Waiting for Godalming

8

Two hours prior to the terrible death of God and the rather unseasonable change in the weather, Icarus Smith and Johnny Boy knelt on the floor of the late Professor Partington’s shed, worrying at a map of the world, which now had been cut into many tiny pieces.

“Try putting that bit there,” said Johnny Boy.

“Please leave it to me,” said Icarus Smith. “I am the relocator and this is the stuff of my dream.”

“I’ve got a piece of Afghanistan here.”

“Then kindly give it to me.”

Johnny Boy handed Icarus the piece of Afghanistan, then clambered to his feet and stood with his hands on his hips, peering quizzically over the lad’s stooped shoulders.

“The secret”, said Icarus, “is for me not to think about it. Just let it happen naturally. Just let the right pieces fall into the right places. That’s what the science of relocation is all about.”

“Things don’t just fall into place by themselves,” said Johnny Boy, stretching his tiny arms and clicking his tiny neck. “Things require a catalyst. And the ‘relocation’ theory of yours requires you to be its catalyst. But you’re making a right pig’s earhole of the map.”

“It will all fall into place,” said Icarus. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I do trust you. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just suggesting that you need a little help with this one. I’ll pop up to the house and get us a cup of tea. A cup of tea always helps.”

“No,” said Icarus, turning, “don’t open the shed door.”

But it was too late. Johnny Boy had opened the shed door and a breeze from the garden came curling in, lifting the pieces of map from the floor and whirling them into a fine little papery snow storm.

“Oooh,” went Icarus, snatching here and there and everywhere.

“Ooh,” went Johnny Boy, joining him in this.

“Just shut the door. Shut the door.”

Johnny Boy hastened to shut the door.

Bits of map came fluttering down to land here, there and everywhere.

“Sorry,” said Johnny Boy.

“Just hold on,” said Icarus Smith.

“You’ve got it?”

“Yes, I think I have. Look at the way the pieces have fallen. Look at all the different colours. The colours of the rainbow. Like the flowers on the floral clock. Help me gather them up.”

Johnny Boy helped in the gathering up and in the sorting out.

Icarus Smith did the putting into order and then the laying down. “Some came in violet, some in indigo, In blue, green, yellow, orange, red, They made a pretty row.”

“Rainbow,” said Johnny Boy. “That’s pretty.”

“Yes it is. And now the biro lines join up and spell something.”

“What do they spell? What do they spell?”

“Words,” said Icarus. “They spell, TOP OF THE BILL. What does that mean, TOP OF THE BILL?”

“I know what it means,” said Johnny Boy.

“Then tell me, please.”

“Me and the professor,” said Johnny Boy, and he bowed grandly to Icarus. “Me and the professor were once top of the bill.”

“Go on.”

“Back in the nineteen fifties. Long before you were even born. The professor was a stage magician, Vince Zodiac, he called himself, or the Vince of Darkness, I liked that one. But he was a pretty crap magician and he was usually near the bottom of the bill. Until he met me. I’ve always been right down at the bottom. Life’s like that, when you’re a midget. But anyhow, I met the professor one night in a bar. He stepped on me, people often do. He was rather drunk. Drank far too much, the professor. Mind you, if he hadn’t been drunk, he wouldn’t have seen the flowers on the floral clock. Even if the floral clock doesn’t exist.

“But I digress, he was drunk and I was sore because he’d stepped on me and he bought me a drink and we got to talking and that’s how the stage act came to be. Professor Zodiac and Johnny Boy. He dressed up as a headmaster and I was dressed as a schoolboy and made up to look like a ventriloquist’s dummy. I had a special box with air holes that he used to carry me in and out of the theatres in. No-one twigged that I was a person and not a dummy. We made it to top of the bill.”

“So where is the formula hidden?” asked Icarus.

“I’m coming to that. Top of the bill we were. But just for the one night. The professor drank too much champagne at the backstage party and knocked me out of my box. I didn’t half howl. And the game was up. That was the professor out of showbiz. But he felt a duty to me, because he was a good man and he was never cut out for showbiz anyway, he was a scientist. He stuck with me and I stuck by him. We were good friends.”

