The Witches of Chiswick (13 page)

“William,” said Hugo Rune to Will. “Allow me to introduce you to my very good friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

Will climbed from his chair to shake the hand of the world’s most famous fictional detective. Will’s jaw had dropped and his eyes were somewhat wide. It couldn’t actually be true, could it?

“Mr Starling,” said Mr Sherlock Holmes. “I perceive that you have recently been to—”

“China,” Will managed to blurt.

“The toilet,” said Holmes. “Your fly is still unbuttoned.”

Will hastened to rebutton his fly.

“I have heard much of you,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Hugo informs me that you are a young man of almost infinite capabilities.”

“He does?” Will glanced at Rune, who put his finger to his lips.

“That you are indeed the fellow I seek,” continued Holmes.

“Really?” said Will. “I don’t think I quite—”

“A pleasure to see
you
once again, Shirley.” Rune offered his hand and Holmes shook it. The manner of the handshake was significant. Its significance was lost upon Will.

“It’s
Sherlock
, in public, if you don’t mind.” Holmes glanced the Logos of the Aeon up and down. “I observe that you have gained precisely fifteen and a half pounds since last we met. The travelling life evidently agrees with you.”

Rune perused the great detective. “And you, I see, have lost a little weight,” he said. “I trust that you have not raised your dosage above a seven per cent solution.”

“Idleness does not agree with me, as well you know. And by the by, your tailor called in upon me at Baker Street, last week. He asked that he be remembered to you and also that I convey his bill directly into your hands.”

“Which you certainly will
not
do,” said Rune.

“We are gentlemen both. And brothers under The Arch. Might I test a glass of that questionable champagne?”

“Sit yourself down and do so.”

Holmes sat down and so did Rune and so too then did Will. Further champagne was poured and tasted, and commented upon unfavourably, and then a conversation ensued between Holmes and Rune, which Will listened to, but for the most part failed to comprehend.

The conversation was of that special variety which only exists between close and intimate friends. Where a mere word or phrase conjures mutual memories, raising either laughter or sadness. Mostly laughter upon this occasion.

Will watched and listened and shook his head.

It
was
Sherlock Holmes. The
real
Sherlock Holmes. He looked exactly as he did in the Sidney Paget illustrations, which had clearly been drawn from life. Will had read all of the Sherlock Holmes stories. He’d downloaded digital files of their original publications in the
Strand
magazine, from the copies held in the British Library. These files were in his palm-top. Will’s palm-top was in Will’s pocket.

Will wondered what Holmes might think if Will were to show him these downloaded files. Records of cases that Holmes had yet to be called upon to solve.

It was an interesting thought and one full of intriguing possibilities.

“So, Hugo,” said Sherlock Holmes. “I regret that I will not be able to join you for supper, so let us address ourselves to the business at hand. You have recommended your magical son to me as the fellow I seek. Are you absolutely certain that he is up to the challenge?”

Rune nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely,” he said.

“What is all this?” Will asked.

“It is simple enough,” said Holmes. “I would take on the case myself. In fact, I feel confident that I could solve it without even leaving the fireside of my sitting room at Baker Street. However, I am somewhat pressed by another urgent matter, which necessitates a trip to Dartmoor.”

“Ah,” said Will. “I know—” But then he held his tongue.

“You know?” asked Holmes.

“Nothing,” said Will. “So what is this case that you would like Mr Rune and myself to look into?”

“Not Mr Rune and yourself. Simply yourself.”

“But I—”

“Listen to the gentleman,” said Rune. “You seek to
find things out
, do you not?”

Will nodded.

“Then this is your opportunity. Pray continue, Shirley.”

“Sherlock,” said Holmes. “You must understand, Mr Starling,” he continued, “that I am building a reputation for myself as a consulting detective. The world’s only consulting detective. To do this it is necessary that I solve all the cases that are presented to me. But I have recently been inundated with requests for my assistance. Mostly these are trifling matters that can be speedily dealt with. But there are many of them. Too many. Hugo here has assisted me before. He is, as you must know, a man of considerable insight and intuition. And generosity.”

Will raised his eyebrows to this intelligence.

“Hugo informs me that you possess certain skills and that I can trust you to deal with this particular matter.”

“Yes, but,” said Will.

Holmes turned to Rune. “I am having my doubts,” said he.

“All will be well,” said Hugo Rune, making a breezy gesture before sucking once more upon his cigar. “The lad is shy. He is overwhelmed at meeting you.”

“That’s certainly true,” said Will.

“But if anyone can deal with this case, I guarantee that this someone is William Starling. I know these things. Trust me. I’m a magician.”

“Then I
shall
trust you,” said Holmes. “The reward is—”

“Let us not speak of rewards,” said Rune.

“As you please,” said Holmes.

