‘Dangerous device?’ MacGuffin stroked one of his chins.
‘A metal woman’, said Maxwell, ‘created by the late Sultan and some clown of a magician. What was his name now? MacGrubby the Maggot, was it? Or MacMurky the Masturbator? Something like that.’
MacGuffin puffed out his cheeks.
‘Anyway,’ Maxwell went on. ‘It is understood that the assassin was in the pay of this MacMuff-diver, who, when captured, will be put to such extremes of torture that he will yearn to have his cods boiled for a bit of light relief.’
‘Magicians are not easily captured,’ said MacGuffin.
‘My knights wear enchanted armour, impenetrable to magic. They have ways of dealing with any magician.’
‘What a pity then that they did not save the Sultan from assassination.’
‘They were having a day off. But no matter. If this MacGuffer now has the metal woman, they will have no work to do.’
‘How so?’
Maxwell laughed. ‘It is a high jest indeed and one you will possibly appreciate. Apparently the late Sultan swore a terrible vengeance upon this Mac—’
‘Guffin!’ said MacGuffin. ‘It’s MacGuffin.’
‘You know of him then?’
‘Only by reputation.’
‘As you will. So, the late Sultan swore a terrible vengeance on this MacGuffin, over what I do not know. But he swore that one day he would destroy him. Now apparently this MacGuffin owns the male counterpart of the metal woman, and you’ll laugh when you hear this.’
‘Will I?’ asked MacGuffin.
‘You will. Apparently the late Sultan, well, this was before he was late, if you understand me.’
‘Get on with it!’ MacGuffin roared.
‘Yes, sorry. Well, the Sultan apparently inserted a quantity of highly volatile explosive, actually up inside,’ Maxwell made a suitably obscene gesture with a ring-clustered hand, ‘up inside the metal woman. So that if the metal man tries to, you know, have a bit of hanky-panky, the friction will ignite the explosive and—’
‘Stop!’ MacGuffin fell back in his chair. ‘You mean, should the two be physically reunited then—’
‘Boom!’ Maxwell used both ring-clustered hands to imply a very large boom indeed. ‘You have to laugh, don’t you?’ he said.
The look that now covered MacGuffin’s face, gave Maxwell to understand that laughing was something he definitely did not have to do at this particular moment.
‘By the by,’ said Maxwell, ‘I really must apologize, but I forgot to ask your name, sir.’
MacGuffin was now breathing heavily. His eyes strayed towards a door on the far side of the chamber. ‘My name?’ he said, in a distracted tone.
‘Your name. What is your name?’
‘It’s . . .’ MacGuffin made a gesture, as if plucking a name from the air. ‘It’s Carrion,’ he said. ‘Max Carrion.’
‘Not the Max Carrion?’
‘The?’ MacGuffin’s eyes had become fixed upon the door.
‘The legendary hero,’ said Maxwell. ‘Spoken of with awe throughout the four worlds.’
‘What?’ went MacGuffin, his jowls all a quiver.
‘What an honour to meet you.’ Maxwell reached forwards, grasped MacGuffin’s great right paw and shook it vigorously.
MacGuffin dragged his hand away. ‘Ouch,’ he cried, ‘you have pierced my delicate flesh with your geegaw rings.’
‘My sincere apologies. So many rings. So generous the Sultan was. I hope his dear son Colin will be so kind when he is formally crowned.’
‘Get out of my house!’ cried MacGuffin. ‘I have pressing business that will not wait.’
‘Would that I could,’ said Maxwell, sitting himself down upon the knackered bentwood chair. ‘But it’s more than my job’s worth. I must search for the assassin and the metal woman with the explosive lady parts. Perhaps I should begin my search here. What lies beyond that door your eyes seem so drawn to?’
‘Enough!’ MacGuffin raised his hands and made an intricate gesture.
Maxwell tried to stand. ‘My gown appears stuck to the chair,’ said he, in a voice of some alarm.
MacGuffin flung his broad arms wide. ‘Horse and Hattock, Von Wurlitzer’s chair, and carry him off to the moon.’
‘To the moon?’
