had saved our lives, who might not exist if Germany did not win the war. Had he actually reached a decision?

My head was really spinning. What was Mr Rune going to do? And what would be the result of his so doing?

‘The Empire State Building, you **********,’ said the cabby, employing a term of profanity that was certainly new to me.

I thanked the cabby and in the company of Mr Rune I took my leave.