Robert Rankin - The Brightonomicon

Behind the counter stood a barman all done up in Victorian garb. He wore a high starched collar with a blue silk cravat, a suit of dark stuff and much in the way of mutton-chop whiskers. And a smile. 'How might I serve you, gentlemen?' he asked. 'Fange,' I said, as I gaped at the barman. 'Fangio, it is you.' 'It is,' said the barlord. And it is you also.' 'But what are you doing here?'

'I saw this ad in a newspaper,' said Fange, 'the Weekly World News – "Experienced bar staff required to serve in alternative reality. Ability to talk toot essential." Well, I thought, I'll have that, because, after all, my bar in Hove had been destroyed in all the looting that went on last month. I wonder who started all that chaos, eh?' I did clearings of the throat. 'Search me,' I said. 'Why?' asked Fange. 'What are you hiding?' 'I am not hiding anything.' 'I am,' said the barlord. 'Can you guess what it is?'

'I'll have to stop you there,' said Mr Rune. 'This, I regret, is not the time for toot.' 'Aw,' said Fange. 'Aw,' said I also.

'We'll just have some drinks, if we may,' said Mr Rune. Firmly.

A broad smile crossed Fangio's face. 'Right,' said he. 'Drinks, is it? Well, we have a number here upon the hand pumps that you might not have tried before. Would you care for me to recommend something?' I winked at Fangio. 'Go for it, Fange,' I said.

'Three whiskies,' said Mr Rune, 'from that bottle there behind the bar.' 'Aw,' said Fange. And, 'Aw,' said I also.

'And I'll have a large one,' said Tobes, who knew nothing of toot.

Fangio took up three glasses and placed them on the counter, took down the bottle and poured out the whiskies.

'This reminds me of a funny story I heard,' he said. 'Would you care for me to relate it to you?' 'Yes I would,' I said. 'No we wouldn't,' said Mr Rune.

'Aw, come on,' said Fangio, 'this might well be my last appearance in this epic adventure. At least let me talk the last bit of toot.' 'No,' said Mr Rune, and he took up his glass. 'Look out behind you!' cried Fange. 'Zulus, thousands of them.' Mr Rune shook his head. 'I could call you a cab,' said Fangio. Mr Rune shook his head once more. 'I know where Count Otto Black is,' said Fangio. 'There,' said Mr Rune. 'At last.'

'What a villain, that bloke,' said Fangio. 'Puts me in mind of that Brownfinger in the James Bond movie.'

I opened my mouth, but Mr Rune made me shut it again.

'No takers, then?' said Fangio. 'I can get at least two pages out of getting the names of supervillains wrong. Some are quite saucy and prompt the occasional, "Oooh, Matron.'"

Mr Rune finished his whisky. 'Where is Count Otto Black?' he asked.

'Upstairs,' said Fange, 'top floor – he has the penthouse suite.' 'Thank you,' said Mr Rune. 'Follow me, gentlemen.' 'Can I come, too?' asked Fange. 'No, you cannot. Which way to the lift?' "Through that door, you spoilsport.' The lift was Art Deco style, big and full of polished brass, with spreading fan-shaped design work and tortoiseshell floor buttons. Mr Rune pressed the one marked 'Eagle's Nest' and the stylish lift sped upwards.

'We are now on the Count's home turf, as it were,' said Mr Rune. 'Be on your guard at all times and put your trust in me.' 'I could have waited in the bar,' said Tobes. 'You could have,' Mr Rune agreed, 'but I feel that your gifts may need to be called upon.'

'I don't have any gifts,' said Tobes. 'I was given a spaniel once, for Christmas, but it ran under a bus.'

'Was it a Brighton bus, with a local celebrity's name on the front?' I asked. Mr Rune made tooth-grinding sounds.

The lift came suddenly to a halt and Mr Rune's podgy fingers took a firm grip upon the pommel of his stout stick.

The doors slowly opened and we peered out. At the penthouse suite of Count Otto Black.

