32

Glass shattered and stormed and the chamber collapsed.

Abel stepped from the wreckage and stared down at the man now cowering on the floor.

“How?” gasped Dr Steven Malone. “What?”

“There are many differences between Cain and I,” said Abel. “And one of these is that I can read your thoughts. I emptied the gas canister last night. And now I must do what must be done. Cain told you that he feared for your life. His fears were not unfounded.”

“No,” screamed Dr Steven Malone. “Get away from me. No, no, noooooooo.”

“Whoa!” went Derek. “What happened? Ouch, my bloody head!”

“The bastard played us false!” Fred’s face was most unpleasant. It was almost as unpleasant as that of the creature that now sat between him and Derek. This creature had a seriously unpleasant face. All scaly it was, with a lolling black tongue and glaring red eyes.

“Oh, shit a brick,” said Derek, staring into this face.

“You’ve grown a bit, haven’t you? I mean, pleased to meet you again, sir, I mean…”

“Shut up, Derek,” Fred roared. And a roar it was. “Keep right up behind them, Clive, don’t let them out of your sight.”

“They’re running into the crowd at the top of the street, sir.”

“Well, there’s nowhere else for them to run, is there? Mow the crowd down, Clive, mow the crowd down.”

“Like that sea shanty,” said Derek. “Mow the crowd down, Clivey, mow the crowd down. Hey, ho, mow the crowd down.”

“Shut it,” said Fred.

“We’ve got to get out of this crowd,” shouted Jim. “He’ll just drive through it and kill people.”

“Into the football stadium,” shouted John.

“Are you jesting? There’s even more people in there.”

“That car will never get through this turnstile, will it?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Omally shinned over the turnstile and helped Suzy after him.

Jim glanced back over his shoulder. Screams and shouts and BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA. Jim leapt over the turnstile.

On stage the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies were giving it the freeform Auld Lang Syne. Behind them the groundsman fed defunct fireworks into the mobile de-entropizer, while Norman prepared to flick the big switch and set off WELCOME TO THE YEAR 2000.

“Any particular place you’d like to go for?” Jim asked John, as they pressed into the assembled throng.

Omally pointed to the stage. “Make for the high ground,” was his suggestion.

BAA-BA-BA-BAAAAA.

“This was a very bad idea.”

“But we’re committed to it now, Jim. Get a move on.”

“I’m with you. Come on, Suzy, come on.”

The Car burst through the turnstile and swept down the walkway into the stadium. The crowd scattered before it. A crowd of laughing, cheering folk, well buoyed up with alcohol and New Year jollity. They skipped aside this way and that, convinced that this must surely be some extra entertainment laid on for their enjoyment.

The crowd swarmed from the pitch up into the stands and then sat down to watch the show.

On stage the Hollow Chocolate Bunnies gaped in awe as The Car rushed towards them in pursuit of three racing figures.

“Now that is one tasty automobile,” said the lead singer.

“Split up!” shouted Omally. “I’ll meet you backstage.”

“You have an idea?” Jim huffed and puffed.

“It’s a long shot.”

“Oh dear.”

And The Car was on them.

Jim dragged Suzy to the right and John dived to the left. The Car smashed into the stage, dislodging Chocolate Bunnies, who tumbled down to the football pitch.

Norman’s finger hit the switch and the Roman candles flared up the rickety scaffolding, spelling COME TO THE EAR 20, which was a start.

The Car reversed then ploughed once more into the stage, buckling scaffolding. Up in the stands the crowd roared applause. A bit like a bullfight was this.

Norman clung to his de-entropizer. The groundsman clung to Norman.

“Was this supposed to happen?” asked the groundsman.

Back and forwards went The Car, growling and smashing and crashing. John Omally was up on the stage now, clawing his way towards Norman. Jim was climbing the scaffolding, pushing Suzy before him.

The stage slewed forwards. Marshall stacks, amps and speakers toppled and fell, mikes and drum kits, all those wonderful guitars that rock musicians rack up to make you jealous, down they came, wires and cables, sparking electrical flares. The Car backed away. Its doors opened.

Fred climbed out. And Clive climbed out. And Derek climbed out. And something really vile sort of slurped out.

“Well well well,” shouted Fred. “It all looks a bit precarious up there. Why don’t you come down for a little chat?”

“Boo,” went the crowd. “Boo and hiss.”

“Stuff you!” shouted Omally.

“Hoorah,” went the crowd, and “Cheer.”

The Bunnies’ lead singer crawled over to Fred. “How much do you want for this mother-crunching motor?” he asked.

Fred kicked him in the head.

“Ouch!” went the lead singer.

“Boo!” went the crowd.

Fred pointed at Pooley. “You are a very dead man,” said he. “You will know such torment as you never knew could be.”

If Jim had had a spare hand free he might have managed a two-fingered salute. But he didn’t so he just climbed higher.

“There’s nowhere to go.” Fred did a bit of the old manic laughing. “Bring him to me, Igor.”

“Igor?” said Derek. “Is its name Igor?”

“Like Dr Frankenstein’s assistant,” said Clive. “And Dr Frankenstein was of course played by Colin Clive. How about that?”

“So who played Igor?”

“Bela Lugosi.”

“Oh yeah, old Bela. His real name was Marion, you know.”

“That was John Wayne.”

“The hell it wa…”

“Shut your bloody mouths!” Fred rose quivering on his toes. Higher than his toes, in fact. An inch or two higher. “Igor, fetch him, bring him to me.”

“Slurp,” went the creature, then “Aaaararghooowaaghooow!” like it did the last time. And then it unfolded hideous membraney sort of wings and took flight.

“Oh shit!” went Jim, as you would.

And “Boo!” went the crowd.

“Get the Irishman,” Fred told Derek and Clive.

“Yes sir!” said Derek.

Igor swept up from the pitch, over the sloping stage and flung itself at Jim, talons clawing, jaws going snap, snap, snap. Jim kicked it away, but it lunged at him, again and again, ripping, tearing, and then it fastened hold and clung right on. The scaffolding shivered. Roman candles, fast giving out on their surreal message, dropped from their sockets. Dropped upon John and Norman and the groundsman.

“Ooh! Ouch! Aaagh!” they went, skipping this way and that.

Rip went a sleeve from Jim’s jacket and the taloned claws bit into his arm. Suzy clung on to him, but the beast pulled and pulled.

Norman’s de-entropizer started to roll down the sloping stage. Omally put his foot against a wheel, and his hand fell upon a very huge firework that was spilling off the conveyor. Above him the beast pried Jim loose from his precarious mooring. “Fetch him down!” shouted Fred. “Boo, boo,” went the crowd.

“I wonder where this is leading?” asked the lady in the straw hat.

“There’ll be a trick ending in it,” said Paul. “There always is.”

“in Duos: Duo in Unum; Unus in Nihil,” Professor Slocombe concluded his rite.

Within the basement at Kether House, Cain and Abel stared down at the broken corpse of Dr Steven Malone.

“All in Two,” said Cain, touching the hands of his brother.

“Two in One,” said Abel, holding tight to his hands.

“One in Nothingness.”

A bright light glowed. Brighter than a summer sun. And All in Two and Two in One, the brothers vanished into nothingness.

A bright light flared on the concert stage, a Zippo lighter it was. As Igor tore Pooley from the scaffolding, John angled up the very huge firework, lit the blue touch paper and did not retire to a safe distance.