Raiders of the Lost Car Park (The Cornelius Murphy Trilogy Book 2)

by Robert Rankin

  ‘OK. Now as I understand it, the essence of this inspired plan of yours is that the whole world will know nothing about it. Am I correct?’

  ‘You are correct.’

  ‘I see. Then don’t you think it a bit of a problem that the whole world is sitting at home watching this gig live on TV?’

  27

  Terence Arthur Mulligan put his accelerator foot hard down. Inspectre Hovis fell back in his seat.

  ‘Turn this cab around,’ he shouted. ‘Drive to the nearest police station and give yourself up.’

  ‘Some chance.’ Mulligan swerved round a corner, dislodging Hovis to the floor. ‘You’re supposed to be dead. My masters will pay me a big reward for you. I‘ll ask for it in diamonds.’

  ‘Have at you, sir.’ Hovis clambered up and swung his cane. It rebounded from the window dividing him from the cabbie.

  ‘Bullet-proof glass,’ crowed the Mulligan. ‘And the doors have central locking. I’m taking you in.’

  Hugo Rune was already in. But then he had re-invented the ocarina for that very purpose. Getting into the Zones had never been a problem for him. It was getting out, that was the problem, as the ocarina didn’t work from the inside.

  But he was in again now all right. The silver car was parked back on the spot where Cornelius had originally found it, in King Santa’s private car park. The ice-cream van was still there too.

  Hugo Rune drummed his plump fingers on the golden wood of the steering wheel. So much physical activity, it really wasn’t his way at all. He, like the king, was a man for delegation.

  On the back seat of the silver car stood a pedestal table. Its top covered by a silken cloth. Beneath this cloth was a perfect micro-cosmic representation of the interior of the car.

  Hugo Rune didn’t speak. When you possess the wherewithal to overthrow the secret King of the World, and have the Queen of England locked in your boot, you don’t actually have to say anything to make people wake up and take notice.

  ‘Wake up,’ shouted Cornelius Murphy. ‘Wake up and take notice.’

  ‘I am woken up,’ said Tuppe, rubbing the bump on his head.

  ‘Not you. I mean Mr Kobold.’

  ‘I’ve missed something, haven’t I?’ said Tuppe.

  ‘Just a slight spanner in the works.’

  ‘No, I’m sure I felt the spanner.’

  ‘The peace convoy plan just went out the window.’ Cornelius began to smack Arthur Kobold about the head. ‘Apparently the gig is being broadcast world-wide.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘There was something about it on the BBC,’ said Bollocks.

  ‘So what’s the plan going to be now?’ Tuppe asked Cornelius.

  ‘Mr Kobold is going to take us into the Zones and introduce us to his guvnor.’

  ‘Does Mr Kobold know this yet?’

  ‘No, but he will, as soon as we wake him up.’

  Something moved invisibly through the corridors of the Forbidden Zones. Two somethings, in fact. A large something and a not-so-large something. The large something was carrying the smaller something. But you couldn’t see either of them, because they were both invisible. Or something.

  Anna poured the contents of the sound engineer’s Thermos flask over the head of Arthur Kobold. The sound engineer wasn’t going to need it for now, he was still out for the count.

  ‘Oooh, ahhh. What’s going on? Where am I?’

  Cornelius knelt down beside Arthur Kobold and put Mr Kobold’s big non-regulation police-issue pistol against his head. ‘You are in big trouble,’ he said. ‘Now get up and take me to your leader.’

  ‘I certainly will not.’

  Cornelius sighed. ‘Mr Kobold,’ he said, ‘we have not known each other long, but I think we understand each other reasonably well. The way I see it, you have two options open to you. The first is that you take us at once, without trickery or complaint, straight to your “guvnor”. Hopefully, between he and I some compromise can be reached that will spare your world and mine. The second is that you refuse. If you do, then I will shoot you dead, press the blood-red button over there and lead twenty-three thousand travellers into your guvnor’s front parlour. Personally, I don’t care which one you choose. But I’d be interested to learn your personal preference.’

  ‘How prettily put.’ Arthur Kobold made a brave face. ‘And you’re quite right, we understand each other well enough. You wouldn’t shoot me in cold blood. You know you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I would.’ Anna stepped into Arthur’s line of vision.

