Nostradamus Ate My Hamster (19 page)

Russell turned his face away. No man deserved such a terrible fate, not even one so vile as Hitler.

“Go upstairs,” said Russell. “Go upstairs now.”

“You can poke him with my pointy stick if you want. But don’t trouble yourself to have a go at his ball. I had that off years ago. I’ve got it upstairs in a jar.”

“Go,” said Russell. “As quick as you can now.”

Mr Fudgepacker spat towards the cripple in the chair, then slowly turned and hobbled from the room.

Russell listened to the shuffling footsteps on the stairs and then the creaking of the floorboards overhead.

With a pounding heart and popping ears, Russell sought a means towards an end. He selected a length of iron pipe that lay against the wall and tested its weight on his palm. And then he walked back over to the figure in the chair.

Russell looked into the unfocused eyes. He saw there the flicker of life. He saw the slime-caked lips begin to part and the dry tongue move within. And Russell knew the words that would come.

“Help me. Help me.”

Russell spoke a prayer and asked forgiveness. Then he swung the heavy pipe and put Adolf Hitler out of his misery.

Upstairs in the vestibule, Ernest Fudgepacker stood, nodding his head stiffly to a rhythm only he heard. Russell’s knees were almost giving out, but he forced himself to walk as naturally as he could.

“Did you give him a bit of a poke?” asked Ernest.

“A bit of a poke. Yes.”

“Will you come back again?”

“I don’t think so. Goodbye.”

“Not so fast,” said the ancient. “I haven’t given you what you came for.”

Russell’s brain was all fogged up. All he wanted was to get out. To get away from this place. “What I came for?” he asked.

“You came for these, didn’t you?” Mr Fudgepacker produced two black leather belts with complicated dials set into the buckles.

“What are those?”

“For your journey home. To get you back safely.”

“The time devices.”

“Modern technology,” said Mr Fudgepacker. “An improvement on the old
Flügelrad
. I designed them myself.”

With whose, or
what’s
, help? thought Russell. As if I didn’t know.

“Just set the time and press the button,” said Mr Fudgepacker. “But they’ll only work the one way and that’s backwards. Time isn’t for fooling about with, Russell. It’s best left alone.”

“Goodbye then, Mr Fudgepacker.”

“Goodbye, Russell.”

It is often the case that after experiencing unspeakable horror, people unaccountably burst into laughter. It happens in wartime and my father told me that when he served as a fireman during the blitz, he often came upon people sitting beside the burned-out shells of their houses, laughing hysterically. He said that he was never certain whether it was simply through shock, or something more. A burst of awareness, perhaps, that they
were
alive. That they had survived and were aware of their survival, probably aware of their own existence for the first time ever.

As Russell left the Emporium and walked back along the track that had once been the Kew Road, he began to laugh. It started as small coughs that he tried to keep back but it broke from him again and again until tears ran down his face and his belly ached.

Russell had this image in his mind. An image both farcical and absurd. But he couldn’t shake it free. It was a newspaper headline, splashed across a Sunday tabloid.

It read:

ASSASSIN CONFESSES:

“I SHAGGED HITLER’S GIRLFRIEND”

Russell returned to the Schauberger Memorial Mall, but he did so via a different entrance, purchased several items from one of the gift shops and slipped these into an inner pocket of his sharp black jacket. Then he strode at a brisk pace towards the electrical store and Julie.

Julie wasn’t there.

Russell checked his watch, he was rather late. But she’d have waited, surely? She’d have had to wait. Russell looked up and down the shopping mall, no sign of her.

What to do? Go back to The Flying Swan? See if he could tease where to go next from Jim Pooley? Stay here? Wait outside?

Wait outside, Russell decided. This place depressed him anyway. Wait outside it was. Russell walked down the arcade, under the big golden arch and out through the glass revolving doors.

“
Russell!”
A harsh stage whisper.

“Julie?”

“Over here.”

Russell turned, Julie’s hand beckoned to him from behind one of the chromium portico columns that flanked the entrance.

Russell wandered over. “Why are you hiding?” he asked.

“Why are you late?” was Julie’s reply. “I’ve been waiting for an hour.”

Russell began with the first in a series of carefully rehearsed lies. “I was held up,” he said. “I was only able to acquire
one
time belt.”

Julie didn’t seem unduly miffed by this. “Only one? Well, give it to me, give it to me.” Altogether far too eager. Her glance met Russell’s. “I mean, well done, Russell. I knew you could do it.”

“It wasn’t easy. There’s all the big celebrations going on.”

“Celebrations? What celebrations?”

“For the return of Hitler. He must have come in the
Flügelrad
. He materialized in Berlin an hour ago. There’s huge rallies and firework displays. I saw it on a TV in one of the shops.”

