The Witches of Chiswick

11

Rune wasn’t difficult to follow, what with the crowd just parting before him. And as Will followed on, the feeling of foreboding grew. Will shook his head, but it didn’t help.

Across the street Rune passed through a brick archway into a narrow tunnel between tall buildings. Will followed with some reluctance. It smelled bad here, even worse than the market street. Will fanned at his nose. The tunnel debouched at length into a yard. Tenement buildings rose to every side. Will peered up at them. There was a feeling of terrible desolation about this place, of desperate poverty and excruciating sadness. The walls were green with slime and mould. The sun but peeped in and there was a horrible chill. Will shivered and followed Hugo Rune.

A paint-flaked sign upon a greasy wall announced this ghastly place to be Miller’s Court. In one corner a rusting iron staircase led up to a darkened doorway. Rune paced up this staircase.

“Follow on,” he called to Will.

And Will followed on.

Rune took a great key from his pocket, thrust it into a keyhole that seemed far too small for it, turned the key and pushed open a door, which made suitably hideous groaning sounds. “Go through,” he said.

Will peered doubtfully into the darkness beyond.

“Go through,” commanded Rune.

And Will went through.

Rune followed him, closed the door, locked it.

The two of them stood in absolute darkness.

“What now?” asked Will in a tremulous tone.

“Creep,” whispered Rune. “Upon stealthy toes.”

And he struck a Lucifer and applied it to a knubby candle. The meagre light revealed a loathsome corridor and Will, who had now had quite enough and wished to be returned to daylight, voiced some words to this effect.

“Hush,” said Rune. “My lodgings are, I will agree, insalubrious, but there is a purpose behind everything that I do. You really must hush.”

“Why?” asked Will.

“Because otherwise my landlady, Mrs Gunton, will hear us. She is probably far gone with gin at this hour of the day, but nevertheless, she lacks for a month’s rent and will make loud her concerns regarding this, if we grant her the wherewithal so to do.”

“Ah,” said Will.

“So kindly hush and follow me once more.” And Rune pushed past Will and led him by the faltering light of the knubby candle up a flight of rickety stairs, and eventually to the lodgings of Hugo Rune.

These lodgings were not well appointed. They were meagre. They were sparse. They were wretched. They were a bit of a shambles. A wan light fell through unwashed windowpanes and illuminated a small and charmless room. Or hovel. A straw pallet served as a narrow bed, too narrow indeed for the bulk that was Hugo Rune. This straw pallet was somewhat rucked about. A chair, far gone with the woodworm, served no purpose at all and sprawled on its side in the centre of the hovel. Many papers, most of which were unpaid bills, lay scattered all around and about. A steamer trunk stood undisturbed in a corner, a large and glorious steamer trunk, too large, it seemed, to have ever been brought in through the doorway. And too glorious to have found its way into such a hell hole as this.

“Violation!” cried Rune, peering all around and about and throwing up his mighty hands. “Foul violation. Someone has been here. Several someones in fact.” Rune sniffed at the fetid air. “They have been here,” he said.

“They?” asked Will.

“All in good time.” Rune perused the steamer trunk and nodded his great head. “All is as it should be regarding my trunk,” said he.

The steamer trunk, all brass bosses and hasps and red leather paddings, was a thing of great beauty and evident expense.

“My life’s possessions dwell within” said Rune. “I am at present a ship without a port.”

“You appear to have fallen upon unfortunate circumstances,” said Will.

“Well observed,” replied Rune. “But this is not in fact the case. I am independently wealthy. My father was in the brewery trade. Hardly a gentleman’s profession, I grant you, but his demise benefited me to the extent that I have been able to experience things that most people can only dream about.”

“Indeed?” said Will.

“Sit down,” said Rune, kicking the straw pallet back into shape. “Would you care for a glass of champagne?”

“Champagne?” Will almost managed a smile. “I’ve read of champagne, but I’ve never tasted it.”

“A world without champagne?” Rune shook his head, removed his top hat from it, and placed the stylish item upon the steamer trunk. “For that crime alone we should act, if for no more.”

Will sat himself down upon the straw pallet. “Who are you?” he asked. “I remember you, and your name, somehow, although I don’t know how I do.”

Rune shed his topcoat and removed from a large inner pocket a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “I acquired this to toast your arrival,” said he. “But you should have arrived here, in this room. I cannot conceive how my calculations could have been at fault.”

