The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (39 page)

‘Thank
you, sir,’ said Cornelius.

‘DON’T
MENTION IT,’ said a very big voice.

‘Thanks
from me too,’ said Tuppe.
‘Sir,
thank you.’

‘HEY,
TUPPE,’ said the big voice, ‘CAREFUL HOW YOU GO WHEN YOU GET BACK.’

‘Sorry?’

‘YOU’LL
FIND OUT.’

‘Well,
thanks. I can’t tell you how much thanks.’ Cornelius shook Old Claude by the
hand. Turned and shook Norman’s hand also. ‘Thanks for everything, Norman.’

‘DON’T
MENTION IT,’ said Norman, in a very big voice of his own.

‘Well,
goodbye.’

Tuppe
and Cornelius waved goodbye and made off through the door.

Norman
sighed and put his elbows down on the desk.

‘I
expect you’re just going to doss about again, aren’t you?’ asked Claude.

Norman
shrugged dismally.

‘Bugger
off,’ said Old Claude.

‘Sorry,
what?’

‘Bugger
off. Go on.

‘What
do you mean?’

‘I
mean, Norman, that the Big Figure has given you a pardon too. I put in a good
word for you. He says you can come back to life. No more incantations at dawn
though, eh?’

‘You
mean I can be alive again?’

‘That’s
it. Go on. Bugger off. You’ll miss the lift.’

‘Thank
you, Claude. Thank you.’ Norman threw his arms about the old fella. It was
tears. It was pathos.

And why
not, eh?

‘Go
on,’ said Claude. ‘And good luck.’

44

And the sun beamed down.

And if
we’re still into pathos.

Which I
am (you can please yourself).

Down
they came to Druid’s Tor in rays of golden light.

‘Whoa!’
said Cornelius, feeling all over himself. ‘I would appear to be intact.’

‘Whoa!’
said Norman. ‘Me too.’ And feeling at his face: ‘My spots have all cleared up,
not that I ever made a big thing about them.’

‘And
your hair’s not so red,’ said Cornelius. ‘And that’s a far better haircut than
you had before.’

‘I
think it’s a Tony Curtis,’ said Norman, fingering his head.

‘How
about you, Tuppe? Are you OK?’ Cornelius turned. Looked down at Tuppe. Looked
up a bit at Tuppe. Looked up a bit more.

‘Tuppe,’
said Cornelius.

‘I’ve
grown,’ said Tuppe. ‘God’s made me tall. I’m like you, Cornelius. I’m tall. I’m
not tiny any more.

‘You
were never tiny to me.’

‘It’s
them,’ called Thelma. ‘They’re alive.’

‘Hey,
Tuppe,’ called Louise. ‘Are you looking good, or what?’

45

‘We, the people of
Magonia, are proud to award you this medal for bravery and noble deeds above
and beyond the call of duty.’ The Emperor saluted. His court saluted. The medal
was pinned on. Boris beamed about the court.

‘Thank
you very much,’ said Boris.

‘Don’t
mention it,’ said the Emperor. ‘But if I ever see that bogus King Hugo again
I’ll have very harsh words to say to him.’

‘I
don’t think you will,’ said Boris, smiling in the direction of his good friend
Bryant, who was grinding his teeth. ‘I really don’t think you will.’

46

The most amazing man who
ever lived lay soaking in his marble bathtub. The perfumed water rose and fell
about his ample belly, as deep breaths filled his lungs and he sought to
compose the final mathematical equation needed to complete his formula for the
universal panacea and the elixir of life.

And he
would have had it too, if it hadn’t been for the violent pounding upon his
bedsit door and the howls of complaint from his landlady.

‘Get
out of that bed, you lazy sod, or I’ll have my husband Cyril come and break
down the door!’

The
most amazing man who ever lived awoke with a bit of a start. He blinked his
eyes. They were somewhat bloodshot, but otherwise quite normal. For this most
amazing man was the original Rune, father to Cornelius and seeker after Truths
of an Ultimate nature.

A Rune
who had long ago disowned the evil twins of his creation. A Rune who now
dedicated his life to a noble cause for the good of mankind.

The
formula for the universal panacea and the elixir of life.

And he
really would have had it that time.

Really.

But the
banging went on at his bedsit door.

And his
landlady called for Cyril.

She had a good pair of
lungs on her, the landlady. Her husband’s name really carried about the house.
‘CY-RIL!’ it went.
‘CY-RIL!’

‘Cyril?’
The most amazing man scratched at his shaven head. It dearly needed a shave.
‘Cyril?’

Flinging
aside his wretched blanket, he sprang from his bed as one possessed, sought
vellum and stylus and spoke as he wrote; with a flourish.

‘CYRIL!
That’s it! CY as in cyanamide, the colourless soluble acid with the chemical
formula H
₂
NCN. R being the chemical symbol for Radium. I the symbol
in physics for Isospin. L the chemical symbol for the Avogadro constant, the
number of atoms or molecules in a mole of a substance. That being equal to
6.022 52 x 10
²³
per mole. The final equation. I have it. I have it!’

And he
did.

THE END