Julie looked as bewildered as Russell had hoped she would. “That isn’t right,” she whispered. “He’s not due until tomorrow.”

“Sorry?” said Russell. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing. Nothing. Give me the programmer.”

“We’re supposed to do this outside the electrical store, that’s the way it was done in the movie.”

“Well, this
isn’t
a movie. Give me the programmer.”

Russell took the programmer from his pocket. Julie dug into a carrier bag and brought out the gift box.

“Here, let me put it in,” said Russell, taking the box from her hands. “I can pack it in the way I remember it being packed when I unwrapped it. If you know what I mean.”

“I do, but just hurry.”

Russell turned away and fiddled about.

“Are you done? Come on, give it to me.”

Russell turned back and presented Julie with a neatly wrapped parcel. “There,” said he. “Done.”

“And the time belt?”

“Yes, of course.” Russell took one of the time belts from his jacket pocket. Julie strapped the belt around her slender waist. “How does it work?” she asked.

“I’ve set the time and the co-ordinates. You know what to do, go back to the date and the time. I will be in The Ape of Thoth with Morgan. Give the programmer to me and let me do the rest.”

Julie looked up at Russell and for one terrible moment Russell thought she was going to ask the obvious question: why are you doing this? Russell did have an ingenious answer worked out. But he was not called upon to use it.

“What are
you
going to do?” Julie asked.

“I can’t leave,” said Russell. “I’m trapped here. But
He
is here, Hitler. Maybe I can raise an underground resistance movement, or something.”

“Fat chance,” whispered Julie.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said, I hope you get
that chance
.”

“Thank you.” Russell recalled in the movie there being a bit of passionate kissing and the words “I love you” being bandied about. Russell stuck his lips out for a snog.

But he didn’t get one.

“Right,” said Julie. “I’ll be off.”

And pressing the button on the buckle of her belt.

She was.

Russell stood on his own, cocked his head on one side and listened. According to what he’d seen in the movie and back at The Ape of Thoth, the big metal clanking things with the terror weapons should now be making an appearance to chase Julie through time.

But they weren’t, were they?

“No,” said Russell. “They are not. Because that was just another trick, probably done with the Cyberstar machine, to make me trust and be protective to Julie from the very first moment. Boy, did I get taken for a sucker. But, however.” Russell delved into another pocket and brought out a package. It was identical in shape and form to the one Julie had taken back into the past.

Russell had switched them.

Russell grinned and unwrapped the programmer. Julie would be delivering the package to the Russell of the past in The Ape of Thoth, but this time, when the Russell of the past opened it, it would not contain the programmer. It would contain a nice fresh ham roll. After all, Russell had been eating that stale ham sandwich when he opened the package in The Bricklayer’s Arms, hadn’t he?

“I had,” Russell grinned. “You sly dog, Russell. You have pulled it off. No programmer, no movie, you’ve beaten the buggers.” Russell dropped the programmer to the marble paving and ground his heel upon it.

That was a job well done.

Russell stood on the steps of the shopping mall, a smug little smile on his face. He
had
got it done, he really had. He’d stopped the movie getting made and the world getting changed. He looked up at the monolithic building, all this would soon fade away. How long? Russell didn’t have a clue. But it would, he knew that it would.

So what to do now?

Another pint at The Flying Swan? That was tempting.

Return at once to the past? He still had to deal with the ultimate evil. The red insect thing in Fudgepacker’s basement. But he
would
deal with that. He felt certain he would.

“No,” said Russell. “One last look around while I’m here. There’s something I’d like to see. Something that would help me out no end.”

Russell walked back into the mall and along the arcade to the electrical store. He looked in at the window, the Cyberstars stood in mock conversation, children played upon the holographic machines.

Russell entered the store.

The chap behind the counter smiled him a welcomer.

Russell smiled back.

“How can I help you, citizen?” asked the chap.

“I’m interested in acquiring a copy of an old movie,” said Russell. “In fact, if you have it in stock, I’d like to view a bit of it. Just a few minutes. The end bit.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, sir. What is the name of this movie?”

“
Nostradamus Ate my Hamster,”
said Russell.

“Oh sir, sir,” the chap wrung his hands in evident joy.

“One of your favourites?” Russell asked.

“Oh my very favourite. Everyone’s favourite.”

“Indeed?” said Russell. Nor for much longer, he thought. “Then you have a copy in stock?”

“Probably one hundred copies.”

“That popular, eh?”

“Where have you been, sir, on the moon? The biggest box office success in the history of film making. Years before its time, you see. An Ernest Fudgepacker production, starring –”

“Just about everybody,” said Russell.

“But not just
anybody
, sir.”

“Go on,” said Russell.

“Starring Julie Hitler, sir. The Führer’s wife.”

