The Witches of Chiswick

12

“Now just hold on there!” Tim McGregor did waving his hands in the air. “Are you telling me that I am your brother?”

“Half-brother,” said Will. “Different mums. And I’m just telling you what Rune told to me.”

“But my mum and your dad? That’s disgusting.”

Will shrugged and took a sip from his latest pint of Large. It tasted good. Not as good as Rune’s champagne but cooler though and good.

“But if it’s true,” Tim made a thoughtful face. “Then it means that I am a descendant of Hugo Rune.”

“We both are. If it’s true.”

“But I am his magical heir. Me.”

Will shrugged once more.

“Cease with all these shruggings,” Tim told him. “This is incredible. I mean, Rune. Hugo Rune, the greatest magus of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.”

“I don’t know about that. But hang about, Tim. You mean that you have actually heard of Hugo Rune?”

“Heard of him?” Tim laughed loudly. And Will recognised that laugh. It was the laugh of Hugo Rune. “Heard of Rune? The man is a legend in the annuls of the occult. The guru’s guru. The Logos of the Aeon. The One and Only. The Lad Himself. The founder of the church of Runeology.”

“There is no such church,” said Will.

“There was.” Tim nodded his hairy head. “It wasn’t too big a church. It only had a congregation of about six. Women mostly. Young women, wealthy young women.”

“Sounds about right,” said Will.

“Hugo Rune wrote The Book of Ultimate Truths. I have a copy.”

“You have a copy of a book? You never told me this.”

“You said you didn’t believe in magic. You’d have sneered if I’d told you.”

Will all but shrugged, but didn’t.

“But this is so brilliant,” Tim was now all smiles. “I always knew I was special. But Hugo Rune’s magical heir! Fantastic. So, when do we go back into the past? What do I have to do? Will I get to cast spells and stuff?”

“I’m sure you’ll get the opportunity to try. But not yet. You have to hear all of the story-so-far first.”

“I’ve heard enough,” said Tim. “Finish your pint. Where did you park the time machine?”

“I didn’t return here in a time machine.” Will sipped further Large. “Time machines are old-fashioned. That’s not the way I travel through time now.”

“Oh,” said Tim. “So how do you do it? By magic?”

“No, not magic. It’s done by vegetable, actually. But all that’s a year on in the story.”

“A year on?” Tim scratched at his hairy head. “Are you telling me that you were there in Victorian times for a year?”

Will nodded. “Haven’t you noticed that I look a bit older?”

“I’m a bloke,” said Tim. “Blokes don’t notice stuff like that. Although, perhaps, now that I look at you closely. You didn’t have those big Victorian sideburns yesterday, did you? And you are dressed in Victorian costume, which you weren’t when you went to the toilet on the tram.”

“The sideburns took me nearly a year to grow.”

“I’m loving this,” Tim rubbed his hands together. “I didn’t like the bit where I got killed next Friday night. But I assume I’ll be dodging that.”

Will nodded.

“So I love all the rest. Especially the magic. He actually cast a spell on your knees, did he?”

“I suspect the champagne was drugged,” said Will.

Tim laughed once more. “It was magic,” he said. “Rune was one of the greatest magicians of his, or any other, age. He spoke every language known to man and could play chess blindfolded, against six grand masters simultaneously, and beat every one of them, whilst engaging in, shall we say, congress, with a woman in an adjoining room.”

“So he told me,” said Will. “Although I never actually witnessed such a competition.”

“And darts,” said Tim. “He played darts with the Dalai Lama. Hands-off darts. Using his powers of telekinesis.”

“I never actually saw that either. Although we did visit the Dalai. Nice chap.”

“You visited the Dalai Lama?”

“With Rune. We travelled for nearly a year. Rune was always on the move. Outwitting the forces of evil.”

“Witches,” said Tim.

“Creditors,” said Will. “Rune never carried money, you see. He said it was beneath him to do so. He said that he offered the world his genius and all he expected in return was that the world should cover his expenses. We stayed in a lot of first-class hotels. But we always had to leave them speedily and stealthily, and under the cover of darkness.”

“But all the time he was teaching you his magic?”