  ‘Allow me to lead the way,’ said Mr Kobold.

  ‘Allow me to lead the way,’ said Terence Arthur Mulligan.

  Hovis glowered up at the grinning cabbie, who now held open the taxi door. He would dearly have liked to strike him with his cane. But he felt discouraged to do so by the nature of Mulligan’s two companions. They were big and green and muscly.

  The taxi was now parked in a great Victorian warehouse of a place. Between an ice-cream van and Rune’s silver car. The Inspectre viewed the latter with some small degree of comfort. But not much.

  Mulligan viewed the former with some puzzlement.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Hovis asked.

  ‘To the dungeon.’ Terence made an evil face. ‘The deep, dark dungeon.’

  ‘But first to the torture chamber,’ said one of the big green thingies. ‘This is the sod who stuck his sword up my brother Colin’s arse a couple of nights back on Kew Bridge.’

  The Gandhis were still rocking. They hadn’t stopped.

  The control box was soundproof, that’s all. Arthur Kobold led Bollocks, Cornelius, Tuppe and Anna away from it. They skirted around the hired heavies and were soon at the secret entrance in the gorse bush.

  ‘OK,’ said Anna, prodding Arthur Kobold with the big pistol, ‘lead the way.

  ‘Guys,’ said Bollocks.

  ‘Yes,’ said the guys.

  ‘Guys, I think I’ll pass this one up, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Bottle gone?’ Tuppe asked.

  ‘Yes actually. I’m not into guns and stuff like that. But listen, I did my bit, didn’t I? I was in your epic.’

  ‘You certainly were.’ Cornelius grinned. ‘Enjoy the band. We’ll get back to you later.’

  ‘Good luck then, guys.

  ‘Good luck, Bollocks.’ The tall boy shook him warmly by the hand. ‘And thanks for everything.’

  ‘Be lucky,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘You too.’

  Arthur Kobold led the way down the flight of stone steps. ‘This isn’t going to get you anywhere,’ he told Cornelius.

  ‘Just move on. We’ll see where it gets us.’ The steps went down and down, the way some of them do. Those that aren’t going up and up. Although these could possibly be the same steps. It just depends whether you’re going up or down.

  Arthur Kobold’s party were going down.

  Inspectre Hovis was going down and the big green thingy, with the brother called Colin, kept kicking him as he did so.

  ‘Is that your own cab?’ the other big green thingy asked Terence.

  ‘I lease it. It’s the best way. The fares from the first day of the week pay the rental. From then on all the money goes into me own pocket.’

  ‘Takings any good at this time of year?’

  ‘Fair to middling. Lot of regulars on holiday.’

  ‘But a lot of people take their holidays in London.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you get the theatre trade and airport runs. But a lot of people come on guided tours and the Underground does good deals.’

  ‘You wouldn’t recommend cabbing as a profession, then?’

  ‘It has its perks and you are your own man.’

  ‘Never thought of going out on your own? Mini-cab or something?’

  ‘Too much hassle. You thinking of taking up the trade, then?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ve got some bonus owing to me. And there has to be more to life than just being a big green thingy. I thought I mi
ght buy a limo. Do weddings and stuff.’

  Twenty-three thousand pairs of feet were now doing ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’ right above the head of the Secret King of the World.

  The far from jolly red-faced man poured a large libation of some alcoholic beverage into a mighty goblet and emptied this down his throat.

  ‘Kobold!’ roared the king. ‘Stop that damn row. Kobold, where are you?’

  Arthur stuck his head around the great door and smiled painfully.

  ‘I’m here, sire,’ he said.

  And Cornelius Murphy stared above the shoulder of Arthur Kobold. And verily did he behold the hall of the hidden king.

  ‘Holy sh...’ The tall boy took a step backwards. The mind-boggling magnitude of the scene that lay I before was a little bit much to come to terms with.

  The sheer scale of the thing. Its solidity. Its grandeur. The fact that it was right here. Under Star Hill.

  This was Castle Gormenghast. Or the hall of King Arthur. Or something.

  Tuppe peeped from behind the tall boy’s left knee. ‘I see that,’ he whispered. ‘You do see that also, don’t you? It’s not just me?’