That did catch Russell a little off guard, but he might have expected it really. “Could I have a viewing?” Russell asked. “Just the end bit?”

“Of course, sir, of course. Oh, I’m so excited.”

“I thought you’d seen it.”

“Yes, sir, but seeing her, seeing her.”

“Seeing her?” said Russell.

“Here, sir, here.”

“What do you mean?” Russell asked.

“She was here, sir. In the store, not an hour and a half ago. Large as life and twice as beautiful.”

“Here?”

“I got her autograph. Look, I’ll show it to you. But you can’t touch it.”

“I don’t really want to,” said Russell.

“Oh come on, sir. Just to touch her autograph, imagine.”

I’ve touched a lot more than
that
, Russell thought. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t understand. Why did the lovely Mrs Hitler come in here?”

“Well, sir. It seems that the Führer and she have one of the Cyberstar systems. I expect they re-enact famous movies in the comfort of their palace. Well, apparently she’d mislaid the programmer and she came in here, in here, sir, into my humble store, for a replacement.”

“
What?”
went Russell. “And you gave it to her?”

“With compliments, sir.”

“Oh my God!”

“Whatever is it, sir? You’ve come over all unnecessary.”

Russell shook his fists in the air. She’d done it to him again. She’d left nothing to chance. A spare programmer in case he lost his, or
something
. All she’d wanted from him was the time belt to get back with. She’d never trusted him. He’d been stitched up, good and proper.

“Aaaaagh!”

“Please, sir, control yourself, whatever is the matter?”

Russell made fists and looked all around the shop. He’d failed. Well, of course he’d failed. If he’d succeeded, then this place would never have come to be. He’d be standing in empty space right now, or the middle of the Great West Road. He’d blown it and it was all
his
fault. He’d given her the time device. He’d laid it all on.

Russell took to groaning. There was that other Russell back in the past, that one who would watch Julie appear, would be given the programmer and would take it to Bobby Boy. That stupid lame-brained Russell who would be conned every inch of the way. Who would work until he nearly dropped to produce a movie that would reduce the people of the world to little more than slaves.

Russell shook his head. Whatever was he to do
now
?

“Sir,” said the chap behind the counter, “if you’re all right, sir, would you like to see the movie?”

Russell turned and Russell smiled. “Oh yes,” he said. “Oh very much indeed.”

And so Russell sat down and watched the movie, the manager was so excited that he insisted Russell watch all the way through. And so Russell did. There was so much more that he hadn’t seen. But it all made perfect sense when you viewed it from the beginning to the end. The dark alien creature, always in the background, always manipulating, experimenting with this means and that to control and exploit mankind. And he, Russell, played by Bobby Boy, finally defeating the creature in a manner Russell hadn’t even considered.

As the credits rolled away the manager clapped his hands in warm applause. “Isn’t it wonderful, sir, marvellous, a
tour de force
. And it’s all true, you know. Well, not true as in true. It’s a metaphor you see. For life. You see the Emporium represents –”

“Yes,” said Russell. “Well I don’t think we need to go into all that now. I wanted to see the end and now I’ve seen it. I know all I need to know.”

“If only that were true, sir, eh?”

“It
is
true,” said Russell.

The manager laughed, politely, but he
did
laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” Russell enquired.

“Because of what you said about the ending, sir. You see that’s the whole point of the movie. That’s part of the metaphor. The movie doesn’t have an ending. Well not one, I’ve a hundred copies in stock and there’s a hundred different endings. That’s what made the movie so successful. If you go and see a movie twice you know it will have the same ending. But this one never did. Almost every copy was different.
Is
different. No-one has ever been able to work out how it was done. How Fudgepacker
found the time
.”

Russell really couldn’t help but be impressed. That was
some
gimmick. That would really have packed them in. He could just picture the train-spotter types, vying with one another, seeing who could score the most endings. Why there was probably a
Nostradamus Ate my Hamster Appreciation Society
[34]
. “Do you think anyone has seen all the endings?” Russell asked.

“Who can say, sir? That’s part of the mythos, isn’t it?”

“Well, thank you for showing it to me. It was an experience.”

“And will sir be taking a copy?”

“No, I don’t think so. But tell me this, as far as you know, does the movie always have a happy ending?”

“Of course it does, sir, of course it does.”

Russell was relieved to hear this at least. “That’s a weight off my mind,” he said.

“Oh yes,” said the manager. “The endings are always happy. Even the ones where the Russell character meets a grisly death.”

Russell groaned.

“Oh yes, sir, there’s the version where he gets gangbanged at the bikers’ barbecue, and the one where he’s shot with the General Electric mini-gun, and the one where the cannibal cult get him, oh and my favourite, the amazing slow-motion sequence where the escaped psychopath takes this hedge-clipper and puts it right up his …”