Necrophenia (34 page)

‘Your brother!’ I shouted. And loudly I did so. ‘You are no brother of mine.’

And I sprang forward to do wringings of the neck.

And he took a smart step backaways.

‘Now, now, now, Tyler,’ he said to me. ‘There is no need for violence.’

‘No need for violence?’ I spat as I shouted. ‘I have come here to kill you. And you want me here so you can kill me. I do believe that there is bound to be some violence involved. But please do correct me if I’m wrong.’

‘Well, in essence you’re right,’ said he. ‘But come, before we engage in any fisticuffs, allow me to explain matters to you. There is a long tradition, both literary and now in the medium of film, that the super-villain explains everything to the hero before he offs him, as it were.’

‘I am aware of this tradition,’ I replied. ‘And also that within its closely prescribed boundaries, the hero always thwarts the super-villain once the super-villain has had his say.’

‘A break with tradition is never a bad thing,’ said Papa Crossbar, producing as he did so what looked for all the world to be my trusty Smith & Wesson and pointing it at me.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘My pistol.’

‘Correct. So, would you like to hear all the details, or shall we break with tradition completely and I’ll just shoot you and have done?’

‘Let’s stick with the tradition for now,’ I proposed, ‘and we’ll see how things pan out after that.’

‘Right then, where would you like me to start?’

‘Perhaps with the rubbish bit about me being your brother.’

‘Ah, that.’ And Papa Crossbar did evil grinnings of the ear-to-ear persuasion, and the lightning did flash and the thunder did roll. And up in this great conservatory in the sky, there was more than just a little weirdness about the atmosphere.

‘Oh yes indeed,’ said the Evil One. ‘Your not so humble beginnings. You see, Tyler, the trouble is that over the years a number of people have told you a number of things, but they haven’t always told you the truth. They have just told you what they wanted you to hear, in the manner that you wanted to hear it.’

‘So to speak,’ I said.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing, please continue.’

‘Captain Lynch – your spiritual advisor, Mr Ishmael – our guardian and trainer, and myself, I confess – we’ve all been a wee bit guilty of not sharing all of the truth with you. But then, in all truth, why would we have? We only wanted you to know the bits that it suited us that you know. But then you are a detective. You really should have figured it out for yourself.’

I had already tired of Papa Crossbar’s conversation and was thinking about what would be the best way to wrest the pistol from his hands.

‘There is no best way,’ said he, interrupting the flow of both his conversation and my thoughts. ‘I can hear you thinking, Tyler. Do you want to listen to what I have to say or not?’ And he cocked the trigger of my trusty Smith & Wesson.

‘I’ll listen,’ I said. And I listened.

‘The Ministry of Serendipity,’ he said, ‘below the other Mornington Crescent. The department of the most potent of secret affairs during the Second World War, where the real business of war was carried out between the white magicians of the West and the black brotherhood of Hitler’s Reich, both sides vying to create yours truly.’ And he bowed, but he didn’t lower the weapon. ‘Had my magical father Adolf Hitler, the nineteenth-century Homunculus, been able to achieve the Great Creation, he would have become all-powerful and Germany would have won the war. But the West won that particular battle, with the help of Mr Aleister Crowley. He was the most skilful wizard of his day, greater even than those of Hitler. And at the behest of the Ministry of Serendipity, and a large quantity of the green and folding stuff, he cast the Spell of the Great Creation, the one in that big gem-encrusted golden book that rests there on the altar.

‘But the problem for the Ministry was Crowley’s vanity. He created six children, as he styled himself the Beast Six-Six-Six.’

‘Two died, Tyler, only two. Not three, as you were told. Four survived: Elvis, Darren McMahon – who grew up in the Ministry and is its present controller, myself – the true Homunculus, and you, Tyler, boy number four, not really one thing or the other. The dull one of the family. And there’s always a dull one, isn’t there?’

‘I’m not dull,’ I complained. ‘I’m as interesting as you.’

‘As me? I’m nothing less than the frigging Antichrist. One of your brothers runs the most powerful occult organisation in the world and the other one was frigging Elvis Presley. And you’re not dull, compared to your brothers?’

‘Stop with the frigging,’ I said. ‘But I suppose if you put it like that. If it were true that I’m your brother, which it isn’t. And I’m not.’