Tears came once more to the eyes of the tiny man.

“I’m so sorry,” said Icarus. “But do you know where the formula is hidden?”

“Of course I do. We were only ever top of the bill at the one place and that was the Chiswick Empire. That’s where the formula will be hidden.”

“Then let’s go,” said Icarus Smith.

“They pulled it down,” said Johnny Boy. “Years ago.”

“So what’s there now?”

“On the site? A multi-storey car park.”

Icarus gnawed upon a knuckle. “Did the professor own a car?” he asked.

“He did, but he didn’t drive it much. He’d drive it drunk and in the mornings he wouldn’t be able to remember where he parked it.”

“So where is this car now?”

Johnny Boy shrugged. “I haven’t seen it for weeks. It could be anywhere.”

“Like for instance, parked in a multi-storey car park?”

“Ah,” said Johnny. “That might just be.”

“Then I will go and search for it. What kind of car did the professor drive?”

“A red Ford Fiesta. But there’s millions of them. I’ll know the one when I see it.”

“Ah,” said Icarus. “I was thinking of going alone. There might well be danger. There always is, in the movies.”

“I’m coming too,” said Johnny Boy, stamping his tiny feet. “I’ve trusted you from the word off. Why did you think I trusted you?”

“I don’t know.” Icarus shook his head. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Because I can see.” Johnny Boy pointed to his little dolly eyes. “I can see the truth. I can see who’s who.”

“What are you saying?”

“Wake up, sonny. I can see because I took the drug. I was the only one the professor could trust. And if you’re going to take it too, you’re going to need me there. You won’t like what you see, when you see it.”

Icarus Smith left the house of the late Professor Partington, struggling under the weight of a case. It was not a briefcase this time, although he certainly hadn’t struggled under the weight of that, it was a special case. A case with air holes in it.

The conductor of the Chiswick-bound bus wouldn’t let Icarus get on with his big case. Icarus was forced to hail a taxi.

The taxi driver tossed the case into the boot and slammed it shut. Icarus winced and climbed into the passenger seat. “Chiswick High Street and fast,” said he. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

The taxi took off at a leisurely pace.

Icarus chewed upon his bottom lip.

Had Icarus been looking into the driver’s mirror, he might well have noticed the long dark automobile with the blacked out windows that was following the taxi. It was the same long dark automobile that had been parked in a side road opposite Wisteria Lodge when Icarus had entered the house, two hours earlier. And it had driven quite slowly up the road behind him, when he left the house.

But Icarus apparently hadn’t noticed the car upon his arrival, nor when he left, and, as he wasn’t looking into the driver’s mirror, he didn’t notice it now.

Icarus sat and gnawed upon his knuckle. He was fully aware that he was in considerable danger. The men from the Ministry of Serendipity would probably stop at nothing to get their hands on the professor’s formula. And also Mr Cormerant’s briefcase and its contents. Bringing Johnny Boy along for the ride had not been the best of ideas. Although, if Johnny Boy had taken the drug and he was right about Icarus needing him to be there when Icarus took it …

Icarus gnawed some more. He’d actually considered leaving the boxed-up Johnny Boy on the bus. Someone would have let him out sooner or later. It would have been cruel, but it might have been kinder in the long run. But Icarus certainly didn’t think that leaving him in the boot of a taxi was any solution to anything.

“Can’t you go any faster?” asked Icarus Smith.

“Of course I can go faster,” said the cabbie, in the voice that cabbies use. “But I won’t.”

Icarus glanced across at the cabbie. He was your typical cabbie. He talked exactly as your typical cabbie always talks and looked exactly the way that your typical cabbie always looks. Even down to that curious thing they do to their hair on the left hand side and that odd business with the tongue when they pronounce the word “plinth”.[9]

So there was no need to bother here with a description.

“I’ve done the knowledge, you know,” said the cabbie, doing that other thing that cabbies always do. That thing with the eyes. “And I know the name of every street in Greater and Inner London off by heart. You can test me if you want.”

“I don’t want,” said Icarus.

“It might make me drive faster.”

