Robert Rankin - The Brightonomicon

'I do not think that I am a particularly spiritual kind of a fellow,' I said. 'I am a teenager and I do not believe that teenagers are noted for their spirituality.' 'Would a financial incentive alter your opinion?'

'I wonder whether I already have a job,' I wondered aloud, 'or whether I am still at school.' 'All will eventually resolve itself. Of that I am certain.' 'Look,' said I, 'I appreciate the offer, but I do not know you and you do not know me. On this basis alone I feel that the throwing in of our lots together might prove detrimental to both of us.'

'One year,' said Mr Rune. 'One year of your life is all I require.' 'Owe year?' I said. 'That is outrageous.' 'One month, then.' 'My memory might return at any moment,' I said. 'Indeed it might,' said Mr Rune, 'but I doubt it.' 'Hold on,' I said. 'You're not a homo, are you?'

Mr Rune now raised both hairless eyebrows simultaneously and then drew them down to make a very fierce face. 'Sir,' said he, 'no man calls Rune a homo and lives to tell the tale.' 'No offence meant,' I said.

'And none taken,' said Mr Rune, calming himself. 'Some of my closest acquaintances have been of that persuasion. Oscar Wilde-' 'Oscar Wilde?' I said.

'One month,' said Mr Rune. 'A month of your time. Should your memory return to you within this period, then, should you choose to do so, you may go upon your way.'

I must have made a doubtful face, although of course I could not actually see it myself. 'I am assuming that you are offering me employment,' I said. 'What exactly and precisely would the nature of this employment be?'

'Amanuensis,' said Mr Rune. 'Chronicler of my adventures, assistant, acolyte.'

'Acolyte?' I put a doubtful tone into my voice to go with the look I felt certain I was already wearing on my face.

'I am set upon a task,' said Mr Rune, 'a task of the gravest import. The very future of Mankind depends upon the success of its outcome.'

'Oh dear,' I said, softly and slowly, in, I felt, befitting response to such a statement.

'Never doubt me,' said Mr Rune. 'Never doubt my words. During the course of the coming year I will be presented with twelve problems to solve, one problem per month. Should I solve them all, then all will be well. Should I fail, then the fate that awaits Mankind will be terrible in the extreme. Beyond terrible. Unthinkable.'

'Then it is probably best that I do not think about it.' I rose once more to take my leave, clutching the sheet about my person.

'I can promise you excitement,' said Mr Rune. 'Danger and excitement. Thrills and danger and excitement. And an opportunity for you to play your part in saving the world as you know it.'

'I do not yet know it as well as I would like,' I said. 'I think I should be off now to get to know it better.'

'Go,' said Mr Rune. 'Go. I evidently chose poorly. You are clearly timid. You would be of no use to me.'

I was already at the door. But I turned at the word 'timid'. 'I am not timid,' I said. 'Careful, perhaps. Yes, I am certain that I am careful. But certainly not timid.'

'You're a big girlie.' Mr Rune rose, took himself over to the drinks cabinet and decanted more sherry into his glass. 'Be off on your way, girlie boy.'

My hand was almost upon the handle of the door. 'I am not timid,' I reiterated. 'I am not a big girlie boy.'

'I'll pop around to the labour exchange later,' said Mr Rune, returning to his chair and waving me away. 'Put a card up on their help-wanted board: "Required, brave youth, to earn glory and wealth", or something similar.' 'I am brave,' I protested. 'I know that I am brave.'

'Not brave enough to be my assistant, I'm thinking. Not brave enough to be my partner in the fight against crime.' 'Crime?' I said. 'What do you mean by this?'

'Oh, didn't I mention it?' Mr Rune made a breezy gesture, the breeze of which wafted across the room towards me and right up my bed sheet, too. 'I am a detective,' said he, drawing himself to his feet. 'In fact, I am the detective. I solve the inexplicable conundrums that baffle the so-called experts at Scodand Yard.' 'You are a policeman?' 'Heavens, no. I am a private individual. I am the world's foremost metaphysical detective.' 'Like Sherlock Holmes?'

'On the contrary. He was a mere consulting detective and he would have been nothing without me.' I raised an eyebrow of my own. A hairy one. 'Go,' said Mr Rune. 'I tire of your conversation.'

'No,' I said. 'I am not timid. I am brave. And I am not going.' 'You wish then that I should employ you?' I chewed upon my bottom lip. 'I don't know,' I said. 'Timid and indecisive,' said Mr Rune. 'Count me in,' I said. 'You will be required to sign a contract.' 'Count me in.' 'In blood.' 'Count me out.' The Hound of the Hangletons The Hangleton Hound

I did sign Mr Rune's contract, and I signed it in blood.

I don't know exactly why I did it; somehow it just seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. Ludicrous, I agree; absurd, I also agree; and dangerous, too, I agree once again. And perhaps that was it – the danger. I did not know who I was. I did not know who Mr Rune was. And even now, some one hundred years later as I set pen to paper and relate the experiences and adventures that I had with Hugo Rune, I cannot truly say that I ever actually knew whom or, indeed, what he really was. AlthoughBut that although is for later. For the now, from that day before yesterday to which I had been returned from the dead, I inhabited rooms at forty-nine Grand Parade, Brighton, in the employ of Hugo Artemis Solon Saturnicus Reginald Arthur Rune, Mumbo Gumshoe, Hokus Bloke, Cosmic Dick, Lad Himself and the Re-inventor of the Ocarina. And he and I were bored.

Perhaps the life of ease and idleness had never appealed to me. Perhaps I had never experienced it before and therefore did not know how to appreciate it properly. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

On the day that I had signed Mr Rune's contract, with blood drawn from my left thumb, he had taken me off to the tailoring outlets of Brighton and had me fitted with several suits of clothes. I recall that no money exchanged hands during these transactions and that there was much talk from Mr Rune about 'putting things on his account'. And much protestation from the managers of the tailoring outlets. But somehow we gained possession of said suits of clothes and I became decently clad and most stylishly clad, also. Which Mr Rune explained was just as one should look when one engaged in regular dining out.

Dining out was evidently one of Mr Rune's favourite occupations. The man consumed food with the kind of gusto with which a Blue Peter presenter might consume cocaine*. Mr Rune really knew how to put the tucker away. And he did it, as he did everything else, with considerable style. Although, sadly, he enjoyed the most rotten luck when it came to restaurants. No matter where we dined, and I recall that we never dined in the same restaurant twice * Allegedly. for reasons that I will now explain, the outcome of each meal was inevitably the same. Mr Rune would fill himself to veritable excess, consuming the costliest viands upon the menu, along with the most expensive wines on offer, and would sing the praises of the chef throughout the consumption of each dish. And then, calamity.

We would be upon our final course – the Black Forest gateau or the cheese and the biscuits – when Mr Rune would be consumed with a fit of coughing. I would hasten to his assistance, patting away at his ample back and thereby mercifully sparing him a choking as he coughed up a bone. A rat bone!

I genuinely felt for the fellow. How unfair it was that it should always be he who suffered in this dreadful fashion, he who appreciated his food so much, who chose only to dine in the most exclusive restaurants. Our evening would be well and truly spoiled. Words would be exchanged, harsh words on the part of Mr Rune, words which included the phrases 'a report being put in to the Department of Health' and imminent closure of this establishment'.