the Butts Estate, did he? He had always suspected the shopkeeper, and now Edgar had confirmed his suspicions.
“We have him,” sneered the dwarf, raising a tiny fist towards the sky. “Right where we want him.” He grinned towards the spectre, exposing two rows of evil-looking yellow teeth. Edgar Allan Poe shifted uneasily in the darkness. He was not at all happy about any of this. He had made a big mistake in allowing himself to become involved with this diminutive lunatic, and sorely craved to return to the astral plane. Although a grey and foggy realm, which offered little in the way of pleasurable diversion, it was infinitely preferable to this madhouse any day of the week.
Sadly, by the very nature of the laws which govern such matters, he was unable to gain release, other than through the courtesy of the being who had called him into service. The mighty fire which had raged through Small Dave’s house, eating up many thousands of copies of his books, had acted as some kind of sacrificial catalyst which now bound him to the material world.
Edgar Allan Poe was thoroughly Earthbound, and he was in a very, very bad mood.
At a little after eleven-thirty John Omally reached the Flying Swan. He would have reached it sooner but for the throng of reporters from the national dailies who had accosted him in the street. With his usual courtesy and willingness to be of assistance he had granted several exclusive interviews on the spot.
Yes, he had been there in the thick of it, braving the rubber bullets and the tear-gas. Yes, he had been the last man standing, by virtue of his mastery in the deadly fighting arts of Dimac. No, he had only saved the lives of three of his companions, not four, as was popularly believed. And no, he was sorry, he could not allow any photographs to be taken, modesty forbidding him to take more than his fair share of credit in saving the day.
Patting at his now heavily burdened pockets, Omally entered the Flying Swan. Neville was at the counter’s end, supported upon the gaily-coloured rubber bathing ring which he had Sellotaped to the top of a bar stool. He was studying a picture postcard which boasted a rooftop view of Brentford, but upon Omally’s approach he laid this aside and viewed the Irishman with distaste.
“You are not welcome here,” he said in no uncertain terms.
John smiled sweetly. “Come now,” he said, “let us not be at odds. You have no axe to grind with me. I come as the bearer of glad tidings. All your troubles are over.”
Neville’s good eye widened. “All my troubles are over?” he roared, but the exertion sent blood rushing to certain areas which were better for the time being left bloodless and kosher. “I am a ruined man,” he whispered hoarsely, between clenched teeth.
“A regrettable business,” said John. “If I ever see that fellow in the black suit again, I shall do for him.”
Neville said, “Hm,” and pulled the Irishman the pint of his preference.
“Have one yourself,” said John.
Although the deadly phrase burned like a branding iron upon Neville’s soul, he was loath to refuse and so drew himself a large medicinal scotch.
“About this being my lucky day then?” he said, when he had carefully re-established himself upon his rubber ring. “You will pardon my cynicism I hope, but as the bearer of glad tidings you must surely rival the angel of death announcing the first innings score at the battle of Armageddon.”
“Nevertheless,” said Omally, “if you will hear me out then you will find what I have to say greatly to your advantage.”
Neville sighed deeply and felt at his groin. “I believe that I am getting old,” he told Omally. “Do you know that I no longer look forward to Christmas?”
John shook his head. He didn’t know that, although he wondered how it might be relevant.
“I haven’t had a birthday card in ten years.”
“Sad,” said John.
“At times I wonder whether it is all worthwhile. Whether life is really worth all the pain, disappointment, and misery.” He looked towards Omally with a sad good eye. “People take advantage of my good nature,” he said.
“No?” said John. “Do they?”
“They do. I bend over backwards to help people and what do I get?” Omally shook his head. “Stabs in the back is all I get.” Neville made motions to where his braces, had he worn any, would have crossed. “Stabs in the back.”
“I really, genuinely, can help you out,” said Omally with conviction. “I swear it.”
“If only it were so,” moaned Neville. “If only I could see some ray of hope. Some light at the end of the dark tunnel of life. Some sunbeam dancing upon the bleak rooftop of existence, some…”
“All right, all right!” Omally said. “That’s enough, I’ve been kicked in the cobblers a few times myself, I know how much it hurts. Do you want to know how I can help you out or not?”
“I do,” said Neville wearily.
Omally peered furtively about the bar and gestured the barman closer. “This is in the strictest confidence,” he whispered. “Between you and me alone. Should you wish to express your gratitude in some way when the thing is accomplished, then that is a matter between the two of us.”
Neville nodded doubtfully. Whatever it was that Omally was about to say, he knew that it would as usual cost him dearly. “Say your piece then, John,” he said.
“As I see it,” John continued, “you have two big problems here. Five, if you wish to number your wounded parts. Firstly, we have the problem of the rapidly approaching darts tournament and the Swan’s prospect of certain defeat, should Norman fail to captain the team.” Neville nodded gravely. “Secondly, we have that.” Omally gestured towards the shrouded video machine, which was even now receiving the attention of a green-haired youth with a large nose and a pair of wire-cutters. Neville bared what was left of his teeth.
“If I was to tell you that I can solve both problems at a single stroke what would you say to me?”
“I would say free beer to you for a year,” said Neville, rising upon his elbows. “But for now I must say, please get out of my pub and do not return. I am not able to assault you physically at present, but be assured that when I am fully restored to health I shall seek you out. You add insult to my injury and I will have no more of it.”
John tapped at his nose. “We will let the matter drop for now, as I can see that you are feeling a little under the weather. By the by, might I take the liberty of asking after the postcard.”
“You may,” said Neville, “and I will give you that small part before you depart. It is from Archroy, he says that he has now removed the Ark of Noah from the peak of Ararat and is in the process of transporting it through Turkey to Istanbul. He hopes to have it here within a week or two.”
“Well, well, well,” said Omally, grinning hugely. “We do live in interesting times, do we not?”
“Get out of my pub now,” growled Neville with restrained vehemence, “or truly, despite my incapacitation, I shall visit upon you such a pestilence as was never known by any of your bog-trotting ancestors in all the hard times of Holy Ireland.”
“God save all here,” said Omally.
“Get out and stay out,” said Neville the part-time barman.
19
Professor Slocombe laid aside a scale model of the Great Pyramid and leant back in his chair. “No!” he said to himself, “it couldn’t be, no, ludicrous, although…” He rose from his desk and took himself over to the whisky decanter. “No,” he said once more, “out of the question.”
Partly filling an exquisite crystal tumbler, he pressed the prismed top back into the decanter’s neck, and sank into one of the leathern fireside chairs. Idly he turned the tumbler between thumb and forefinger, watching the reflected firelight as it danced and twinkled in the clear amber liquid. His eyelids became hooded and heavy, and his old head nodded gently upon his equally aged shoulders. It was evident to the gaunt-faced figure who lurked in the darkness without the French windows, polluting the perfumed garden air with the acrid stench of creosote, that the old man was well set to take a quick forty.
Needless to say, this was far from being the case, and beneath the snowy lashes two glittering blue eyes watched as a flicker of movement close by the great velvet curtains announced the arrival of a most unwelcome
