The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (28 page)

‘How?’
Rune asked. ‘And to where?’

‘Shot
himself back to Earth from one of the big sky nozzles. And according to the
readout on the screen, straight to our son Cornelius.’

‘Shot
himself
back?’

The two
Runes looked at each other.

‘Buttocks,’
they said.

‘I will
deal with Mr Buttocks,’ said the large controller. ‘But now we must return you
to your former self on your original birthday. Conduct our affairs with a
little more care next time.’

‘Have
no fear of that. You may expect our son’s file to vanish into nothing. I shall
be practising safe sex with his mother next time around.’

‘Excellent,
then we will continue as before. Kindly squeeze yourself into this little
bullet affair and I’ll blast you back into the past.’

‘Rune
does not squeeze himself into anything. Launch me from one of the other big sky
nozzles.’

‘None
of the others actually works,’ said the large controller. ‘It’s squeeze into
this one or nothing, I’m afraid.’

‘Outrageous.’

‘But
nevertheless so. Come now and I’ll help ram you in.’

‘Preposterous.’

But it
had to be so. And with struggling and straining and effing and blinding it was
finally, outrageously, preposterously so.

‘Grmmph
mmph bmmph,’ went the Rune in the bullet-shaped affair.

‘I’ve
preprogrammed you,’ said the large controller. ‘I have but to push the button,
so I shall.’

And so
he did.

There
was the necessary Whoomph!, the gush of flame and Rune was on his way.

Back on Earth and many
years before, Hugo Rune awoke. He yawned and smacked his lips together. New
born and eager for the nipple.

But
where had the nursery ceiling gone? He appeared to be out in the open air and
moving along a pace. A ride in the pram, perhaps, with dearest nanny? That was
surely it.

But it
wasn’t. Rune became aware of a heaving and squirming against him. A most acrid
stench hung over all.

Rune
made to cry out ‘What is this?’ but found to his alarm that he was speechless.
His mouth seeming no more than a rudimentary slit. He tried to strike out at
the vile objects heaving around him, but discovered to his further alarm, and
with a good deal of growing horror, that he possessed neither arms nor legs.

Something
huge beyond proportion blotted out the sky, came down upon him, lifted him
high. He saw a face. A human face, but vast, the size of a house. It was
grinning. And he could see the hand that held him. Held
him?
Rune? The
most amazing man who ever lived?

‘Here’s
a real nice fat one,’ said the human face. A boy’s face. A grinning boy’s face.
His
own
face. ‘Give us a number-nine hook and we’ll bait it up with
him.’

‘No!’
Rune wriggled and squirmed.

‘He’s a
lively one,’ said the young Hugo Rune. Six years old. The squirming Rune
recalled the fishing trip. He recalled the maggot tin.

‘There’s
been a terrible mistake!’
screamed squirming Rune,
but silently. And then the hook went in.

‘Good luck, Hugo,’ said
the large controller striding away towards the lift.

‘He he
he,’ Old Claude popped his head up from behind the bullet-packing end of the
big sky nozzle. ‘You may have preprogrammed the bastard, you bastard, but
I
shifted
a few digits about when your back was turned. One down and four to go, I
reckon.’

And
Claude danced a merry little dance.

The most amazing man who
ever lived sank deeply into the perfumed waters of his marble bath-tub and
sought once more to compose the final equation in his formula for the universal
panacea and elixir of life.

And he
would have done it too.

But
for…

‘Get
out of that bedroom and do some work, you lazy good-for-nothing, or I’ll have
my husband bash down the door!’

The
most amazing man awoke with a start.

To find
a ticket inspector smiling down at him.

‘So
sorry to awaken you, Mr Rune, but I wonder if I might punch your ticket.’

‘Where
my manservant Rizla?’ this new Rune asked.

‘Breakfasting
in the first-class dining-car, sir.’

‘I
shall have to put my own hand into my pocket then.’ Rune did so and fished out
his first-class first-class ticket.’

‘First
class,’ said the inspector, clipping it.

‘When
do we arrive at Skelington Bay?’ Rune enquired, returning his ticket to his
poodle-skin ticket case (a present from Zsa Zsa Gabor),
[21]
and slipping this into the
inner pocket of his green tweed suit.

‘This
train terminates at Bramfield Halt, sir. Skelington Bay is under some kind of
quarantine.’

‘But I
might engage the services of a hackney carriage to convey me there.’

‘They
won’t let you through the road blocks, sir, the population has been evacuated.’

‘I am
here on Downing Street business,’ said Rune. ‘To complete a task begun by my,
er,
twin brother.
They will let
me
through.’

‘As you
will then, sir. I’ll have a cab summoned for you as soon as we arrive.

‘Have
my manservant awaken me then. Farewell.’

‘Farewell,
sir.’

‘Well, we’ve not said
farewell to Rune,’ said Norman. ‘Like I told you there’re five separate
versions of him in circulation, another will probably be on its way here now to
replace the one that went off the pier.’

‘Then
he
must be stopped,’ said Cornelius. ‘If he’s allowed to go ahead with this
he’ll not only kill off everybody who’s alive, he’ll kill off the souls of all
the dead people too.’

‘That’s
definitely a first for anyone,’ said Tuppe. ‘I’m glad you can hear Norman now,
Cornelius, it’s so much more convenient, isn’t it?’

‘Ahem,’
said the tall boy.

‘But I
don’t understand why everyone will die,’ said Louise. ‘Electrical discharge,’
said Norman. ‘Rune will electrify the entire ocean. That’s two thirds of the
world, he’ll short out the whole planet.’

‘Yes,
but then he’ll die too.’

‘Perhaps
he doesn’t know that,’ said Tuppe.

‘Perhaps
if he was told,’ said Cornelius. ‘If I could find the right Rune. My genuine
father.’

