“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.”

43

“Now I know this chap,” the lady in the straw hat whispered to Doris. “He’s the twin brother of the other one.”

“The one who just got knocked unconscious?”

“No, not that one; the one with the beard, hiding behind the big fat bloke.”

“Not so much of the fat,” cried Hugo Rune, whose hearing was acute. “I am generously proportioned.”

“And you have lovely eyes,” said the lady. “Perhaps we might go out for a drink later on? The Pussycat Club, did I hear you say?”

“Cease all this,” bawled Will’s other self. “Enough of this stuff and nonsense.”

Will peeped from beyond Hugo Rune’s generously proportioned rear quarters, and gawped at his other self.

“You?” was all he could manage to say.

“Me,” said the other Will. “I am now in control of all this, and you should be upon your knees.”

“Never,” said Will, but was struck from his feet by a nearby terrific figure.

“That’s more like it.” The other Will strode forward, stepped into the circle of prostrate pinch-faced women and stood above Count Otto Black.

“Why?” asked Will. “Why, and how?”

“Why?” Will’s other self cast Will a withering glance. It withered the rose Will wore in his buttonhole, not that the rose had been mentioned before. “You ask me why, after all I’ve been through? Growing up in a future as the Promised One. Doomed from my very birth to die back here. And then, when I arrive here, captured by these.” The other Will booted the nearest pinch-face, who moaned and pressed her face closer to the sawdust. “Tortured and tormented for a year, made to knit macrame plant pot holders. And fed upon rats, don’t forget that.”