The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag

21

There was some unpleasantness.

A skull called Yorick thought he knew the way to Arkham. Well, not actually he himself, as he'd never been there. But a skull friend of his had a friend who had. I was not able to trace this particular friend, but I did encounter several other skulls who were sure they knew Arkham and had even been there at some time in the past.

Now I pride myself upon my patience, I'm an easy going chap, but I was anxious, very anxious, to get to Arkham and I was not in the mood to be trifled with. And I know that throwing human skulls around is not a politically correct activity, and I know that effing and blinding inside the mind of God is to say the least distasteful. But I was anxious.

And I did, eventually, learn the route to Arkham. It was just as I might have imagined it. A fishing village, snuggled down into a bay. An ancient harbour with old-fashioned whaling boats. Steep cobbled streets with gabled cottages leading down to a quayside with an inn called Philthy Phrank's. As I approached, the rain began to fall.

And it was coming down in buckets by the time I pushed open the rough-hewn oak door and entered the crowded bar. Oak beams and bottle-glass windows, whisky stench and sawdust floor, burnished copper, pewter tankards. A swordfish saw hung over a counter, constructed from whale's ribs.

I hung my bowler hat upon a peg, shook raindrops from my shoulders, and grateful for my wellington boots, I squeezed through the crush of seafaring men and made my way to the bar.

Philthy Phrank was just as I might have imagined him to be. Short and surly, evil-smelling, dressed in rags and tattered. He glared at the world through his one good eye and called no man his brother.

'˜A pint of Death by Cider,' I said in a macho kind of a way.

Philthy fixed me with his evil peeper. '˜Show me coin or get ye hence,' he remarked.

I thought it might be handy to have a pocket full of gold dubloons, so I reached in a hand and fished out a couple.

Philthy Phrank drew me a tankard of gut rot.

'˜Cheers,' I said.

'˜Pox,' said Philthy Phrank.

I squinted about the bar. A grey pall of tobacco smoke cloaked the clientèle. They wore sou'westers and rainproofs, favoured eye patches and timber legs, muttered and mumbled and fidgeted about. In a not too distant corner I spied an ancient mariner.

He was just as I might have imagined him to be.

I eased my way between the mutterers and mumblers and bade him a big how d'ya do. The ancient one raised a gnarled appendage that had once been a hand and gestured to a vacant chair with it. I pulled up the chair and sat right down.

The ancient one gazed at me with glittering eyes, opened a mouth that offered a vacancy for teeth, spat a tobacco-coloured gobbet of phlegm into my lap and spoke a single word.

'˜Twat!'

'˜Excuse me?' I said.

'˜Twat!' said the ancient one. '˜You, boy, are a twat.'

I smiled bravely and pondered over the phlegm in my lap.

'˜Twat,' said the ancient one once more. '˜Twat, twat, twat.'

'˜Yeah, all right,' I replied. '˜I get the picture.'

What did I tell your Uncle Brian to tell you? Beware of Billy Barnes. I told him. And did you beware, boy? Did you?'

'˜Not perhaps as much as I should.'

'˜You twat.'

'˜Yes well, all right. I think we have established that I'm a twat.'

'˜You are a twat. Ask any man here.' The old boy nodded all about the place, the seafaring types nodded back.

We're only allowed the one.' The old boy rootled about in his nose. '˜Only the one and I wasted mine on you.'

'˜Allowed one what? I don't understand?'

'˜One message from the other side. We're all allowed one, to aid the living.'

'˜Aid the living? You mean you're-'

'˜Dead? Of course I'm frigging dead. Every man Jack here's a dead'n. Drinking away our time, till the flesh drops off our bones and we end up on the big heap up the road.'

'˜What a bummer,' I said.

The old boy shrugged, his shoulder bones made ghastly cracking sounds. '˜Serves us right,' he said.

'˜That's very philosophical of you.'

'˜Ain't nothin' philosophical about it. It's the way it is and there ain't no other. Did I mention, by the way, that you're a twat?'

'˜I believe you did, yes.'

Well you are. I had such big plans for you, we all did, all of us here. We were all going to use our messages on you. Help you to stop Billy Barnes.'

'˜All of you? But why me?'

'˜You'd have done. You were searching for him. Over the years we would have advised you in your dreams. And if we had, and you'd bloody listened, the world out there wouldn't be in the shit state it is now.'

Well there's still time,' I said. '˜I haven't been in here long, a few months at the most. I can still stop him doing whatever monstrous things he's doing.'

