The Brightonomicon Page 4

  I shook my head. ‘I think you are piddled,’ I said.

  ‘I think so, too. Is there any more champagne?’

  ‘There certainly is.’

  I refilled Mrs Orion’s cup and her free hand leaned upon my shoulder as I did so. She smelled very nice, did Mrs Orion, and her freedom-loving bosoms pressed against my chest.

  ‘Come,’ called the voice of Mr Rune. ‘Rizla, come.’

  Mrs Orion fluttered her eyelids at me. ‘I think you might have been about to,’ she whispered.

  I reluctantly gathered up the Fortnum’s hamper and grudgingly withdrew from the kitchenette.

  ‘I think I should further question that woman,’ I told Mr Rune as we stood together in the hall.

  ‘Have you forgotten so soon the matter of her husband’s fowling piece?’

  ‘Perhaps we should go, then. Have you learned all that you wish to learn? As it were.’

  ‘It is a case that falls into the inexplicable-conundrum category.’

  ‘It is a lost – or stolen – dog. Hardly anything to get excited about, surely?’

  Mr Rune brought his stout stick down hard on to the hall floor. ‘Farewell to you, Mrs Orion,’ he called.

  A hiccough was returned to him from the kitchenette.

  I sighed and said farewell to Mrs Orion also.

  And Mr Rune and I took our leave.

  The sun shone as cheerfully as ever. Birdies twittered in treetops, a ginger tom sleeping upon a windowsill dreamed of Theda Bara, and as the cabbie had yet to awaken from the blow Mr Rune had dealt him earlier, the Mumbo Gumshoe suggested that I shift his unconscious body into the passenger seat and place myself at the steering wheel of the taxicab.

  ‘Drive us home, Rizla,’ said Mr Rune, settling himself in the back. ‘I shall take a nap. Awaken me when we’re there.’

  ‘I do not know how to drive,’ I said. ‘At least, I do not think that I do.’

  ‘Then now would be a good time to learn.’

  ‘In a stolen car?’

  ‘You are a teenager, aren’t you? That’s the way most teenagers learn to drive.’

  ‘I am quite sure it is not.’

  ‘Details, details. Apply yourself, lad.’

  I shook my head, turned the key in the ignition and pressed my foot to various pedals until I received a noisy response. The taxicab, however, did not move.

  ‘I think you’ll find there’s a handbrake involved, and also a gear lever,’ said Mr Rune, drowsily.

  ‘Do you know how to drive, then?’

  ‘Certainly not. There are two kinds of person in this world: those who drive and those who are driven by them. I am, needless to say, one of the latter.’

  I released the handbrake, stamped my feet on to various pedals and pushed the gear lever forward. And then we were off.

  I really cannot see what all the fuss is about driving – why you need to take a test and get a licence and suchlike. I soon mastered the basics of the procedure. I scraped along a few parked cars and I did run over something that I suspect was a cat – it was certainly not a Spanikov, given its diminutive proportions. I suppose it might have been a hedgehog. And I eventually discovered the brake. In the nick of time, some might say, in particular the woman in the Morris Minor who screamed at me that I was on her side of the road when I discovered it. Then I ran the taxicab into the dustbins at the rear of forty-nine Grand Parade, which I will swear to this very day jumped out in my path.

  This collision awakened the cabbie.

  I awakened Mr Rune and we quickly took our leave of the taxicab.

  ‘You were evidently born to drive,’ remarked Mr Rune when we were once more safely ensconced within his rooms. ‘I will hire a car for you to chauffeur. It will expedite matters regarding our travel. And spare my shoe leather.’

  ‘Make it a Rolls-Royce, then,’ I said, as I had indeed quite taken to the driving.

  ‘Flashy,’ said Mr Rune. ‘A Bentley, perhaps. I shall look into the matter. But first this case.’

  ‘Lost dog,’ I said. ‘Hardly worth the bother, surely.’

  ‘The dog is merely the tip of the iceberg.’ Mr Rune sought Scotch. ‘Are we out of whisky?’ he asked. ‘Pop over to the offy and fetch more.’

  ‘I have no money. You have yet to pay me.’

  ‘You have yet to earn your keep. I provide you with free room and board. What ingratitude.’

  ‘Regardless, they will no longer serve me at the local offy,’ I said, ‘because I do not wear black.’

  ‘Black?’ Mr Rune tried in vain to wring Scotch from the empty bottle.

