But then.
Raymond considered the kind of day he’d had today.
It had started with him waking up and thinking he was at home, only to discover that he was actually on board a Victorian liner in orbit around Saturn. And floating in air. Because space was full of air. Then there had been Zephyr the dream woman and Giorgio the dream suit. A dream suit now thoroughly besmirched and destroyed. And the revelation that the world Raymond had grown up on was, in fact, inside another world. And that the folk on the outer world, fed up with all the pollution wafting up from the inner world, had decided to plug up the polar openings and thereby suffocate everyone down there.
Wipe out mankind. Just like that.
Then there had been the matter of him passing the special recruitment test set by Professor Merlin. The passing of this had offered Raymond the prospect of almost certain death, as it put him in the unenviable position of being the only soldier in an army fighting to prevent the topsiders carrying out their pole-plugging plans.
Oh yes, and before he got stuck into that, would it be all right if he rescued two hundred inner-Earth people who just happened to be held captive upon Saturn? Yes.
And he’d just got into a punch up with a Frenchman who claimed he was more than a century old.
That was the kind of day he’d had today.
The arrival of two Egyptian gods really shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise. He would just have to learn to take this sort of thing in his stride.
But what to do for the best now?
Should he bow? Out of politeness? He was C. of E. himself, of course. In fact, more so in the last two days than ever before.
But it was always respectful to show a courteous regard towards the gods of other religions.
Especially when you met them in the flesh.
‘Bow I think,’ whispered Raymond. ‘I expect that’s what everyone else is doing.’ Raymond bowed beneath the table.
Professor Merlin cleared his throat.
Prayer coming, thought Raymond, putting his hands together.
Professor Merlin spoke. ‘Get off my ship, you dog-faced gremlin,’ were the words he chose to use.
Beneath the table Raymond gnawed upon his knuckles.
Above the table great Anubis gazed about the grand salon. A grand salon no longer quite so grand. Chairs all broken, plates all smashed. Food all over the floor. Food all over the banqueters. And here a black eye and there a bloody nose. And there a fellow searching for his head. Gorgeous clothes all ripped and torn, wigs awry and all forlorn. And fractured glass and fine wines spilled. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he said.
‘I told you to remove yourself from my ship,’ Professor Merlin made shooing-away motions with his fabulous fingers. ‘I will have someone accompany you up onto the deck and toss a stick for you to fetch. How will that suit you?’
Raymond flinched.
Set said, ‘Perhaps we shall have you all immediately executed for crimes of violence committed within Saturnian territorial jurisdiction. How will that suit you?’
Professor Merlin gave the god a haughty look. ‘Are you talking to me, or whistling Dixie? Try to enunciate more clearly, do.’
Turn it in, thought Raymond. Are you completely insane?
‘I don’t recall hearing you being piped aboard.’ Professor Merlin addressed the two gods. ‘I fear you crept on unannounced.’
‘You have cream cake on your chin,’ said Set.
‘Is that a chin?’ asked Anubis. ‘I thought it was a hammock with a pig at rest therein.’
Professor Merlin fanned at his nose. ‘Dog-breath,’ said he, ‘and Bird-brain. Off my ship now, before I take a whip to the one and have the other plucked and stuffed and cooked for my pussycat’s tea.’
Anubis curled his lip at this and showed a row of teeth. Set did a sort of ‘pecking the eyes out’ mime with his beak.
‘You both know where the door is. Kindly hop or bound back through it, as the fancy takes you.’ Professor Merlin licked the cream from his chin with a quite considerable tongue. ‘Woof quack.’
‘Papers!’ barked Anubis.
‘At once!’ whistled Set. ‘Or it’s in with the execution squad and death to the men of violence.’
‘Zephyr,’ called Professor Merlin. ‘Pray take a letter, if you will.’
Zephyr smiled, turned a chair upright to sit upon. Sat upon it. Produced pen and pad from nowhere and said, ‘Ready for dictation.’
‘So kind. Address it please to, His Royal Highness Grand Duke Fogerty, The Palace of Celestial Pleasure, Number One, The Big Posh Road, City of Fogerty, Saturn.
