The Witches of Chiswick

42

Applause.

Tumultuous applause.

The big top was plunged in darkness, but for the starlight that twinkled through the vast glass dome. And then a spotlight pierced the black, striking the centre of the ring, and then a figure stepped into the spotlight, and there was deafening applause to greet Count Otto Black.

The Count looked magnificent. He had a huge fur hat upon his narrow head. A gorgeous cloak of gold, its high raised collar trimmed with ermine, swept the sawdust and was secured about the Count’s slender throat by a golden brooch, engraved with enigmatic symbols. His great black beard was plaited into numerous colourfully beaded braids. His eyeballs glittered and his mouth was set in a yellow-toothed grin.

The Count threw wide his cloak, to reveal a crimson tunic worked with cloth-of-gold, pantaloons of yellow silk and high top boots of black patent leather. He extended his long and scrawny arms and waggled his twig-like digits. These were weighed heavily with gorgeous rings, many engraved with the inevitable enigmatic symbols.

“Greetings one and greetings all,” cried he.

And the crowd cheered and clapped some more. And the cabbie in Will’s seat whistled.

“My lords,” cried the Count. “My lords, my ladies and gentlemen, your Holiness the Pope, artists, poets, great thinkers of the age, I bid you welcome. And to Her Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, America and the African States, I am your humble servant, Ma’am.”

The Count bowed low, and the Queen giggled foolishly.

“I do believe he’s knocking her off, too,” Dr Watson whispered to Holmes.

“Tonight,” the Count took to strutting about the circus ring, the spotlight stalking his every step, “tonight, it is my pleasure to present for you an entertainment such as has never been witnessed before. One surpassing those of ancient Rome, or anything produced before the courts of Russia. You will witness wonders. You will experience thrills that will excite your nerves and stagger your senses. And, as Big Ben tolls midnight and the dawn of the twentieth century—” But then the Count paused and put a long and bony figure to his lips. “—then we shall see what we shall see, and you will bear witness to something that is beyond your wildest imaginings.”

“That’s something I’d like to see,” whispered the lady in a straw hat to her friend called Doris, “because my imaginings are rather wild.”

“And so,” the Count flung out his arms once more, “our show begins.”

“We’ve gone the wrong way,” said Tim. “Let’s try down that staircase there.”

Will scratched at his blondy head. “Has it occurred to you Tim,” he asked, “that this flying circus is somewhat bigger on the inside than it is on the outside?”

Tim made his bestest thoughtful face. “I wasn’t going to mention that,” he said.

“Down the staircase, then,” said Will.

The lights went up in the great big top and fifty dwarves upon ostrich-back[31] trooped into the ring. They steered their mounts through a complex dance routine, to the accompaniment of the orchestra, which played a selection of popular music hall numbers, including “Don’t jump off the roof, Dad, you’ll make a hole in the yard”, and “When your grey hair turns to silver, won’t you change me half-a-quid?”, and “Get out the meatballs, mother, we’ve come to a fork in the road”, which was always a favourite, but thankfully not the Big Boot Dance.

The crowd sang along with these, for they were the dance anthems of the day. Queen Victoria did the hand jive and Princess Alexandra, the five-knuckle shuffle.

Joseph Merrick simply hummed.

“Not bad, eh?” said the cabbie in Will’s seat. “Enjoying yourself, bruv?”

His plastered brother shook his head. “I’d be enjoying myself a great deal more, if I didn’t know that my aerial hansom was presently embedded in the roof of the Naughty Pope,” said he. “You big-nosed twat!”

Master Makepiece Scribbens gave his nose another powdering.

“A regular dandy,” whispered a voice at his ear.

Master Scribbens glanced into the mirror. Only his own reflection gazed back at him.

“It is I.” The voice belonged to Mr Wells. “Remember our rules. Do not acknowledge my presence, other than to nod or shake your head when deemed appropriate. Do you understand me?”

Master Scribbens nodded his wobbly head.

“Did you dispatch the complimentary tickets to William and Timothy?”

Master Scribbens nodded once more.

“Do you know whether they have taken their seats?”

Master Scribbens now shook his wobbly head.

“I have had no success in locating any computers aboard this vessel. Nor have I overheard anything suspicious. I do not know what to make of it.”

Master Scribbens gave his head a nod and then a shake.

“I hope we haven’t made a terrible mistake,” said Mr Wells.

“Cavalcade of Curiosities to the ring,” called a voice through the public address system in the Lower Rank Performers dressing room.

“I have to go,” whispered Master Scribbens.

