Part 14 (1/2)

'You used my special spell without permission.

'In order to recover your car, sire.

'Which you did not do.'

'No, sire. But am doing now.'

'Oh yes?'

'Oh yes, sire. I despatched four of your bodyguards to drive around the area in search. They called in a few minutes ago to say that they had located your car and were in pursuit. So all is really well and good. Good night.'

'Well and good?' The king rocked forward in his throne and threw his great arms wide. 'You despatched four of my bodyguards? My great, thick, clumsy, gormless bodyguards?'

'Yes, sire.'

'To drive around the area, did you say?'

'Yes, sire.'

'In what, Kobold? In what are they driving?'

'Well. I told them to go down to your car park and take whatever they thought would get the job done.'

The king fell back. His mouth wide open in his horror. 'My bodyguards? Given free rein with my motor cars? Have you lost all your senses? Are you bereft, Kobold? How could you think of such a thing? What made you do it? What?'

'Well, sire,' Arthur Kobold chewed upon his knuckles, 'you see, it's not just the matter of your favourite car. It's the matter of who stole it from Murphy.'

The king groaned. 'Go on,' said he. 'Tell me the worst. If worse there can possibly be.'

'I'm afraid there can. Far worse. You see, when Murphy stole the car from your car park, it wasn't entirely empty. I have every reason to believe that one of our ”guests” had hidden himself inside the car. A certain category-AAA ”guest 'A prisoner has escaped? I mean, ”a guest has chosen to leave us?” Which one? Not Elvis?'

'Elvis?' Arthur Kobold asked. 'We don't have Elvis staying with us, do we?'

'Ah ... er ... mm. Of course not, Kobold. Whatever put that into your mind?'

'You just said-'

'No I didn't. You must have imagined it. There is only one King. And I'm he. So speak up, d.a.m.n you. Who's nicked my car?'

'Out with it, Kobold.'

'Spit it out. Or truly will you know my wrath.'

'Hugo Rune,' said Arthur Kobold. 'Can I go now, sire, I need the toilet.'

Hugo Rune put his foot to the floor and the silver car streaked over Kew Bridge towards Brentford.

'As a rule I rarely drive,' he told Cornelius. 'There are two kinds of people in this world: those who sit behind a wheel and drive, and those who sit behind them and tell them where to drive. I am of the latter persuasion.'

'You are my father,' said Cornelius.

'Mayhap. However, put aside all thoughts of falling on my neck with kisses. Our lives are still in some peril.'

A gorgeous long-bodied landaulet, which would have found a pride of place in the collection of Lord Monty, drew level with them. Its driver, a hideous great green thingy, yelled something gross in their direction.'One moment's pause, before you yet again enjoy the pleasure of my conversation.' Rune drew down hard on the steering wheel, caught the landaulet a thunderous blow and sent it spinning from the road. Cornelius peeped over his shoulder to make what he would of the explosion. Thoughts of the evil Campbell returned to his mind, and the devastation he had wrought upon a score of police cars. Like father like son.

'Only one remaining now,' said Hugo Rune.

'If you hang a right after the traffic lights, we can easily lose him in the backstreets and hide out at my house.

'What an absurd suggestion. We shall go directly to my manse.

'Whatever you prefer then. Kindly lead the way.'

'Now that', said Hugo Rune, 'is what I do the best.'

They lost the final car, a rare, if not unique example of the Cord, when Rune nudged it off the road into the newly reglazed front window of Polgar's Pet Shop.

From then on the drive became more sedate. They left the suburbs of the metropolis behind and travelled north. And Rune discoursed upon a great diversity of subjects. Cornelius spoke little and though a thousand questions crowded in his head, he couldn't get a word in edgeways on. And so, at last, he fell asleep.

He awoke to find the sun upon his face and Rune's words once more in his ear.

'And that is how', said Rune, 'the scoundrel Einstein stole my notes and walked off with the n.o.bel Prize.'

'Outrageous,' said Cornelius. 'Are we there?'

'Behold the manse.'

The car was parked upon a sweeping drive of Chichester stone.

Before it rose an ancient country pile, circa 1690. It was fas.h.i.+oned from the granite of the region, mellowed to a golden hue. The house had a hipped roof, pediment and cornice, which combined with the cla.s.sic facade, so favoured in the period by Inigo Jones. There remained the Gothic touch in the mullion and transom windows. And near the angles, pilasters took the place of the usual rusticated quoins.

Rune left the car and stretched his limbs before the house. Cornelius urged Tuppe into wakefulness.

'Don't shake me all about,' said the small bloke. 'I've been awake all the time. G.o.d, your knees are bony.'

'Awake all the time, eh? Then I suppose you know where we are.'

'No,' said Tuppe. 'I'm quite lost.'

Cornelius viewed Hugo Rune through the wind-screen. 'And what do you make of him?'

'He's looking well on it,' said Tuppe. 'Doesn't seem to have aged a day since that picture was taken.'

'The one we found in Victor Zen.o.bia's trunk?'

'Do you still have it?'

'Of course.' Cornelius wormed the crumpled relic from his pocket. There was Rune, surrounded by his acolytes, on his birthday, more than half a century before. And no, he hadn't aged one day, one jot, or one iota. Nor had the suit he wore, the same nineteen thirties Boleskine tweed plus-fours number by all the looks of it.