“He informed me that I had to grow physically before I could grow spiritually. I spent all my time dragging his steamer trunk about.”

“Oh,” said Tim once more. “But you got to see some amazing sights, I’ll bet.”

“That’s true enough and we did it in style. We journeyed across the Victorian world, always travelling first class and always failing to pay for our tickets. We crossed China, where we were the honoured guests of the Mandarin. We had to leave in a rush though, because Rune engaged in, as you put it, congress, with a number of the Mandarin’s concubines.”

“Top man,” said Tim. “But there must have been some purpose to all this travelling, other than for evading creditors.”

“I’m sure there was, but Rune did not see fit to confide it to me. I learned a lot though, which might well have been the purpose. I learned how to handle myself, how to mix in society, and it all came in very useful. Shall I continue with the story?”

“Please do so,” Tim raised his glass. “But promise me that when you’ve done, you’ll definitely take me back into the past with you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I need your help, Tim. You’re the only person I can turn to. There’s big trouble going on back there.”

“Right,” said Tim. “So continue with your story.”

“Right,” said Will. “But you must understand that although being with Rune was never dull and did involve a high risk factor, which I found personally appealing, I was trapped in an age that wasn’t mine and an age that is not how our history records it. There were wonders back then, scientific wonders, in England at least. It was all very confusing to me and I was homesick. Can you believe that? A chance at real adventure and I got homesick. I missed my mum and dad, and you too.”

“Nice,” said Tim. “I suppose.”

“And I still didn’t understand why the truth about Victorian times had been covered up. I wanted to know a lot. Rune said that he had engineered it for me to return to the past, although it was you that he really wanted. And that the intention was for me to aid him in his struggle against the forces of evil, which came in the shape of The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild. But he wouldn’t confide his plans to me.”

“Does it all become clear in the story?” Tim asked.

“Sort of,” said Will.

“Then perhaps you should continue the story now. Then we can both, you know, whip back in time and stuff. Eh?”

“Right,” said Will once more. “I’ll tell you the lot. I have to or you won’t understand. It’s exciting stuff. You’ll enjoy it. And when I’m done you’ll understand what you have to do and we’ll return to the past together. Are you all right with that?”

“I’m all right with that.” Tim raised his glass a little higher. “A toast?” said he.

“A toast?” said Will.

“To the future,” said Tim. “Which might lie in the past. And to our mutual ancestor, Mr Hugo Rune.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Will.

And he did so.

“The champagne to your liking?” asked Hugo Rune.

Will studied his glass. The light that fell upon it came from one of the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ornately gilded ceiling of the Café Royal, Piccadilly. It was November, the year was eighteen ninety-nine.

“Somewhat inferior,” said Will, as he viewed the rising bubbles in the golden liquid. “I would hate to take issue with the wine waiter over this.” Will now studied the label on the bottle. “However, I would suggest that this is not a Chateau Rothschild, but rather a Chateau Vamberry.”

Rune nodded approvingly. Tonight the guru’s guru, The Logos of the Aeon, The One and Only, The Lad Himself, wore full Highland dress, for reasons of his own that were not explained to Will, but which were probably something to do with it being Friday. With a tweed bonnet with brooch and eagle’s feathers, ceremonial dress tunic of crimson damask, a kilt in a tartan of Rune’s own design, a dirk in his left sock and silk slippers on his feet, Rune, as ever, cut a dash.

Will was smartly turned out in a black satin evening suit, white tie and patent leather shoes. Neither he, nor Rune, had actually paid for their apparel.

Will glanced all around and about at his surroundings.

The interior of the Café Royal had come as something of a surprise to him, as he had expected the full Victorian over-the-topness: gilded columns, ornate statuary, marble fireplaces and Rococo furnishings. But there was little of the Victorian left to the decor, except the ceiling and the crystal chandeliers.

The Café Royal had gone post-modern.

The chairs and tables looked to be of the IKEA persuasion. The crockery was white, the cutlery had plastic handles. The walls of this famous establishment had been stripped of their decorative plaster mouldings, painted in pastel shades and hung with huge canvasses.

“The work of Richard Dadd,” said Hugo Rune. “Her Majesty’s favourite artist.”