“Well, not here,” Rune’s voice was now a whisper. “In private, later on.”

“Quite so.”

“What is this?” Will asked.

“Nothing,” said Rune. “So, you have the file with you?”

“I do.” Holmes took up his Gladstone bag, opened it and produced a buff-coloured envelope, which he handed to Rune. “My reputation depends upon this,” he said. “We understand each other, don’t we?”

“We do,” said Rune. “Brother upon The Square,” and he made a certain sign.

“Then, good.” Holmes rose from his chair. Rune rose with him and the two shook hands once more. The significance of the unorthodox handshake was not quite so lost upon Will this time.

“I look forward to hearing from you once you have solved the case,” said Mr Holmes, now shaking Will by the hand. “Enjoy your supper, charge it to my account. And so farewell.”

And with that he departed into the fashionable crowd and was gone.

“Nice chap,” said Hugo Rune, reseating himself.

“Nice chap?” Will slumped down and stared at Hugo Rune. “What did you tell him about me? What is all this about?”

“Calm yourself,” said Rune. “It is simplicity itself. We require funds.”

“We?” said Will.

“
We
,” said Rune. “In order to do what must be done. You wish to return to your own time, do you not?”

“I do,” said Will.

“And when we have achieved our goal. Which is to rid the world of an evil presence.”

“The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild?” Will’s voice had a certain sneering quality to it.

“You will learn in time the scale of the evil,” said Rune. “And then you will believe. But we do require funds. And how better to earn these, than for you to take on a bit of detective work?”

“I’m
not
a detective,” said Will. “What do
I
know about detective work?”

“You came from the future,” said Rune. “You know all manner of things. You know for instance why Sherlock is going to Dartmoor, do you not?”

“Actually, I do,” said Will. “I read it. He’s going to solve the case of the Hound of the Baskervilles. The butler did it, by the way. It’s often the butler who does it.”

“There you are,” said Rune. “You are possessed of knowledge that is denied even to me. This,” Rune tapped the buff-coloured envelope, “is a
big
case. A big
historical
case. A famous case. Solve this, gain the reward money, aid me and return to your own time, what could be simpler?”

“Ah,” said Will. “Now I see. You told Holmes that I could solve the case, because you knew that I could. Because you knew that I’d know who the criminal was, because the case would be history to me. Even if much of history has been erased and hidden.”

“Exactly,” said Rune. “Although I could have put it somewhat more eloquently. And bear also this in mind. We are acting for Sherlock Holmes; his reputation depends on him solving all the cases that he is given. You wouldn’t want to let Sherlock Holmes down, would you? You wouldn’t want him to lose his place in history?”

Will shook his head. “Go on then,” he said. “Let’s have a look in the envelope.”

Rune slid it across the tablecloth. “Everything depends on this,” he told Will. “Holmes’ reputation, you getting back to the future. Everything. It does. Trust me, it really does.”

Will shrugged and sighed. “If it’s a famous case, then I probably do know,” said he and he took the envelope and opened it.

Will pulled out papers and glanced at them, and then Will began to laugh.

“You know,” said Rune. “You do know, don’t you?”

Will laughed some more and then some more. And then Will stopped laughing and said to Hugo Rune. “If everything depends on this, we’re stuffed.”

“Stuffed?” said Rune. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Will. “That we have been given a case to solve that cannot be solved. Is
never
solved.”

“There is no such case,” said Rune.

“There is,” said Will. “And this is it. The case of Jack the Ripper.”

“Excellent,” said Hugo Rune. “Unsurpassed, incomparable, quintessential and prototypical also.”

Will shook his bewildered head. “And this would be the Australian aardvark in aspic, or possibly the Bavarian brown bear in blueberry sauce, or even the cranberry-covered Carpathian coypu? Or is it the Dalmatian dog in the Danish pastry?”

A meat feast of heroic proportions spanned the table’s distance between himself and The One and Only. Rune had ordered all but everything on the Café Royal’s menu.

“Each and all.” The Lad Himself took up a napkin and wiped away jellied eel from the corner of his mouth. “But above and beyond that, your earlier assertion that the case of Jack the Ripper cannot be solved. It will certainly put the mongoose amongst the cobras when you solve it, don’t you think?” And he forked up a helping of fried French ferret and plunged it into his mouth.

Will shook his bewildered head a second time, noting ruefully as he had upon so many previous occasions, that Hugo Rune’s mode of food consumption mirrored exactly that of Will’s own father. Like father, like son, like father, like son and so on down, or up, the ages.

“The case of Jack the Ripper cannot be solved,” Will said once more. “It’s never solved.”

“Have I taught you so very little?” Rune enquired. He dined from several plates simultaneously and fed as he spoke.

“You have taught me
nothing
,” Will replied. “Well, perhaps a few things. Which hand to hold my eel fork in, for instance.”