“All right,” Icarus sighed. “Name a street beginning with W.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You name a street in London and I’ll tell you how to get to it.”

“Chiswick High Street,” said Icarus.

“No, not Chiswick High Street. We’re almost in Chiswick High Street. A street that’s nowhere near here. One that’s on the other side of London.”

“Mornington Crescent,” said Icarus, recalling the address of the Ministry of Serendipity.

The cabbie scratched at his hair on the left hand side. “There’s no such street,” he said. “You’re pulling my blue carbuncle.”

“Your what?”

“It’s what my wife calls my willy. She’s an architect.”

“Could you drive a little faster?”

“Give us another street then.”

Icarus sighed yet again. “Sesame Street,” he said.

“Sesame Street?” said the cabbie.

“Sesame Street,” said Icarus.

“Right then,” said the cabbie.

“What, you turn right here?”

“No, not here. You turn left.”

“But you said right.”

“No, I said right then. I was just plotting my course. It’s straight ahead for a quarter of a mile, then turn left into Albert Square. Around the square, right into Coronation Street, third left into Brookside, past Peyton Place, into Tin Pan Alley. Then it’s goodbye Yellow Brick Road, past the House of the Rising Sun, into Blackberry Way, down Dead End Street, taking in a Waterloo Sunset, up Penny Lane, then we’re on the road to nowhere, a Road to Hell and a long and winding road, then we’re—”

“Here,” said Icarus. “Stop the taxi, please.”

“But I haven’t done Route 66, Highway 61, Devil Gate Drive and Desolation Row, and you have to watch out for Cross Town Traffic there.”

“On the corner here will be fine,” said Icarus.

“Turn right at Camberwick Green and you’re in Sesame Street.”

“I think you’ll find it’s left at Camberwick Green then right up Trumpton High Street.”

“Smart arse,” said the cabbie. “You knew all the time. That will be five guineas please.”

“Guineas?” said Icarus.

“Guineas,” said the cabbie. “I’m sure a noble bachelor such as yourself is used to paying in guineas. And that includes the fare for your mate in the box. I wasn’t born yesterday, sunshine.”

Icarus bid the cabbie farewell and humped the case into the multi-storey car park. Here he released Johnny Boy.

The midget climbed out, coughing and spluttering.

“Are you all right?” said Icarus.

“That really is a very stupid question.” Johnny Boy dusted himself down and straightened his dicky bow. “Hide the case behind that wheelie bin over there and let’s go and look for the car.”

Icarus hid the case behind the wheelie bin and he and Johnny Boy went off a-looking.

Behind them a long dark automobile pulled up beside the ticket barrier, a darkly tinted window slid down and a hand reached out to press the button.

“There’s an awful lot of Ford Fiestas,” said Icarus.

“Most popular car in the world,” said Johnny Boy. “Even with that design fault on the inner sill of the wheel arches.”

They were up on the second level now.

“Do you know the number plate?” asked Icarus.

“No, but it has a sticker in the back window that reads ON A MISSION.”

“Very subtle,” said Icarus.

“Just keep looking, lad.”

Icarus just kept looking.

They can be big old jobbies, those multi-storey car parks. And it is a fact well known, to those who know it well, that a race of magic gnomes live in multi-storey car parks. And when you’re away doing your shopping in the supermarket, they get into your car and move it to another level. They are related to the wallet fairies, who nick the ticket to the multi-storey car park out of your wallet, where you’re absolutely certain that you put it, and slip it into one of your carrier bags. So that when you’ve finally found your car that the magic gnomes have moved, you have to go through every single one of your carrier bags to find your ticket. And you drop your carton of milk and put heavy things back on top of your eggs and misplace the bag of sweeties you were intending to eat on the drive home and get yourself into a right old fluster.

“Why are there always burst milk cartons in multi-storey car parks?” asked Icarus, as Johnny Boy slipped over on one and fell with a thud to the floor.

“I don’t know. Ouch. Help me up.”

They were on the sixth floor now and though they’d seen an awful lot of red Ford Fiestas, they hadn’t seen—

“That’s it,” said Johnny Boy. “If I hadn’t slipped over, I never would have noticed it.”

