Extract From Chapter One

Elvis was lost. He'd been wandering around Apocalypse Acres since lunchtime and just couldn't seem to find his way back out to the main road. The estate definitely hadn't been this big when he'd arrived last week, that was for sure. Or maybe it had and he'd just not noticed. He had been pretty high after all. Well, more than a little high if he were being honest with himself. More like stratospheric. The stuff he'd bought off that Morrison dude had been potent; there was no doubt about that. He chuckled to himself at the memory. Not that there WAS much memory of that evening, just a hazy recollection of mistaking this place for Graceland and deciding to head inside and get 'Cilla to cook him some bananas. He paused and turned to look behind him. The huge, imposing Gothic castle he'd been staying in for the last week was still visible on the horizon, dominating the landscape around it with a foreboding ease. It's twisting turrets and lethal looking spires seemed to spear the very sky in their enormity. He shook his head. He'd mistaken THAT for Graceland? Man, he must've been high. He turned back around to resume walking. The road HAD to be around here someplace after all.
"You appear to be lost my friend!
The elderly, slightly accented voice dragged Elvis from his ruminations with a start. He looked up. The speaker was an old, frail looking man with a white wispy moustache and an unmistakably roguish twinkle in his eye. Sitting contentedly on a nearby boulder, the man was dressed in what - to Elvis's experienced eyes - appeared to be a late 1950's tweed jacket over a genuine Ralph Lauren yellow polo shirt and Levi Jeans. The outfit was finished off by a pair of black leather cowboy boots, complete with spurs, into which the Levi's had been neatly tucked. The man was a mess. Struck dumb by the sight of this sartorial monster, Elvis could only stand and stare. The stranger smiled at him from behind his moustache and repeated his observation to the King of Rock and Roll, who opened his mouth to answer, closed it again and then finally found his voice.
"What are y'all wearing man? You like a bum!
The old man smiled again. "Coming from a man in a white jump-suit with Rhinestones on I'll take that as a compliment!
Elvis waved his finger threateningly at the old man, his voice rising a little at the criticism. "Hey man! He retorted, "I LIKE Rhinestones so get off my back! Who the hell are y'all anyway, where'd you spring from?
The wispy moustache slanted upwards a third time. "It appears that not only are you lost, He continued calmly "But also as if you don't remember me.
Elvis looked momentarily confused. His brows contorted above the jewel-inlaid sunglasses and he thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip.
"Say man - y'all are a bit familiar. Have I met you before?
"Of course, of course! The old man twinkled merrily "We have met many times before, it's just that we haven't met till now.
An expression of bewilderment flashed across the King's features.
"Y' all some kind of nut? He demanded, "Either we've met or we ain't Grandpops, which is it?
The old man smiled once more and settled more comfortably onto his rock. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a pipe with a bowl the size of a small Czech car, which appeared to be carved from solid oak and was covered in intricate, silver filigreed engravings. Bewilderment forgotten, Elvis was captivated.
"Woa man! He said in awe. "That's a fine pipe y' all got there! I've been waiting all my life for a baby like that! Where'd you get it?
The old man placed the stem of the pipe between his teeth and grinned once more, the bowl resting on his knees and obscuring most of his torso.
"This old thing? He replied nonchalantly, "I've had it for years! I barely ever remember that I've even got it on me! He reached behind him and shoved his hands into a flour-sack that Elvis had previously not noticed. When they came out again they were filled with rich, brown tobacco which he stuffed into the bowl of the pipe. "Just topping it up. He explained happily and went back for another handful. After two or three visits to the bag he appeared satisfied that the pipe was full and began to contentedly tamp it down with a small garden spade, which he had produced from somewhere behind him. Elvis looked dumbstruck.
"Are y' all gonna smoke ALL that? He demanded, "Y' all die before you get to the end of that!
The old man merely smiled again and reached behind him once more. This time when he turned back again he had what looked like a portable vacuum cleaner in his hands. Humming contentedly he screwed a hose attachment to the body of the hoover and forced the other end of the tube over the stem of the pipe, wedging it under his chin to keep it in place. He then produced a blowtorch from the recesses of his jacket and held it poised above the enormous bowl. Finally, with one smooth, practised movement of his other hand he lit the blowtorch and flicked the switch on the vacuum on and off a few times, still humming gently to himself. Before Elvis's very eyes clouds of smoke began to puff up from the enormous bowl and filled the air with the pungent stench of university staff-rooms.