With a mighty whoosh the chair rose up and Maxwell shot out of the window.
27
Maxwell clung on to the flying chair. ‘So far, so good,’ said he.
So far, so good?
‘So far, so good.’
With a careful hand, Maxwell withdrew from a trouser pocket MacGuffin’s magic pouch. He gently eased one foot into it and then the other. With no less care he slipped his shoulders from the voluminous gown that was magically glued to the chair.
Maxwell leapt into the pouch. The pouch fell down and the chair continued on its historic voyage to the moon.
Down and down went the magic pouch, gathering speed as it did so. Inside Maxwell giggled away, as the ground rushed up and up. There was going to be a ‘Splat!’ coming soon, but Maxwell seemed unaware of this.
Down and down.
Rush ground up.
With the Doppler whistle of a falling bomb, the magic pouch swept down.
Thirty feet from the ground, a pocket handkerchief popped out of it. A piece of string was tied to each of the four corners. The pocket handkerchief became a tiny parachute. The parachute caught upon the air and the pouch slowed its rate of descent. Fluttered upon the breeze and settled gently down onto a grassy meadow a few yards before the cricket pavilion.
Maxwell stepped out from the magic pouch, dusted himself off, returned the pouch to his pocket and blew his nose on the handkerchief.
‘So ends PHASE ONE,’ he said. ‘And now begins PHASE TWO.’
Half an hour later, a golden knight marched into the village of MacGuffin. The golden knight carried a large white envelope and, as his visor was down, he nearly tripped over a young fellow with a swag of yellow hair, who had tumbled in the street and dropped all his shopping.
He nearly tripped. But not quite.
‘Are you injured, good sir?’ asked the knight.
‘I’ve dropped my shopping,’ said Dave, for such was the name of the yellow-haired youth.
‘I would gladly help you pick it up,’ said the knight, ‘but I can’t bend in this armour. Do you know of anyone who might wish to earn ten gold pieces for delivering a message and returning with a reply?’
‘That’s hard to say,’ said Dave.
‘I didn’t find it so,’ said the knight.
‘No, what I meant’, said Dave, ‘is, it’s hard to say who might wish to earn ten gold pieces. There are some, I’m sure, who might wish to earn fifteen, and others twenty. But then there are probably those who would gladly take on the job for as little as four or five.’
‘Perhaps you might suggest the name of one of these,’ said the knight, patiently.
‘I don’t see how that would do any good.’
‘Why?’ asked the knight.
‘Because you specifically said ten.’
‘Perhaps you might take on the job yourself,’ the knight suggested.
‘I should be so lucky,’ said Dave. ‘A job like that I’d do for three.’
‘Then your day’s blessed, because I have here that exact sum, which I am eager to pay anyone for delivering this message and returning with a reply.’
‘I thought you said ten?’
‘That was a different message,’ the knight explained. The knight issued Dave with specific instructions and handed him the large white envelope. Dave hurried away and the knight watched as he ran towards the manse of MacGuffin, falling only once, when a civet sprang out of his right trouser bottom.
A while passed. It was neither a long while nor a short while, but one in between. When it had passed, Dave returned.
He handed the knight a small brown envelope. The knight peered at this through his visor and made approving soun
ds.
‘Might I have my three gold coins now?’ asked Dave.
‘Three?’ asked the knight. ‘Did we agree three?’
‘We did,’ agreed Dave.
‘Three is a paltry sum. Ten is much fairer. You should have asked for ten.’
‘You’re right,’ said Dave, ‘I should. Next time I will.’
‘Quite right too,’ said the knight. ‘It should be ten or nothing, don’t you agree.’
‘I do.’ And Dave agreed once more.
‘So do I,’ said the knight. ‘Nothing it is then. A pleasure doing business with you.’
And with that he turned about and marched away.
The knight marched out of the village and returned to the cricket pavilion. Here he tore open the brown envelope and examined the contents. A letter, penned in Maxwell’s handwriting.
It read.