“Then let me tell you this. And I will keep it brief for fear that the grilled goat gets a skin upon its gravy. You, my boy, have been returned to this period in time to use what knowledge you possess in putting things to right. Your presence here affords us the opportunity to change the future. To create a new and better future. To thwart the plans of the evil ones who seek to alter it for their own advantage.”

“The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild.” Will’s face once more had a sneer painted over it.

“Evil in human form,” said the sage. “And pass the sage and onion sauce if you will.”

“I will,” said Will, passing it.

“All right.” Rune poured the sauce all over his hummingbird hotpot. “In order that you might be returned to your own time it is necessary that we change things. By changing things we change the course of history.”

“I really don’t understand.” Will helped himself to a slice of impala. “It’s all rather complicated.”

“It’s simplicity itself.” Rune pulled a platter of Jamaican jackdaw in his direction. “We are going to cause a few ripples in the ice cream of time. According to your history, Jack the Ripper was never brought to book for his horrendous crimes. What if you were to rewrite the menu of history? Strike off the first course and add a delicacy of your own.”

“And that would help to make things right?”

“It’s a starter,” said Rune. “And speaking of starters, did I finish all those kiwi kebabs?”

Will nodded. “You did. And you ordered a second portion which you similarly consumed.”

“So much to eat, so little time. Life in a coconut shell.”

Will pushed lemur in lemongrass sorbet about on his plate. “But what I also don’t understand,” said he, “is why both you and Mr Holmes want
me
to take on this impossible case. If Mr Holmes isn’t going to take it on himself, why don’t you do it?”

“
Me
?” Will now found himself sprayed with half-masticated morsels of marmoset meringue. “I am a mystic,” quoth Rune. “A magician. An avatar. A perfect master. I am not a mere detective.”

“But I’ll bet you’ll take the credit if I
do
solve it,” Will said. “And all the reward money.”

“What was that, boy?”

“Nothing.” Will helped himself to some neck of newt. “But the case cannot be solved. So it’s all neither here nor there, really.”

Hugo Rune shook his great bald head. “There is nothing that cannot be done,” he said and again he tucked into his tucker.

They ate on in silence but for Rune’s occasional belchings and calls to the waiter for further wine. Will, all alone with his thoughts, pondered upon the situation. What, just what, might happen if the most unlikely event was to occur and he was actually able to bring Jack the Ripper to justice? Jack was one of the most notorious criminals in all history, not because of the scale of his crimes, but because of the mystery that was attached to them, his motives and the fact that he was never caught. History would record Will, if Will could stop Rune taking the credit, pile accolades upon him. He would be forever known as the man who caught Jack the Ripper, when the police
and
Sherlock Holmes had failed. That would be big kudos.

And it
would
change history: a bit, anyway.

But a big bit as far as Will was concerned.

But then, and then a big “but then” crossed Will’s mind.

But then, Jack the Ripper was a psychopathic killer. Not a man to be trifled with. Tackling him would be a risky business: a very risky business.

Did the pros outweigh the cons?

A great big smile spread up either side of Will Starling’s face. How often was an opportunity like this ever to occur in a lifetime? Never at all, was the answer to that. But as it had … well.

“I’ll do it,” said Will.

Rune grinned through a face-load of ostrich a l’orange. “I knew that you would,” said he.

At considerable length, their vast repast concluded, even down to the wallaby in wild woodbine and the zebra in a basket, Rune called for the bill. He then took issue over the cost and quality of each and every item on it. He called for the manager and took him to task about the quality of the champagne. Then he produced a small bone, which he claimed to be a rat’s pelvis, that he said had lodged in his throat during his consumption of the terrapin terrine. He issued protests and threats of litigation and eventually settled “out of court” for twenty guineas compensation up front and at once.

“A job well done,” said Rune as he and Will left the Café Royal, never again to return.

“Was that really necessary?” Will asked. “Mr Holmes was paying for the meal.”

“I know,” said Rune. “But Holmes is a friend and the champagne
was
inferior.”

Will and Rune walked together along the Strand. It was after midnight now. There had been rain earlier but it had since cleared up, leaving only puddles which reflected the glow of the neon lights shining from the bow-fronted windows of the exclusive shops. An electric carriage slid soundlessly past. Within the glazed dome, fashionable fellows joked with painted ladies of the night-time calling.

At Piccadilly Rune and Will halted.

“I am going on to my club now,” said Rune. “The Pussycat in Greek Street. Perhaps you would care to join me?”

“I think I’ll return to our lodgings,” Will said. “Think things over. Come up with some sort of plan. I have the envelope of case notes. I have all sorts of stuff about Jack the Ripper on file in my palm-top. Most of it is probably rubbish, but you never know. I might come up with something.”