“Break a leg,” said Mr Wells.

Tim tripped down the staircase. “Damn,” said he, as he picked himself up. “I thought I’d broken my leg.” His trouser was snagged up on a rivet, Tim yanked it free, ripping a hole in the fabric.

“Try and be careful,” said Will.

“Yes, well, I didn’t do it on purpose, you know. And I’ve ruined my smart trousers now.”

“I’m getting confused here,” said Will. “Doesn’t this corridor look exactly the same to you as the one we’ve just come from?”

“Do you mean we’ve been going around in circles?”

“Well, hardly, if we’ve just come down a staircase.”

“Let’s try this direction,” said Tim.

“I’ll follow you this time,” said Will.

Mr Wells followed the Brentford Snail Boy as he slid towards the circus ring. Mr Wells was most impressed by all he had seen of Count Otto Black’s flying circus and he felt quite certain that he had seen all of it. The symmetry of the corridors, the precision of the engineering. It was all so highly advanced. Even in this age of advancement, it was highly advanced. And he noticed for the first time a curious anomaly; that although the steel-tipped heels of his invisible shoes struck the steely floor of the corridor, they made no sound whatsoever. And yet earlier in the day they certainly had, and he had been forced to creep everywhere upon tiptoe for fear of being heard.

Mr Wells stopped, did a little jump, heard nothing, stroked his invisible chin and continued to follow the Snail Boy.

Will continued to follow Tim.

“Down this staircase,” said Tim.

“Fair enough,” said Will. “Careful you don’t trip this time.”

“Yes, as if I would.”

Tim took a step down the staircase, tripped and fell the rest of the way.

“You only did that to amuse me,” said Will, joining Tim at the foor of the stairs and helping him to his feet.

“I can assure you I did not.” Tim dusted himself down and gave the staircase a kick. “That’s curious,” said Tim.

“And rather pointless,” said Will. “Did you hurt your foot?”

“Certainly not.” The expression of pain upon Tim’s face made a lie of this statement. “But the sound.”

“What sound?”

“No sound at all.” Tim kicked the staircase once more.

There was no sound at all.

“Now that is curious,” said Will.

“Yes,” Tim agreed, “and not only that. See there,” and he pointed.

“What is that?” Will asked.

“The piece of my trouser that got torn off when I fell down the other staircase.”

Will looked at Tim.

And Tim looked at Will.

“I think we’re in trouble,” said Will.

“You know what the trouble with dwarves is,” said the lady in the straw hat.

Her friend Doris shook her head.

“Nor me,” said the lady. “But someone must know.”

And the crowd almost rose to its collective feet to greet the entrance of the Brentford Snail Boy and the Cavalcade of Curiosities.

The Dog-Faced Boy juggled pussycats.

The Big Fat Lady sang.

The Man With Two Heads talked to himself.

The Bell-End Baby rang.

The Siamese Twins played saxophones.

The Pig-faced Lady juggled.

And the uniped,

With the pointed head

Bounced up and down and—

“What?” Lord Byron asked the Great McGonagall. “Nothing rhymes with ‘juggled’ and you know it.”

“Smuggled?” the Poet Laureate suggested.

The orchestra in the stand above the artists’ entrance played selections from Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, and also Armageddon: The Musical, which was having its very first run at a pub in Brentford, but which wasn’t going down to great critical acclaim.

“When will the dancing bears be on?” asked Her Majesty the Queen (blessings be upon Her).

Princess Alexandra didn’t answer. Her head was in the lap of Joseph Merrick, and it’s rude to speak with your mouth full.[32]

Time goes by very fast when you’re having a good time, which might actually mean that there’s no such thing as premature ejaculation. But time does go by very fast.

And wouldn’t you just know it, that after the dwarves on the ostriches doing their dance, and the Cavalcade of Curiosities going through their motions, the high-flyers flying and the jugglers juggling, the wirewalkers walking their wires and Mr Aquaphagus swallowing and regurgitating not only goldfish, but mackerel, salmon, sea bass, hammer-head sharks and an entire school of dolphins; the Cossack Horsemen re-enacting the siege of Leningrad, and Lord Babbage’s clockwork ballet and Big Bloke’s Little Boot Dance; the dancing bears (who were greatly applauded by Her Majesty the Queen (Da-de-da-de-dah)) and the dancing elephants (which did not amuse her), and countless clowns, many mimes and, of course, Harry the Horse, who was dancing the waltz, the midnight hour approached.

“Are you having a good time?” Count Otto Black was back in the ring.

