Retromancer

  And Hugo Rune tore items from the locker and shouted that we must hurry.

  ‘Time is running out for the world - the Zeppelin is upon us.’

  61

  It swung in the sky above New York, made visible to all. No larger craft was ever built by Man. It was surely nearly a mile in length and hundreds of feet in height. It shimmered, ghostly silver-grey, and uniformed figures were to be glimpsed at work upon its numerous decks. The great jet engines, mounted beneath the rear of this fantastic craft, throbbed and hummed. And upon the sides of this sky-borne warship, the swastikas, blood-red and fearsome, shone with a horrible clarity.

  In the streets beneath there was panic. Fleeing, screaming people terrorised by what had materialised above. By this and by the ghastly sounds that issued from it. Rows of silver-horned loudspeakers poured down a sonic assault on the city below.

  Mr Rune and I were in the lift now and that lift was moving up apace. ‘They have certainly honed their skills in the martial arts of sound,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘since our encounter with Count Otto’s daughter at Roberta Newman’s Musical Academy. It is the frequency of fear, Rizla. They seek to terrorise the city before they utterly destroy it.’

  ‘But why take the risk of making the Zeppelin visible? It clearly crept in stealthily under cover of the field generator’s beam.’ We were many storeys up, but with many yet to go.

  ‘Do you think to understand the ego of a God?’ asked Hugo Rune. ‘We are dealing with forces here which might even, to some small degree, be beyond my understanding.’

  By the time we reached the roof it seemed that all of New York was in chaos. The mighty Zeppelin loomed above, blotting out a third of the sky. And down from it showered balls of flame that drifted to the thoroughfares below to explode in hideous gouts of liquid fire.

  ‘How can we stop this?’ I shouted, as I tried to make myself heard above the horror-screams that roared from the airship’s horned loudspeakers. ‘It is too big, what can we do?’

  ‘I must recalibrate the field generator, Rizla. You must cause a diversion.’

  ‘Me?’ And I clung to the guardrail where the tourists came to view the city beneath. A city now in a Hellish turmoil. The day itself was still and no wind blew to fling me from my perch. But it was oh so high that it was frightful. The world of Men so small below, and a Mad God hanging on high.

  ‘A diversion?’ I said. And then I said, ‘Oh no!’

  For I had spied out the field generator, manned by Count Otto Black.

  ‘Rune!’ he crowed from his lofty abode. ‘Somewhat late for the party. But no matter. A big present will be heading your way, in precisely . . .’ and he fished out a pocket watch and examined its face ‘. . . five minutes. Where is your God now, Hugo Rune?’

  And Count Otto did that maniac laugh and raised his fists to the sky. I do have to say that he did look every bit the supervillain at that moment. Long and gaunt and all over horrid. Clad in a spiked Prussian helmet, with a German eagle emblem on the front. Flying goggles, a magnificent plumed coat, leather trousers, leather boots, that great black beard flying every which way. His gloved hands, clenched into thin fists, thrown above.

  ‘It is all over for you now, Rune. And I must say farewell.’ And he threw a switch, as such villains will, and the mighty airship vanished.

  ‘Goodbye, you fools!’ cried Count Otto Black, mounting his flying motorcycle.

  ‘Rizla,’ shouted Hugo Rune. ‘I feel I need you to provide me with a little more than a diversion. I need the key to the field generator.’

  ‘Key?’ I shouted back. ‘This is new.’

  ‘The count has locked the controls. I need to recalibrate them if I am to save the day. And indeed win the war. He has the key, Rizla. You must take it from him.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you.’ And Hugo Rune thrust in my direction the Gravitite disc, which was amongst various other items we had brought up from the left-luggage lockers oh so far below us now.

  ‘And put these on,’ said Hugo Rune. And he now flung goggles at me.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I tried them on before. And all was wrong when I looked through them.’

  ‘All was right, Rizla. Put them on - they will enable you to see the Zeppelin.’

  And now we heard the roar of the count’s motorcycle combination and he waved to us as he swept upwards upon it and into the ‘clear’ blue sky.

