Robert Rankin - The Brightonomicon

'You are singularly unimpressed,' said Mr Hugo Rune, 'but then you have yet to understand its significance.'

'Well.' I shrugged. 'I suppose I will have to take your word for it.'

Mr Rune sighed mightily. 'I am confiding in you matters,' said he, 'that I have never confided to another soul. I am doing so because in a future time, indeed, a far future time, you will write these matters down, indeed, compose them into a book that will become a bestseller.' 'Do you really think so?'

'I have no doubt of it. The past and the future are one and the same to me. I am Rune, whose name is legend. Rune who fathoms the unfathomable. Rune who makes the impossible a strong probability. Rune-'

'I hate to interrupt,' I said, 'but about this Brighton Zodiac-' 'Ah yes. The key to it all. Allow me to explain.' 'Please do.'

'Back in the nineteen twenties, there existed a notable lady by the name of Kathleen Maltwood. She was a native of Glastonbury and also a visionary. She had the gift of overview: she could see beyond the everyday, glimpse the bigger picture – a gift that I possess to overabundance. It was her conviction that imprinted upon the landscape about Glastonbury was a great zodiac, formed from the rivers and hills, the roads and the natural features. She studied aerial photographs of the area and she joined the dots, so to speak. She discovered the Glastonbury Zodiac.*

'Ten years ago, another lady, one Mary Caine, put forward her belief that if the Glastonbury Zodiac existed, then so too should the Kingston Zodiac, surrounding the area where the ancient Celtic kings were crowned. She studied the Ordnance Survey maps of the surrounding territories and she, too, found her zodiac*

'I am Hugo Rune,' said Mr Rune, 'and so it was inevitable that I, too, would find my zodiac'

'But what does your zodiac have to do with the Chronovision?'

'Good question,' said Mr Rune, and he savoured more port and stared through the window to where Brighton was going about its business. 'Go on, then,' I said. 'Tell me.' 'Shan't,' said Mr Rune. 'Not right now anyway, for I have told you enough. More than enough.' 'There is one other thing,' I said. * And she did – look her up on the Internet. * And yes, she did, too. Look her up as well.

Mr Rune yawned and blew upon his fingernails. They had recently been manicured at a local beauty boutique. I had seen the unpaid bill upon his desk. 'Hand job Ј10' it said. Quite expensive, for a manicure.

'About the Chronovision,' I said. 'Do you even know in which part of the world it might be at present?' 'Of course I do.' 'Would you care to enlighten me?'

'Young man,' said Mr Rune, 'enlightenment is my middle name. From the Vatican vaults I tracked its journey across Europe. It is presently here, right here in Brighton.'

'If you know this much, then why not seek it out straight away? All this piecing things together through a series of cases seems somewhat long-winded and overly circuitous.'

'You have no understanding of the situation. The felons who brought the Chronovision to Brighton are dead. They died in a freak accident involving concrete and deep water. But I shall have it. I shall have it before-' 'Before what?' I queried. 'Before he can lay his evil hands upon it.' 'Now who would this he be?' I queried further.

'My archenemy. Holmes had his Moriarty and I have him. He is probably the most evil man who has ever lived and were he to gain control of the Chronovision, then-'

'Yes,' I said. 'Doom and gloom and the end of Mankind as we know it.'

'And things of that nature generally.' Mr Rune had somehow finished the bottle of port now, without giving me a second glass. 'He is the most evil man who has ever lived. His name is Count Otto Black.'

The sun went in behind a cloud and a dog howled in the distance. 'The Hound of the Hangletons,' I declared. 'Buffoon,' said Mr Rune.

'All right, all right.' I rose from my chair and sought out the case of lager that I had secreted behind the sofa. 'Just let me get all this straight in my mind. A Benedictine monk invents a kind of television set that can tune into events in the past. He demonstrates it to the Pope. The Pope panics and has it locked away in the Vatican vaults. It is stolen. You track the thieves to Brighton, but they die in mysterious circumstances involving concrete and water and the present whereabouts of the Chronovision is unknown. But you are certain that it is still in Brighton and that through solving certain cases connected with the figures of a zodiac that you have discovered, you will be able to locate the Chronovision and destroy it before your archenemy, Count Otto Black, aka The Most Evil Man Who Ever Lived, gets his claws upon it and brings about the overthrow of Mankind.'

'As near as makes no odds,' said Mr Rune. 'Toss me over one of those cans of lager, if you will.' 'I will not,' I said. 'I am taking them with me.' 'Where to?' 'Anywhere but here,' I said. 'To use the popular parlance of the day, you are doing my head in, Mister Rune.' 'And so you are thinking to depart?' 'I am not thinking about it, I am doing it.' 'And our contract?'

'Sue me,' I said. 'You never know, I might turn out to be the son of a noble household. Perhaps even a prince or something.'

'Mostly likely a something: said Mr Rune. 'But if that is your decision, then do what you must. I will be here when you return, in-' he drew out his golden pocket watch and perused its face '-precisely three hours.' 'I will not be back,' I said. 'You will,' said Mr Rune. 'Will not,' said I. 'All right,' said Mr Rune, 'I'll make a deal with you. If you do come back-' 'Which I will not,' I said.

'But if you do, then you must swear to assist me throughout all the cases that I have to solve in order to retrieve the Chronovision.'

'Oh yes?' I said. 'Then I will tell you this: if I do come back here, I promise, on my life, that I will do so.'

'Then it's a deal,' said Mr Rune. 'You will return and the case of the Hound of the Hangletons will be solved. All in three hours.'

'I will not be back,' I said, and went off to pack what few belongings I possessed into a pillowcase. 'I really will not,' I repeated as I rejoined Mr Rune. 'Not me,' I said as I made for the door.

'This is the last you will see of me,' I concluded, as I left the premises.

'Oh, and thank you once again for saving my life,' I added, popping back briefly, as it would have been most churlish not to do so.

'In precisely three hours,' said Mr Rune. But I did not hear him say it. And then he located an unopened bottle of twelve-year-old single malt, but I did not see him do that, either. I shouldered my pillowcase and pondered my options. I could head straight to the police station and do what I should have done three weeks before – report that I had lost my memory and find out if anyone had reported me missing.

Or I could have a beer or two in the alehouse next door to forty-nine Grand Parade, where I knew that Mr Rune still maintained an active open account with Fangio the barlord. Something to do with Freemasonry, I was given to understand. 'Beer first,' said I. 'And then the police station.'

The alehouse was named The Rack and Pinion. It was an automotive theme bar most pleasantly furnished with bench seats from Ford Zodiacs, which in itself had a certain charm, considering the con venation that I had just had with Mr Rune.

Within, Fangio the barlord, clad in his distinctive mechanic's overalls, always offered a cheery welcome, good beer at a fair price and was ever prepared to talk some toot and make free with the complimentary peanuts. I pushed open the door of The Rack and Pinion and entered the bar. Then I retraced my steps and looked up once more at the sign. The Rack and Pinion, it read. And then The Bucket of Bacon. I blinked, scratched at my head and re-entered the bar.