"Now, young man The elderly gent bantered as he packed away his pipe-lighting kit, "where were we? Ah yes. You don't believe me when I say we've met before even though we've never met before do you? Ah me, the youth of today you know nothing! Have you never heard of 'String Theory' young fellow?
Elvis looked perplexed once more. He was - or had been anyway - an overweight musical icon with rhythmical hips and a penchant for fried food, and the finer points of quantum mechanics went straight over his head.
"String Theory? He asked, "Ain't he that Country and Western singer from Alabama, the one with the song about the horses?
The old man sighed wearily. "No, not quite. He replied, pipe clenched firmly between his teeth. "I see we shall have to educate you in temporal theory as well as dress sense... but now's not the time, we're late enough already I think. Come on! So saying he leapt nimbly off his rock and tossed Elvis his sack of tobacco. "Here - carry this young man! he ordered and hoisted another previously hidden bag over his shoulder. Elvis supposed that that bag held the spade and vacuum cleaner. He turned to follow the sprightly old man as he started off back towards the castle on the horizon, and then pulled up short.
"Hey old man where y' all goin'? He demanded, "I've been that way an' I ain't goin' back again - some bony dude kicked my ass there this morning an' I ain't goin' back for seconds! Carry your own damn bag!
The man sighed impatiently. "Always the young are so ungracious! Just come along will you - you'll be rewarded I promise you, it'll be worth it. He smiled as Elvis looked at him speculatively and picked the sack back up off the ground where he had dropped it.
"Well all right then - but this reward better be good old man or your bag is coming straight back up here again ok? "
They set off down the hill together at an easy pace, and presently Elvis had another thought. "Say man, can I have a puff on that pipe?
*
It was nearly midnight, a time when sensible folk are safely in their beds (or perhaps the bed of the lonely soul next door) and the universe rests in preparation for the next day. Not many people in the lands around Valhalla could be classed as sensible however. There were people in the streets, people in the shops and, on a hilltop about five miles out of town, two people sitting either side of a rather pitiful fire and arguing about sausages.
" Y'all PROMISED me sausages old man! I remember! Now where are they?
"I told you, I don't have any sausages. The old mans voice was calm and unruffled, and there was a definite twinkle in his eye. "You asked me if we could stop for sausages and I said 'yes, why not'. I thought you had some.
"Why would I have sausages? I'm a rock star. If I want sausages I open my mouth and people throw them in there for me. I never had to carry my own food in my life!
"Why would I have sausages? Do I look like a pig farmer?
Elvis bit back the obvious reply and poked dolefully at the fire with a stick. He wasn't happy. They'd been walking all day it seemed like, and yet that damn house still wasn't any nearer. He was hungry, he was tired and he was worried that when they did get to the house they'd just bump into that bony dude again and he'd get another kick up the butt. On top of all that, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a badly dressed man who not only refused to tell him what they were doing but also didn't have any sausages. All in all, it had been a pretty bad day. He aimed a particularly hard thrust at the fire and scowled.
"Say man, He demanded "What are we doin' anyway? Y'all keep sayin' you'll tell me, but you never do. An' why's that castle place never get any closer?
The old man sighed. He'd never found it easy to explain the mechanics of space and time to non-geniuses, and Elvis was about as non-genius as it was possible to get without having a lobotomy. Nevertheless, he was duty bound to try.
"The castle never gets any closer because of something I like to call the Time-Specific-Situational-Requirement. Basically, we're not there yet because it isn't time for us to be there yet. When it's time for us to be there we will be.
"But we've been walkin' all day!
"Of course we have. We were a long way away to start with. If you want to go somewhere you have to travel there don't you? You can't just magic yourself there. So if we wanted to get from where we were to the castle we had to walk the distance between those two points. It's obvious.
Elvis looked pained. "But we HAVE walked the distance! So why aren't we there yet old man?