Norman
shook his head. ‘I don’t think he’d give a damn. Remember the controller at the
URC is Rune too and from what I gleaned from Jack Bradshaw, preincarnation is a
secret that even God doesn’t know about.’

‘So
what are you suggesting?’

‘It’s
only a thought,’ said Norman, ‘but I reckon that Hugo Rune might be planning to
overthrow God.’

‘What?’
The Murphy head went up, the Murphy hair came down.

‘Well,
I said it was only a thought.’

‘It’s a
terribly bad one!’

‘I
agree, but the real controller told me that he thinks Rune is the very Devil
himself. After all, Hell did get closed down, so what happened to all the
demons and stuff? Made redundant? I don’t know.’

‘Does
this make me Son of Satan?’ Cornelius enquired. ‘Should I look for a triple-six
birthmark on my bonce, or something?’

‘Like I
said, it’s only a thought.’

Cornelius
climbed to his feet. ‘We must act, we have enough time.’

‘You
must kill off all the Runes,’ said Norman. ‘Your dad too.’

‘Get
real,’ said Cornelius. ‘Would you kill
your
dad?’

Norman
shrugged. ‘Well, he killed
me.’

‘Sorry,’
said Cornelius.

‘I know
a way,’ said Tuppe.

‘Oh
good,’ said Cornelius. ‘Then I am prepared to hear it now, before I try some
other way and you tell me it’s not the way you would have done it.’

‘Blow
up the piers,’ said Tuppe. ‘No piers, no electrodes. No electrodes, no
electrical dischargings. No patricide required. There you go.

Bit of
a silence.

‘You
genius,’ said Norman.

‘Thanks,’
said Tuppe.

‘It is
very good,’ Cornelius agreed. ‘But where would you get the explosives from?’

‘I know
a place,’ said Norman. ‘I got some wire coathangers from there a little while
back. But what is that terrible noise?’

And a
terrible noise it was.

Of
roaring engines and bellowing loud hailers.

‘It’s
the cars,’ howled Tuppe. ‘They’ve broken through the barricades.’

‘It’s
not the cars,’ said Cornelius, gazing over the heads of many thousands who were
now leaping to their feet. ‘It’s military vehicles, coming along the road from
London. A whole convoy.

‘Nice
one,’ said Tuppe. ‘I was going to mention the difficulties we might encounter
with the cars when we tried to blow up the piers, but I didn’t want to go
complicating the issue.’

‘Or
spoil your applause,’ Norman suggested.

‘Yeah
well,’ said Tuppe. ‘But the Army will soon sort the cars out. Hoorah for the
soldier boys.’

‘Attention.
Attention,’
went the loud hailers atop the beefy
half-tracks and armoured personnel carriers.
‘This area is now under martial
law.

‘Please
gather up your personal possessions and prepare to be evacuated for your own
safety at once. This is an emergency situation and we are empowered to employ
necessary force
.
Anyone attempting to remain
behind on this hill, or re-enter the town will be considered a looter and
shot. It’s nothing personal, you understand.’

‘Bummer,
bummer, bummer,’ said Norman.

‘Never
say die,’ said Cornelius. ‘No offence meant. But we’ll find a way to sneak back
in. We’ve enough time. It will take more than a few soldiers at roadblocks to
stop me.’

‘That’s
him,’ yelled a voice, near at hand.

Cornelius
turned.

‘Yeah,
that’s definitely him,’ said another voice.

Two men
were approaching in the company of many policemen.

The
first man was unknown to Cornelius, the second looked vaguely familiar.

‘Sorry,
do I know you?’ Cornelius asked.

‘You
bloody should!’ screamed the first man. Medium height, gone somewhat to seed in
middle age. Appalling ‘golfing’ sweater and slacks of a man-made fibre. All
over smoke-blackened in appearance. ‘My name is Kevin and you burned down my
bloody hotel!’

‘I did
no such thing.’ Cornelius now found himself ringed around by policemen. ‘You
have the wrong man.

‘No I
don’t, my wife and I saw you. On the roof, setting a bomb or something, then
running out of the fire-exit. That little bloke was with you too.’

‘You
must be confusing us with someone else,’ Tuppe suggested. ‘Easily done.’

The
second man was shaking and fuming. Cornelius noticed that his jacket lacked for
a sleeve. Also that he wore what appeared at first glance to be a Rolex watch
on his wrist. ‘It’s you. It’s you,’ he went.

‘Do I
know
you?’
Cornelius asked.

‘He’s
my brother,’ said Kevin.

‘Pleased
to meet you,’ said Cornelius.

‘You
stole my car!’ screamed Kevin’s brother. ‘Top of the range, that car. What have
you done with it?’

Above
the roaring of military vehicles and the bellowing of the loud hailers and the
shrieking of people who now found themselves being
evacuated for their own
safety
at gunpoint, the sound made by the bogus Rolex-wearer’s car as it
chicken-ran itself into a Volkswagen on the prom and exploded could not be
heard at all.

‘I can
explain everything,’ said Cornelius.

‘What
about this?’ asked an officer of the law, displaying a newspaper. Cornelius
gave the front page a bit of a squint.

It was
the front page of
The Brentford Mercury.
It read:

JAIL BREAK

GALLANT
POLICE OFFICERS INJURED AS

CONVICTED
CRIMINAL IN £23,000,000

SCAM
ESCAPES FROM CUSTODY

EXCLUSIVE
BY STAR REPORTER SCOOP MOLLOY

‘Nice
one, Scoop,’ said Cornelius. ‘Thanks a lot.’

The
police officer grinned. He had a tooth missing. He also had a black eye.
‘Remember me?’ he asked. ‘From Brentford County Court?’

‘Beam
me up, Scotty,’ said Cornelius Murphy.