The Witches of Chiswick by Robert Rankin Page A

it.
    “Then all is indeed as it should be,” said Neville.
    Tim too took to tasting. “On me,” he said. “Where’s the monitor?”
    “Monitor?” said Neville.
    “The iris-scanner,” said Tim. “So I can credit you for the drinks.”
    “We don’t have one of those, I’m afraid,” said Neville. “This is a cash-only establishment.”
    “What?” went Tim. “But no one’s used cash for the last fifty years.”
    “I had noticed that trade’s been dropping off,” said Neville.
    Tim shook his head and his features vanished beneath his hair.
    “Here,” said Will, delving into his trouser pocket and bringing out a handful of change. “Try this.”
    Tim made a clearing in his hair and peered through it. “Antique money,” he said. “Where did you get that?”
    “It’s a long story; just pay the man.”
    Tim took the coins and handed some to Neville.
    Neville rang up No Sale on the ancient cash register and presented Tim with his change. “I think you must have undercharged me,” said Tim.
    “On the contrary,” said Neville. “Correct to the penny.”
    “Then thank you very much.”
    Tim followed Will towards a corner table, where they seated themselves upon comfy chairs and took further sup from their pints.
    “Unbelievable,” said Tim. “Perfect ale. I never even knew this place existed.”
    Will smiled a knowing smile.
    “You’ve been here before?” Tim asked.
    “Oh yes,” said Will.
    “You never told me about it.”
    “It wasn’t during your lifetime.”
    Tim took a further sup. “This sounds promising,” he said. “I feel wackiness coming on. How come we’re the only people drinking in this wonderful bar?”
    “All will be explained,” said Will, taking further sup. “This really is
the best
, isn’t it?”
    “Spot on,” Tim raised his pint to Will. “So, just to recap, if I may. You’ve been into the future, to next Friday, where I gave you Retro, which enabled you to recall generations of your past. Then you travelled back into the past physically. And now you’ve brought me to a pub on my very block-step, which I’ve never seen before, to drink the finest beer I have ever tasted, that you apparently have tasted before, but not in my lifetime. Have I got all this right?”
    “There’s a lot more,” said Will. “A whole lot more.”
    “Oh good,” said Tim. “I’m really loving this.”
    “There’s a lot that you’re not going to love.”
    “Well don’t tell me any of that.”
    “I have to tell you all of it. It’s not finished yet. It’s far from finished. In fact it’s only just begun and you have to help me, which is why I’m here.”
    “But you were never away.”
    “I was in the toilet,” said Will. “On the tramcar.”
    “You were,” said Tim, supping more ale. “I remember that.”
    “I went into the toilet, but the me who went into the toilet was not the same me that came out again. The original me, that went in, is still on the tram. I told him to carry on all the way around London Central before going home. I had to be very careful not to touch him. It’s a time-paradox thing. To do with David Warner in the old
Time Cop
movie. But we won’t go into that yet.”
    “Still loving it,” said Tim. “But already starting to get a tad confused. Do you think you might explain?”
    “It’s a long story,” said Will. “And I do mean a
long
story. It lasts for about three hundred years.”
    “I’d better get some more beer in then.”
    “It’s my round,” said Will.
    “It’s your money I’ll be paying with,” said Tim. “You tell the tale, I’ll get in the beers.”
    “Fair enough,” said Will.
    And so Tim got in the beers.
    And so Will told the tale.
     
    Will told Tim about what was going to happen next week. About
The Fairy Feller’s Masterstroke
and the digital watch on the Tinker’s wrist. And the witch women who had come to the Tate to destroy the painting and about how he had hidden it from them and substituted a