  ‘I am frightened,’ I cried to Mr Rune. ‘We are too high. I am frightened.’ And my hands began to flap and I began to turn around in small circles.

  ‘And enough of that!’ And Hugo Rune cuffed me across my chops and said, ‘Be brave now, Rizla. All depends upon you.’

  I took into myself the deepest of breaths and climbed onto the disc of Gravitite. And then I shouted, ‘Up and away!’ And in a state of fear above and beyond any previous states of fear that I had ever experienced, I was up and away.

  The count on his motorcycle rose higher and higher and I on my disc gave chase. I tried very hard to focus my mind upon the fact that this was really happening, because I was seriously beginning to wonder whether I might just be dreaming the entire thing and be about to wake up at any moment in my cosy bed in Brentford, with the morning sun looking in at my window.

  But then the count fired at me.

  The bullet ricocheted off the Gravitite disc and I nearly fell to my doom.

  ‘Oh no you do not, you blackguard,’ I cried and I did nifty manoeuvrings. And I think I might well have swept around and knocked him right off his flying motorbike, had I not struck my head upon something I had not noticed and knocked myself almost into unconsciousness.

  I managed an, ‘Oh,’ and also, ‘That hurt,’ and then I became aware. Through Mr Rune’s goggles I saw things aright, and liked not all that I saw.

  I was aboard the Zeppelin now. I had clouted my head upon an iron stanchion and fallen onto one of the many decks. And the Gravitite disc had—

  ‘Oh no!’ I could see the disc spinning off into the sky, getting further and further away.

  Which was not good.

  Far below me now I could see the roof of the Empire State Building and the field generator perched upon it, and Mr Rune frantically trying to do something or other to the controls. Although I did not know what he intended, and now, as I looked at my watch to see the final minutes ticking away, I realised that it no longer mattered. It was all too late. We had failed, the evil count had won. The atom bomb was about to drop and history about to change.

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Oh no, oh no. Oh no. I cannot let this happen. I must do something.’

  ‘You could jump,’ said the voice of Count Otto Black. Who was climbing from his motorcycle combination, which was now parked nearby on the deck. ‘Or I could fling you over the side. Or perhaps I know a better fate for you. One where you stand by helplessly and watch as your fat mentor and all that lies spread beneath him is annihilated.’

  And a Luger pistol was trained on me once more and Count Otto Black urged me forwards.

  If I had been in the mood to enjoy it I would oh so easily have fallen deeply in love with the Zeppelin. It was a thing of unutterable beauty and near faultless design. A thing, it must be said, that was not of the nineteen forties, but rather of some futuristic time.

  Of the very time, perhaps, that Mr Rune and I had been transported to. Where we had met his future self.

  ‘Forwards,’ urged the count, and we entered the Zeppelin’s flight deck. Sky-men dressed in elaborate uniforms, which were more of a Victorian style than of some possible future, worked at dials and stopcocks, pulling great levers and viewing shining consoles that ran with twinkling lights.

  And at the very heart of this flight deck there was a raised golden dais, and upon this a throne of tubular glass, and upon this . . . the robot.

  And this was a mighty fine robot. Far better than the one that I had viewed at Bletchley Park. This was a real vision-of-an-alternative-future sort of robot. All gold and finely muscled
as a naked man. And there was something about it that was beyond any concept of ‘Robot’. This was a mechanical being, but a living mechanical being. This was a thing of metal, possessed by the spirit of a God. And this construct of terrible power and wonder turned its head towards me. And if I had earlier known fear, it was as nothing before this.

  ‘Black.’ And its voice rang out and seemed to rattle my bones. The count threw me to the flight deck floor and placed his foot on my back.

  ‘Heil, Wotan,’ cried the count. And all the sky-men halted in their workings and joined him in this heil.

  ‘Is all prepared, Black? Is all satisfactory?’

  ‘All is prepared, O great one. The ionizing ray of the field generator is locked upon this craft. We can no longer be observed from below, and the moment the bomb falls from our bomb bay, we will be instantly teleported back to Berlin. There you may sit in glory, to await the Allies’ surrender.’

