Raiders of the Lost Carpark

  Rune licked clean his plate, released the lower button of his waistcoat and belched mightily. ‘Adequate,’ said he.

  Tuppe grinned through a layer of chocolate cake.

  And Cornelius said, ‘Incredible.’

  ‘Fair to middling.’ Rune dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘Shall we partake of cigars, before we gravitate to the main course?’

  ‘Main course?’ Cornelius made with the popping eyes.

  ‘Unless you’d care for a little more starter.’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

  Tuppe licked his fingers and thumbs. ‘He likes his nosebag, does your daddy.’

  ‘I’ll take a cigar please,’ said Cornelius. ‘I think that we have much to speak of.’

  ‘Correct in essence, but not in specific detail. I have much to speak of and you have much to listen to.’ Rune plucked a long green cigar from a bound brass case and poked it into his mouth. He turned the case towards Cornelius.

  ‘Thank you.’ The tall boy took out a cigar, put it to his nose and breathed in its glory.

  ‘Argentine,’ Rune bit the end from his cigar and spat it the length of the room. ‘Rolled upon the thigh of a dusky maiden. It recalls to me a time I spent in that fair land. I had been invited to stay with the president, old Juan Peron and his passionate wife, Eva. The president wished to purchase the patent for a bullet-proof garment I had recently perfected. Have you ever heard of the Three-fold Law of Return?’

  Cornelius nodded and so did Tuppe. But as Rune didn’t trouble to look in their direction, he continued without pause.

  ‘The Three-fold Law of Return is an occult law, whereby a magickal current, raised by an inadequate magician to attack some enemy, reflects, with a triple force, back upon him. And serves the blighter right. Incompetence in the Arts Magickal deserves no better reward. My bullet-proof garment, Rune’s Patent Protector, functioned upon this principle. It reflected the assassin’s bullet straight back at him with a triple force. Most effective.

  ‘Unfortunately, I was unable to capitalize on this particular invention. There was some unpleasantness.’

  ‘You mean it didn’t work,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘Of course it worked. I invented it. The unpleasantness to which I allude was of a personal nature. The president took exception to the relationship I had formed with his wife.’

  ‘What?’ Tuppe fell back in his chair. ‘You don’t mean he caught you shagging her?’

  ‘Tuppe, really!’ Cornelius took his cigar and stuck it into the small fellow’s mouth.

  Rune fluttered his fat fingers. ‘Shagging is not the word I favour to describe an intimate congress between two kindred spirits. Although it was the one Peron used when he burst into his bedchamber to find his wife and me “taking tea with the parson”.’

  ‘Stone me,’ said Cornelius. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘The tardy fellow put me before the firing squad. “Any final request?” he asked. “Only that your men aim for my heart,” said I, “for it has been my undoing.” Happily they did. Twelve shots rang out. Twelve men fell dead. Rune’s Patent Protector, tried and tested. I left the country with my head held high and my reputation intact.’

  ‘And the bullet-proof vest?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘Vanished into obscurity?’ Tuppe suggested.

  ‘Hardly that.’ Rune sucked upon his cigar. It took flame, which was a neat enough trick, but no great shakes. ‘Peron hung on to that. He intended to equip his entire armed force with it. And no doubt did. Woe betide any nation that dares to wage war upon Argentina.’

  Tuppe opened his mouth to speak, but chose to suck upon his cigar instead. His didn’t light. ‘Where have you been for the last eighteen years?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘Held prisoner within the Forbidden Zones. Waiting for you to release me. And last night you did.’

  ‘I don’t think I did.’ Cornelius scratched his cap. ‘I’m sure I would remember a thing like that.’

  ‘You drove me out.’ Rune puffed upon his cigar. ‘In my own car.’

  Tuppe affected an expression of supreme enlightenment. ‘You were hiding in the boot.’

  ‘I certainly was not! Rune does not lurk in car boots like a spare wheel. I was sitting in the rear seat.’

  ‘There was no-one in the rear seat,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘Oh yes there was.’

  ‘Oh no there wasn’t.’

  ‘He’s behind you,’ called Tuppe in a pantomime voice.

