The Garden of Unearthly Delights (30 page)

‘You
were keeping them for me.’

Sounds of commotion came
from the passage. William ducked into the room, closed the door quietly behind
him and turned the key in the lock. ‘They’re coming this way,’ he said. ‘Horrid
big things. They’re searching the rooms.

‘Then
we’d best be gone.’ Maxwell reached into the wardrobe and brought out the suit
of clothes.

William
gave a whistle. ‘What a simply splendid coat,’ he said.

‘Is
there a back door?’ Maxwell asked the barber.

‘Yes,
of course.’

‘Where
is it then?’

‘You
came in through it.’

‘Go
on,’ said William. ‘Hit him. You know you want to.’

‘I
don’t.’

‘You do
too. I can see it in your eyes.’

‘I
don’t!
Where is the
front
door, Sir John?’

‘The
front
door? Oh I see, the front door. Yes.’ Sir John thought about this.
‘Go out the way you came in, along the passage, right at the end, into the
foyer, pass the gift shop and you’re there.’

‘You
needn’t hit him hard,’ said William. ‘Just a little tap would do.’

Bang.
Bang. Bang. Went someone, bang-bang-banging on the back door.

‘There
has to be another way out.’ Maxwell squinted all around the shadowed room in
search of one.

Crash.
Crash. Crash and, ‘Open up in there.’

‘Secret
passage,’ said Sir John.

‘What?’
said Maxwell.

‘Secret
passage.

‘Where?’

‘If I
told you that, it wouldn’t be a secret.’ Sir John tittered.

Crash!

William
stared down at the now unconscious barber. ‘I think you’ve killed him,’ he
said.

Maxwell
examined his right fist. ‘It was only a little tap. And he
was
asking
for it, after all.’

Crash!
at the door, and smash! also.

‘Follow
me,’ said Maxwell.

‘Where?’
asked William.

‘Here,’
said Maxwell.

Big
crash! at the door now. Then the door bursting from its hinges.

Two
awful-looking beings stormed into the room. Great distorted heads with crests
of quill. Light-bulb eyes and snapping jaws. Massive shoulders heaving out
from leather harnessing. Mighty fists that swung from lengthy
muscled arms.

They
raged about, ripping the chairs from the floor, smashing the mirror,
overturning the table. They dragged down the wardrobe and kicked it to pieces.
When finally satisfied that the room lacked for any other entrance, especially
a hidden door that led to a secret passage, they sniffed at the unconscious
barber, swore great oaths and shambled from the room.

When
all was once more silent, William said, ‘I didn’t like the look of them at
all.’

‘Two of
Count Waldeck’s personal body guards.’

‘Who’s
Count Waldeck?’

‘The ruler
of the city, the University.’

‘I
thought that was Sergio Rameer.’

‘No,
Sergio Rameer is really Sir John Rimmer, the barber I just knocked out.’

‘What?
But if—’

‘I’ll
explain it all as we go along,’ said Maxwell. ‘Give me a hand with this simply
splendid coat.’

‘Just
one more question before we go,’ said William. ‘Where exactly are we?’

‘Hiding
inside the magic pouch in the corner of the room,’ said Maxwell. ‘I thought
that would have been bloody obvious.’

Maxwell marched along the
passage in full Max Carrion regalia. The simply splendid leather coat billowed
out behind him. The riding boots clickclacked on the marble floor, the armoury
chinked and rattled.

Maxwell
looked the business.

And he
was
the business.

It was
heading for that showdown time and Maxwell knew it. That time of epic
confrontation, when loose ends are deftly tied, villains get their just deserts
and the hero bravely triumphs.

As
Maxwell marched, dark thoughts stirred in his head. The great imagineering plan
he’d planned a while before now lay all in broken wreckage. Much of it relied
upon the element of surprise, the fact that the Sultan of Rameer wouldn’t know
who Maxwell really was or what he was really after.

However,
all was far from lost and as Maxwell marched, certain new thoughts came to him.
One by one. But all at once.

And by
the time Maxwell had reached the end of the corridor it was all sorted out in
his head. Which was just the way it should be.

‘Stop!’
ordered Maxwell, jerking to a halt.

‘What?’
said William, tripping over Maxwell’s heels.

‘I have
a plan.’ Maxwell helped the lad to his feet. ‘I will explain it to you in
outline and I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do,
without
question.
Do you understand?’

William
made a doubtful grubby face. ‘Are you certain you wouldn’t welcome the
occasional question, if it was pertinent to the success of the plan and
beautifully articulated?’

‘Absolutely
certain.’

‘Pity,’
said William, ‘as much of my characterization apparently depends on me spilling
out complicated sentences with lots of long words in them. To great comic
effect, I might add.’

‘I’ve
never found them particularly comic myself,’ said Maxwell. ‘Most appear to be
direct cribs from the dictionary. It’s a laugh for a bit. But it soon wears
thin.’

‘Oh
right,’ said William. ‘Perhaps I should “take to my heels and flee” more often.
Or say “Rock ‘n’ Roll”, or make reference to my “substantial boots”.’

‘That’s
hardly fair,’ said Maxwell. ‘There’s a lot more to being the hero than a few
running gags.’

‘Oh
yeah, I forgot the punching people. If stuck for a punch line, punch someone’s
lights out. Very original.’

Maxwell
looked hard at William.

And
William looked hard at Maxwell.

‘Do you
get the feeling’, said William, ‘that we shouldn’t have said any of that?’

‘Let’s
just pretend we didn’t, and pass on.’

‘OK.
Where were we?’

