Robert Rankin - Web Site Story

'Is he self-taught?' Kelly asked.

The woman looked at Kelly as if she were quite mad. 'Tish no,' she said, shaking her baldy head and rattling her padlock on her silver-painted teeth. 'He spent ten years in the Potala Tibet, studying under the Balancing Lama, and then another five years in the Monastery of St Timothy the gimp, they're a hopping order there, so he learned that as well. Then he was with the Unipedarian Church of South Korea, they have their right legs amputated, which frankly I think is cheating. Then he served an apprenticeship on the Spanish main, road-testing wooden legs for retired pirates. And then…'

'Here's your red wine,' said Shibboleth. 'They had no pork scratchings, so I bought you twenty Lambert and Butlers instead. You don't have to smoke them, you can just chew the tobacco. It's scented with camomile, or so the landlord told me.'

'The landlord is jealous of our Kenny,' said she of the eggy head and padlock nose furniture. 'He'd give his right leg to do what our Kenny can do.'

'What can he do?' asked Shibboleth.

'He can stand on one leg,' said Kelly. 'That's him over there.'

'Is he hoping to run away with the circus?' Shibboleth asked. 'Or perhaps hop?'

'He ran away from the circus,' said the hairless female with the nasal security-accoutrement appendage. 'Or perhaps he hopped. I never asked him. There are some things you just don't ask a man with a talent like that.'

'Such as, whyT Shibboleth suggested.

The slaphead with the shiny metallic burglar-thwarting-equipment hooter decoration raised a hairless eyebrow and gave Shibboleth the kind of look that a ferret gives a lump of mouse-shaped feta cheese on a cold and frosty morning. 'I know where you live,' she said.

'There's a couple of seats over there,' said Shibboleth to Kelly. 'Perhaps you'd care to sit down?'

Kelly cared and so they went and sat down.

'This used to be a really decent bar,' said Shibboleth, supping something green in a glass and smiling a lot upon Kelly. 'They used to have real entertainment here on a Thursday night. Proper professional single-leg-standers, many of whom also played the accordion. Some of the greatest names in single-leg-standing have performed here. Arthur Gillette. The Magnificent Norman. Wally Tomlin, Prince of the Pedal-elevation. He did songs from the shows. And…'

'Stop now,' said Kelly. 'Or I will be forced to punch you in the face.'

'It's an acquired taste,' said Shibboleth. 'How are the Lambert and Butlers?'

Kelly pulled a strand of tobacco from her teeth. 'Not bad, as it happens,' she said. 'Although Capstan Full Strength are better. But beggars can't be choosers, as my mother used to say, although choosers can be beggars, if they choose.'

'Tell me about your mother,' said Shibboleth, which rang a certain bell. 'Only the good things.'

'No,' said Kelly. 'But tell me about your brother. Have you any idea at all about where he might be now?'

'None,' said Shibboleth. 'You can't hack into go mango. It occupies a different area of cyberspace. One that no man has access to. None perhaps, but one.'

'Remington Mute,' said Kelly.

'The lad himself,' said Shibboleth. 'But whether Mute is still alive, only a select elite knows that.'

'The worshippers at the chapel?'

'You could ask them, but I don't think they'll tell you. Oh dear.'

'Oh dear?' Kelly asked.

'Oh dear,' said Shibboleth and he pointed. 'The canny Scotsman Kenny has toppled over. The days of the great and sterling slanders of the single leg are well and truly over. Still, let's give him a round of applause, you could see he was doing his best.'

Shibboleth clapped and Kelly, shrugging, clapped as well.

The patrons applauded and several patted the canny Scotsman, who was now in tears, upon his shaking shoulders.

'Well done old boy,' they went. 'Nice try. Better luck next time.'

The Scotsman limped away to the bar.

'This place really sucks,' said Kelly.

Shibboleth raised an eyebrow that was dark and dapper and dandy. 'That's rather strong language for a posh young woman like you,' he said.

'I am somewhat stressed at present,' said Kelly. 'What time is it now?'

'Aren't you wearing a watch?'

'Not any more. Mine was digital. A Mute Corp Oyster.'

'Mine's a clockwork jobbie,' said Shibboleth, taking it from his inside pocket and peering at it. 'You can never be too careful. It's nearly half past eleven. We've time for a few more drinks.'

'I'd rather keep a clear head. How far is the chapel from here?'

'Not far.' And Shibboleth raised his glass.

'Just one thing,' said Kelly. 'If you intend to betray me, have a care. I sent a man to his certain death today. My life is in tatters. I wouldn't think twice about…"

'OK. I get the picture. I know you're an exponent of Dimac. You studied that on the Web, didn't you? You did all your university degrees on the Web. You even met your first boyfriend through a chat room.'

'What are you getting at?'

'You're a bit on your own now, aren't you?'

Kelly finished her red wine. 'You can get me another, please,' she said. 'A large one would be favourite.'.

Shibboleth returned to the bar counter. The landlord was now standing upon it. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he called out over the ugly heads of the assembled patrons. 'It appears that the jukebox is well and truly banjoed.' Someone hurled a bottle, which the landlord ducked professionally. 'So in order that you do not go unentertained,' he continued, 'my lady wife, Spongetex, will perform her much-loved standing-ever-so-still act.'

'I can hardly wait,' said Kelly, munching on a filter tip.

A young-fellow-me-lad, with a stylish Rayban sunglasses facial tattoo, leaned close to Kelly and whispered at her ear. 'The landlord's missus really knows her stuff when it comes to standing-ever-so-still,' he said. 'She used to work as a school crossing keeper. But they dismissed her because of the high mortality rate among the schoolkids. Then she…'

'Go away,' said Kelly. 'Or I'll punch your lights out.'

Shibboleth returned with a bottle of red wine. 'The landlord wasn't looking, so I nicked this,' he said. 'Do you want to move to a seat nearer the bar so you can watch his lady wife?'

'I'd like to go,' said Kelly. 'I can't take all this excitement. '

'We can't go yet,' said Shibboleth. 'We have to wait for someone.'

Kelly's hand reached up towards her hair. A frown turned down the corners of her mouth.

'You don't have to worry,' said Shibboleth. 'I haven't led you into a trap.'

'So, who is this person I'm going to meet?'

'Oh, you're not going to meet him. He's the Reverend Jim, high priest of the chapel. He always comes in here for a swift half before the service. We're going to follow him.'

'Why?' asked Kelly. 'I thought you knew where the chapel is?'

'I do, it's here in Mute Corp Keynes.'

'And "whereabouts, exactly?'

'Ah, that I'm not entirely certain of

'You lied to me,' said Kelly, rising to take her leave.

'I didn't He exactly, please sit down.'

Kelly sat down and glared at Shibboleth.

'That really spoils your looks,' he said. 'I didn't lie. I know it's here. Somewhere. And somewhere close. I've followed the Reverend before. Many times, but he always gives me the slip. Which is why I asked you to come. With the two of us on his case, I'm sure he won't be able to vanish away.'

'Vanish away,' said Kelly. 'I'm going. This was all a waste of time.'

'No, wait, stay. And don't look now, because he's just come in.'

If ever there was a haunted-looking man, a fearful man, a timid man, a man far gone in nervous trepidation, then that man was not the Reverend Jim… The Reverend Jim was big and broad and jolly. Avuncular, that was the word. Ruddy of both cheek and barnet, smiley all about the mouth regions and given to great bouts of belly-hugging laughter at the very drop of a hat.