  ‘It’s not just you. I see it.’

  ‘And do you see him?’

  Tuppe’s right forefinger made wavery little pointings towards he that sat upon the throne. The big he. The he with the huge white beard and the huge red outfit, with the ermine trimmings. And that belt of his and those heroic black boots. That he. That he there.

  Cornelius saw him. ‘I see him,’ he said.

  And Anna saw him also. And she was somewhat stuck for words. No doubt this would not last for very long, and some would soon return to her. Words like ‘suck’ and ‘sad’. But not just at this moment.

  ‘Kobold,’ said the king. Quite loudly. Very loudly. ‘Kobold! What are you doing about that noise?’

  Anna gave Mr Kobold a kick in the backside. Arthur entered the court of the king at a greater speed than he might reasonably have preferred and fell in an untidy heap.

  ‘Why exactly did you do that?’ asked the king.

  ‘Er,’ said Arthur, climbing to his feet, dusting himself down and slipping off his shoes. ‘We have guests.’

  ‘Guests? Guests? I didn’t invite any guests.’

  ‘They sort of invited themselves, sire.’

  ‘No, no.’ The king shook his mighty beard. ‘That is strictly against all royal protocol.’

  ‘Now call me a twat,’ said Tuppe to Cornelius, ‘but isn’t that Father Christmas himself?’

  ‘You’re a twat,’ said Anna. ‘But it is, isn’t it?’

  She stepped sharply forward and poked Arthur Kobold in the waistcoat area. ‘Is this your guvnor?’

  ‘It’s the king.’ Arthur smiled another painful smile towards his monarch. ‘Your Majesty.’

  ‘Well, tell him to put up his hands.’

  Arthur Kobold now made the kind of face you make when you shut your fingers in a door. ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I do mind.’ Anna thrust Mr Kobold aside. ‘You!’ she shouted.

  ‘I?’ The king’s eyes widened. They were somewhat bleary and bloodshot, but they certainly widened. ‘Kobold,’ said the king, ‘there is a young woman thing here and she is pointing a pistol at me.

  ‘Anna,’ said Anna.

  ‘Anna?’ said the king.

  ‘Anna,’ said Anna. ‘As in The King and I.’

  ‘Guards!’ shouted the king. ‘As in, call out the guards!’

  28

  The king’s guards were otherwise engaged.

  One of them was pushing a reluctant Inspectre Hovis through the doorway into the torture chamber. The other was discussing the pros and cons of the limousine-hire business with Terence Arthur Mulligan.

  ‘You have to be careful with your clientele,’ Terence said. ‘Watch out for the piss artists who throw up in the back, or try and nick your car-phone.’

  ‘I was going to ask you about the phone,’ said the big green thingy. ‘Should I get Cellnet or one of the others? I’ve sent for brochures, but I can’t seem to make up my mind.’

  ‘Get on that rack you,’ said the other big green thingy to Inspectre Hovis.

  When the king had finally tired with shouting the word ‘guards’, he poured himself another drink. ‘Kobold,’ he said wearily, ‘take these creatures’, he waved towards Cornelius and Tuppe, who were still skulking in the doorway, ‘straight to the dungeon. And her,’ he pointed a big fat finger at Anna Gotting, ‘chop off her head.’

  ‘With pleasure, sire.’

  ‘Get real,’ said Anna.

  ‘And use a blunt axe,’ said the king. ‘A big one.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Cornelius stepped into the great hail. ‘Stop it, all of you. Now listen, please.’ He stared up at the big figure on the throne. ‘Are you really I mean, am I right in thinking that you are… that is to say...

  ‘Spit it out, boy!’ roared the king.

  ‘Are you Father Christmas?’

  The king’s enormous face split into an enormous smile. ‘My boy,’ said he with a hearty chuckle. ‘My boy. I see, I see.’

  ‘What does he see?’ Tuppe asked.

  ‘You’ve come to give me your Christmas letter. You’ve come to see jolly old Santa and give him your Christmas letter. Well, why not? Have you been a good boy this year?’

  ‘Barking mad,’ said Tuppe. ‘This bodes well.’

  Cornelius thrust his hands into his pockets and took a few paces forward across the flagstoned floor.