“But it hasn’t got an ON A MISSION sticker in the back window.”

“No, it’s fallen off. It’s here.” Johnny Boy pointed to the inner sill of the offside rear wheel arch. “It’s sticking out through this rust hole, see?”

Icarus saw. And Icarus took out his little roll of tools. Having first assured himself that he wasn’t being observed.

Naturally.

Icarus tinkered and Icarus opened the boot.

“Well well well,” said Icarus, peering in.

“Help me up,” said Johnny Boy, struggling up.

“It’s here,” said Icarus. “It’s all here. Boxes of tablets. The formula. And what’s this electronic doo-dad thing?”

“Oooh,” said Johnny Boy. “That’s the professor’s machine. The one that tunes into ghosts. I thought he’d destroyed it.”

“Spectremeter,” Icarus read from the little brass plate on the doo-dad’s side. “And this is a portable version, powered by batteries.” He lifted it out and tinkered with the buttons.

“Don’t switch it on in here, for God’s sake.”

Icarus returned the spectremeter to the boot.

“He was originally going to call it the Ghostamatic 2000,” said Johnny Boy. “Spectremeter’s probably better. I didn’t know he’d called it that.”

Icarus took his roll of tools and applied his talents to the driver’s door. Then he returned to the boot, scooped up the contents and flung them into the rear seat of the car.

“Come on,” he said to Johnny Boy. “We’re leaving.”

“You’re going to nick the car?”

“I’m going to relocate it.”

“Can you get it started without the key?”

“No, I’ll use the spare one that’s always kept under the sunshield visor thing above the windscreen. At least it always is in the movies.”

“You watch too many duff movies, lad. The professor always kept his in the glovie.”

“Come on then, let’s go.”

“To where?”

“To anywhere. There’s been a big dark car with blacked out windows following us ever since we left the professor’s house. I may have pretended not to notice it, but I do watch a lot of movies. And I know how all this works.”

“What big dark car?” asked Johnny Boy.

“The one over there, coming up the ramp.”

“Let’s go,” said Johnny Boy.

Now, there is a knack to starting a Ford Fiesta. You have to pull out the choke as far as it will go. Give the accelerator pedal a little bit of toe. Turn on the ignition slowly. Keep your foot off the accelerator pedal and let the revs build up. When the revs sound like they are running too high, ease the choke in to about half an inch, and wait until the engine has taken up a regular beat. Then put your foot on the accelerator pedal and pump it a few times, just to sound cool, and then you’re away. Then …

Johnny Boy fumbled in the glovie and fumbled the key to Icarus. “Let me explain what you have to do,” he said.

“No time.”

“But you’ll flood the engine.”

“No time.”

The long black car drew to a halt, boxing the Ford Fiesta in.

“Well. It hardly matters now,” said Johnny Boy. “We’re trapped.”

“Of course we’re not.”

Icarus keyed the engine. And stuck his foot down hard to the floor. The engine roared and the usual glorious cloud of acrid fumes came a-bursting out of the exhaust. Icarus slammed the gearstick into reverse.

“What are you doing? You’ll smash into them.”

“Of course I won’t.”

Icarus dropped the handbrake and let out the clutch. The Ford swept backwards out of the parking bay.

The long black car did likewise out of its path. Very fast, with its tyres screaming.

“They’re letting us out!” cried Johnny Boy. “Why are they letting us out?”

“Because this is a clapped-out Ford Fiesta, of course. And anyone with a decent car knows far better than to get anywhere near a clapped-out Ford Fiesta. It’s a natural instinct with drivers of posh cars. They can’t help themselves.”

Johnny Boy glanced out of his window. “They’re getting out of the car,” he said. “They’re wrong’uns and they’ve got guns.”

“Then let’s go.”

Marvellous acceleration, the Ford Fiesta. Simply marvellous.

Icarus swerved out of the parking bay and then took off at the hurry-up.

Johnny Boy was up on his seat, clinging to the headrest. “They’re getting back into the car,” he shouted. “They’re coming after us.”

“Yes, well I thought they probably would.”