‘Dear Binky.’
‘Binky?’ went Anubis. Set shook his beak.
‘Dear Binky. It is with very great regret that I regret most greatly being unable to attend the celebration of your birthday today. I know you so wanted to see my circus perform again, and, of course, as we have been such close friends for so many years now, it is always a pleasure beyond price to share your hospitality and your wives.
‘Sadly, however, it cannot be. I was interrupted halfway through the full dress rehearsal of the special novelty food fight number you choreographed for the entertainment of your poor sick son Colin, in the hope that it might raise his spirits and possibly turn the tide of his illness, by two louts who burst in unannounced and threatened my company with death . . .’
The professor paused. Set and Anubis were backing quietly towards the door.
‘Off so soon?’ the professor asked. ‘I was hoping you might entertain us with a jump or two through a flaming hoop, or that thing that budgies do when they run up and down the little ladder and ring their bell. No?’
But now he was speaking only to the empty open doorway of the not so grand salon. A moment’s pause. Then laughter filled the air.
Raymond crawled slowly out from under the table. He was shaking his head in despair. And most of his body in fear.
‘I wondered where you were hiding yourself,’ said the professor. ‘Very wise, keeping out of the way like that to avoid identification later. Smart move, me old Scarlet Pimpernel.’
Raymond’s head was still shaking and his jaw was going up and down in a foolish manner. ‘You . . . you . . .’ he went.
‘I I I?’ queried the professor, brushing crumbs and cake and bits and bobs from around and about himself. ‘What is this I I I?’
‘You. Those gods. You insulted those gods.’
‘I did?’ There was a pause. And then there was a lot more good loud laughter and it of a raucous kind.
‘Anubis and Set. I saw them. I heard them. I heard you.’
‘Ah.’ Professor Merlin plucked something fruity from his peruke and popped it into his mouth. ‘You did not approve?’
‘It was outrageous. Blasphemous.’
‘Good,’ said the professor.
‘Good?’
‘Good. Raymond, if I had behaved in any other way, shown any respect whatsoever, shown any politeness, any deference, shown anything but complete arrogance, total self-confidence and absolute bloody-mindedness, they would have seen through me in a twinkling. I told you we pose as topsiders. And that is how topsiders behave.’
‘But to gods?’
‘Oh no, I doubt that even topsiders would dare behave like that to gods.’
‘But you just did.’
‘No, Raymond, I just behaved like that to a couple of snotty Saturnian customs and excise men. Fido and Tweety, I think their names are. Though I can’t recall which is which. But, hold the horse, Tonto, you didn’t really think that—’
‘Of course not.’ Raymond scraped at something crusty on his strides.
‘You thought they they . . .’ Professor Merlin turned a smirk to his battered artistes. ‘Raymond thought that they . . .’ The artistes began to titter. ‘He thought that those two twats were—’
‘I did not.’ Raymond shook his head fiercely, showering the professor with cake.
‘No, of course you didn’t.’ Professor Merlin winked
and patted Raymond on the back. ‘That they . . .’he made thumbings toward the door.
‘Stop it!’ Raymond stamped his foot. ‘And look at the state of my suit. It’s ruined, ruined. My beautiful suit.’
The professor sniffed at Raymond’s devastated dress-wear. ‘It is a mite cakky.’
‘My beautiful suit!’ Raymond raised fists in the air.
‘I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning bill.’
‘It’s his fault.” Raymond pointed at the little Frenchman, who was struggling to his feet.’
‘You started eet,’ shrieked LaRoche, ‘defiler of my old brown chien.’
‘You started it, you lying frog.’
‘The “F” word again, my pistols someone.’
‘Do calm down.’ The professor raised his hands and his fingers elongated to the rudely frescoed dome, where they tickled the bum of a cherub. It certainly calmed down Raymond.
‘English peeg,’ said LaRoche.
‘Lying Frog,’ said Raymond.
‘He’s not lying,’ said Zephyr, whom alone had avoided any soilage and looked wonderful as ever. ‘He’s telling the truth, Raymond. He is the original LaRoche.’
‘But that would make him . . .’