‘You are, Tyler. Mr Ishmael knew it. Captain Lynch knows it. Frig, Tyler, Captain Lynch attended the ceremony that brought you and me into being. He is a disciple of Aleister Crowley’s.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe it. Captain Lynch is a good man.’

‘A good man? He’s been humping your mum for decades.’

‘Ha!’ I said. ‘What a giveaway. My mum, you said. That’s my real mum, not some sacrificial virgin of Crowley’s.’

‘Same woman,’ said Papa Crossbar. ‘Has it never occurred to you what a weirdo your – I mean our – mum is?’

‘Which isn’t to say-’ I began.

But he stopped me. ‘It is to say,’ he said. ‘You are special, Tyler. And you have some of your brothers’ gifts. Elvis got all the charisma, I make no bones about that. I got all of the evil, as befits my status. You got your share of magic, though. You’re a magical individual, a little bit of a Doctor Strange, aintcha, though?’

‘I have one or two mystical tricks up my sleeve,’ I said, and I blew onto my fingernails and buffed them upon my lapel. Which is not something you see every day nowadays, is it?

Although it’s not particularly mystical.

‘You perfected the Tyler Technique,’ said Papa Crossbar – or did all this make him brother Crossbar to me? I thought I’d just stick with Papa Crossbar.

‘Yes, I did,’ I said. ‘The Tyler Technique. I did perfect that. And it was all my very own idea.’

‘Well-’ went Papa Crossbar.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Never mind. Let’s say yes, it was all your own idea. Well done.’

‘So is that it?’ I asked. ‘Is that all, or do you have anything else you wish to share with me?’

Papa Crossbar did scratchings of the head with the barrel of my gun. ‘I can’t think of anything else,’ he said. ‘Unless there is anything you’d like to know.’

‘Anything I’d like to know?’ And I shouted this, I know I did. ‘Anything I’d like to know? Well, I wouldn’t mind knowing why you want to wipe out all life on Earth. You might try explaining to me just what the point of that would be and what could possibly be in it for you.’ And then I took deep breaths to steady myself. Not that deep breaths ever really do. Mostly they just make you dizzy.

‘Well,’ said Papa Crossbar. And he twirled my pistol on his guntotin’ finger. ‘That is the point of all this, after all, isn’t it? So yes, allow me to explain.’ And he did so.

‘You see,’ said he, ‘Planet Earth is a frightful aberration. It has all this life all over it. And I do mean all over, down to the tiniest single-celled whatnot. It’s all so busy busy busy, everything whirling away and making so much noise. The sound of it all! Have you ever heard of the Music of the Spheres?’ I nodded that I had. ‘Complete silence, that music. It’s more in the nature of mime. The universe is a great big interlinked body, all completely at peace with itself, this thing moving sedately about that thing, in perfect harmony and perfect silence… because these things are dead. But here! On this planet! Noise noise noise. And fuss and bother. And the smell! You can smell Planet Earth as far away as Saturn, did you know that? So it all has to stop.’

‘And so you are intending to exterminate all life on Earth?’

‘Yes, because Earth is the pest hole of life. There is no other planet that supports life. And once all life here is gone, then Universal Harmony will return. Look upon me as an ecowarrior, with a far higher calling.’

‘Higher calling?’ And I laughed. ‘You cannot be talking about God. God created life on this planet. What right have you to destroy it?’

‘God?’ There was laughter from the Homunculus. ‘Perhaps it has escaped your notice, Tyler, but God ceased to be hands-on at the end of the Old Testament. He lost interest in His little playthings. He gave His Son the run of the New Testament, but did all that poverty and misery and war stuff end? Of course it didn’t. Mankind is a mess. A blot on the Universal landscape. You can look upon me also as God’s little helper, sorting out the mess that He made of everything. Restoring peace to the Universe.’

‘And say you did,’ I said. ‘Say that you do your terrible magic, and through so doing wipe out every living thing on Earth. What of you? It will be rather dull for you, won’t it? And won’t you be the last living annoyance? Will you be snuffing yourself out to create complete Universal Harmony?’

‘I will merge into the blackness, into the Universal Silence. I will become at one with the Universe. I will become the Universe.’

‘What a load of old cobblers,’ I said.

‘I don’t expect you to be able to understand. But have no fear, I have given the matter considerable thought. I know what I’m doing.’

‘Do you?’ I said. ‘Do you really? Well, I think you have forgotten one thing. God may be hands-off and all that kind of business, but one thing I have learned is that you can trust some books of prophecy. And I’ll just bet you can trust John’s account of the Revelation.’