  Rune delved into a waistcoat pocket, brought out something unseeable, stretched it between his hands and promptly vanished from sight.

  ‘The mantle of invisibility,’ said the voice of Rune. ‘I always carry a piece for my private use. After all, I invented it.’

  There was a slight swish and Rune reappeared. ‘Convinced?’ he enquired.

  ‘Convinced,’ said Cornelius. ‘But how did you know we’d find our way into that particular zone, at that particular time? And choose to drive out that particular car?’

  ‘I made certain calculations. You need not concern yourself with these. But suffice it to say, I merely sat in the car and awaited your arrival.’

  ‘Well,’ said Cornelius, ‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.’

  ‘Not long,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Just the eighteen years.’

  Polly put the Portakabin kettle on. ‘Rough night?’ she asked.

  ‘Rough night?’ Inspectre Hovis emptied the contents of his nose into a monogrammed handkerchief. ‘Something inhuman attacked me last night. Some bally great green ghastliness. If I hadn’t kept my nerve and employed my steel, there is no telling how things might have ended. A lesser man would surely have perished.’

  Polly turned up her eyes. ‘Really?’ she said.

  ‘Really. But that’s not the half of it. Having defeated this-supernatural adversary, I was then forced to leap from Kew Bridge, in order to avoid being run down by a bally joyrider. Do you know what it’s like at the bottom of the Thames?’

  ‘Mostly clay, I suppose. Hydrated aluminium silicate, quartz and organic fragments, sedimentary rocks and other deposits. A certain amount of alluvial matter.’

  Hovis ground his teeth and pocketed his hankie. ‘Thank you,’ said he. ‘I experienced it at firsthand. If I didn’t hold an Olympic Silver for the high dive and the Athenaeum Club record for remaining face down in a punchbowl of Pol Roget, there is no telling how things might have ended.’

  ‘A lesser man would surely have perished,’ said Polly, fighting hard to keep a straight face.

  ‘Without doubt. But that’s not the half of it. Having dragged my frozen body from the icy waters, I attempt to make my way home. And what do I find?’

  Polly shrugged.

  ‘I find that Kew Green has become a war zone. Upturned cars blazing away. The fire brigade out in force and our lads preparing to baton charge the local residents’ committee. And if that’s not enough.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Polly.

  ‘I then realize that I have lost my front-door key.’

  Polly chewed upon her bottom lip.

  ‘But that’s not the half of it. As I am attempting to gain entry to my own premises, through a side window I know to be open, a young constable leaps out with a pistol in his hand and orders me to “get up against the wall and spread’m, buddy”.’

  Polly turned her face away and fought against hilarity.

  ‘Constable Kenneth bloody Loathsome. I shall do for that young sod. And I will do for the joyrider also. I caught a glimpse of his great grinning mug. And I never forget a face, especially when it’s one I have on file.’ Hovis scribbled a name on a piece of regulation police-issue notepaper and handed it to Polly. ‘Pull this gentleman’s file for me, if you can manage it without hysteria.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Polly.

  ‘But now I think a cup of Lapsang would not go amiss. I feel as if I have been through some baptism of fire. And after the horrors and indignities that have been heaped upon me, I truly
believe that nothing this day can throw in my direction could faze me one little bit.’

  ‘That is pleasing to hear’, said Polly, warming the pot up, ‘because I’ve just remembered, Chief Inspector Lytton wanted to see you in his office. Urgently. Ten minutes ago.’

  Cornelius, Tuppe and Hugo Rune sat puffing on their green cheroots.

  ‘I will tell you a little story,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘to fascinate and entertain you before the arrival of the main course.’

  ‘Goodo,’ whispered Tuppe to Cornelius.

  Sssh,’ said the tall boy.

  And Rune began. ‘There was a young fellow called Breeze—’

  ‘Whose dongler hung down to his knees?’ Tuppe asked. ‘I think I know this one.’

  ‘Silence!’ The mage snapped his fingers and Tuppe collapsed in his chair, flapping at his face.

  Cornelius leapt to his friend’s assistance. ‘What have you done to him?’

  ‘Just quietened him down for a few moments.’