  ‘New management. It is the “Goth Licence” now. You have to wear black to get served.’

  ‘Outrageous,’ said Mr Rune. ‘And you wasted the last of the Mulholland champagne upon Mrs Orion.’

  ‘I think she fancied me.’

  ‘Let us apply ourselves to the task in hand, to whit—’

  ‘The lost dog.’

  ‘The dog is the tip of the iceberg. The iceberg itself is the Chronovision.’

  ‘This is altogether new,’ said I. ‘What in the names of the Holies is a Chronovision?’

  ‘It is what I seek, and what I will inevitably find once I have solved the twelve tasks that lie before me.’

  ‘The finding of a lost dog being one of these tasks?’

  ‘I sincerely believe so, yes.’ Mr Rune had located a bottle of port and this he uncorked, sniffed at and then decanted with care into a brace of glasses. ‘Let me tell you about the Chronovision,’ he said as he passed a glass of port to me. ‘It is better that you understand the situation now. There will only be confusion later if you do not.’

  ‘I may not be around later,’ I said. ‘I agreed to stay with you for one month only.’

  ‘You never did read the small print on that contract you signed, did you?’

  ‘Ah,’ said I.

  ‘The Chronovision,’ said Mr Rune, settling into his great big chair and tasting the port. ‘A fascinating contrivance – and one, should it fall into the wrong hands, that would seal the fate of Mankind.’

  ‘Ah,’ said I once more. ‘We are back on that subject again, are we?’

  ‘It is the subject that consumes me. It is what I am.’

  ‘Go on about this Chronovision, then. What does it do?’

  ‘Quite simply,’ said Mr Rune, ‘although there is nothing simple about it, it is, in effect, a television set upon which one can view events that happened in the past.’

  I laughed heartily at this.

  ‘It is no laughing matter,’ Rune said sternly. ‘The man who possesses the Chronovision becomes, through its possession, the most powerful man on Earth.’

  ‘I doubt very much whether such a device exists,’ I said. ‘It is the stuff of science fiction, like The Time Machine.’

  ‘Mister Wells’s Time Machine functioned well enough. And I should know – I helped him to construct it.’

  ‘The last time you made a remark such as that, I told you that I was leaving,’ I said. ‘Would you care to hear me tell you this once more?’

  ‘Allow me to explain.’ Mr Rune raised his stout stick and I, out of politeness, allowed him to continue.

  ‘The inventor of the Chronovision was Father Pellegrino Maria Ernetti,’ said Mr Rune. ‘He was a Benedictine monk, an expert in archaic Latin texts and Gregorian chants. A scant decade ago, he was working in the experimental physics laboratory at the Catholic University of Milan. You would be surprised if I told you about some of the experimentation that goes on there. Well, Father Ernetti was filtering harmonics out of certain Gregorian chants he had recorded when he heard the voice of his deceased father. He had somehow tuned to the frequency of the past. A great deal of further experimentation led him to the creation of the Chronovision, a device that, as I have said, resembles a television set, but upon which it is possible not only to hear events that occurred in the past, but witness them also. There is no mumbo-jumbo involved in this – it is science, it is ph
ysics.’

  ‘It is c*bblers,’ I remarked.

  But Mr Rune continued, unperturbed. ‘Father Ernetti demonstrated the Chronovision before Pope Pious the Twelfth. This is a fact; it is recorded in Vatican records. The Chronovision was tuned to the correct frequency and the Pope viewed the crucifixion of Christ upon the Chronovision’s screen. He was amazed. But he soon became horrified.’

  ‘I would have thought that he would have been chuffed,’ I said, ‘to know for certain that there had been a Jesus Christ, I mean. Not that I think I really believe in—’

  ‘Silence,’ said Mr Rune. ‘The Pope was filled with horror because he understood the Chronovision’s potential – what would happen should it fall into the wrong hands.’

  ‘So what would happen? Surely if this were true, it would be the greatest scientific discovery of this or any other age. A Nobel Prizewinner for the scientific monk. To actually view the past, to see the events of history – every home should have a Chronovision, surely.’

  ‘Absolutely not! The Pope understood the ramifications. Father Ernetti had tuned the Chronovision to the resonant frequency of the Pope; as a result of the succession of Popes, their lineage goes right back to Saint Peter, who walked with Christ, and who was present at the crucifixion. The image upon the screen was the one seen through the eyes of Saint Peter.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I still do not see the problem.’