Rune uncorked the champagne, poured two glasses, handed one to Will.

“Thank you very much,” said Will and he took a tiny sip.

“To your liking?” asked Mr Rune.

“Indeed,” said Will. “Very much so.”

“Then that at least is as it should be.” Rune lowered his ample posterior onto the steamer trunk and cupped his glass between his hands. Hugo Rune stared down upon Will. And Will stared up at Rune.

Will considered the man who sat before him. He was an enigma. Will found him most disturbing.

Hugo Rune said, “What do you remember, Mr Starling?”

“About what?” Will asked.

“About how you made your arrival here, for an instance.”

“Ah,” said Will and he wondered what to say; what, in fact, he should say. He knew nothing about this giant of a man. Whether he might be trusted, for an instance.

“What do you know?” Will asked.

“I know all,” said Hugo Rune.

“Then why are you asking me?”

Rune sighed. “It is of the greatest importance,” he explained. “What you do remember and what you do not. If you remember too much, you will be of no use to me. If you are aware of all that lies ahead for you here in this time, you would not be able to function.”

Will shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Naturally not. Then allow me to explain. You were brought here from the twenty-third century.”

“I came of my own accord,” said Will.

“You had no choice,” said Rune, “considering the circumstances. I arranged these circumstances.”

“You sent the robots to attack me? To kill people?”

“Not that,” Rune held up a mighty hand. “But the wherewithal that you should be able to make your escape. After all, I worked upon the construction of that machine with my good friend Mr Wells.”

“H.G. Wells?” asked Will.

“The very same. He was hopelessly lost on the project, he called upon me to explain the concept of time to him. How time actually functions. It does not function as you might believe it to. Events in the future can affect the past. Not a lot of people are aware of this ultimate truth.”

“I wasn’t aware of it,” said Will.

“Naturally not. But I set Wells upon the right course.”

Will sipped further champagne and found it greatly to his liking. “I really don’t understand any of this,” he said.

“Which is how it must be. Of your ancestors, what do you remember?” Rune tapped at his temple with a pudgy finger. “What is in here, inside your head?”

“Let me think.” Will thought. “Actually, not too much,” he said, when he had done with his thinking. “But I’m sure I could remember a great deal, two full centuries at least. I can remember everything up until about …”

“The year of eighteen ninety-eight,” said Rune.

“Yes,” said Will. “But nothing more.”

Rune nodded his head and offered Will a very broad smile. “Exactly as it should be. Because you are now in eighteen ninety-eight and those other memories of your ancestors that you held in your head have yet to exist. The events that will become these memories have yet to occur. You cannot have memories of things that are yet to happen.”

“But they had happened,” said Will. “Where I come from. The future. They had happened in the past.”

“You are now in a portion of the past. This is the time that is real for you now. The only memories of your ancestors you have now, are those that exist up until the present moment. The future has yet to occur. You will achieve great things in the future. Under my tutelage, of course.”

“Oh of course,” said Will.

“Irony?” asked Rune. “Or sarcasm? I have little time for either.”

“And you knowing about everything,” said Will.

“That was sarcasm,” said Rune. “Make that the last time you use it in my presence.”

“Listen,” said Will, “I don’t know who you are, or what you want from me. I have got myself involved in something incredible, and I feel, well, I don’t know, privileged I suppose, to actually be here. But how am I ever going to get home again to my own time?”

“When your work here is done, you will return home. I promise that to you.” Rune now delved into a waistcoat pocket and brought out his cigarette case. “Care for an oily?” he asked.

“Oily rag,” said Will. “Fag. Cockney rhyming slang. I’ve never actually smoked a cigarette. We don’t have them any more in my time. They’re deadly poison, you see. I learned in history class how the cigarette companies all went bust in the latter part of the twenty-first century, when thousands of dying smokers successfully sued them.”

“Happily, that is in the future,” said Rune, withdrawing a cigarette, striking a Lucifer and lighting it up. “In this day and age cigarettes are very good for your health.”

“Then I’d love to try one,” said Will.

“It will make you sick,” said Hugo Rune.

“Then I think I’ll not bother.”

“Then let us press on with the business in hand. To whit, how you will play an active role in defeating the forces of darkness.”

“Forces of darkness?” Will shook his head once more. “All lost on me,” he said. “Could I have some more champagne, please?”

“It will make you drunk,” said Rune.

“I’ve been drunk before,” said Will. “Happily, we still have alcohol where I come from.”