FOR THE EYES OF EDDIE VON WURLITZER ONLY
Dear Eddie,
The apothecary has just arrived at the camp with the special elixir you ordered which will neutralize the explosive in the metal woman. Do you want me to dispatch a bottle directly to where you are now? If so then just return this note to the messenger, sealed for security in the enclosed envelope. The knights will remain in hiding awaiting your orders.
Yours,
Captain Beefheart of the Magic Guards.
Maxwell screwed up the message and tossed it into a corner. ‘PHASE TWO completed,’ he said, ‘and now on to PHASE THREE.’
Somewhat after lunch-time, a stooped figure, wearing the distinctive red-and-white striped gown of an apothecary, with the cowl drawn low across his face, shuffled into the village.
And here he met a young man with a very glum face who had just fallen down and dropped his shopping.
‘What ails you, young man?’ asked the apothecary in a creaking ancient voice.
‘I’ve fallen down,’ said Dave.
‘You’ve an infestation, I believe.’
‘I have?’ said Dave. ‘I mean, yes you’re right, I have. How did you know?’
‘I saw the weasel that sent you flying.’
Dave made a glummer face still.
‘I have a potion that could cure that,’ said the apothecary.
‘You have?’
‘I have. But it would cost you three gold coins.’
‘Damn,’ said Dave.
‘However, you might earn three gold coins from me.’
‘I might,’ said Dave. ‘I only wish I knew how.’
‘I have a bottle of elixir that must be delivered to the manse of MacGuffin the mage. I would pay three gold coins. The bottle is full right up to the top, so you must not spill a single drop.’
‘I’m a very careful fellow,’ said Dave.
‘You are nothing of the kind, and you know it. Walk very carefully with the bottle. I will have my eye on you all the way.’
‘Rely on me,’ said Dave, receiving the bottle and bearing it away with a great show of care.
And he didn’t spill a drop.
Which made him doubly sad when he returned to find that the apothecary had gone.
The apothecary sat in the cricket pavilion with his feet up and a drink in his hand. ‘PHASE THREE completed’, he said. ‘Which leaves just PHASE FOUR to do.’
It was around five of the afternoon clock when Maxwell returned to the village. This time he wore no disguise. This time he wore a yellow bowling shirt, a really nifty dove-grey zoot suit and his fine substantial boots (which due to their fine substantiality, had survived the stamping he gave them in MacGuffin’s pouch). The suit and shirt had been gifts from Sir John (nice thought).
Maxwell sauntered into the village, his hands in his trouser pockets, he was whistling.
He was just passing Budgen’s, when he came across a young man carrying two shopping bags. He was a very dejected-looking young man. Very down at the mouth.
‘Wotcha, Dave,’ said Maxwell. ‘Careful how you go now. You don’t want to trip over.’
Dave stared, open mouthed at Maxwell. Then he managed a blank, ‘Hello.’
‘Do you have a decent ale house round here?’ Maxwell asked.
‘Sadly no,’ said Dave. ‘All I have is a little private house.’
Maxwell smiled upon Dave. ‘Let me put it this way then. Do you know of a decent ale house, that you would recommend to a thirsty traveller?’
‘Yes,’ said Dave, ‘I do.’
‘And?’ Maxwell asked.
‘And, what?’
‘And what is its name?’
‘Fangio’s Bar,’ said Dave.
‘Would you care to join me for a drink there?’
‘I certainly would. It’s a shame it’s closed for renovations.’
‘There’s an ale house over there.’ Maxwell pointed. As this was a statement, rather than a question, Dave was somewhat stuck for something to say.
‘That’s where I’m going,’ said Maxwell. ‘If you join me I will buy you a drink.’
Dave mulled the concept over. ‘You will buy me a drink, simply for joining you in a walk across the road?’
Maxwell shook his head and strolled off to the ale house.
It was one of those sleepy little country pubs. The ones with the copper bed-warming pans, the toby jugs and horse brasses. The ones with the reproduction Windsor chairs, the shove-halfpenny boards and the old boy with the gammy leg who talks about the Somme. The ones— ‘Out you!’ shouted the barman.
‘Me?’ asked Maxwell.
‘Not you. Him.’
‘Me?’ asked Dave.