“And one of mine too,” said Will. “But Dadd never painted pictures like this. These paintings look more like the work of Mark Rothko. They’re just big splodges of colour. They’re rubbish.”

Rune put a finger to his fleshy lips. “Mr Dadd is a most fashionable artist,” said he. “His latest portrait of the Queen hangs in the Tate. Three gallons of red emulsion slung over a ten foot-square canvas. Not my cup of Earl Grey, to be sure, but fashion is fashion. And by the by, Mr Dadd sits yonder.”

Will turned to view Mr Dadd. “Which one?” Will asked.

“Short fat fellow, sitting with that womaniser, Wilde.”

“Oscar Wilde?” Will asked.

“That’s the chap; dabbles a bit in theatre, when he’s not bedding some countess or another.”

“But I thought Oscar Wilde was gay.”

“Oh, he’s cheerful enough.”

“I mean, as in him being a sweeper of the chocolate chimney.”

Rune laughed loudly. “Quite the reverse,” said he. “A big ladies man is our Oscar.” And Rune caught the eye of Wilde and waved. “Evening, Oscar,” he called.

Oscar Wilde made a face and raised two fingers at Rune.

“Commoner,” said Rune. “Still bearing a grudge over the twenty guineas I borrowed from him.”

“Do you know anyone else here?” Will asked, as he viewed the fashionably dressed patrons of the Café Royal.

“Indeed,” said Rune. “Most, if not all. See that tall fellow lounging by the jukebox; that is Little Tich, who has found fame with his ever-popular Big Boot Dance. And there, the gaunt creature with the long black beard. That is Count Otto Black, proprietor of the Circus Fantastique, who has found fame through the exploitation of freaks, foul fellow that he is.”

Rune pointed out Dame Nellie Melba, who would later find fame as a popular dessert, and Aubrey Beardsley, whose erotic novel Under the Hill had given Will a stiffy on the tram in the twenty-third century, and who would later find fame by dying young from TB.

“And that is Mr Gladstone,” said Rune. “Who will be remembered for his bags. And that is Lord Oxford, who will also be remembered for his bags. And that is Lord Duffle, who will similarly be remembered for his—”

“Bags?” said Will.

“Bags,” said Rune. “And that is Lord Carrier, and that is Lord Johnny.”

“I think that’s enough bags for now,” said Will.

“I agree,” said Rune. “The secret lies in knowing when to stop.”

“Isn’t that Lord Colostomy?” Will asked.

“No,” said Rune. “It isn’t.”

“Why are we here?” Will asked of Hugo Rune.

“Now that is indeed a question,” the guru’s guru replied. “A question which has puzzled Man since his genesis. Darwin claims that he holds the answer, but so too does the Archbishop of Canterbury. Both these fellows are good friends of mine, and both are mistaken in their beliefs. The real reason why we are here—”

“I mean, why are you and I sitting here, now, drinking inferior champagne?”

“A far easier question to answer. We await the arrival of the gentleman who invited us here. We are a little early. Cigar?” Rune proffered the open silver humidor which stood upon the crisp white linen tablecloth.

Will shook his head. Rune scooped up a fistful of cigars, placed one in his mouth and crammed the others in his top pocket. “Magic,” said he.

“Speaking of magic,” said Will. “You have been promising for some time now, for as long as I have known you in fact, which is over a year, to demonstrate some of yours to me. Perhaps you would care to impress me by improving the flavour of the champagne?”

Rune raised a hairless eyebrow. “One does not trifle with magic,” said he. “But see this.” And he snapped his right forefinger and thumb, drawing flame between them, from which he lighted his cigar.

“That is a music-hall trick,” said Will. “I have seen Dan Leno do that.”

Rune smiled as he sucked upon his cigar and then blew hurriedly on his flaming finger and thumb.

“So who is treating us to this meal tonight?” Will asked.

“A very close friend.” Rune puffed cigar smoke and spoke through it. “We were fellows at Oxford together. He seeks success in a different field to myself. He is a man obsessed with logic. I have however helped him out in the past with one or two matters which have proved to be beyond the scope of his logic”

“So, who is he?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Rune raised his left hand. “Aha, I sense his approach.”