The audience applauded.

“Let me hear you say yeah!”

“Yeah!” went the audience.

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!” said Tim.

“What?” said Will.

“Someone’s shouting ‘Yeah!’ Count Otto Black I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Will sighed. He and Tim sat upon the staircase. They’d been up and down that staircase for the last two hours. “We’re stuffed,” said Will. “We’re trapped. We can’t even find the door we came in by. We walked into a trap. It’s like a mobius strip. No beginning. No end.”

“There has to be a way out,” said Tim.

“There is,” said Will. “It’s just that I’m not too keen to employ it. I mean, I am supposed to be doing things my way.”

“Don’t quite get you,” said Tim.

Will sighed.

“Barry,” said he.

And Will and Tim materialised in the great big top to the rear of the great big crowd.

“You only had to ask, chief,” said Barry. “It would have spared you a lot of walking around in circles. And look at the time.”

“I can’t,” said Will. “My pocket watch was nicked.”

“Well, it’s nearing midnight, chief. Just five minutes to go.”

“What?”

“Always with the ‘whats?’ you schmuck.”

“Yeah!” went the crowd once more, all but deafening Will.

“And now.” Count Otto strutted some more about the circus ring. “The end is near. And we must face the final curtain.[33]

“My friends,” he continued, “I am going to make my case. Of which, as it happens, I am certain. I can tell you that I have lived a life that has been most full. And I have travelled upon each and every highway and more, in fact, a great deal more than this, I have done it all in the service of my Lord Satan.”

“That sort of spoiled the metre, didn’t it, chief?”

The audience went “Oooooooooh,” and “What?” and “Eh?” also. Some of the audience even said “Bless my soul.”

“Yes,” Count Otto Black nodded his black bearded head. “That’s what I said, Satan. That’s what you heard me say.”

There were shiftings in the audience now. Uncomfortable shiftings, movings from buttocks to buttocks, fans being wafted at increasing speeds, kid gloves being drawn on, top hats being pushed upon Macassar-oiled heads, preparatory to leaves being taken from seats.

“Still yourselves,” commanded Count Otto. “And do not think of taking leave of your seats. There is no escape for you.”

Grumblings rumbled through the audience, mutterings and utterings of outrage. And into the ring marched automata, many automata, many identical automata, terrific figures all, with the dead black eyes of demon-spawn and armpits reeking of brimstone. They drew out pistols of advanced design and waved these about in a menacing manner.

The crowd stilled to silence. The crowd was no longer such a merry crowd.

To the rear of this crowd, high up and skulking, Tim said to Will, “Now what do we do?”

“Slip away,” Will whispered back. “You slip out of the exit. Find the computer room. Sorry, Tim, but this is all fouled up.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Barry,” said Will. “Take me back in time two minutes, to the centre of the circus ring. I’ll shoot Count Otto Black.”

“No can do, chief. Sorry. If you’d listened to me earlier, I could have advised you as to where might have been a good place to hide yourself, but you just wouldn’t listen. I can’t do what you ask, it’s not in my remit. It’s really cheating. But at least you are in the right place at the right time, which is something, eh? You’ll just have to play it by ear now.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Will.

“For what?” Tim asked.

“I was talking to Barry. Slip away, Tim. I’ll see if I can shoot Count Otto from here.”

Will drew a pistol from his belt.

And Tim slipped away.

He didn’t slip too far however, for Tim found the exit considerably barred.

A terrific figure loomed before this exit. It glared at Tim and fixed him with its dead black eyes. “Return to your seat,” it said, in a deeply-timbred, rich Germanic accent.

Will took very careful aim.

Way down in the circus ring a red laser dot appeared upon the forehead of Count Otto Black. Will squinted through the telescopic sight and gently squeezed upon the trigger.

And then the gun was struck from his hand.

And Will struck from his feet.

“I know what you must be wondering,” said Count Otto Black. “You must be wondering what this is all about. Perhaps you are thinking, ‘Aha Count Otto has some very special marvel in store for us, as a conclusion to his wondrous show. He promised us something extra special, and indeed this must be it’. And indeed, to this degree, you are entirely correct, because I promise you something particularly special. I promise you the end of civilisation as you know it.”

“Count Otto,” called Her Majesty (etc.). “I trust that this special entertainment and end of civilisation as we know it will not take too long. I have to return to Buckingham Palace within a very few minutes to watch the fireworks.”

