Robert Rankin - The Brightonomicon

I found the room key and turned it in the lock. And I pushed open the door.

And then I smelled something and felt something, too – a terrible chill in the air. And I looked and I beheld and I became afeared. Because something sat at the breakfasting table. Something I knew to be dead.

'Ah, Rizla,' said Mr Rune, 'you took your time. I ordered two breakfasts, but had to eat yours as it was growing cold.'

'Dead-' I croaked and I staggered in the doorway. 'You were dead-'

'I am alive.' And Mr Rune rose to my assistance. 'You're all done in,' he said. 'You need some food inside you. There's a bit of toast left, I think.'

And I flung my arms around him (in a manly kind of way). 'Alive,' I cried. 'Alive! I am so glad.'

'Calm yourself, my friend.' And Mr Rune patted at my head. 'Your hair needs cutting,' he said. 'It is you.' I looked up at him. 'It really is you?'

Mr Rune guided me to a chair and set me down. 'Do you still have it?' he asked. 'Have what?' 'The map,' said Mr Rune. 'The map, of course.' 'I do,' I said. And I rootled about in my pockets. 'And my stout stick also, how thoughtful.'

I found the map and handed it to Hugo Rune. 'But how?' I asked him. 'Tell me how.'

Mr Rune poured coffee for me and I drank it. But he downed that last piece of toast.

'I had to know,' said he, 'the location where the Chronovision is hidden, and it seemed the only way. I put my trust in you and you did not let me down. Bravo.' 'But how?' I asked once more. 'I put my ear to your chest, but you had no heartbeat. You were dead. And whatever evil magic the count was up to would not have worked if you had not been dead.'

'Exactly. It was the only way. The balance of equipoise must always be maintained and cursed is the man who dares to tamper with the scales. I stopped my heart temporarily using a technique taught to me by my very good friend the Dalai Lama, in return for me teaching him how to play darts. Stopping your own heart and putting yourself into a state of suspended animation is a dangerous and painful process and I could not have held out for long. It was well that you acted as promptly as you did, as promptly as I had hoped that you would.' And Mr Rune studied the map.

'Incredible,' I said, as I finished my coffee. 'Simply incredible.'

'Well, I wouldn't credit it,' said Mr Rune, 'if someone told it to me. I'd probably say that stopping your heart was naught but an urban myth.'

'Please do not speak of those,' I said. 'I have had my fill of them.' 'Ah,' said Mr Rune, looking up. 'Your ride back to the hotel. Somewhat upsetting, that, I suppose.' 'You know about that?'

'It took considerable skill for me to conjure up that nail to puncture the tyre of that ethereal Morris.' I shook my head in some wonder.

'And so we have it,' said Mr Rune, tapping at the map with a forefinger that was considerably larger than that of Norris the Morris-driver from Hell. 'The location where the Chronovision is hidden.'

'Yes,' I said. 'And I did take a look before I threatened to throw the map on to the bonfire, just in case I had to.' 'Most professional. And so you know?' 'Where it is hidden? Yes.' 'Now we must acquire it. And fast.' 'Ah,' I said. 'Ah?' said Mr Rune. 'Well, that might not be quite so easy as it sounds.' 'And why might that be?' Hugo Rune asked.

'Well,' I said, 'Firstly because it is hidden somewhere so frightful that few men living would ever dare to go to that place and seek it. And secondly, I am beginning to think, after what you just said regarding the balance of equipoise, that perhaps I was a little hasty when I did not fulfil my side of the bargain offered to me by Norris Styver in his Morris Minor.' 'To whit?' said Mr Rune.

'To whit,' I said, 'that I do not think I can get out of Lewes.'

The Birdman of Whitehawk The Whitehawk Birdman

With the aid of Fangio, Mr Rune and I left the Hotel California by the rear fire exit, our beds still made, our bill, unpaid.

Leaving Lewes itself, however, proved to be somewhat more complicated. The walk from the station to the hotel that we had made the previous day had not been a long walk. It had been a walk-in-the-park kind of walk, although there was no park. But the walk back…

'Check the map once more, Rizla,' cried Mr Rune, when after very much walking we found ourselves at the hotel's rear exit once again. 'This is thoroughly absurd.'

'It is the curse,' I told him. And I yawned as I told him, for I was very tired, having not slept all night, and having watched my bestest friend die and then having been chased by witches; having made my escape in Norris Styver's Morris Minor, which included running over several of the witches (which in the cold light of day seemed a somewhat terrible thing to have done, no matter how extenuating the circumstances); then discovering that Norris was a dead corpse-thing; and finally escaping from him, but at the expense of being cursed never to leave the town of Lewes. It had been a hard night and I was all in.

'We will never get out alive,' I further told Mr Rune. 'You had best leave me here to wander these streets for ever and ever.' 'Or we might just hail a cab.'

'They do not have cabs in Lewes, although I did hear a tale of a Brighton cabbie who drove a fare here once and is still trying to find his way out of the one-way system. And anyways, calling a cab would do no good. The roads are all snarled up with traffic – first-time visitors to the fireworks last night trying in vain to get home. Go, save yourself. Leave me here to die.'

Mr Rune raised his stout stick. Then he lowered it again. 'It has been a difficult night for you, young Rizla,' he said, 'and you acquitted yourself bravely and loyally. If it is merely a matter of me voiding the curse of Norris Styver, then so be it. About turn.' 'It is a waste of time,' I said.

'About turn,' said Mr Rune, 'about turn, walk backwards, close your eyes and lead us back to the station from memory.' 'Will that work?' 'Trust me-' said Hugo Rune. 'I know,' I said, sighing. 'You are a magician.' ? If everything in life were as simple as that, there would be no trouble in this world. Certainly I bumped into a few lampposts, which I felt certain that Mr Rune could have steered me around. And although each time he was apologetic, I swear I heard titterings. But at length, and at not very much of one, we had arrived at the station.

And from there, upon a westbound train, we returned at further length to Brighton.

We did not, however, return to our rooms at forty-nine Grand Parade. In fact, we never returned to them again, which was rather sad, really, because I had certainly enjoyed our times together there, all the breakfasting and conversations and whatnots. Not to mention all that damn fine toot I had talked with Fangio in his bar next door. I wondered whether I would ever see Fangio again. It was always possible, I supposed.

There was some unpleasantness at Brighton Station regarding the matter of train tickets. Mr Rune was forced to employ his stout stick and we left the concourse with haste. Mr Rune surveyed the line of waiting cabs.

'Splendid,' said he, blowing breath at the knob of his stout stick and buffing it on his sleeve.

'Now just hold on,' I said, 'are you thinking that we should go at once and attempt to acquire the Chronovision?' 'There is no time to be lost' 'Things are not quite as simple as you might suppose.' 'We have the map. We have the location. What could be simpler?'

'Well, firstly,' I said, 'and all importantly, it is to do with the matter of the location. The Chronovision is hidden in Whitehawk.' 'So?' said Mr Rune. 'Whitehawk,' I said. 'Whitehawk.' 'Tell me about it in the cab,' said Mr Rune. 'Taxis will not drive into Whitehawk.'