A Wild Ride Through The Night (15 page)

‘Alternatively, a less attractive possibility: the old man has lost his marbles. Senile dementia, perhaps, or the effect of a flower pot falling on his head in the prime of life, or … How do I know? And now he’s sitting there in the loony-bin, surrounded by ghosts. Perhaps they’re hallucinations induced by a burst blood vessel in
the
brain, or by excessive indulgence in alcohol. Make the most of every moment—perhaps he took that advice too literally! In that case, a heart attack at fifty might be preferable. Know what I mean?’

‘No,’ said Gustave.

The Time Pig gave a strenuous grunt.

‘How can I explain it to you? I’m not saying life makes no sense, not exactly. It’s just that there’s … that it’s, er …’

‘Pointless?’ Gustave suggested.

The Time Pig looked dumbfounded. ‘Got it in one! You really do know an amazing amount for your age.’

‘But why can’t we all grow as old as we look in our honeycomb cells?’ asked Gustave.

The Time Pig groaned as if it were beginning to find Gustave’s weight on its back too much of a strain. ‘Don’t ask
me
that. You must ask the Second Most Monstrous of All Monsters.’

‘The one called Anxiety, you mean?’

‘No, Anxiety is only the Third Most Monstrous of All Monsters. The Second Most Monstrous of All Monsters is
Fate
.’

Gustave strove to memorise this.

‘Oh, by the way,’ exclaimed the Time Pig. ‘While we’re on the subject, the Knight-Eating Giant Saurian of Lake Blue-Blood is just a show-off. It only comes 175th in the Most Monstrous Monster world rankings.’

The Time Pig uttered another rather uneasy grunt, and Gustave thought he detected a faint note of impatience in its next words.

‘Life, my boy, is more than just an enjoyable, adventurous journey. It also means watching Death at work, and that’s the hardest thing of all. You have to be able to endure the sight. Are you prepared to do that?’

‘I think so.’

‘I didn’t expect any other answer. Everyone says that at first.’ The Time Pig looked suddenly serious, almost solemn. ‘Right, so you’re ready to tackle life and all its surprises?’

‘Yes,’ said Gustave, although this time he wasn’t sure what the pig was getting at.

‘Excellent,’ said the pig, spreading its wings. ‘In that case, I’ve got a genuine surprise for you right now.’ It flapped its leathery pinions, and in an instant they were once more speeding along the tunnel past billions of honeycomb cells filled with the projections of ageing existences. Gustave would have liked to take a closer look at one or two octopus-like extraterrestrials, but the tunnel seemed to grow steadily higher and wider and the cells further and further away, until he and the Time Pig were once more out in space with a thousand distant suns crackling around them.

The Time Pig came to a halt. Floating immediately below them was a balloon resembling a soap bubble little bigger than a wine cask. The pig instructed Gustave to climb down on to it, and he obeyed without hesitation, eager for another lesson in cosmology.

‘I’m giving you your own solar system,’ the Time Pig said generously. ‘Make the most of it. That gas bubble contains all the necessary chemical elements. With a bit of luck, it’ll develop into a genuine sun complete with its own planets and all the trimmings. You’ll have to be patient, that’s all. It’ll only take a few hundred billion years or so.’

Gustave was flabbergasted. ‘You mean you’re leaving me here? Can’t you simply fly me to the moon? I still have one last task to perform.’

‘Now don’t get fresh with me!’ the Time Pig said reprovingly. ‘From here to the moon is—wait a minute—7,679,781,887,964,997,865,457 parsecs. It would take me four hundred billion years, even at my maximum cruising speed, and that’s far too long. I’ve already sacrificed whole regiments of microseconds for your benefit.’

‘But what about the Galactic Gully? Couldn’t we take a short cut?’

‘The Galactic Gully only takes one-way traffic. Didn’t I mention that?’

Gustave stamped his foot furiously, and the gas bubble quivered. ‘No, you didn’t!’

‘Oh, then I must have forgotten to.’ The Time Pig shrugged its shoulders apologetically. ‘Nothing to be done, I’m afraid.’