‘You,’ said the barman. ‘Last time you came in here we had bloody okapi running all over the pub.’
‘I told you I wasn’t lying about the okapi,’ Dave told Maxwell.
‘Clear off,’ said the barman and Dave cleared off.
‘Now, sir,’ said the barman to Maxwell, ‘how exactly may I help you?’
‘Drinks all round,’ said Maxwell.
‘Drinks all round what?’
‘Drinks for everyone in the place, at my expense.’ Maxwell cast a fistful of golden coins onto the counter.
The barman stared hard at Maxwell and opened his mouth to ask questions.
‘As many drinks as the money will buy. Begin by offering each customer one drink of his or her choice. I’ll explain what to do with the change.’
‘Very well, sir. Lads,’ the barman called out, ‘this gentleman is offering to buy everyone in the place a free drink.’
A brief moment of silence was followed by a great trampling of feet and a surge towards the bar. The barman did the business.
‘I’ll have one myself also,’ said Maxwell. ‘From that pump there, in a pint glass, full up.’
The barman finished doing the business.
‘And one for yourself.’
The barman finished doing the extra bit of business. ‘Are you celebrating something, sir?’ he asked.
‘Very good,’ said Maxwell. ‘That’s what I’m doing and I want you all to celebrate with me.’
‘Celebrate what?’
Maxwell spoke in a good loud voice. ‘The death of MacGuffin,’ he said.
There was that sharp intake of breath. There was that spluttering sound of beer going up noses. There was a terrible gasping and somebody fainted.
‘Before this day is through’, said Maxwell, ‘MacGuffin will be dead and you will all be free men.’
‘MacGuffin dead?’ The barman’s jaw hung down to his chest.
‘Dead.’ Maxwell drew a finger across his throat. ‘And you will be free.’
‘You are clearly insane,’ croaked the barman. ‘Kindly leave the premises.’
‘Remember my name, for I am your deliverer. It is Carrion. Max Carrion, Imagineer.’
‘Mick Scallion?’
‘Don’t even think about it. Carrion’s the name. And now, farewell.’
Dave sat in the gutter outside. He looked up at Maxwell. ‘That was a quick drink,’ he said.
Max
well smiled down at Dave. ‘Dave,’ said Maxwell. ‘Dave, it would probably be best for you to leave the village for a while. I am going now to the manse of MacGuffin. Within the hour he will be dead. It is a well-known fact that when dictators are overthrown, those who collaborated with them often end up swinging from lampposts.’
Dave did not reply to this. But he stood up and he walked away. And he didn’t take his shopping.
Maxwell strode along the high street. The whistling strains of High Noon were more than he could resist. It was showdown time. The big confrontation. The moment he had waited for. The moment he had dreamed about. The moment he had planned.
Black Bess still stood at the hitching post. Maxwell untied her reins. ‘Go along,’ said he, patting her rump. ‘You are liberated. Gallop free.’
Black Bess whinnied, tossed her mane about, then sauntered away up the street.
Deep-breath time once more. Maxwell took it, pressed open MacGuffin’s gate, strode up his garden path and knocked hard upon the door knocker.
No reply.
Maxwell put his ear to the front door.
Only silence.
Maxwell pushed the front door. It swung slowly open.
Maxwell hesitated. Perhaps he should have brought Dave along to take that first step over the threshold. No, it was all down to he alone. Just go for it.
And Maxwell went for it. He stepped into the hall. ‘MacGuffin,’ he called. ‘MacGuffin, are you there?’
No reply.
Maxwell crept along the hall. Something might spring out. Something horrible. And what to do if it did? ‘Run,’ Maxwell told himself.
Along the hall and into the room of obscene animals. Did those glass eyes watch him? Maxwell shuddered. No, of course they didn’t.
Out into the hall of statues. ‘MacGuffin,’ called Maxwell. But there was only silence. Apart from the beat of Maxwell’s heart and the tread of his substantial boots.
Up the staircase. One step at a time. Slowly. Slowly. Maxwell’s hand ran lightly up the banister. Sticky-palmed it was. ‘MacGuffin.’