  And Count Otto Black almost did the mad laughings. But he restrained himself, for to do mad laughings in front of an ancient God reborn into the body of a robot was probably inappropriate.

  I now struggled to get at my revolver, but it was all sort of bunched up in my jacket beneath me and the count’s long foot was pressing down hard on my back.

  ‘Begin the countdown,’ came the terrible voice, rattling now my fillings and raising my hair on end.

  I did not see who pressed the button, but one of the blighters did. Because now there came that pulled-emergency-cable-siren noise which signals that something somewhere is shortly to explode.

  ‘Ten.’ I struggled. But to no effect at all.

  ‘Nine.’ The count hauled me up.

  ‘Eight.’ He dragged me from the flight deck.

  ‘Seven.’ He took me to the rail.

  ‘Six.’ He lifted me high.

  ‘Five.’ He laughed in my face.

  ‘Four.’ Then I spat in his.

  ‘Three.’ Then he flung me.

  Down

  Two

  And down

  One

  Zero

  62

  The great bomb fell with a rush and a scream and I fell down and down.

  Then suddenly there came another rushing to my ears and something swept up and took me.

  I found myself now in the arms of Hugo Rune, who smiled. and said, ‘Perk up, Rizla.’

  Which offered at least a moment of joy.

  Before the bomb exploded.

  63

  And now I stood, though rather shakily, in the bar at Hotel Jericho. And Fangio was serving us cocktails that not even he knew the names of and I really really wanted to know just how he was there and I was there and Hugo Rune was there and all of New York was still standing.

  ‘It was a dud,’ I said to Hugo Rune. ‘After everything, it failed to explode. You plucked me out of the sky by flying up to me on the Gravitite disc, I understand that, and please please please let me thank you for once more saving my life. But the bomb failed to explode. Thank all goodness for that.’

  ‘But it did explode,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘and caused much devastation.’

  ‘I think you will find that it did not,’ I said, ‘for we are both still here.’

  ‘Ah yes, young Rizla. But then the atomic bomb did not explode here. Nor either did it explode today.’

  ‘And it will be necessary,’ I said, ‘for you to explain to me just what you mean by that.’

  ‘You did very well, Rizla,’ said Himself. ‘You did what I hoped you would do and kept their attention on you, rather than me. You see, I had a spare key for the field generator. A gentleman can never carry too many keys, I am sure that you agree.’

  ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘I recalibrated the field generator. We already knew that it was capable of transporting matter through time as well as space, did we not?’

  ‘The count had set it to teleport the Zeppelin to Berlin the moment the bomb was dropped,’ I said. ‘Did it get there?’

  ‘Not to Berlin, no.’

  ‘I am intrigued,’ I now said. ‘You have me on the hook. Now reel me in, as it were.’

  Hugo Rune smiled. ‘I have had this little newspaper cutting in my wallet for several decades,’ he said, ‘and I never knew until today why I carried it. Here, have a read of it and tell me what you think.’

  And the Perfect Master handed me a rather dog-eared and much-folded newspaper cutting and I read from it, aloud.

  CURIOUS EVENT IN TUNGUSKA

  Reports from our Russian correspondent state that at around 7.14 a.m. on the morning of 30 June 1908, a dreadful explosion occurred near Podkamennaya upon the Tunguska River. It is estimated that some eighty million trees have been knocked over and that an area of eight hundred square miles is affected.

  The cause of this explosion is unknown, but many radical theories are being postulated. One report tells of a great shining craft seen in the morning sky moments prior to the explosion. We await further reports.

  ‘The Tunguska Event,’ I said. ‘I have read of it and you—’

  ‘With the aid of the field generator. I recalibrated it to transport the falling bomb to a time and a place where, even though it would explode, it would be so far out of the way as to cause little concern or danger to life and limb.’

  ‘Incredible,’ I said. ‘Simply incredible.’

  ‘Thank you, Rizla,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘I do my best to impress.’