It was a magnificent suite, extravagantly appointed with many an expensive-looking doodad. Leather-bound volumes bricked its walls and brass contraptions littered the horizontal surfaces of exquisite tables.

'My books,' said Mr Rune. 'My scientific equipment. My tables.'

'It looks as if he helped himself before he burned down our rooms,' I observed.

'The pungent turd,' said Mr Rune. Which I found quite amusing. 'Where do you think he's hiding?' asked Tobes. 'I doubt if he is hiding at all,' I said. 'He will not be expecting us.'

Mr Rune shook his head slowly. 'He will be expecting us,' he said. 'He knows that I can gain entry to the Forbidden Zones. However, I remain puzzled on one matter: he has access to this realm, but he could not find the entrance point to the place where the Chronovision was hidden.'

'He is not the Re-inventor of the Ocarina,' I said. 'Are you not Mister Hugo Rune, whose eye is before E, except after C? Rune, whose navel knows the secrets of the ancients? Rune, whose bum is the square of the hypotenuse? Rune, whose-'

'That is quite enough, thank you, Rizla,' said Mr Rune. 'Now be on your guard and follow me, this way.'

Before us hung a magnificent pair of doors, tall and wide and heavily laden with ornamentation. I liked not the look of those doors, though, for the carvings upon them were of tortured souls being bothered by horrible demons. 'Suggestive,' said Mr Rune. 'Plah!' was the best I could manage.

Mr Rune put his great hands to the doors and pushed the blighters open.

Beyond lay a wonderful room, black-carpeted and lit by massive torcheres. And there was a desk resembling a marble sarcophagus. And behind this desk was Count Otto Black.

He sat there on a gilded throne, stroking Nathaniel the spaniel. And he smiled a wan smile in our direction. And then all Hell broke loose.

They came at us from everywhere and horrible they were. Nasty, spiny, evil things as black as the Bottomless Pit. They closed in about us and I closed my eyes and my hands began to flap. The smell of death was up my nose and Hell was in my ears. I tried to scream, but no sounds came, so I turned in small circles instead. And then something smacked me right in the head. 'Rizla, stop doing that?

I rubbed at my head and opened my eyes. The hideous things were gone.

'You will have to do better than that, Count Otto,' said Mr Rune. 'An elementary calling, voided by a simple counter-spell.' The Count made a bitter face behind his desk. 'Magic,' I said to Mr Rune: 'And you-'

'I am a Master of the Mystic Arts,' said Mr Rune, 'and enough is enough.' And he strode to the desk of Count Otto and brought his stout stick down hard upon it. 'Return the Chronovision to me,' he demanded, 'and I will spare your life.' The Count looked at Mr Rune and then the Count laughed. 'Spare my life?' he said. 'You are in my world now, Mister Rune, it is you who must beg for your life.' 'Such histrionics,' said Mr Rune. 'Such bluff and bluster.'

The Count's hand strayed to a button that rose from his marble desk. It was a blood-red button. The Count's finger hovered above it.

'One little tap,' said Count Otto, 'and you will be despatched to your grave.'

'Hm,' went Mr Rune and in a flash, he had drawn from his stout stick a glittering blade that he held to Count Otto's throat. 'Then the two of us will die,' he said, 'and Rizla here will dispose of the Chronovision.'

The Count's finger continued its hovering. 'Thus and so,' said he. 'But why must we persist in this? Answer me truly, Hugo Rune, are we not made of special stuff, you and I? Are we not men above the faceless hordes of humankind? We are remarkable men, and together we could achieve remarkable things, extraordinary things.'

'What are you suggesting?' Mr Rune's blade twinkled at Count Otto's throat, its tip deep in amongst the great black beard.

'An alliance, plain and simple. We are men of learning, men of great esoteric knowledge. Each of us seeks recognition for our unique talent. You crave fame, I crave infamy. Together we could aspire to a middle ground that would benefit us both. Together we could have it all.' 'The world?' said Hugo Rune.