‘I have
a plan.’ Maxwell helped the lad to his feet. ‘I will explain it to you in
outline and I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do.
Without
question.
Do you understand?’

‘Absolutely,’
said William.

And
Maxwell spoke to William of his plan. He explained it all down to the finest
detail and when he had done so, he asked what William thought.

‘I
think it’s a blinder of a plan, Maxwell, and I will be happy to play my part in
it.’

‘Rock
‘n’ Roll,’ said Maxwell. ‘Now let’s get it done.

Alone marched Maxwell,
down the last bit of the passage. He turned right at the end, marched into the
foyer, passed the gift shop and marched on towards the reception desk.

It was
a bit hard to get all the makings of the University together. There was a lot
of the old public school here, and in this foyer there was a great deal of the’
commercial enterprise also. T-shirts hung in the window of the gift shop. They
had mottoes like ‘schooled at the
University
of
Life
’ on the
front, and ‘Bullygarves do it backwards’.

Maxwell
marched up to the reception desk. A most attractive young woman sat behind it.
She had golden ringlets, golden eyes and that look which says, ‘I know you’d
love to, but you can’t.’

‘Good
day,’ said Maxwell.

The
young woman sniffed. ‘I’ve got a cold,’ she said. ‘So I can’t breath through my
nose.’

‘Sorry
to hear that,’ said Maxwell.

‘Why
should
you
be sorry?’ the young woman asked. You weren’t going to get
any oral sex.’

‘I
never asked for any,’ said Maxwell, somewhat bemused.

‘No,
but it’s obvious that’s what you were hoping for.’

‘I
never was.’

‘Of
course you were. But you can’t have any. And that’s that.’

 ‘I   want
to see Count Waldeck,’ said Maxwell, squaring his shoulders.

‘He
won’t give you any oral sex.’

‘I
don’t want any oral sex. What is all this talk of  oral sex?’

‘You
started it.’

‘I
didn’t. All I said was, good day.’

‘Yes,
but that’s not what you meant.’

‘It
was. I just said, good day. That’s all.’

‘So you
don’t want any oral sex?’

‘No,’
said Maxwell.

‘Why
not?’ asked the receptionist. ‘Give me a good reason why a man wouldn’t want
oral sex.’

Maxwell
scratched his head. ‘I can’t,’ he said.

‘So you
do want it.’

‘Well.
I like it.’

‘Well;
you can’t have it. My nose is blocked up.’

‘Look,’
said Maxwell, ‘you are a very attractive woman. And were you to offer me oral
sex, I would not refuse it. But that isn’t why I’m talking to you. I want to
see Count Waldeck now. At this minute. Oral sex does not enter into it at all.’

‘Count
Waldeck likes oral sex.’

‘I’m
sure he does. Perhaps he and I will discuss it, at length.’

‘Well,
leave me out of the discussion. I hate oral sex.’

‘So why
do you keep talking about it?’

‘Well,
it’s a comic device, isn’t it? You march up to the reception desk, bound upon
some heroic mission, and you get side-tracked into a lot of old hooey about
oral sex.’

‘Ah,’
said Maxwell, ‘I went through something similar to this a moment ago. I hope it
doesn’t mean what I think it means.’

‘How
may I help you, sir?’ asked the receptionist, suddenly prim, proper and
correct.

‘I have
an appointment to see Count Waldeck,’ said Maxwell. ‘Please direct me to his
office.’

‘I’m
sorry, sir, but I can’t do that.’

‘It is
most urgent,’ said Maxwell. ‘I have something to deliver to the count. He will
not be pleased to be kept waiting.’

‘You
cannot see him, sir, and that is that.’

‘Send a
messenger,’ said Maxwell. ‘Tell the count that MacGuffin the magician is here
and that he has brought Aodhamm with him.’

‘Impossible,’
said the receptionist.

‘It’s
not impossible,’ said Maxwell. ‘It’s vital. Just do it.’

‘I
can’t, sir.’

‘And
why can’t you?’

‘Because
Count Waldeck is not here, sir. He has gone on his holidays.’

‘What?’
went Maxwell. ‘Gone on his holidays?’

‘His
holidays, sir.’ The receptionist leafed through her desk diary. ‘I can fit you
in for an appointment when he gets back. Which will be… She flicked pages
forward. ‘In precisely
nineteen
days’ time.’

‘Nineteen
days?’
Maxwell took one step back. Then took
another.

‘Nineteen
days,’ said the receptionist. ‘Do you want me to pencil you in?’

22

‘Nineteen days?’ Maxwell
dithered. That couldn’t be right. He hadn’t come this
far
just to find
that the man he sought had
gone on his holidays.
That wasn’t the way
things were done, with the epic confrontation due at any time.

And
everything.

‘Check
the appointments diary again,’ said Maxwell. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’

‘A
mistake about what?’ asked the young man behind the reception desk. Young
man?

Maxwell
blinked at him. ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked. ‘What happened to the
young woman I was just talking to?’

The
young man put a finger to his lips, then gestured to an area beneath the level
of the counter (and that of his own waist). He offered Maxwell a knowing wink.

‘She’s
not,
is she?’ Maxwell leaned over the counter to view what was on the go
beneath. ‘Good grief,’ he said, springing back. ‘I mean, well, good grief.’

‘How
may I help you, sir?’ asked the young man, his eyes beginning to glaze.

‘I have
an appointment to see Count Waldeck,’ said Maxwell. ‘I’m Mick Scallion, the
engineer. It’s an emergency. Which way to the count’s office?’

‘You
can’t see the count, he’s—’

‘Not
gone on his holidays,’ said Maxwell. ‘I’m not
having that.’