I stared at the corpse of Hugo Rune, and the big bullet hole in his forehead. And I went, 'Wah!' and my hands flapped, and I span around in small circles. It was over. It was all over. He really was dead this time.
'Do something! Do something!' I stopped flapping and spinning. 'What can I do? What can I do?' I flapped some more and span some more. Then caught my head on something or other and fell on top of Tobes.
And, 'You!' I shouted. And struck at him. 'You do something! You can do something!'
'Oh!' went Tobes, returning to consciousness. 'Not here, love, let's go back to my place. Oh, it's you – get off me please.' 'You have to do something.' I scrambled up and gave Tobes a kick. 'You have to bring him back to life.' 'Do what? And stop kicking me.'
'Bring Mr Rune back from the dead.' I dragged Tobes to his feet. 'Go on, do it.' 'Have you gone completely insane?'
'No. You can do it. You can. You are Him, the One that Mister Rune sought, the last of your line. You have the powers.'
'Get off me,' said Tobes and he pushed me away. 'I'm really sorry about Mister Rune. I wanted to meet him -there are some things in his book that don't make a lot of sense to me – but I can't bring him back to life. Who do you think I am?' 'The last living descendant of Jesus Christ.' Tobes looked at me. And I looked at Tobes. 'Piss off!' said Tobes, which was not very Christ-like.
'You are,' I said. 'You turned that girlie's water into wine. You can do it. You must do it.'
'I can't and I won't. I have to return to the bar now – I have a real thirst on me.'
'Do it!' I said. 'Or I swear that you will never leave this alleyway alive.'
Now, looking back, that probably was not the best thing to say to the last man in the bloodline of Jesus.
'I know Dimac,' said Tobes, and he raised one of his hands and made foolish gestures.
'I know it, too,' I said. 'Mister Rune taught it to me.* Take one step towards the staircase and I will break your right hand off and ram it up your bum.'
'Couldn't we just talk about this?' said Tobes. 'Back at the bar?'
'Mister Rune is lying dead,' I said, 'and he will catch his death of cold if he lies there much longer. Bring him back to life and do it now.1 'I can't,' wailed Tobes and he wrung his hands.
'Then from this day forth the world will know you as stumpy. And I reached forward. And Tobes shrieked, 'No, all right. I'll try.' I stood there. In that alleyway. In the bitter cold. I hugged at my naked arms and my thigh-high-booted knees knocked together. Tobes knelt over the body of Mr Rune. 'Abracadabra,' he went. 'Come back to life. Shazam.' 'Do it properly.'
Tobes looked up at me with bitterness. 'And how is it done, properly? 'Lay your hands on him. Pray or something.' 'This is ridiculous.'
'Do it!' I made knuckle-clicking sounds. Which hurt my knuckles somewhat. Tobes laid his hands on the body of Mr Rune and prayed.
'Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep,' prayed Tobes. * Which he did. Although I have not mentioned it before. But I am mentioning it now.
I looked over his shoulder. But Mr Rune was still as dead as he could be.
'It doesn't work,' said Tobes. 'I'm not who you think I am. I'm just a bloke. I can't work miracles.'
I leaned down and whispered words into the ear of Tobes. These words described to Tobes in graphic detail exactly what I would do to him should he fail in his allotted task. So horrendous were these threatened tortures that crucifixion would have been little more than a Sunday-School picnic in comparison. 'Awake from the dead!' cried Tobes. 'Return to life.'
And there came a drumming-humming sound that caused my ears to pop. And then a light so pure and white that I had to shield my eyes.
And when the noise had died away and the brightness was all gone, I opened my eyes, and I looked down, and Tobes was there, but Hugo Rune had vanished.
'He has gone.' I pointed. 'What happened? Where has he gone?' 'Dunno,' said Tobes. 'Did you see a real bright light?'
'You did it wrong.' I kicked at Tobes. 'You sent him off to Heaven or something. You are in trouble now.'
And I prepared to beat the Holy bejaysus out of the great and many, many times great-great-grandson of God.
'I wouldn't do that,' said a voice that I knew. The voice of Mr Hugo Rune. And I turned and there he was, big and bald and breathing and hole-less in the forehead.
'Praise the Lord!' I cried. 'Oh, by Crimbo, praise the Lord.'
'I feel that we should both do that.' And Mr Rune sank to his knees.