'˜A few months?' The old boy threw back his head, and took to a bout of cackling laughter. And then he clawed at his head, which had fallen over his shoulders, and rammed it back into position. '˜A few months, boy? You've been in the Necronet for ten long years.'

'˜I what?'

'˜Time ain't the same in here as it is out there.'

'˜Ten years?' My stomach dropped. I shook and I shivered. '˜Ten years I've been in here. I don't '˜believe it. That can't be right.'

'˜Tis right, boy. It'll teach you to be a twat, won't it?'

'˜But my body, out there. Am I dead too now?'

'˜No, no, no.' The old boy held onto his head and shook it. '˜He's still got your body, that Barnes. Keeps it in a suitcase under his bed. You're still alive, what's left of you.'

'˜Oh no.' I took to chewing on my fingers. '˜He's been feeding me to the voodoo handbag. That bastard's been feeding me-'

Well, there ain't quite so much of you as there used to be. But I'm told they can do all kinds of miracle stuff with surgery nowadays. Sew on a new pecker and everything.'

'˜Pecker? Oh my God!'

'˜Easy, boy. Don't go all to pieces.' The old boy set in to further chuckling.

'˜Oh my God! What am I going to do? What am I going to do?'

'˜Get out of here and best the bastard. That would be my advice.'

'˜But how? But how?'

The old boy sucked at his sunken gums.

'˜Don't spit on me again,' I told him.

'˜I was cogitating, boy.'

'˜Oh shit. Oh shit, shit shit.'

'˜You should have got here quicker. All that pissing about on the desert island and in Rob's Bar, what kind of twattery was that?'

'˜You knew I was doing those things?'

'˜Course I knew. I watched you.'

'˜You bloody watched me? And you knew the years were racing by and you did nothing to help me?'

'˜I'm not God.' The old boy bashed at his right ear and plucked a bit of lettuce from his left. '˜You had to find your way to me.'

Who are you?'

'˜Me? I'm just an old sea captain. Who I am doesn't matter.'

'˜I'll bet it does.'

'˜It don't! But you, boy. You're special.'

'˜I'm not special.' I shook my head. '˜I'm just the same as everybody else. If there's one thing I've learned since I've been trapped in the Necronet, it's that everyone is special. Everyone. Each individual matters. We're all as special as each other. But no-one, no-one has the right to claim that they're more special than anyone else.'

Well, you've learned something.'

'˜But at what bloody cost?'

'˜Don't give up.'

'˜Give up? I've been sitting here talking to you for five minutes. For all I know, another six months have passed in the real world .and that bastard Barnes has fed me into a mincing machine.'

'˜Actually, that might well be what he has in mind.'

'˜Oh shit, shit, shit.'

'˜Now just calm yourself. We have to get you out of here and you have to put paid to Barnes.'

'˜I certainly do.'

'˜Drink up your ale.'

What?'

'˜Drink your ale. It'll give you strength.'

'˜Good God.' I drank my ale. '˜Hm,' I said, '˜good ale. The last time I tasted beer as good as this was-'

'˜Don't even think about it. But listen here. You've learned much since you've been in here and you can use what you know to defeat Barnes. You must trap him and force the information out of him.'

'˜Information?'

'˜How to get you back into your body.'

'˜Go on.'

'˜There's only one way you can get to Barnes and that's in his dreams. If you can get yourself into his dreams, you can make him tell you what you need to know.'

'˜But I don't know what he dreams about. The Necronet, the mind of God, it's endless, infinite. The only people I've met here are the ones I've dreamed up myself. Apart from Arthur Thickett and he was dreaming back in the 1960s. What chance do I have of getting into one of Billy Barnes' dreams?'

'˜Not much,' said the old boy.

'˜Thanks a lot.'

'˜Just listen to me. Say you knew someone who knew someone who knew Billy Barnes. And you asked that someone to ask the someone they knew to ask Billy Barnes what he dreamed about, then-'

'˜Hold it,' I said. '˜Hold it. Hold it. You are suggesting, I believe, that I engage the help of a friend of a friend.'

'˜That's what all this is all about, ain't it?'

'˜Search me,' I said.

'˜You find out what Billy Barnes dreams about, and the next time he dreams about it, you're there waiting for him.'

'˜And what do I do when I meet up with him in his dream?'

'˜Torture the bastard would be my advice.'

'˜I do like the sound of that. But I do see a slight flaw in all this.'

'˜Oh, and what's that?'

'˜I do not know someone who knows someone who knows frigging Billy Barnes!'

'˜Yes you do.'

'˜No I '¦ what am I saying? Of course I do.'

'˜Of course you do,' said the old boy. '˜Only a matter of applying that digital memory of yours, wasn't it?'