  ‘If you’ve hurt him...’ Cornelius fought to pull Tuppe’s hands away from his face. Tuppe looked up at him with frightened eyes and gestured frantically. He no longer had a mouth.

  Cornelius glared back at Hugo Rune. ‘That is an evil trick.’

  ‘It is no trick, I assure you.’ The voice belonged to Tuppe. And it came from Tuppe’s mouth. A mouth that now occupied the centre of Hugo Rune’s forehead.

  ‘Put it back,’ growled Cornelius.

  ‘As you will.’ Rune wiped his hand across his forehead and fluttered his fingers once more in the air. Tuppe’s mouth returned to its place of origin. ‘Bastard,’ it said.

  ‘Keep it closed from now on,’ Rune advised, ‘or I will transport it to a part of your body that will ensure you never again dine out in public.’

  ‘Best do as he says,’ said Cornelius.

  Tuppe coughed smoke. ‘I’ve swallowed my cigar,’ said he.

  Cornelius passed him a glass of water.

  ‘Now,’ said Rune. ‘There was a young fellow called Breeze.’ He paused.

  ‘Kindly continue,’ said Cornelius. ‘It’s fascinating so far.’

  ‘This Breeze’, said Rune, ‘was a common thief. A housebreaker. He stole without conscience, because, having never owned a house, or items precious to himself, he did not understand their importance to others. The common mind can understand nothing but the commonplace. You understand?’ Rune tapped ash from his cigar on to the table and drew circles in it. ‘I will not tire you with a catalogue of Breeze’s crimes. As he lacked conscience, they were naturally vindictive. His enterprise brought misery to many.

  ‘Now, there lived near Breeze an ancient fellow. Bent of back and ragged in the day-wear department. He inhabited a house, once grand, but now as bent and ragged as its owner.

  ‘Breeze became convinced that this ancient was possessed of great wealth. And Breeze considered him a fruit, ripe for the picking. And so, one night, he took up his jemmy and his flashlight and gained unlawful entry to the premises.

  ‘He moved from room to darkened room, but nothing could he find. The house was empty of all furniture, the floors laid bare, the walls, of pictures, unreplete. All that there was in that house was a great and terrible silence.

  ‘But Breeze crept on through it, opening doors before him, until, at last, he came upon a central chamber. He entered this and Bang!’

  Rune brought his great fist down upon the table and the hall plunged into darkness.

  ‘Help,’ wailed Tuppe.

  ‘Bang,’ said Rune in the darkness. ‘His flashlight had gone out and he was all alone in the utter blackness of the grave. And then...’ Rune clapped his hands together and the light returned. Exactly where from was anyone’s guess. From the same place it disappeared to, probably.

  ‘Get off me, Tuppe.’ Cornelius prised the small fellow from his lap and dumped him back on to his chair. ‘Behave yourself.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘The room filled with light,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘And there stood the ancient. He was smiling. Like this.’ Rune made a hideous grin.

  ‘I need the toilet,’ whispered Tuppe.

  ‘Cross your legs,’ Rune ordered.

  Tuppe crossed his legs.

  ‘Smiling,’ Rune continued. ‘He beckoned to Breeze. “I believe you have come to see this,” he said, indicating something which stood upon a pedestal, covered with a silken cloth. “My treasure.”

  ‘The ancient removed the cloth and Breeze drew near to see the wonder revealed. It was a perfect miniature of the room in which he now stood, precise in every detail. But it was more than just some architect’s model. This was something altogether unique.

  ‘As Breeze stared down into the model, his eyes fell upon two small figures, standing within it. One was old and ragged. And the other was himself.

  Breeze leaned nearer, that he might study this marvel. And, as he did so, the tiny facsimile of himself did likewise. It was somehow animated.

  ‘Breeze took a step backwards and his tiny facsimile did too. He raised his arm and it raised its arm. “What you see, Mr Breeze,” the ancient explained, “is a microcosm. It is a reflection. Take this.” He handed Breeze a magnifying glass. “Study the precision.”

  ‘Breeze took the lens and peered at the model. He saw himself, in each and every detail. The image now held a magnifying glass and was studying an even smaller model room. Which, of course, contained another copy of himself, studying another tiny room. And so on and so on and so on. It was a treasure indeed.