  ‘And that you certainly do.’

  A faraway look appeared in the eyes of Hugo Rune. ‘It isn’t easy being a Perfect Master,’ he said.

  And I nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘I only make it look easy,’ he continued.

  And I grinned somewhat at this. ‘So what happened to Count Otto and to Wotan?’ I asked.

  ‘A shining craft seen in the morning sky? Caught too in the beam of the field generator. Gone, but not forgotten.’

  ‘Incredible,’ I said once more. ‘I do not know what else to say.’

  And so I did not really say very much more about anything. And Mr Rune and Fangio and I drank nameless cocktails until it was chucking-out time.

  ‘I am going up to my room now,’ I told Hugo Rune. ‘I will see you in the morning.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Or perhaps not. But whatever the case, let me thank you, Rizla. Once more, together we have triumphed. It has been a good adventure and no more noble or worthy companion could I have had than yourself. Thank you, Rizla, thank you.’

  And Hugo Rune gave me a manly hug.

  And I gave him a hug too.

  And then we shook hands and parted company and I took myself away to find my cosy bed.

  64

  DEATH

  I awoke to find myself once more in my cosy bed. The sun peeped in at my window and it was another day. And I yawned and stretched and then I became fully aware of my surroundings.

  ‘Oh my,’ I went. And, ‘What?’ I went. And things of that nature, confusedly. And I leaped from my bed and rushed to my window and flung the curtains wide.

  Before me lay the town of Brentford, beautiful as ever.

  But—

  I turned back to my bed and turned on the wireless set.

  ‘And hello all,’ came the unsober tones of the Voice of Free Radio Brentford. ‘Another day to say, “Stick it to the Man, I’m pulling a sickie,” ’ and Lad Nicholson could be heard taking a noisy toke of something illegal.

  ‘So far, so very good,’ I said.

  But—

  I hastily dressed and ran down to breakfast.

  ‘Something special for you today, my hen,’ said my Aunt Edna, smiling as she said it.

  I made a face of suspicion and asked, ‘Not Bratwurst?’

  ‘Heavens no, who would eat such foreign muck? This is a double full English.’ And my aunt placed before me the breakfast of the Gods and I fell to it with knife and fork and washed it down with tea.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ I told my aunt, eve
n though it is rude to speak with your mouth full. ‘Probably the bestest breakfast I have ever tasted. But can I ask you two questions - and please do not think that I am a mentalist regarding the first of these.’

  My Aunty Edna worried at a sprout with a Woolworth’s patent sprout worrier. ‘Go on then, ask,’ she said. ‘You teenagers will be the death of me every which way as it is.’

  ‘The first question,’ I said, ‘and please do not laugh - but who won the Second World War?’

  My aunt did not laugh.

  But—

  She paused.

  ‘Now that,’ she finally said, ‘depends on what you mean by “won”.’

  ‘Did we win?’ I said. ‘Did the Allies win?’

  ‘You could say that, I think, yes.’

  And I went, ‘Phew,’ as one might do, and forked down further breakfast.

  ‘You said you had two questions,’ said my aunt. ‘What is the second?’

  I dabbed at my mouth with an oversized red gingham serviette. ‘I was just wondering,’ I said, ‘as to why I have been given this treat of the double English breakfast?’

  My aunt did smilings upon me. ‘I think you know why,’ she said. I shook my head and said I did not.

  ‘Such a modest boy,’ said my aunt.

  I stared at this lady and wondered. Did she know? Was she somehow aware of what had happened? That what had been had ceased to be? Or had never been?

  But I did not want to think too much about that and though I would remember for ever my adventures with Mr Rune - who I was already missing quite badly - thinking too hard about what exactly they all meant and how they all worked was likely to bring on a collapse of the brain box. And I did not wish to live out the rest of my days as a hopeless loony.

  ‘I do not know quite what to say,’ I said to my aunt.

  ‘Then say nothing. Just make me proud.’

  ‘Just make you proud? All right.’

  ‘Get that big breakfast inside you and make me proud, all right?’