‘But I’ll starve to death here,’ Gustave protested. ‘I’ll die if you maroon me here.’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter,’ the Time Pig declared, raising one clawed foot. ‘Your components will dissolve into gas and form the basis of new life. That’s how your own solar system came into being, by the way. I showed the honeycomb cells to a little boy from a planet in the Andromeda constellation, gave him a lecture on life and the universe, and put him down on a gas bubble. That bubble developed into the earth and all its human and animal inhabitants—yourself included. Such is the life cycle! That’s how inhabited solar systems originate: you deposit little boys on gas bubbles. It’s the greatest cosmic miracle of all: little beginnings, big results!’

The Time Pig slowly ascended, its wings whirring like a hummingbird’s. ‘So, now I really must be going,’ it called to
Gustave.
‘The universe freezes if I remain in the same spot for too long, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like to take the responsibility for that, would you?’ It flapped its wings and soared off across an ocean of sparkling suns. Just before reaching a constellation whose outlines bore a remarkable resemblance to a pig, it turned left and disappeared into the black cosmic void.

ONCE GUSTAVE HAD
finally settled down on the iridescent gas bubble that would one day become his solar system, and once he had taken stock of his new place in the universe, he experienced a sensation he hadn’t enjoyed for a long time: a feeling of serenity.

He had been permanently on the move and constantly involved in new adventures since … yes, since when, exactly? To be precise, ever since he’d put to sea aboard the
Aventure
. He hadn’t had a moment’s peace of mind from then on, what with the Siamese Twins Tornado, the terrible fate of Dante and his other seamen, Death and his demented sister, their wager on his soul, his aerial flight astride the gryphon, the dragon-juice factory and the naked Amazons, his duel with the dragon, the Last Jellyfish, the beautiful damsel (
a cold stab in the heart
), the empty suit of armour, his encounters with Pancho and the mysterious dream princess, and Pancho’s entombment in the forest of evil spirits. After that, his swigs of Wanderlust Wine had speeded everything up. Then had come the Valley of the Monsters, his conversation with Anxiety, his battle with the Terrible Titans, Lake Blue-Blood and the Knight-Eating Giant Saurian, and, finally, his encounter with the Most Monstrous of All Monsters.

He had flown past the moon through space and time, traversed a Galactic Gully, seen Death at work, escaped the Siamese Twins Tornado for a second time, and been privileged to see the
Last Creatures
and the Horse-Head Nebula. He had inspected the cosmic records department and the future-contingency honeycomb with its spatio-temporal continuum projections. Last but not least, he had met himself and been presented with a solar system of his own. Not bad for a single night’s journey!

Having reviewed all these happenings in his mind’s eye, he leant back and surveyed the boundless space around him. Just then he felt another stab in the heart. He clutched his chest in alarm, but it was less like a stitch than a warm, therapeutic feeling. It came again, and again, and again. His broken heart was healing!

‘A broken heart sewn up with four stitches,’ he told himself. ‘They’re bound to leave a scar, but the extent of my present problems is such that I may as well forget about the past—and the future, too! So much for naked damsels! I’d better resign myself at once to dying here. At least I’m so far away from Death, he won’t get my soul—if I’ve got one.’

With a sigh, Gustave lay back and looked up at the stars. It was quite comfortable, lying on the gas bubble, which felt like a bag filled with lukewarm water. Millions of suns were shining overhead, but the sight was already beginning to bore him.

‘That spatio-temporal continuum projection was way off target,’ he said, projecting the words into space. ‘Under present circumstances, I’ve about as much chance of living till I’m ninety-two as of meeting up with a few old friends out here. Or of being hit by a comet.’ He heaved another sigh and started to count stars to pass the time. One of them looked different from the others. It was duller than the rest, and it was moving. No, it wasn’t twinkling, and it seemed to be getting bigger. Either that, or it was approaching at high speed. Gustave could also hear a noise that seemed to be growing steadily louder. It sounded like the thunder of hoofs, but Gustave surmised that it was the popping of gas bubbles in a comet’s tail.

‘It’s a comet!’ he murmured. ‘Of course it is, and it’s heading
straight
for me! That’s great! I get my own solar system, and the first thing that happens is, I’m smashed to smithereens by a cosmic iceberg!’

But the nearer the object came, the more certain he became that it
wasn’t
a comet. At first he thought it might be Death and his wild cavalcade, because he heard neighing sounds and the hoofbeats grew louder. He even thought he made out a horse, but then he saw that it was a whole team of horses. More precisely, it was an ancient chariot drawn by four chargers and leaving a fiery trail swathed in dense smoke. The horses were galloping along on the flames and flapping their wings, because they all had wings like angels.