Rune poured Will another glass.

“The forces of darkness,” said Rune once more. “To whit, the witches.”

Will coughed into his glass, sending champagne up his nose. “Witches?” he managed to say, when he had finished with coughing.

“Witches,” said Rune. “Witchcraft is the scourge of this enlightened age.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Will. “Witchcraft is superstition. Medieval stuff. No one believes in witchcraft. Except perhaps my best friend Tim. He’s convinced that the world is run by witches.”

Rune’s eyes grew wide. These wide eyes fixed upon Will. “Your best friend Tim?” said Rune, in a cold, dead voice. “Not yourself?”

“Certainly not!” said Will. “I don’t believe in rubbish like that.”

“But you are Will Starling? Second-born son of William Edward Starling, born on the second of February, in the year two thousand, two hundred and two.”

“I’m the only son of William Edward Starling,” said Will.

“No you’re not,” said Rune.

“Oh yes I am,” said Will.

“Not,” said Rune.

“Am too,” said Will.

Rune shook his head once more. “Born on the second of February, two thousand, two hundred and two.”

Will now shook his head once more. “That’s not my birthday. I was born on the first of January. But …”

“But what?”

“The second of the second, two thousand, two hundred and two, that’s Tim’s birthday.”

“Calamity,” cried Rune, throwing up his great hands, one of which spilled champagne while the other dropped his cigarette. “This is all your father’s doing.”

“My father?” Will asked. “What has my father got to do with this?”

“Everything.” Rune waved his hands about above his head. “From father to son the lore has passed. From second son to second son.”

“I’m an only child,” said Will.

“I’ve brought back the wrong brother,” Rune’s hands now covered his face. “This is disastrous.”

“Tim isn’t my brother.”

“Oh yes he is.”

“Oh no he isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t.”

“Is,” said Hugo Rune once more.

“Isn’t,” said Will. “Although …”

“Although what?”

“Well, actually, he does look a bit like me, I suppose. He’s heavier and darker, but there’s a slight resemblance. And we’ve been best friends since childhood; he’s very much like a brother to me. Or was.” For now Will recalled that terrible something. The terrible death of Tim.

“Was?” Rune peeped through his fingers.

“Something awful happened,” said Will. “I don’t want to talk about it”

“He was killed,” said Rune. “By the demonic automaton. I know what happened, what will happen. I was able to predict it. But not to predict that your father’s second son would not be born within wedlock. This Tim is your brother, but by a different mother.”

“Bravo, Dad,” said Will. “You dirty blighter. I remember you’ve always spent a lot of time round at Mrs McGregor’s. So that’s what you were up to, eh?”

“Ruination,” cried Rune and he jumped to his feet. “All my calculations, all my planning, ruined by your profligate father sowing the seeds of his loins in some harlot.”

“Easy,” said Will. “Mrs McGregor is a very nice woman.”

“Ruination,” cried Rune once more. “Woe unto the house of Rune and to the future generations thereof. All my work in bringing my magical heir to me.”

“Your magical heir?” Will asked.

“I am one of your ancestors,” said Hugo Rune. “The most important of all your ancestors. I sought to recall the last member of the True Craft back here to aid me. But instead of him, I have you.”

“You are one of my ancestors?” said Will. “Amazing.”

“We are all doomed.” Rune’s great voice rattled the windowpanes. “And it is all the fault of your father.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” said Will, rising from the straw pallet. “I’m leaving. I’ll go and find Mr Wells. Maybe he can get me back home.”

“You are going nowhere, young man.” Rune glared down upon Will.

“I am too,” said Will, adding, “you don’t frighten me.”

Which was not entirely true.

“Sit down!” shouted Rune. “If you are all that I have, then I will have to make do with you.”

“You will do no such thing. I’m leaving.”

Rune made certain complicated passes with his large hands and Will found his legs going weak at the knees. He sank back down onto the pallet.

“I will speak and you will listen,” said the giant.

“What have you done to my knees?” croaked Will, feeling at these now unfeeling articles.

“A spell of temporary disablement. Curb your tongue, lest I strike it from your mouth.”

Will kerbed his tongue and squeezed some more at his knees. He was scared now. Truly scared.

“It has taken me years to work out the calculations,” said Rune. “To bring back the last in my line. Seemingly I am to be thwarted. But I will not be thwarted. If it is fate that you should be the one returned to me, rather than the one I called for, then so be it. I bow to fate. But I bow also to purpose. That it should be you, must have purpose. I will tutor you, boy. You will learn and you will play your part in defeating mankind’s greatest enemy.”