  ‘The ancient spoke once more. “As above, so below,” he said. “Microcosm and macrocosm. It has been my life’s work to create it. It is my life. Will you take this from me, Mr Breeze, as you have taken so many things from so many people?”

  ‘Breeze eyed the ancient and he eyed the model room. Within it his doppelgänger did likewise. And then Breeze struck.’

  Rune smote the table once more to the terror of Tuppe. ‘He struck and he struck and he struck. With his jemmy, he struck down the creator of the marvel. Struck him down and killed him. Dead.’

  ‘Golly,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘Quite so. The treasure was now his. Breeze feasted his eyes upon it. It was all his. This wonder beyond price. But it did not please him. Even now that he possessed it. It did not make him happy. And why?’

  ‘Because it now contained the image of himself standing over his murder victim?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘Quite so,’ cried Rune. ‘There it was, you see. The damning evidence. The thing of infinite beauty, now soiled. So what should he do? Smash it to smithereens? Too drastic. Destroy the damning evidence? That was it. Reach into the model, pluck up the figure of himself and snap it between his fingers. The work of a moment. As above, so below.

  ‘And that’s exactly what he did. He delved into the model, fascinated to see that his little duplicate did exactly the same. And he squeezed it to a lifeless pulp.

  ‘It was the last thing he ever did. The police came across his body some days later. Lying there in that central chamber. The coroner’s report stated that it was almost as if some great hand had descended from above and crushed him to a lifeless pulp.’

  Tuppe fought with his crossed legs. ‘You mean…’

  ‘As above, so below,’ said Rune. ‘And as below, so above. For ever and ever, in each direction, up and down, and around and about. My uncle told me the story. And I tell you.’

  ‘Is it meant to be allegorical?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘No. It’s meant to be true.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘You don’t believe it, then?’ Rune looked surprised.

  ‘I didn’t say that. It’s just, well—’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Well, what happened to the model and the body of the old man?’

  Tuppe was about to suggest that they might well have vanished into obscurity, but he thought better of it.

  ‘I embellished the story slightly,’ said Rune, ‘to make it mo
re interesting. The ancient did not actually die. He lived on for some years afterward.’

  ‘Before vanishing with his table into obscurity?’ asked Cornelius.

  Tuppe hid his face.

  ‘Before bequeathing the table to my uncle,’ said Rune. ‘Who in turn bequeathed it to me. It is there, standing in the corner. Would you care to have a look at it?’

  14

  As the Inspectre’s security key, which gained him access to the express lift, was now at the bottom of the Thames, amongst the hydrated aluminium silicate, quartz, organic fragments, sedimentary rocks and other deposits (not to mention a certain amount of alluvial matter) Hovis was forced to take the stairs.

  Had he not held the Argyle and Southern Highlanders Hill Yomp trophy for a full three years, there is no telling how things might have ended. A lesser man would certainly have perished.

  Inspectre Hovis straightened his spare regimental necktie, slicked back a brilliantined forelock, squared the immaculate shoulders of his other suit and stood to attention before the door which had so recently been his.

  His name was no longer upon it. A large new brass plate engraved with the words:

  CHIEF INSPECTOR LYTTON. KNOCK AND WAIT.

  was firmly screwed in its place. It looked anything but temporary. Knock and wait! Hovis swung open the door and marched straight in.

  And he was not pleased at what he saw. Chief Inspector Brian Lytton had made himself very much at home. All trace of Hovis, other than for his precious Louis XV ormolu-mounted, kingswood and parquetry kneehole desk, the gift of a grateful monarch, had been wiped away. The walls were now painted a frightful puce. Horrid computer things were all around and about and the carpet was definitely of a man-made fibre. A large framed print of white horses coming out of the sea hung near the window.

  Excruciating! Inspectre Hovis viewed it all with distaste.

  Especially the man behind the desk. Chief Inspector Lytton was short, stout and baby-faced, with that fresh scrubbed look. He had little piggy eyes. His suit was double-breasted.

  He sat behind the royal desk, drinking from a paper cup. An Olympic logo of cup stains bastardized the priceless surface.