Part 13 (2/2)

'I'll show these fellows I mean business,' said the driver.

'Hold on,' Cornelius clawed at the dashboard. 'What's happening?'

'We are under attack from the forces of darkness. You would do well to maintain the ”crash position”. Further concussions are reliably forecast.' The driver did a nifty handbrake turn and side-swiped an on-coming vehicle, rolling it into a tree, where it did the right thing and burst into flame.'A satisfactory result,' said the driver. 'I recall a time in Shanghai. Lord Lucan and I were engaged in a rickshaw race. Fifty-guinea wager. His lords.h.i.+p had the temerity to have his coolie elbow mine from the thoroughfare, in just such a fas.h.i.+on. Mind you, I evened the score on that occasion. Took out my pistol and shot the pair of them dead.'

'Oh great,' thought Cornelius to himself. 'I've hitched a ride with a psycho.'

'I heard that,' said the driver. 'Thoughts have wings. And yours flutter against my ears, even in the pitch of battle. Keep your head down please.'

He screeched to a halt. A car, rus.h.i.+ng up from behind, ploughed into the rear with spectacular effect.

The driver laughed uproariously. 'That stopped the blighter in his tracks, what? Two down and two to go. Shall we make a chase of it?'

'Anything you say, friend.'

'Friend me no friends. No friends have I.'

'Whatever you say.' Cornelius chanced a glance up from the foetal position he had a.s.sumed on the floor.

He observed a stretch of Fair Isle sock. A goodly spread of Boleskine tweed. Much waistcoat, with a golden fobchain. Considerable silk cravat. And then a wealth of chins.

'My name is Hugo Rune,' the driver said. 'But you may call me guru.'

12.

The guvnor's court was grand and Gothic. Ancient and imposing. And craving of description in the medieval manner.

Broad were the flagstones that paved its ample floor and worn were they as gla.s.s beneath the tread of shoeless feet. Royal tabards, cloth of gold, adorned its sombre walls. And on these tabards beasts and weird devices were displayed. Wrought thereupon in such a distant age, that nought remained of meaning but their majesty withal.

The guvnor himself was also old. And though his subjects, far and near, did celebrate his birthdays with appropriate occasion, none was there to accurately count the candles for his cake.

The guvnor was also fat. Prodigious were his limbs and great the girth of him each way about. His middle regions pressed they hugely at a belt as broad as three hands' span and of such length that, stood upon its end, the tallest of the court could not stretch up to reach its buckle.

And of his boots? His tall black boots? Such was the bigness of these boots that, it was said by those who knew these matters and reported them with truth, the whole tanned hides of bullocks, two in number, had been employed, without much waste, their cobbling to complete.

And bearded also was the guvnor, very much indeed. And oh the beard of him, pure white, a pillow's fill. A pillow? Nay, a duvet. Several duvets, and a pouffe.

And of the robes of him? Speak of his robes? Of regal red were they, what other colour should a sovereign clothe? And trimmed with ermine, to a niceness, pleasing to behold. Unless thou art an ermine, naturally.

The guvnor was also drunk this night. And in his cups waxed anything but merry.

'Kobold!' cried the guvnor, and his subject answered, 'Sire?'

'Arthur,' said the king. 'Where have you been?'

'I just popped out,' said Arthur, with his shoes off and his knees bent in a bow, 'my Lord.'

'Out? Where out? And why?'

'On business, sire. As ever in the service of your realm.'

'I see.' The king leaned forward in his throne. And such a throne was his. So girt and splendid that no words might vaguely touch its grandeur or convey its glory, no. So shan't.

'It has reached my royal lughole', said the king, 'that there has been a spot of bother.'

'Nothing I can't handle, sire.'

'That's good to hear. To hear that's good. Most truly.'

'Good,' said Arthur. 'Truly good. Then I shall take my leave. Good night.'

'Not quite good night I feel.' The king raised up a hand. And what a hand it was. Bedecked with rings as splendid as the throne above. If not more so.

'My liege?'

'My car!'

'Ah, that.'

'Ah that indeed. My favourite car. My special car. Where might it be?'

'I fear', said Arthur, wringing out his hands, 'that it has been appropriated.'

'As in stolen, you mean?'

'Regrettably yes, sire. The lad Murphy, whom I recently employed to recover certain doc.u.ments which threatened our security, he gained access to your private car park. Drove off in the motor.'

'Then get after him.'

'I did, sire.'

'And?' The king sighed hugely (and such a sigh was his, etc.).

'There was some unpleasantness. And whilst I was otherwise engaged, the car was stolen once more. By another party.'

'And this occurred whilst you were using my birthday spell?'

'Ah,' said Arthur, wringing away like a mangle. 'You heard about that, then?'

'I am the King!''And such a king are you,' said Arthur. 'August, proud and true. And of a wisdom sound and fair and-'

'Drop it, Kobold. We tired of the medieval twaddle.'

'Sorry, sire.' Arthur hung his head.

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