  The king’s smile froze. ‘Shoes,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘Shoes. Your shoes. Take them off.’

  ‘Why?’ Cornelius asked.

  ‘Because it’s protocol. And because I tell you to. Take your shoes off. Socks too.’

  ‘No,’ said Cornelius. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Guards!’ shouted the king. Arthur Kobold wrung his hands.

  Sergeant Sturdy strode up Star Hill. He didn’t take any roundabout routes. That was not his way of doing things. Travellers danced to every side of him, but reliable Ron stared stoically ahead and marched right on. The crowd parted before him. He had a certain way about him, did Ron.

  ‘Get on that rack,’ said the big green thingy once more.

  ‘By this steel thrice blessed,’ cried Inspectre Hovis, unsheathing his blade.

  The large something that carried the not-so-large something, continued to do so, invisibly.

  Cornelius strode across the great hall with his shoes still on. His footsteps echoed and the sound put the king’s teeth on edge. And when Cornelius pulled out a chair at the king’s table and sat down upon it, the royal teeth began to grind.

  ‘Murphy,’ said the tall boy. ‘Cornelius Murphy. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.’

  ‘This is Murphy?’ The king addressed these words to the cringing Arthur Kobold.

  Arthur nodded. ‘Bloody nuisance, so he is.’

  ‘And what is all the hair about?’

  ‘It’s big hair,’ Cornelius explained. ‘All famous people have big hair. It’s a tradition, or an old characteristic. Or something. You have a big beard. I expect it’s the same thing.’

  ‘I will have my guards hang you up by your big hair and roast you over a slow fire.’

  ‘Not on Christmas Eve, I hope.’

  ‘Kobold. Go out and find the guards. Tell them to bring two big blunt axes,’ the king glanced over at Tuppe, ‘and one of those little metal things you chop up slabs of toffee with.’

  Arthur Kobold looked at Anna.

  Anna shook her head. ‘Which one would you like me to shoot first, Cornelius?’ she asked.

  ‘Shoot the king first,’ said the tall boy. ‘Arthur can take care of the paperwork.’

  ‘Shoot the king?’ Santa fell back in alarm. ‘What are you saying? You can’t shoot merry old Father Christmas. Think of all the dear little boys and girls.’

  ‘I hate kids,’ said Anna, pointing
her pistol at the king.

  ‘No, no, no.’ The alarm the king fell back in, became absolute horror. ‘Kobold, do something.’

  ‘What, like offering to be shot first?’

  ‘That might help.’

  ‘Would it?’ Arthur asked Cornelius.

  ‘Not much. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll have Anna shoot you and the king, and I’ll take care of the paperwork myself.’

  ‘No,’ said the king. ‘No, no, no. Stop all this at once. I have no wish to be shot. Tell me what it is you want. A train set, is it? Or a radio-controlled car? You just tell Father Christmas and he’ll see what he can do.’

  ‘I want you to cease interfering with mankind. I want you to leave us to run things our way. No more tampering. No more control. It has to stop. Right here. Right now.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ The king plucked at his beard. ‘Are you suggesting that I should stop ruling the world?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I cannot be hearing this. Someone tell me I’m not hearing this.’

  ‘You’re not hearing this,’ said Arthur Kobold.

  ‘Bless you, Arthur. The voice of reason. I must be having a bad dream. Plump up my pillows and wake me with a cup of tea at noon.’

  The king closed his eyes.

  ‘Can I have a piece of your cake?’ Cornelius asked.

  The king opened his eyes. ‘He’s still here. Arthur, do something. He’s having my cake now.’

  ‘Leave the king’s cake alone,’ said Arthur.

  Cornelius pushed a large piece into his mouth. ‘Hey, Tuppe,’ he called when he had mostly swallowed, ‘come and have a piece of Santa’s cake.’

  ‘It will end in tears,’ said Tuppe, waddling over.

  ‘Shoes!’ shrieked the king.

  ‘Now listen,’ said Cornelius. ‘The way I see it, you have two options.’ Arthur hid his face. ‘The first is, that you surrender to me now. Abdicate and cease all further interference with the world above. Should you choose this option, then I will do everything in my power to see that no-one from the world above interferes with you.