Count Otto Black shook his head. “That is neither here, nor there,” he said. “What you are about to witness, you will have no recollection of tomorrow. You will awaken with memories that you enjoyed the fireworks, and memories too of your entire life, but these will not be true memories, because the past as you remember it and the present as you understand it, will have been erased.”

Queen Victoria made a puzzled face.

“An explanation is necessary, I feel.” Count Otto Black clapped his slender hands together. “Lords and ladies, one and all, allow me to introduce you to The Chiswick Townswomen’s Guild.”

Into the ring marched thirteen pinch-faced women.

They were as alike as those peas that dwell in the pod of metaphor. They wore lavish costumes of black damask embroidered with silk brocade. Their bodies were impossibly slender. The looks upon their tiny pinched-faces were intent.

They formed a circle about the Count and joined their hands together. And then they began to sway backwards and forwards, chanting softly and scuffing their heels in the sawdust.

“All ends here,” cried Count Otto Black. “The future changes, and also the past. Five sacrifices have been made below and now one will be made above.”

The audience did rumblings and mumblings. Most were now very keen indeed to be up and away.

“Be still now!” Count Otto raised his hands towards the dome where the stars twinkled on high. “A demonstration of power is required, I do believe. And why not upon those who have come here to do my master harm. In the twelfth and thirteenth seats of the very first row, I do believe.”

“Eh?” said the cabbie, checking his tickets. “That’s us, isn’t it, bruv?”

But sadly he said no more at all, as a bolt of fire shot down from above and reduced both him and his plastered brother to ashes, which really wasn’t fair.

The crowd went “Oooooooh!” and shrank very low in their seats.

Will opened his eyes and said, “Who hit me?” A terrific figure hauled him to his feet.

“Assassin alert,” said this terrific figure, holding Will in the grip that is known as “vice-like”.

“Oh,” went Count Otto and he put his finger to his ear, wherein rested a tiny radio receiver that held a Babbage patent. “I seem to have made an error. Might we have a spotlight shine upon the back row, to the left of the exit?”

A spotlight shone in that very direction.

It lit upon Will Starling. And also upon Tim, both held in the clutches of twin terrific figures.

“Mr Starling,” called Count Otto. “It is you lurking behind that beard, isn’t it? I knew you’d adopt a disguise. Please come down and join me. And your companion too.” He beckoned to the terrific figures. “Haul them down to me now.”

Will’s captor had Will’s arms pinned to his sides. Will struggled, but to no avail. The automaton hauled him down the aisle towards the ring. The second automaton did likewise with Tim.

“I suppose,” said Count Otto, as Will’s terrific captor deftly relieved Will of his weaponry and flung him down to the sawdust, “that it would be a pity if you missed this, as it does concern you so very personally.”

Will glared up at Count Otto Black. “You’ll get yours,” he said.

“Damn right,” agreed Tim, who now lay beside Will in the sawdust.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Count Otto smiled. “Not, at least, in the way that you mean. Bring on the sacrificial victim.”

And from beneath the orchestra stand, curtains drew back and two more automata appeared, hauling between them—

“My other self,” whispered Will.

But it was not Will’s other self.

“Colonel William Starling,” said Count Otto. “Of the Queen’s Own Aerial Cavalry. Your many-times great-grandfather, I believe.”

Will muttered swearings beneath his breath. The automaton pushed his foot down hard on Will’s back.

“Get your damned hands off me,” demanded Colonel William. “Beaten up and thrown into a police cell, then kidnapped from the police cell and dragged up here. Outrageous behaviour. I demand an explanation, sir.”

“Such a task,” said Count Otto ignoring Colonel William’s complaints, “to erase our nemesis. We have tried to kill you both in this time and in the future. Hugo Rune, your most illustrious and annoying ancestor, he was extinguished, but still you live. But no more. When the Colonel dies, wifeless and childless, you will definitely cease to exist.”

Will spat sawdust and curled his lip, but that was all he could do.

“My apologies to my audience,” said the Count. “None of this will mean anything to you. None of you will have the foggiest idea what is going on here.”

The audience did further mumblings and grumblings: the Count, it seemed, was correct on this account.

“You are not entirely correct.” The voice came from the rear of the audience. A spotlight swung in the direction of the voice’s location. So to speak, and lit upon … Will looked up as best he could.

“Hugo Rune,” said he.

“It is I,” said Hugo Rune.

“Well, well, well,” said Count Otto Black, plucking at his beard. “The guru’s guru himself. And there was I, most certain you were dead.”

“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,”[34] said Mr Hugo Rune.