“Faster,” cried Johnny Boy. “Faster.”

Now, it does have to be said, what with Hollywood knowing its own business best, and everything, that the “car chase in the multi-storey car park” never seems to lose its popularity. Those “hilly streets with the trams in San Francisco” are always good, of course. And the “racing under the big overpass jobbies in Brooklyn” and the “swervy mountain roads in France”, which are usually filmed in California, and the “out on the freeway in the desert” of course. Also in California. But the “car chase in the multi-storey car park” (or parking structure, as our American cousins like to call it) never ceases to impress. Lazlo Woodbine actually considered adding one more location to his set of four, that of the “parking structure, where a dodgy drugs deal is being done with racketeers”. But he decided to scrub round it, because it was far too dangerous a location to work. What with all the car chases going on.

And everything.

Icarus did some more swerving and headed down the exit ramp. The long dark car came creeping slowly after him.

“We’re losing them,” said Johnny Boy. “They’ve slowed down, we’re OK.”

“I think not,” said Icarus. “It has probably occurred to them, as it has occurred to me, that I don’t have a ticket. I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this car park.”

“Oh dear,” said Johnny Boy. “That would be a problem.”

“Possibly.” Icarus leaned over and whispered words into Johnny Boy’s ear.

“Do you think that might work?” asked the small man.

“I’d give it a go,” said Icarus. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“Okey-dokey then.”

The Ford Fiesta moved across the first floor of the multi-storey car park and then rather than going down the exit ramp it went up again. Up to the second floor, all round that, then up to the third floor and all round that. The long dark automobile followed it.

The driver wasn’t smiling.

The Ford Fiesta went down to the second floor again and then up two floors to the fourth. The long dark automobile followed the Ford Fiesta. Losing sight, then gaining sight of it again.

The driver had a definite frown on.

The Ford Fiesta went down to the third floor, then up to the fifth, then down to the second again. The long dark automobile followed it.

The driver had a snarl on now.

“What are they doing?” he shouted. He was an evil-looking man, the driver of the long dark automobile. He wore a chauffeur’s uniform and looked exactly the way that evil chauffeurs always look. Even down to that business with the chin and the unusual birthmark above the right eyebrow, which resembles the Penang peninsula. “What are they doing?” he shouted again. “Driving up and down and round and round until they run out of petrol?”

“Cut them off,” said a man in the back. An unseen man, so description wasn’t necessary. “Park the car across the exit ramp on the third floor.”

“But they’re in a Ford Fiesta, sir. It might scratch our bodywork if it bumps into us.”

“Just do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Ford Fiesta went up to the fifth floor again and then came down. The long dark car was blocking the third floor exit ramp. The chauffeur was sitting on the bonnet. He had a gun in his hand. The Ford Fiesta came down the fourth floor exit ramp. Which was the ramp leading from the fourth floor to the third, in case you’re finding this somewhat hard to follow.

“Here they come,” shouted the chauffeur, raising his pistol. “Stop or I fire, you sons of …”

The Ford Fiesta didn’t stop.

“Stop or I fire! Stop or I fire!”

The Ford Fiesta didn’t stop.

“Stop or I—” The driver leapt from the bonnet as the Ford Fiesta struck the long dark automobile.

Well, struck it is not exactly the word.

Passed right through it is. But that’s four words.

“Aaagh!” went the chauffeur as the Ford Fiesta merged into the long dark automobile, emerged from the other side, drove on round the third floor and then went up to the fifth again.

Down on the ground floor the Ford Fiesta had reached the ticket barrier. “Nice work,” said Icarus to Johnny Boy. “That old portable spectremeter really gets the job done, doesn’t it? I’ll bet they’ll be chasing the ghost of this car around the car park for the rest of the day.”

Johnny Boy grinned. “And switching it off on the second floor so the ghost car just goes on in a continuous loop while we slipped down to the exit. Smart idea, Icarus.”

“So let’s be off on our way.”

The bloke who worked in the little ticket office next to the barrier grinned at the grinning pair who stood before him.

“Lost ticket?” he said. “That will be fifty guineas, please.”