‘One hundred and fifty-three,’ said the Frenchman, clicking his heels. ‘And twice ze man you’ll never be.
‘That’s very old,’ said Raymond.
‘How dare you! I am ze youngest member of ze circus.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a pity you don’t believe in magic,’ said Professor Merlin. ‘Or I’d tell you how it’s done. But now, enough is enough for today I think.’
‘Hm,’ went Raymond and then brightening considerably and glancing at his ‘wife’, he said, ‘Yes, we really should be turning in. Early start tomorrow, which way is the Bridal Suite?’
‘Bridal Suite?’ Professor Merlin laughed. ‘Nice try, me old Casanova, but bedding will have to wait, I’m afraid. We landed upon Saturn twenty minutes ago. The circus parade begins in half an hour and our first performance an hour after that. So if you want to synchronize watches, we had best do it now. Then you can tell me exactly what time I can expect you to return with the two hundred people you will have rescued. Well?’
‘Well,’ said Raymond. ‘Well indeed.’
14
Simon sat in the hideaway bush that he’d all but forgotten about. A lot of good times had been spent in that bush. Innocent times. Childhood times. When he and Raymond had bunked off school, painted their faces with clay, taken up bows and arrows and sworn great and secret oaths.
Happy times indeed they’d been, but now the bush was gloomy with their recollection.
Simon was still too young a man to miss his childhood. He was glad to see the back of it. But it now occurred to him that he might just be missing Raymond. After all, Raymond was his bestest friend and since he’d been gone, things hadn’t been quite the same in the village. To say the very least of it.
Simon sighed and twiddled a twig. They’d had some laughs in this bush. That was for sure. Remember the time when . . . Simon paused, sighed, twiddled and sniffed.
‘Bloody Raymond,’ he said. ‘This is all his fault.’ And Simon scratched at his head. His hangover was gone, which was something. It was quite remarkable how the simple application of three double Scotches and a couple of mouthfuls of sweet sherry could sort out a hangover that had been plaguing you all day. It was a pity that he hadn’t brought any crisps with him though. He’d hardly eaten a thing in the last twelve hours. And he was really hungry now. ‘Bloody Raymond.’
The sun was sliding down beyond the village. It did picturesque things to the fine old meadow oaks that bordered the allotments. But these were lost on Simon. Simon heard the discordant sounds that rang from the church, where Bramfield’s inept bell-ringers practiced. He could smell the reek of slurry pits and Long Bob’s chicken farm. A dog barked in the distance. A heavy lorry rattled windows in the high street.
Sunset? What sunset?
Simon poked his head out of the hideaway bush and stole a shifty glance down the hill to the chicken farm. He had a good view from up here. The only trouble was that there was nothing to see. The chickens were all inside. Long Bob’s Land Rover wasn’t there. The place was deserted.
‘Come on,’ muttered Simon. ‘Hurry up.’
He’d been sitting here for hours in this damp little bush. Risking the onset of haemorrhoids and waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen. He had considered it all for the best to wait until nightfall, before slipping down for a good nose around. But he’d hoped to see a bit of action in the meanwhile. Suspicious men carrying suspicious-looking crates about and going ‘mumble mumble secret plans, mumble mumble tonight is the night mumble mumble mumble’, the way they should be doing. But they weren’t. No-one was doing anything. It was all very disappointing really.
The Greatest Show off Earth lay before him in the dirt. He couldn’t bring himself to take a peep inside. If nothing had changed in it and it did not now contain the Scribe’s rewrite, Simon was in big trouble. Written out and wanted for murder. Not what he had in mind for himself at all. There was, of course, the strong possibility that B.E.A.S.T. would simply edit out any changes the Scribe made. But Simon being Simon thought they would not. He reasoned that if he was able to steal back his winnings, then he would effectively change the true history that was to be published in the future.
Effectively change the future in fact and the role that B.E.A.S.T. played in it. It was some kind of a theory, but not much of one. And Simon reasoned that, should he be able to steal back his winnings, the best course of action he could take would be to get as far away from Bramfield as he could. Passport or no passport. Thank you and goodbye.
Simon shook the Scribe’s sherry bottle about. It was still empty and he was still hungry. And now he needed the toilet.