Hugo Rune arose from his IKEA-looking chair and turned to greet the arrival of a tall, slender gentleman in an immaculately tailored evening suit. He carried a fashionable bag of the Gladstone persuasion.

“William,” said Hugo Rune to Will. “Allow me to introduce you to my very good friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

Will climbed from his chair to shake the hand of the world’s most famous fictional detective. Will’s jaw had dropped and his eyes were somewhat wide. It couldn’t actually be true, could it?

“Mr Starling,” said Mr Sherlock Holmes. “I perceive that you have recently been to—”

“China,” Will managed to blurt.

“The toilet,” said Holmes. “Your fly is still unbuttoned.”

Will hastened to rebutton his fly.

“I have heard much of you,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Hugo informs me that you are a young man of almost infinite capabilities.”

“He does?” Will glanced at Rune, who put his finger to his lips.

“That you are indeed the fellow I seek,” continued Holmes.

“Really?” said Will. “I don’t think I quite—”

“A pleasure to see you once again, Shirley.” Rune offered his hand and Holmes shook it. The manner of the handshake was significant. Its significance was lost upon Will.

“It’s Sherlock, in public, if you don’t mind.” Holmes glanced the Logos of the Aeon up and down. “I observe that you have gained precisely fifteen and a half pounds since last we met. The travelling life evidently agrees with you.”

Rune perused the great detective. “And you, I see, have lost a little weight,” he said. “I trust that you have not raised your dosage above a seven per cent solution.”

“Idleness does not agree with me, as well you know. And by the by, your tailor called in upon me at Baker Street, last week. He asked that he be remembered to you and also that I convey his bill directly into your hands.”

“Which you certainly will not do,” said Rune.

“We are gentlemen both. And brothers under The Arch. Might I test a glass of that questionable champagne?”

“Sit yourself down and do so.”

Holmes sat down and so did Rune and so too then did Will. Further champagne was poured and tasted, and commented upon unfavourably, and then a conversation ensued between Holmes and Rune, which Will listened to, but for the most part failed to comprehend.

The conversation was of that special variety which only exists between close and intimate friends. Where a mere word or phrase conjures mutual memories, raising either laughter or sadness. Mostly laughter upon this occasion.

Will watched and listened and shook his head.

It was Sherlock Holmes. The real Sherlock Holmes. He looked exactly as he did in the Sidney Paget illustrations, which had clearly been drawn from life. Will had read all of the Sherlock Holmes stories. He’d downloaded digital files of their original publications in the Strand magazine, from the copies held in the British Library. These files were in his palm-top. Will’s palm-top was in Will’s pocket.

Will wondered what Holmes might think if Will were to show him these downloaded files. Records of cases that Holmes had yet to be called upon to solve.

It was an interesting thought and one full of intriguing possibilities.

“So, Hugo,” said Sherlock Holmes. “I regret that I will not be able to join you for supper, so let us address ourselves to the business at hand. You have recommended your magical son to me as the fellow I seek. Are you absolutely certain that he is up to the challenge?”

Rune nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely,” he said.

“What is all this?” Will asked.

“It is simple enough,” said Holmes. “I would take on the case myself. In fact, I feel confident that I could solve it without even leaving the fireside of my sitting room at Baker Street. However, I am somewhat pressed by another urgent matter, which necessitates a trip to Dartmoor.”

“Ah,” said Will. “I know—” But then he held his tongue.

“You know?” asked Holmes.

“Nothing,” said Will. “So what is this case that you would like Mr Rune and myself to look into?”

“Not Mr Rune and yourself. Simply yourself.”

“But I—”

“Listen to the gentleman,” said Rune. “You seek to find things out, do you not?”

Will nodded.

“Then this is your opportunity. Pray continue, Shirley.”

“Sherlock,” said Holmes. “You must understand, Mr Starling,” he continued, “that I am building a reputation for myself as a consulting detective. The world’s only consulting detective. To do this it is necessary that I solve all the cases that are presented to me. But I have recently been inundated with requests for my assistance. Mostly these are trifling matters that can be speedily dealt with. But there are many of them. Too many. Hugo here has assisted me before. He is, as you must know, a man of considerable insight and intuition. And generosity.”