The Homunculus nodded, thoughtfully.

‘Things have to be done in a certain order. The great wild beast coming out of the sea. The woman clothed with the sun. All that Ray Harryhausen stuff. God isn’t going to like it if you try to cut straight to the chase and leave out all that prophesied stuff.’

‘You have a very good point there, Tyler,’ said Papa Crossbar. ‘A very good point indeed.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have you on that one, don’t I?’

‘Not at all,’ said he, amidst much shaking of the head. ‘I’m absolutely certain that God wouldn’t like it one bit. Which is why we’re not going to mention it to Him.’

‘No?’ And I laughed. ‘Well, I’ll tell you this, smart Alec. If you do manage to kill me, I will be going straight up to Heaven to spill the beans. And when I get there I’ll tell Him all about what you’ve been up to and I’ll just bet we’ll be seeing Mankind Two: The Sequel in no time at all. With lots more noise and smell.’

But the Homunculus shook his head. ‘Not going to happen,’ he said. ‘And I will explain to you why. Have you not asked yourself why, if I wish to turn the Earth into a Necrosphere, have I gone to all the trouble of actually reanimating the corpses of people when they die?’

‘I have wondered about that,’ I said. ‘Mr Ishmael suggested that you were raising an Army of the Dead to wage war against the living. Isn’t that it?’

The Homunculus did further shakings of the head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I have gone to all the trouble of keeping the dead up and about so that their souls can’t get to Heaven. If no souls get to Heaven, then no soul is going to warn God about what I’m up to. He never checks what’s going on down here Himself, so by the time I’ve done the business, it will all be too late. And as for Mankind Two: The Sequel, God already did that, you oaf. Remember Noah’s flood? God won’t bother with Mankind Three. He’s too well past it now.’

‘You thoroughgoing thoroughgoing swine,’ I said.

‘I know,’ said the Homunculus. And he did the blowing onto fingernails and the buffing them on his jacket lapel. ‘So that about rounds it all up, really. You can probably work out any little details that remain for yourself. Although you’ll only have a very few minutes to do so, I regret to say. The end for you is nigh, Tyler. You are the sacrifice that triggers the magical mechanism, the creation of my magical son, Homunculus son of Homunculus, instant bringer of all death-’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I was going to ask about that.’

‘Well, now you don’t have to. Goodbye, brother.’

And Papa Crossbar pointed the trusty Smith & Wesson right at my heart and pulled upon the trigger.

And click went the trusty Smith & Wesson.

And Papa Crossbar squeezed the trigger again and again and again. ‘Oh,’ I told him. ‘I forgot to mention it – the trusty Smith & Wesson doesn’t have any bullets in it.’

‘What?’ Papa Crossbar glanced down at the trusty Smith & Wesson and then up again. At my fist, as it sped towards his face and caught him right upon the snout. Very hard.

He went down and I followed on and I punched him and I kicked him. ‘Couldn’t read my mind on that one, could you, sucker?’ I went as biff went my fist. ‘I just wanted you to tell me the whole story so I could stick it all in my best-selling autobiography.’ And clump went my foot. (In his groin.) ‘I didn’t want there to be any loose ends knocking about to disappoint the reader or have them doubting the truth of my tale.’ And whack went my elbow, down deep into his left eye-socket. Nasty.

‘And,’ I continued, ‘I am now going to beat you messily to death as a punishment for all the horrible things that you intended to do. And no one is ever going to think any the less of me for doing it. In fact -’ And clump went my knee in one of those WWF knee-drops on his throat ‘- they’ll probably make a video game about me. And five-year-olds will be pressing handsets, beating you up upon screen. So what do you think about that?’

And then the bloomin’ ninjas had me over.

Freed, I suppose, from the headaches the Homunculus had been inflicting upon them, because he had other things on his mind, like-

And I managed to get one more really decent kick in before they pulled me off him.

‘Okay, okay,’ I went, ‘no need for this. He’s dead now and I’m taking over this place. And you can both have thousand-dollar bonuses and two weeks off. I know a barman who’s giving away fortnight breaks to Butlins.’

But wouldn’t you darn well know it, Papa Crossbar wasn’t dead at all. Bloodied, yes. Broken-nosed, yes. With a big plum bruise growing out of where his left eyeball sat, yes also. Somewhat uncomfortable in the throat and groin regions, also yes, too. But not, very sadly not, dead.