By the year 2007 books were only a memory. In the great Health Purge of 2001 all printed matter, books, magazines, newspapers, anything that constituted printing on a page, was destroyed. The dwindling population of the world knew it was all for the best. The dangers of viral infection were far too great and the cost of rubber gloves too high.

Necrosoft, now the planet's single news network, kept the world informed of all that it needed to know: that everything was on the up and things were getting better. Crime was now a thing of the past. Folk never stole, for why should they? They all dressed the same in their Necrowear sports clothes, ate the same burgers at McNecro's, listened to the top ten tunes on the Necropop channel, and thought what they had learned to think. Babies in their cribs sucked upon their pleasers and just as soon as they could talk they praised the name of Billy Barnes.

Barnes himself looked upon all that he had made and found it pleasant to behold. He was off today to approve the finishing touches that had been put to the newly constructed world capital of Barnes. Millions had toiled to create this super city with its mirror-glass towers and golden cupolas. Millions drawn from around the world. The finest architects, artisans and craftsmen. Because only the very best now remained and all these worked, as all men did, for Billy Barnes alone.

'˜Turn right here,' ordered Billy.

His chauffeur, a gaunt and grey-faced woman who had once been an estate agent, turned the wheel between her fragile fingers, and the long long limo cruised along Barnes Plaza, bound for the palace of he the world adored.

'˜I'm going to take a nap,' said Billy. '˜So drive slowly and when we get there don't let anyone bother me until I wake up.'

'˜Yes, sir,' said the chauffeur. Whatever pleases you.'

'˜I'm very pleased to be here,' said Roger Vulpes. '˜But how am I here? How did you get me out of the hospital?'

'˜I thought you out,' I said. '˜I need your help.'

'˜Bloody nice of you. Who's this old duffer?'

The old duffer let fly a gob of phlegm, but Roger nimbly ducked it.

'˜Captain Quinn,' said the ancient mariner.

'˜Quinn?' I asked.

'˜Captain Jonathan Quinn, whaler, adventurer and novelist.'

Johnny Quinn?'

'˜You heard of me then, boy?'

'˜Of course. I read your stuff back in the Sixties.'

'˜You lying little twat.'

'˜Any chance of a beer?' asked Roger. '˜I've had a rough day. Thought I'd made it out of the hospital on my feathered wings. But the further I flew, the nearer I got back to the car park. My arms are dead tired, I can tell you.'

'˜He's a twat too, your mate, ain't he.'

'˜I quite like him,' I said, and went off to get Roger a beer.

I returned to find him deep in conversation with the captain.

'˜Did you know,' asked Roger, as I handed him his beer, '˜that Captain Quinn here was once lost off the Florida Keys in an open boat? His oars had blown over the side in a hurricane and he thought his end had come. So being the pious man he is he prayed to the Lord and-'

'˜A swordfish saw burst right up through the bottom of the boat.'

The old boy grinned a toothless grin. '˜You liked that one, didn't you?' he said.

I sat down at the table and stared at the old boy. '˜Dad?' I said. '˜Are you my dad?'

The old boy winked. '˜I might just be. Or I might just be telling you a tall story.'

I shook my head. '˜I think I'm sick of tall stories,' I said.

'˜They're not always so tall as you think. Take your mate Roger here, the stealth fox/dog/horse/ human hybrid. Now could that really happen, I ask you?'

'˜Probably not,' I said.

What do you mean, probably not?' Roger plucked at his ginger whiskers. '˜Don't tell me I don't exist.'

'˜Of course you exist, boy. Everything exists. Everything exists and does not exist. Simultaneously. An old whaling pal of mine Hugo Rune used to say, 'њEverything that can happen will happen, and everything that can't happen will happen too, if you're prepared to wait.'ќ But he was pissed at the time and he'd lost the plot.'

'˜Roger,' I said, '˜I have to ask you a favour. Do you think you could get yourself into your girlfriend's dreams?'

Roger pulled some more upon his whiskers. Whatever are you on about?' he asked.

'˜It's a plan to defeat Billy Barnes. A cunning plan. Here, let me whisper.'

And I whispered.

The crowd about the World Leader's car also whispered. They knew better than to cheer without permission. They waited patiently until the glossy black window slid down and the gloved hand waved out at them.

And then they cheered and cheered. And as Billy Barnes stepped from the car they cheered and cheered some more.

He looked so right, did Billy. He fitted those clothes and that car. He suited them and they suited him.

Billy waved without conviction, allowed himself to be lifted into the papal chair (a gift from the grateful Pope), and was carried by four liveried Nubians up the twenty-three gentle steps to the marble plaza before the palace.