Will raised his eyebrows to this intelligence.

“Hugo informs me that you possess certain skills and that I can trust you to deal with this particular matter.”

“Yes, but,” said Will.

Holmes turned to Rune. “I am having my doubts,” said he.

“All will be well,” said Hugo Rune, making a breezy gesture before sucking once more upon his cigar. “The lad is shy. He is overwhelmed at meeting you.”

“That’s certainly true,” said Will.

“But if anyone can deal with this case, I guarantee that this someone is William Starling. I know these things. Trust me. I’m a magician.”

“Then I shall trust you,” said Holmes. “The reward is—”

“Let us not speak of rewards,” said Rune.

“As you please,” said Holmes.

“Well, not here,” Rune’s voice was now a whisper. “In private, later on.”

“Quite so.”

“What is this?” Will asked.

“Nothing,” said Rune. “So, you have the file with you?”

“I do.” Holmes took up his Gladstone bag, opened it and produced a buff-coloured envelope, which he handed to Rune. “My reputation depends upon this,” he said. “We understand each other, don’t we?”

“We do,” said Rune. “Brother upon The Square,” and he made a certain sign.

“Then, good.” Holmes rose from his chair. Rune rose with him and the two shook hands once more. The significance of the unorthodox handshake was not quite so lost upon Will this time.

“I look forward to hearing from you once you have solved the case,” said Mr Holmes, now shaking Will by the hand. “Enjoy your supper, charge it to my account. And so farewell.”

And with that he departed into the fashionable crowd and was gone.

“Nice chap,” said Hugo Rune, reseating himself.

“Nice chap?” Will slumped down and stared at Hugo Rune. “What did you tell him about me? What is all this about?”

“Calm yourself,” said Rune. “It is simplicity itself. We require funds.”

“We?” said Will.

“We,” said Rune. “In order to do what must be done. You wish to return to your own time, do you not?”

“I do,” said Will.

“And when we have achieved our goal. Which is to rid the world of an evil presence.”

“The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild?” Will’s voice had a certain sneering quality to it.

“You will learn in time the scale of the evil,” said Rune. “And then you will believe. But we do require funds. And how better to earn these, than for you to take on a bit of detective work?”

“I’m not a detective,” said Will. “What do I know about detective work?”

“You came from the future,” said Rune. “You know all manner of things. You know for instance why Sherlock is going to Dartmoor, do you not?”

“Actually, I do,” said Will. “I read it. He’s going to solve the case of the Hound of the Baskervilles. The butler did it, by the way. It’s often the butler who does it.”

“There you are,” said Rune. “You are possessed of knowledge that is denied even to me. This,” Rune tapped the buff-coloured envelope, “is a big case. A big historical case. A famous case. Solve this, gain the reward money, aid me and return to your own time, what could be simpler?”

“Ah,” said Will. “Now I see. You told Holmes that I could solve the case, because you knew that I could. Because you knew that I’d know who the criminal was, because the case would be history to me. Even if much of history has been erased and hidden.”

“Exactly,” said Rune. “Although I could have put it somewhat more eloquently. And bear also this in mind. We are acting for Sherlock Holmes; his reputation depends on him solving all the cases that he is given. You wouldn’t want to let Sherlock Holmes down, would you? You wouldn’t want him to lose his place in history?”

Will shook his head. “Go on then,” he said. “Let’s have a look in the envelope.”

Rune slid it across the tablecloth. “Everything depends on this,” he told Will. “Holmes’ reputation, you getting back to the future. Everything. It does. Trust me, it really does.”

Will shrugged and sighed. “If it’s a famous case, then I probably do know,” said he and he took the envelope and opened it.

Will pulled out papers and glanced at them, and then Will began to laugh.

“You know,” said Rune. “You do know, don’t you?”

Will laughed some more and then some more. And then Will stopped laughing and said to Hugo Rune. “If everything depends on this, we’re stuffed.”

“Stuffed?” said Rune. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Will. “That we have been given a case to solve that cannot be solved. Is never solved.”

“There is no such case,” said Rune.

“There is,” said Will. “And this is it. The case of Jack the Ripper.”