And he rose up before me, and my, didn’t he look angry.

‘You bloodied me,’ he cried. And he spat out some of this blood. ‘You bloodied the Universal Destroyer.’

And I spat in his face once again.

Two face-spittings in a single night! Gross, I know, but justified.

‘I think we’ll burn you up again,’ said Papa Crossbar, spitting blood and spittle. ‘For real this time, rather than for fun.’

‘Shall I fetch the flamethrower?’ asked one of the ninjas.

‘Yes,’ said Papa Crossbar. ‘Do that.’

‘The big one or the small one, sir?’

‘The biggest one you have.’

‘Right, sir.’ The ninja saluted and turned away. And then he stopped and turned back. ‘I’ll need a requisition form then, sir. To sign out the flamethrower from Ordnance Processing.’

‘Just get the flamethrower now!’ boomed Papa Crossbar.

‘But I can’t without a requisition form, sir. You’ll have to sign the authorisation and then it will have to go through Thompson in Ordnance Admin. And he won’t be here at this time of the night, so we’ll have to do it tomorrow. And tomorrow is Saturday, so-’

And the ninja paused. Because there had been a bit of a flourish and a swish from Papa Crossbar. And now the ninja had a big golden ceremonial knife sticking out of his forehead.

‘I’m glad he didn’t pull that on me,’ I said to the other ninja, who was looking on with what was probably a surprised expression. Because it can be quite tricky to tell with ninjas, as they have those bandana things tied around their gobs, don’t they?

‘My brother,’ said the ninja. ‘You’ve killed my brother, Pete.’

‘These things happen,’ said Papa Crossbar, and he withdrew the golden blade from Pete’s forehead, and Pete toppled sideways.

‘He’s a thoroughgoing swine,’ I said to the bereaved ninja. ‘Why don’t you punch his lights out and leave the rest to me?’

‘I have a damn fine mind to, as it ha-’

And then, wouldn’t you just know it-

And down went that ninja also, to lie beside his brother.

‘I really thought he’d have you,’ I said to Papa Crossbar. Backing away as I said it. ‘Seems they were better at blending in and hiding than at the actual fighting side of it, eh?’

‘A piece at a time,’ said Papa Crossbar, golden weapon in his hand, blood dripping from the blade. ‘I will skin you alive. A most painful way to die, I understand. Mr Ishmael certainly put up a right old fuss when I did it to him.’

‘You thoroughgoing-’ And I ran.

Not dignified, I agree. Not noble, not heroic. But come on – I really had given all this my best shot. And if I got away and he couldn’t sacrifice me, then perhaps all the horrible stuff wouldn’t happen.

Well, that’s my story, at least. And I’m sticking to it.

And, ‘Come back, you!’ he cried and gave chase.

And I somehow went out of the wrong door. Not the one that I came in by. And suddenly I found myself outside the conservatory and on the rooftop of the CIA building. In a veritable hurricane, with the thunder booming fit to bust and the lightning forking around and about and much too close for comfort.

And I have to say that once out and upon that storm-swept rooftop, I found myself with few if any places to run to. In fact none at all. So I backed away towards a corner of the roof.

‘Nowhere to hide, Tyler,’ shouted the Homunculus, his voice somehow rising over the storm. ‘Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Nothing to do but die.’

‘There always is another option,’ I shouted back, ‘if you are prepared to work at it.’

‘Perhaps the Tyler Technique? Or perhaps you might be a wee bit too distracted up here. Too much input, eh?’ The blade came swishing towards me.

And I backed away just a little bit more. Then had no more away to back to.

And I glanced down. And it was a long way down. Down and down and down. With the roof of Mornington Crescent East (discontinued usage) so very far below.

And rain lashed me and thunder growled in my ears and I was now most scared.

And the blade swished once and then swished twice. And my left ear came off.

‘Oh my God, no!’ I howled and I snatched at that ear as it whirled through the air. And I did manage to catch it. But the blade whirled again and took off my right thumb.

And I howled, ‘No!’ And I howled, ‘Help!’ And then I just howled and howled. And I sank down to my knees on that roof all bloody and wretched and scared.

And the evil villain loomed over me. And he rose upon his toes and he laughed. And he cried, ‘I win, Tyler. I win all.’

And down came the terrible blade.