His hand went gently wave, wave, wave. His thoughts were all his own.

Up on the plaza, foreign ambassadors, heads of state, movie stars and neophytes bowed respectfully. The papal chair descended, Billy rose and smiled and nodded all around.

A woman, naked but for shoes with six-inch heels, proffered an envelope on a silver salver. Billy took the envelope, tore it open, unfolded a letter and read it.

And then a look of fury appeared on his face, and he pushed through the adoring crowd and swept into the palace.

Naked women stood in attendance. Billy offered them not even a glance as he marched into his private office.

Rich with regal trappings, golden bits and bobs and knickery-knackery: opulence a-go-go.

A dark young woman of unsurpassed beauty and no clothes whatever looked up from her desk.

What of this?' Billy flung down the letter. '˜What of this? Tell me!'

The dark young woman gaped at the letter. Her mouth opened and stayed open.

'˜A letter,' said Billy. '˜Someone has sent me a letter. Printed. Words upon a page. And I touched it. I didn't think. I just took the envelope arid opened it and touched the paper. If I hadn't had my gloves on I might have become infected.'

What is it?' The young woman pointed. But didn't touch. What does it say?'

'˜It says 'њGOTCHA!'ќ And it's signed 'њThe Children of the Revolution'ќ.'

'˜The Children of the Revolution? What revolution?'

'˜What revolution?' Billy calmed himself. '˜No,' he said, '˜you would not know. But incredible as it might sound, there are some people left upon this planet who do not love me.'

'˜No,' said the woman. '˜I don't believe that.'

'˜Well there are. And they would like to assassinate me.'

The woman shook her head. Fiercely. Again and again.

'˜Stop doing that.'

The woman stopped.

'˜I'll weed them out,' said Billy. '˜I'll find them and I'll weed them out.' He looked the woman up and down. '˜You're new here, aren't you?'

The woman nodded a swirl of dark hair.

You'd like to please me, wouldn't you?'

'˜Oh yes, sir, I would.'

Billy unzipped his trousers. '˜Come pray to me, '˜he said.

You dirty bastard!'

Billy turned at the voice. A young man in military fatigues, an Uzi automatic in his hands, stood glaring at him.

Billy hastily refastened his flies. Who are you?' he demanded.

'˜Nobody,' said the young man. '˜An absolute nobody.'

'˜Then get the fuck out of my palace.'

'˜No way.' The young man shook his head. Your time is up, Barnes. The Children of the Revolution demand your head on a salver. We demand the right to be free. Free from your slavery.'

'˜Bullshit!' said Billy. '˜There's no such thing as freedom. No-one is free.'

The young man shook his head once more. You haven't brainwashed everyone. There's still a few of us left. And you're looking at the last face you'll ever see. You're a dead man, Barnes.' The young man raised his gun.

'˜No, wait!' Billy raised his hands. '˜No. Let's not be hasty. I'm sure we can discuss matters.'

'˜What is there to discuss? How you and Necrosoft turned the world's people into zombies? How millions have been downloaded into the Necronet, their bodies disposed of, their records erased? How you've risen to power, climbed to the top of the heap? A heap of human skulls.'

'˜Emotive talk.' Billy fluttered his fingers, then thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. '˜I have done more to make this world a better place than any man before me in history. See how people smile, how happy they are.'

You're a piece of shit, Barnes.'

The young man squeezed upon his trigger.

Two shots rang out.

The young man clutched at the twin holes in his chest, fell bleeding to the floor, and died.

Billy pulled the smoking Derringer from his pocket and examined his punctured trouser wear.

'˜Look at that,' he said. '˜My favourite suit ruined. It's a good job I have an identical five in the wardrobe. Get someone to haul away this rubbish and swab the floor. But not right this minute.' And Billy set once more to unzipping his fly.

You dirty bastard, Barnes.'

What is this, dГ©jГ vu?' Billy turned again.

The young man was on his feet. You can't kill freedom,' he said.

'˜Oh, please,' said Billy. '˜Spare me the clichГ©s. But how did you do that? I thought I put two bullets in your chest.'

'˜I'm your Nemesis, Billy. You can't kill me.'

'˜I'm prepared to give it a try.' Billy's hands were back in his pocket.

The young revolutionary shot Billy's left kneecap off.

Billy Barnes awoke with a start.

In the back of his limo with the crowd gathered quietly around.

The chauffeur glanced at him in the driving mirror. '˜Are you all right, sir?' she asked. You look a little pale.'

'˜Just a dream,' said Billy. '˜It was just a dream.'