“Good boy,” Rune patted Will upon the shoulder. “Although you do not have faith in me, I have faith in you. Together we will triumph. This is just the beginning, but it will facilitate the end.”

Will nodded thoughtfully.

“As surely as the errant bicycle is viewed through the veil of cucumber,” said Rune, “then so does the spotty youth of time dwell upon the doorknob of pasta. Muse upon these truths.”

Will shook his head.

“Good night,” said he.

“Good night,” said Rune, “and see you on the morrow.”

And so they parted company, Rune, chuckling to himself and steering his sizeable slippers in the direction of the Pussycat Club, and Will heading back to their present humble lodgings in Shoreditch.

Will sat long into the night, a lighted candle as his elbow, his palm-top on his knee and many cockroaches hurrying about their business all around him. He trawled the pages of his files on Saucy Jack. He came up with the usual suspects, shook his head at the conspiracy theories, made notes of all that he considered relevant. He leafed through the case notes, deciphering with difficulty the spidery cursive penmanship of the hardly literate constables and the observational findings of the coroner. At length, when his eyelids began to droop, Will closed up his palm-top, shook vermin from his bed and tucked himself into it still fully clothed.

He blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, wondering where all this might lead to. Concluding that he didn’t have the faintest idea, he eventually fell into a deep but troubled sleep.

Sunlight awakened Will. He yawned and stretched and plucked away the web that a spider had woven over his face. Will smiled somewhat at this. There was no explaining Hugo Rune. The guru’s guru always demanded first-class treatment, even though he was never prepared to actually pay for it. But still he thought nothing of sleeping in the poorest of accommodation. Although similarly he thought nothing at all about actually paying for that either. The man was an enigma. Charlatan or sage? Will really didn’t know. But he certainly had charisma. And charisma is ultimately what sorts out the somebodies from the nobodies.

“Are you awake?” Will asked and he turned to view the wretched pallet of the perfect master. The perfect master however was not to be seen. And his wretched pallet showed no signs of having been slept upon.

“Didn’t get back,” said Will to himself. “Well, he said nothing about us doing a moonlight flit last night, so I assume he must have stayed at his club.”

Will rose and washed his face in a bowl of cold and doubtful-looking water and then he took himself downstairs. There was always the possibility that he could charm the landlady into offering him some breakfast. Not that he felt particularly hungry. Last night’s gargantuan feast still padded his stomach. Will paid a visit to a communal toilet of terrible aspect and, once hastily done with his ablutions there, removed himself from the boarding house to stretch his limbs in the street.

It was a long walk to Rune’s club and Will did not have the fare for a hansom cab, let alone one of the new electric flyers. So he stood in the doorway of the rooming house, taking in the morning air and the sights and sounds and smells of Victorian London.

“Read orl abowt it! Read orl abowt it!” A paperboy flourished papers. Will recognised the paperboy, the lad who had accosted him upon his undignified arrival in the time machine.

“Good morning, young Winston” said Will. “We meet again.”

“Gawd lop off me love truncheon,” said the lad. “I remember you, guv’nor. Care for a paper. It’s the
Shoreditch Sun
. First with the news, and the best news there is. And a lady in a corset on page three.”

“No thanks,” said Will.

“Please yourself then. Read orl abowt it!” he bawled once again. “Hideous murder in Whitechapel. Ripper strikes again.”

“What?” went Will.

“Ripper strikes again!” bawled the lad.

“Not so loud,” said Will. “But that isn’t right. A sixth murder. That’s not right.”

“Hideous murder,” bawled the lad. “Blood and guts all over the place. Police as ever baffled.”

“Give me a newspaper,” said Will.

“Halfpenny,” said Winston.

Will dipped into his pocket and brought out a silver threepenny bit.

Winston snatched it from his hand and trousered it with haste.

“Sorry, no change,” he grinned, handing Will a newspaper.

Will unrolled the broadsheet and cast his eye over the headline and the words that were printed beneath it.

TERRIBLE MURDER IN WHITECHAPEL

Ripper claims sixth victim

Will read the dreadful details. A gentleman had taken his leave from a well-known house of ill repute, after a dispute with the madam of that establishment regarding her charges. He had then apparently been pursued through the night-time streets by Jack the Ripper and brutally done to death. The chase had been witnessed by several gatherers of the pure,
[15]
who were working the nightshift. The actual murder had not been witnessed. The body had been later found by a patrolling constable.

“Upon the arrival of the corpse at Whitechapel Police Station, the victim had been positively identified by Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, who was there playing whist with the station sergeant.

“‘I knew the murder victim,’ he told our reporter. ‘He owed me five guineas. His name was Hugo Rune.’”

The newspaper fell from Will’s fingers and drifted down into the gutter.

His world was suddenly all in little pieces.

Hugo Rune was dead.