“Count Otto,” called Her Majesty (etc.). “I trust that this special entertainment and end of civilisation as we know it will not take too long. I have to return to Buckingham Palace within a very few minutes to watch the fireworks.”
Count Otto Black shook his head. “That is neither here, nor there,” he said. “What you are about to witness, you will have no recollection of tomorrow. You will awaken with memories that you enjoyed the fireworks, and memories too of your entire life, but these will not be true memories, because the past as you remember it and the present as you understand it, will have been erased.”
Queen Victoria made a puzzled face.
“An explanation is necessary, I feel.” Count Otto Black clapped his slender hands together. “Lords and ladies, one and all, allow me to introduce you to The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild.”
Into the ring marched thirteen pinch-faced women.
They were as alike as those peas that dwell in the pod of metaphor. They wore lavish costumes of black damask embroidered with silk brocade. Their bodies were impossibly slender. The looks upon their tiny pinched-faces were intent.
They formed a circle about the Count and joined their hands together. And then they began to sway backwards and forwards, chanting softly and scuffing their heels in the sawdust.
“All ends here,” cried Count Otto Black. “The future changes, and also the past. Five sacrifices have been made below and now one will be made above.”
The audience did rumblings and mumblings. Most were now very keen indeed to be up and away.
“Be still now!” Count Otto raised his hands towards the dome where the stars twinkled on high. “A demonstration of power is required, I do believe. And why not upon those who have come here to do my master harm. In the twelfth and thirteenth seats of the very first row, I do believe.”
“Eh?” said the cabbie, checking his tickets. “That’s us, isn’t it, bruv?”
But sadly he said no more at all, as a bolt of fire shot down from above and reduced both him and his plastered brother to ashes, which really wasn’t fair.
The crowd went “Oooooooh!” and shrank very low in their seats.
Will opened his eyes and said, “Who hit me?” A terrific figure hauled him to his feet.
“Assassin alert,” said this terrific figure, holding Will in the grip that is known as “vice-like”.
“Oh,” went Count Otto and he put his finger to his ear, wherein rested a tiny radio receiver that held a Babbage patent. “I seem to have made an error. Might we have a spotlight shine upon the back row, to the left of the exit?”
A spotlight shone in that very direction.
It lit upon Will Starling. And also upon Tim, both held in the clutches of twin terrific figures.
“Mr Starling,” called Count Otto. “It is you lurking behind that beard, isn’t it? I knew you’d adopt a disguise. Please come down and join me. And your companion too.” He beckoned to the terrific figures. “Haul them down to me now.”
Will’s captor had Will’s arms pinned to his sides. Will struggled, but to no avail. The automaton hauled him down the aisle towards the ring. The second automaton did likewise with Tim.
“I suppose,” said Count Otto, as Will’s terrific captor deftly relieved Will of his weaponry and flung him down to the sawdust, “that it would be a pity if you missed this, as it does concern you so very personally.”
Will glared up at Count Otto Black. “You’ll get yours,” he said.
“Damn right,” agreed Tim, who now lay beside Will in the sawdust.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Count Otto smiled. “Not, at least, in the way that you mean. Bring on the sacrificial victim.”
And from beneath the orchestra stand, curtains drew back and two more automata appeared, hauling between them—
“My other self,” whispered Will.
But it was not Will’s other self.
“Colonel William Starling,” said Count Otto. “Of the Queen’s Own Aerial Cavalry. Your many-times great-grandfather, I believe.”
Will muttered swearings beneath his breath. The automaton pushed his foot down hard on Will’s back.
“Get your damned hands off me,” demanded Colonel William. “Beaten up and thrown into a police cell, then kidnapped from the police cell and dragged up here. Outrageous behaviour. I demand an explanation, sir.”
“Such a task,” said Count Otto ignoring Colonel William’s complaints, “to erase our nemesis. We have tried to kill you both in this time and in the future. Hugo Rune, your most illustrious and annoying ancestor, he was extinguished, but still you live. But no more. When the Colonel dies, wifeless and childless, you will definitely cease to exist.”
Will spat sawdust and curled his lip, but that was all he could do.
“My apologies to my audience,” said the Count. “None of this will mean anything to you. None of you will have the foggiest idea what is going on here.”
The audience did further mumblings and grumblings: the Count, it seemed, was correct on this account.
“You are not entirely correct.” The voice came from the rear of the audience. A spotlight swung in the direction of the voice’s location. So to speak, and lit upon … Will looked up as best he could.
“Hugo Rune,” said he.
“It is I,” said Hugo Rune.
“Well, well, well,” said Count Otto Black, plucking at his beard. “The guru’s guru himself. And there was I, most certain you were dead.”
“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,”[34] said Mr Hugo Rune.
“Good line,” said Oscar Wilde, plumping up his cushion. “I’ll use that.”
“Isn’t this exciting?” said the lady in the straw hat. “I’ve no idea what’s going on, but it’s very exciting none the less.”
“It’s not that exciting,” said her friend called Doris. “It’s mostly just talking, apart from the bolts of fire. Those were quite exciting.”
“And the dancing bears,” said Her Majesty (.). “I really liked those dancing bears.”
“Come on then, Rune,” called Count Otto. “Join us here in the ring. Witness what is to come. Be here at the beginning of the end.”
Hugo Rune strode down an aisle towards the ring. Tonight he wore his magician’s robe; a seamless floor-length white cotton garment, embroidered with the ever-popular enigmatic symbols. His ring of power was upon his nose-picking finger, a jaunty fez perched at a rakish angle on his great bald head. He presented a most striking appearance, especially for a dead man. Hugo Rune stepped down to the circus ring.
Will gazed up at him. The thoughts within Will’s head were somewhat confused.
“Time ticks away,” said Hugo Rune, stepping into the circus ring. “You will shortly run right out of it.”
Count Otto smiled a wicked smile. His yellow crooked teeth all showed themselves. “There is no more time,” said he. “As you know it. But pray tell me this, before the new dawn dawns. How is it that you remain alive?”
“A great magician never divulges his secrets,” said Hugo Rune. “It might lessen his charisma.”
“A cop-out if ever I heard one.” Count Otto spat into the sawdust.
“Then you might put it down to my immortality, coupled with the fact that a dead man has no creditors. It generally pays to fake one’s death at least once every century. And upon this occasion it was also necessary in order that young Will here would do the right thing. Which I am proud to see that he has. And, by the by, Count Otto, would it be permissible to allow Mr Starling to his feet? He looks most uncomfortable down there.”
34
Rune actually was the first person ever to utter this line. And very well uttered, it was.