‘If it’s not one thing, it’s another.’ Simon climbed carefully out of the bush. Stretched, grumbled, skulked around to the back and relieved himself. And he was just zipping up when a flash of blue caught his eye. Not from his trouser regions, but somewhat off to his left across the fields. From a little spinney, or was it a thicket, it’s often so hard to tell.
‘Policemen.’ Simon dropped down into the grass. The wet steamy grass. ‘Oh damn,’ he complained.
The flash of blue flashed again. It was a hiker in an anorak, or was it a cagoule, it’s often hard to tell.
‘Pull yourself together, Simon.’ Simon crept back around his bush. And there . . . ‘Oh yes indeed.’
Long Bob’s deserted farmyard was no longer deserted. The chicken farmer’s Land Rover was drawing in at the gate and behind it, one of those old Jags, so beloved of the criminal fraternity in shows like The Sweeney. It was the same Jag.
And now the cars were pulling up and folk were getting out. Long Bob from the Land Rover, and who was that with him? Black three-piece suit, crewcut, glasses. MilitaryDave. And who else? Flurry of auburn hair. Nice figure in tight blue jeans and Led Zeppelin T-shirt. Simon’s Led Zeppelin T-shirt. Liza! What?
The Jag’s doors were opening. The B.E.A.S.T. terrorists were climbing out. The looker and her cohorts. Simon strained his eyes to see. Did she have his carrier bags? She did have his carrier bags.
‘Boom Shanka,’ said Simon. ‘But Liza?’
He cocked an ear. Sounds of conversation drifted up to him from the farmyard. ‘Mumble mumble,’ they went. ‘Mumble mumble secret plans, mumble mumble tonight is the night mumble mumble mumble.’ And then they all marched off to the farmhouse, went inside and were gone. Simon sat in his bush for a moment wondering what to do next. What was Liza doing with them? Was she a B.E.A.S.T. terrorist too? That didn’t seem very likely. There was only one way to find out.
The sun was hitting the skyline and the shadows beginning to lengthen. Simon slid out of his hideaway bush, onto his stomach and crawled off down the hill. Bound for Long Bob’s chicken farm and An Appointment with Fear (A Lazlo Woo
dbine Thriller that should not be mentioned here).
‘Frankly,’ said Raymond to Zephyr, ‘I’m scared.’ They stood upon the foredeck of the SS Salamander. The ship lay at berth in the harbour. The harbour was on Saturn.
The sky was blue. The quayside crowded. Zephyr was beautiful. Raymond was scared.
‘Look at them all,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t like the way they’re looking at me.’
‘They’re not looking at you, don’t be silly.’
‘I’m not being silly. They’re staring. It’s my suit. They can see all the stains. I told you lemon juice wouldn’t get red wine out. I can’t go through with this. We’ll have to call it off. At least until the damp patches dry out.’
‘Raymond, they are not staring at you. They’re staring at the ship. They’ve never seen anything quite like it before.’
‘But this isn’t the first time you’ve played Saturn.’
‘No, but it’s the first time we’ve brought the ship down with us. We usually leave it in space and come down in unmarked lifeboats. It’s safer that way.’
‘Safer?’ A note of greater alarm entered Raymond’s voice.
‘This is a stolen ship remember.’
‘So why bring it down this time?’
Zephyr sighed. ‘Because of the two hundred new passengers you’re hoping to bring on board.’
‘Ah yes, those.’ Raymond chewed upon a knuckle and peered down at the crowds. Egyptian gods to a man. Or a woman. Or a child. Big ones and small ones. Hawk heads and jackal heads and ibises and eagles. Colourful dressers. It did look a lot like a carnival. Although to Raymond it looked more like hell. Nice day for it though. And lovely setting. From beyond the dock the city rose up like a hymn to Ra.
Marble obelisks flanked avenues which led toward pale palaces.
And pyramids crowned off with golden cones.
Triumphal arches, nobly hewn.
With bas-reliefs of star and moon.
To praise the rising Sun God on his throne
Or . . .
It was Memphis.
But not Tennessee.
This was Egypt.