  ‘The Chronovision can be tuned to anyone’s personal frequency. We each have a unique resonance. If it was turned to your frequency, it could replay events that you witnessed and took part in three weeks ago.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said I. ‘Then I would know who I am.’

  ‘Not brilliant,’ said Mr Rune. ‘If you can tune the frequency to the resonance of any individual on the planet, then you can see that person’s past. That person can have no secrets from the man who tunes the Chronovision. Do you understand now?’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘You mean that should some dictator gain possession of it, he could uncover everything about the past of any individual on Earth. Any individual – is that correct?’

  Mr Rune nodded. ‘The Pope understood this and the terrible implications of it. He ordered the Chronovision dismantled, packed into boxes and placed under lock and key in the vaults of the Vatican, alongside the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail.’

  ‘Easy now,’ I said. ‘But if this is all really true – and I do agree that there is something about it that almost has me believing you – then the Chronovision is safely stashed away and that is that.’

  ‘Would that it were so.’ Mr Rune tasted further port and shook his great head sadly.

  ‘It was stolen,’ said I, ‘from the Vatican vaults – that is it, is it not?’

  Mr Rune nodded grimly. ‘More than a year ago. It would never have come to my attention – indeed, the Chronovision’s existence would never have come to my attention – had not the Pope and I been out on the razz and he, having imbibed too freely as is his habit, spilled the entire business out to me.’

  ‘You know the Pope?’ I said.

  ‘We are the greatest of friends.’

  ‘This is ludicrous.’

  ‘What? Do you think that the Pope has no friends?’

  ‘I am not saying that, but I find it difficult to believe that you are one of them.’

  ‘And why might this be?’

  I stared at Mr Rune.

  And do you know what? For the very life of me, I could not think of a single reason as to why it might not be.

  ‘You are a chum of the Pope’s?’ I said.

  ‘Probably his bestest friend. It was me who suggested that he join the priesthood. He wanted to become a professional football player, but between the two of us, he had a weak left foot.’

  I shook my head. ‘So, hold on,’ I said, ‘are you presently being employed by the Pope to retrieve the Chronovision from whoever stole it?’

  ‘Absolutely not. He did not recall in the morning that he’d told me anything about it. When I have located the Chronovision, I will destroy it. And then my work will be done.’

  ‘Incredible,’ I said. ‘Ludicrous, but also incredible. But I fail to understand how finding a lost dog is going to help this noble cause of yours.’

  ‘The dog is the tip of the iceberg, as I have told you, several times.’

  ‘You told me, but I still fail to understand.’

  ‘That map there, on the wall.’ Mr Rune pointed. ‘I have seen you peering at it many times. Have you fathomed it yet?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I have not. It appears to be a large-scale map of Brighton, but it has all kinds of figures drawn all over it, following the patterns made by the roads. A bat, a cat, a horse – I think.’

  ‘And the head of a dog,’ said Mr Rune, ‘in the Hangleton area of Brighton. You will observe that the house we visited was in Tudor Close, in the very eye of the hound.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘And that is significant, is it?’

  ‘Most,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Entirely. This map is the means by which I will discover the Chronovision’s location and achieve my goal – its recovery and destruction. If the Chronovision is the single most significant discovery of this century, then what is drawn upon that map must rank as number two.’

  ‘So what is it?’ I asked.

  ‘It is my discovery, young Rizla. The figures you see traced on to that map are the Carriageway Constellations, the work of a Victorian magician who influenced the Brighton Borough Town-Planning Committee to lay out the roads and byways of Brighton to a particular pattern, one that would later be discovered by myself. There are twelve figures, you see. Each represents a case or conundrum that we together must solve in order to acquire the Chronovision. What you see before you on that map, young Rizla, is the Brighton Zodiac.’

  Mr Rune paused, awaiting applause.

  I raised my glass and said, ‘Can I have another drink?’

  PART II

  All right. I was not impressed. Perhaps I should have been, but after the tale of the television set that enabled its viewer to witness scenes of the past, the Brighton Zodiac seemed a bit of a disappointment. And, you might think, hardly something upon which to end a chapter.

  But then, this is my account of the events that occurred and if I feel that that is where the chapter should end, that is where the chapter will end! And in the light of events that were soon to occur, please be assured that I know what I am talking about.

  After all, I was there!

  ‘The Brighton Zodiac,’ I said. ‘Well, blow me down.’

  ‘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 Glastonb
ury 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.

  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 £10’, 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.’