“Please,” Will made pleading hand-wringings. “I’m sorry that I’m not what you expected. But it’s not my fault. Please just let me go. I’m no use to you. I don’t believe in magic.”

“And your legs?” Rune asked.

“The champagne?” Will suggested.

Rune shook his head.

“Then I don’t know. But what I do honestly know is that I don’t want to play any more. I want to go home. I want my mum.” And Will began to cry.

Hugo Rune placed a great hand upon his shoulder. “My apologies,” said he. “I have frightened you. I understand that this is none of your doing. You are a victim of circumstance. But you are my heir. Not the heir I had hoped for, but my heir none the less. My blood is your blood and likeways about. You will not survive long in this time without my help. I will help you and you in turn will help me. What say you to this?”

Will looked up at Hugo Rune. “I just want to go home,” he said.

“And you will. I have promised you this.”

“I want to go home now,” said Will, sniffing away.

“That, I regret, is impossible.”

Will took to sniffing some more.

“It will all be made well,” said Hugo Rune. “I will make it well with your help. Trust me. I’m a magician.”

Will groaned, dismally.

“Come,” said Rune. “Follow me and I will show you something marvellous.”

Will did sighings, but Will’s legs suddenly worked once more and Will rose and followed Hugo Rune.

Rune led Will up further stairs, through a doorway and onto the flat roof of the tenement. Pigeons roosted, chimneys smoked, and London lay all around and about.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Rune.

Will nodded dismally, then Will stared and then Will beheld and went, “Wow.”

The sight was at once beautiful, awesome and terrific. It was of such a scale as to be dizzying. Acre upon grey acre of slate rooftops led away and away to wonder upon wonder upon wonder.

The dome of St Paul’s glittering in the sunlight. The spires of St Pancras and St Martin in the Fields and Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament. It was a panoramic view.

It was Victorian London, as Will had imagined it to be, as he had seen it pictured in engravings and lithographs. It was all there but there was more.

Will gazed up. “What are those?” he asked.

“Airships,” said Rune. “Electric airships. The very latest in transport for the upper classes.”

“Of course.” Will nodded thoughtfully. Memories were there, in his head. Memories of the launching of the Dreadnaught and the death of his ancestor, Captain Ernest Starling of the Queen’s Own Electric Fusiliers. A death that Hugo Rune had somehow been involved in.

“And what are those?” Will pointed once again.

They rose, dozens and dozens of them, higher than the spires of the churches, diminishing into the distance on every side, slender metal towers, surmounted by great steel balls, which flickered and sparkled with electrical energy.

“Tesla towers,” said Hugo Rune. “The brainchild of Mr Nikola Tesla, who created them through the aid of computer systems invented by Lord Babbage. Power stations generate electricity, which is broadcast from these towers on a radio frequency. Wireless transmission of energy. No cables. It has totally revolutionised technology. There will be no internal combustion engine. Automobiles will be fitted with electric motors, which receive the broadcast electricity. No heavy batteries required, hence electrically driven flying craft and soon, we are promised, a ship that will voyage into space.”

“Electricity without wires?” Will shook his blondy head. “Incredible. We have nothing like that where I come from.”

“And there would be nothing like it now if I had not persuaded Mr Babbage to exhibit his Analytical Engine at The Great Exhibition in eighteen fifty-one. It was I who introduced him to Her Majesty, God bless Her, and suggested that she grant him Royal Patronage to develop his inventions for the glory of the British Empire.”

“But he didn’t,” said Will. “I read all about Mr Babbage; he was ignored, his genius never received recognition. He was never given Royal patronage, he never met Mr Tesla and Mr Tesla never perfected his wireless transmission of energy.”

“Not in the version of history that you were taught, which is not the version of history that you now personally inhabit. Tell me, young man, which version do you now choose to believe?”

Will shrugged and shook his head once more.

“I will teach you all that you need to know,” said Rune. “And together we will defeat the evil that seeks to deprive the future of these wonders.”

“Evil?” Will shook his head once again. “You can’t defeat evil. Evil isn’t a something. It’s a concept. It’s not a thing.”

“This evil is a thing,” said Rune. “A number of things. Thirteen things in fact.”

“Thirteen things?” Will asked.

“Evil in human form,” said Rune. “The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild.”