Apocalypso by Robert Rankin Page B

beneath.
    Porrig
stared down and his mouth dropped open. ‘It’s very rude to stare,’ said the
something. ‘You ought to be taught some manners.’
    Porrig’s
head bobbed slowly in agreement, but words would not come to him.
    Before
him and beneath stood a creature so queer and oddly formed that Porrig was
completely lost for anything to say.
    In
height it barely topped eighteen inches. Its skin was dry and dull and
breeze-block grey. Its head was high and domed and almost hairless. It was
insect-thin and naked; it was weird and it was fey.
     
    It had no nose to speak of
    And its eyes were like a cat’s.
    Its lipless mouth was boasting just three teeth.
    In the fingers of its left hand
    It held a magic wand
    And it was male (it had a willy underneath).
     
    ‘Poetic,
aren’t I?’ it said. ‘The name’s Rippington, what’s yours?’
    ‘Mine
is Porrig,’ said Porrig, in a silly shaky voice.
    ‘Pleased
to meet you, Porrig.’ And the thing stuck out its hand. ‘And I’m not a thing,
nor an it, I’m a dvergar.’
    ‘I’m a
Leo,’ said Porrig.
    Was
that supposed to be funny?’
    ‘I
expect it was supposed to be.’
    ‘Well,
it wasn’t.’
    Porrig
shook the tiny hand. It was cold. It was very cold. ‘Your tiny hand is frozen,’
said Porrig.
    ‘And
yours is way too hot. What manner of being are you then? Clurichaun, are you?
Gremlin?’
    ‘Leave it
out. I’m a person.’
    Rippington
sniffed at Porrig. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,’ he said.
     ‘I
just want to go home.’
    ‘Well,
use your key. Ah, no, you haven’t got your key, have you?’
    ‘What
key? The shop key? I haven’t any other key.’
    ‘It’s not
that kind of key. It’s a musical key. You don’t know what key you’re in, do
you?’
    ‘I
haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.’
    ‘I’m
talking about harmonics, obviously. If you don’t know what key you’re in, no
wonder you’re out of tune.’
    ‘Is
this a theme park?’ Porrig asked.
    ‘A
what?’
    ‘A
theme park. This isn’t Lord of the Rings World, or something?’
    ‘Or
something.’
    ‘Yeah,
right.’
    ‘This
is ALPHA 17,’ said Rippington. ‘Seventeenth harmonic in the Alpha scale. But
if you say you’re a person then you most definitely shouldn’t be here. Persons
are a different scale altogether. Betamax, or something.’
    ‘Betamax?’
    ‘I
could look you up in the big book.’
    ‘You
said ALPHA 17. That’s the bookshop where I’ve come from.’
    ‘They
don’t sell books in shops,’ said Rippington. ‘That really would be absurd.
Imagine what would happen if just anything could get its mitts on a book. Chaos
there’d be. Oh yes. No more harmony, everything out of key.’
    ‘I’ll
bet this is all really cosmic stuff,’ said Porrig.
    ‘But
personally I’ve never had too much of an interest in elves and goblins and all
that sword and sorcery cack.’
    ‘You’re
a bit of a rub-tugger, aren’t you?’
    ‘A
rub-tugger?’
    ‘One
who tugs at his rubbing part.’ Rippington waggled his willy about.
    ‘Oh
perfect,’ said Porrig. ‘Even the fairies have me down as a wanker.’
    ‘Do you
want me to look you up in the big book, or don’t you?’
    ‘I do,
yes please.’
    ‘Then
follow me. But pretend that you’re not, if you follow me.’
    ‘Yes, I
think that I do.’
    And so
Porrig followed Rippington, whilst pretending that he wasn’t, down between the
aisles of books, along stone corridors, around balconies that looked down upon
further balconies and further corridors, through halls lined with more books
and rooms lined with even more. And on and on and on some more.
    ‘Are we
nearly there?’ Porrig asked.
    ‘Are
you following me?’
    ‘Yes,
but I’m pretending not to.’
    ‘Then
pretend not to speak to me either.’
    ‘But
are we nearly there?’
    ‘Let’s
pretend that we are.’
    ‘All
right. I’m pretending.’
    ‘Then
we’re here.’
    ‘Absurd.’
    ‘I do
so agree. Help me up