‘Great,’ Gustave said to himself. ‘They’re probably the
Last Horses
you see before dying of starvation in space. All that’s missing is a little background music.’

All at once he recognised Pancho Sansa among the horses. But Pancho was not the only familiar member of this extraordinary ensemble, for the driver of the cosmic chariot was none other than his trusty Dante, boatswain of the
Aventure
.

Whinnying, snorting and scattering sparks, the team came to a halt beside Gustave and his gas bubble. He stood up, precariously balancing on its thin outer skin.

At first all three were too taken aback to open the conversation. They scratched their heads, opened their mouths and closed them again, and Pancho gave an inarticulate snort. Then Dante broke the silence.

‘What are you doing out here in space, Cap’n? I thought you’d been torn to pieces by the Siamese Twins Tornado.’

‘And I thought you’d jumped into Lake Blue-Blood and been devoured by the Most Monstrous of All Monsters,’ Pancho chimed in, not without a hint of reproach in his voice.

‘I might ask you two the same question,’ Gustave retorted. ‘In my case the answers are two long stories. First, though, tell me how
you
both got here. Perhaps your stories are shorter.’

‘Aye-aye, Cap’n!’ Dante saluted smartly. ‘Shall I go first?’

Pancho and Gustave nodded.

‘Well,’ Dante began, ‘I was sucked up into space with the rest of the crew, wasn’t I? All those good seamen were scattered to the four winds, which was a shame—except for the cabin boy, who was an idle landlubber and got what he deserved.’

Dante spat into the void.

‘So there I was, floating around in space with the blue earth and its seas below me and the stars above, and I thought: Hey, this isn’t such a bad way to die. After all, I’ve spent most of my life like this— in closer contact with the water, but that’s all. So I was floating around, waiting to die, when I heard a sudden roar—surprising how well you can hear in space, isn’t it?—and who should come flying along but
Death
, the silly ass. He had a funny-looking old woman with him—his sister, it turned out later. She gave me a really nasty look, and he asked me who I was, as I knew he would, because that’s always the first question Death asks, isn’t it? I wondered whether to fool him by giving a false name—the cabin boy’s, for instance—but then I thought: What the hell, let him take me. Better that than floating around here for ever, and he’ll nab me sooner or later, so I said:

‘“Dante.”

‘“Dante, the famous poet?” says he.

‘“No,” say I, “Dante the unfamous boatswain.”

‘“What’s a boatswain doing up here in space?” says he. So I told him the story of the
Aventure
and the Siamese Twins Tornado, and when I mentioned your name he started to laugh. “You’re in luck, Boatswain Dante,” says he, “because I now see a chance to kill two birds with one stone. Would you like to become a
soul-coffin transporter
?”’

Gustave gave an involuntary gasp.

‘I said yes, naturally. I mean, better a regular job of any kind than dead. So that’s what I do now: I haul soul-coffins from the moon to the sun and stoke it with them, because business is booming and Death has got tired of doing all the work himself. I have my own wagon and the prospect of immortality if I get through a trial period of ten thousand years. Well, Cap’n, that’s my story: I’ve become a servant of Death.’

Dante saluted again. Gustave drew a deep breath. ‘And what’s your story, Pancho?’

The horse cleared its throat.

‘Well, I fell into the crocodile’s jaws and the monster swallowed me whole, as you saw. But then the stupid creature dived, and water came pouring into its mouth. So I wasn’t just devoured, I drowned as well. I died: end of story.’ Pancho grinned.

‘Come on,’ said Gustave, ‘don’t keep us in suspense.’

‘All right,’ Pancho went on. ‘So I died. But I really wasn’t done yet, believe me. I still had
something
in mind, but that’s how it is: you have to take things as they come. I couldn’t wait to find out what would happen next, of course. Was there a horses’ heaven? Would I
end
up in a horses’ hell? Would I go out in a blaze of white light, or what?’

‘Get to the point, Pancho!’

‘Well, I really did enter a blaze of white light. I went trotting in, and all at once I saw a jellyfish—a beautiful jellyfish—and heard music—beautiful music—and I thought I’d gone mad, and the jellyfish started to speak, and it said—’

‘No need to elaborate, I know that jellyfish.’

‘You know it? Did you drown too, then?’