“Good line,” said Oscar Wilde, plumping up his cushion. “I’ll use that.”

“Isn’t this exciting?” said the lady in the straw hat. “I’ve no idea what’s going on, but it’s very exciting none the less.”

“It’s not that exciting,” said her friend called Doris. “It’s mostly just talking, apart from the bolts of fire. Those were quite exciting.”

“And the dancing bears,” said Her Majesty (.). “I really liked those dancing bears.”

“Come on then, Rune,” called Count Otto. “Join us here in the ring. Witness what is to come. Be here at the beginning of the end.”

Hugo Rune strode down an aisle towards the ring. Tonight he wore his magician’s robe; a seamless floor-length white cotton garment, embroidered with the ever-popular enigmatic symbols. His ring of power was upon his nose-picking finger, a jaunty fez perched at a rakish angle on his great bald head. He presented a most striking appearance, especially for a dead man. Hugo Rune stepped down to the circus ring.

Will gazed up at him. The thoughts within Will’s head were somewhat confused.

“Time ticks away,” said Hugo Rune, stepping into the circus ring. “You will shortly run right out of it.”

Count Otto smiled a wicked smile. His yellow crooked teeth all showed themselves. “There is no more time,” said he. “As you know it. But pray tell me this, before the new dawn dawns. How is it that you remain alive?”

“A great magician never divulges his secrets,” said Hugo Rune. “It might lessen his charisma.”

“A cop-out if ever I heard one.” Count Otto spat into the sawdust.

“Then you might put it down to my immortality, coupled with the fact that a dead man has no creditors. It generally pays to fake one’s death at least once every century. And upon this occasion it was also necessary in order that young Will here would do the right thing. Which I am proud to see that he has. And, by the by, Count Otto, would it be permissible to allow Mr Starling to his feet? He looks most uncomfortable down there.”

“It is of no consequence.” Count Otto fluttered his twig-like digits. The terrific treader that stood upon Will withdrew its foot and Will climbed to his feet.

“Thank you,” said Will.

“And what about me?” asked Tim.

“Yes, you too.” The Count did further finger flutters. Tim climbed to his feet.

“Mr Rune,” said Tim, putting out his hand for a shake. “I’m so very pleased to meet you. I’m Tim, your real magical heir.”

“Splendid.” Rune raised a hairless eyebrow. “Then perhaps you’d care to join me later for a cocktail at the Pussycat Club? And Will too.”

“Thanks,” said Will, and shook his head in wonder.

“Enough of this chitchat!” cried Count Otto Black, as the pinch-faced ladies continued to chant all around him.

“Yes,” agreed Rune. “Enough. Desist from this abominable scheme, Black, or I will be forced to take measures against you.”

“Oh yes?” Count Otto laughed. And then he glanced at his wristwatch. It was a Babbage digital. “One minute left before midnight,” said he. “And all but one of the players in our little drama present and correct. The final countdown begins.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Colonel William Starling struggled to free himself from his terrific tormentor. “Who is this fellow who looks just like me, but for his foolish beard and less-splendid sideburns?”

“Strike the idiot down,” said Count Otto.

And Colonel William was duly struck down.

“And guards,” the Count continued. “Keep these three,” and he pointed to Tim, Will and Rune, “firmly under control.”

Many guns swung in the threesome’s direction.

“Thus and so,” said Count Otto. “And now I must defer to my master. To he who will perform the sacrifice and seal the future.” Count Otto drew an athame from his belt, put it to his lips and kissed it. “He comes,” cried he. “My master comes.”

And lightning flashed above the dome and a terrible chill ran through the air. “My master,” cried Count Otto Black once more. “Prostrate yourselves.”

The pinch-faced women ceased their chant and flung themselves to the sawdust. Count Otto Black went down on one knee. Tim, Will and Rune stood defiant, defiant, but not altogether without any fear.

“His master,” whispered Tim. “Does he mean the devil?”

A shiver ran across the circus ring, rippling the sawdust.

“Stand firm!” ordered Rune. “Stand behind me if you must.” Tim and Will hastened to stand behind Rune.

A fanfare went up from the orchestra, a limelight spot illuminated the curtained entrance beneath.

“All praise to the Master,” cried Count Otto Black. “The Prince of Darkness. The Lord of the Flies. He comes, oh yes indeed.”

And the curtain drew back and light flooded through, a dazzling light, a blinding light.

A figure walked slowly from this light, a striking figure, clad all in black but for his blondy hair.

“Evening all,” said Will’s other self. “I’ll bet you weren’t expecting me.”