The Brightonomicon (Brentford Book 8) Read Free

you. As I told you last night, I do not believe that our paths have crossed through chance alone. I do not believe in chance. Fate brought you to me. I saved your life and I did so that your life should receive a purpose that it previously lacked. Throw in your lot with me and I can promise you great things.’
    ‘What manner of great things?’ I enquired.
    ‘Great things of a spiritual nature.’
    ‘I do not think that I am a particularly spiritual kind of a fellow,’ Isaid. ‘I am a teenager and I do not believe that teenagers are noted for their spirituality.’
    ‘Would a financial incentive alter your opinion?’
    ‘I wonder whether I already have a job,’ I wondered aloud, ‘or whether I am still at school.’
    ‘All will eventually resolve itself. Of that
I
am certain.’
    ‘Look,’ said I, ‘I appreciate the offer, but I do not know you and you do not know me. On this basis alone I feel that the throwing in of our lots together might prove detrimental to both of us.’
    ‘One year,’ said Mr Rune. ‘One year of your life is all I require.’
    ‘One year?’
I said. ‘That is outrageous.’
    ‘One month, then.’
    ‘My memory might return at any moment,’ I said.
    ‘Indeed it might,’ said Mr Rune, ‘but I doubt it.’
    ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘You’re not a homo, are you?’
    Mr Rune now raised both hairless eyebrows simultaneously and then drew them down to make a very fierce face. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘no man calls Rune a homo and lives to tell the tale.’
    ‘No offence meant,’ I said.
    ‘And none taken,’ said Mr Rune, calming himself. ‘Some of my closest acquaintances have been of that persuasion. Oscar Wilde—’
    ‘Oscar Wilde?’ I said.
    ‘One month,’ said Mr Rune. ‘A month of your time. Should your memory return to you within this period, then, should you choose to do so, you may go upon your way.’
    I must have made a doubtful face, although of course I could not actually see it myself. ‘I am assuming that you are offering me employment,’ I said. ‘What
exactly
and
precisely
would the nature of this employment be?’
    ‘Amanuensis,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Chronicler of my adventures, assistant, acolyte.’
    ‘Acolyte?’ I put a doubtful tone into my voice to go with the look I felt certain I was already wearing on my face.
    ‘I am set upon a task,’ said Mr Rune, ‘a task of the gravest import. The very future of Mankind depends upon the success of its outcome.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ I said, softly and slowly, in, I felt, befitting response to such a statement.
    ‘Never doubt me,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Never doubt my words. During the course of the coming year I will be presented with twelve problems to solve, one problem per month. Should I solve them all, then all will be well. Should I fail, then the fate that awaits Mankind will be terrible in the extreme. Beyond terrible. Unthinkable.’
    ‘Then it is probably best that I do not think about it.’ I rose once more to take my leave, clutching the sheet about my person.
    ‘I can promise you excitement,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Danger and excitement. Thrills and danger and excitement. And an opportunity for you to play your part in saving the world as you know it.’
    ‘I do not yet know it as well as I would like,’ I said. ‘I think I should be off now to get to know it better.’
    ‘Go,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Go. I evidently chose poorly. You are clearly timid. You would be of no use to me.’
    I was already at the door. But I turned at the word ‘timid’. ‘I am not timid,’ I said. ‘Careful, perhaps. Yes, I am certain that I am careful. But certainly not timid.’
    ‘You’re a big girlie.’ Mr Rune rose, took himself over to the drinks cabinet and decanted more sherry into his glass. ‘Be off on your way, girlie boy.’
    My hand was almost upon the handle of the door. ‘I am not timid,’ I reiterated. ‘I am not a big girlie boy.’
    ‘I’ll pop around to the labour exchange later,’ said Mr