"I told you - because it's not time for us to be there. We had to travel the distance so that when it was time for us to be there we could be. What would have happened if it was time for us to be there and we were still all that distance away? We'd have been up a certain creek without a paddle wouldn't we?
"There wasn't no creek there old man - it was a hillside! What planet y'all from anyway? We walked all day and we should be there by now! And I want my sausages - y'all promised me sausages!
With another frustrated sigh the old man gave up. His rabbi had been right -there was just no educating some people. He dug around in his bag and brought out a stick of celery, which he thrust ungraciously towards the sulking rock-star.
"Here - have this. He scowled. "It's my last piece and I was saving it for emergencies, but if it's going to stop you moaning then you might as well have it.
If he'd expected gratitude for this act of selflessness he was soon proved wrong. Elvis took the celery suspiciously and ran his nose along it.
"It doesn't smell like meat old man.
"It's not meat. It's celery.
"Celery?
"Celery.
Elvis sniffed it again. He'd deep-fried most of the edible things on Earth but this was a new one on him. He reached into his back pocket and bought out the monogrammed leather pouch containing his knife and fork. The cutlery set, which was solid ivory and had rhinestones embedded in the handles, had been a present from 'Cilla and was his most cherished possession. Taking the knife, he carefully sliced off the end of the celery-stick and held it gingerly between his finger and thumb. He rolled it around the ball of his thumb for a while, peering at it with definite mistrust.
The old man had been watching this ceremony with a growing sense of impatience, and now could contain himself no longer.
"It's just celery you fat fool! He snapped. "Just eat the damn thing before I stab you with it!
"But it's not meat?
"No! Eat it!
With obvious reluctance Elvis tipped back his head, opened his mouth wide and dropped in the celery. There was silence for a moment while he chewed it thoughtfully. An expression of disgust crept of over his face. Suddenly he sprung to his feet, spitting out the vegetable as he did so.
"You bastard! He spluttered. "Y'all tryin' to kill me! That ain't proper food! He turned and hurled the rest of the celery down the hillside. "You better travel the distance to that if you want to be there when y'all hungry you badly dressed freak!
It was the final straw. He'd taken the moaning and taken the stupidity but that was enough. As his rabbi had told him when he was just a boy: if a man didn't fight when his last stick of celery was thrown away then he wasn't a man at all. Screaming unintelligibly he hurled himself at the singer and began raining punches down on his paunchy frame. They fell to floor, wrestling and trading insults like a couple of schoolboys.
"You old bastard!
"You overweight ignoramus!
"Teach y'all to poison me
"Teach you to throw away my celery!
This probably would have carried on all night if there hadn't been a sudden blinding flash of green light that startled each of them enough to make them roll apart. After a moment or two of shock, and with a sudden cry of "It's early - I must have forgotten to carry the three! The old man began to scrabble around the campsite, picking up all the things that had fallen out of his pockets during their scuffle.
"Quickly! He snapped. "Don't just lie there - grab hold of everything! Get my sack!
Elvis stayed where he was and looked dumbstruck. "What the hell was that old man? What's goin' on?
"It the T.S.S.R. you fool! Get moving! If we're not touching it it'll be left behind when we jump! We've got about 30 seconds!
"T.S.S.R.? Jump? I ain't jumping nowhere old man. I'm a superstar - I got other people to jump for me.
"The Time-Specific-Situational-Requirement you idiot! We have to be at the castle in 15 seconds!
Elvis began desperately searching for his knife-and fork. "But it's miles away old man!
"Not anymore! 5 seconds!
"I found them!
There was another blinding flash, this time of white light, and abruptly the hillside and campfire were gone. Instead they were surrounded by fluffy-whiteness everywhere they looked. Elvis stared around him with mounting disquiet.
"Hey this ain't the castle old man! He cried. "This is more like that Heaven place. Y'all didn't say nothin' 'bout Heaven! I hate heaven - it's full of harp music and there's no fried food!
His companion chuckled. "Relax young man - this is just transition. We'll be at the castle in a moment don't worry. Did you find your cutlery?
"My cutlery? Oh my knife and fork ya mean? Y'all do use some long words granddad. Yeah I found them - just in time too. Y'all get your stuff?
The old man brandished his sacks and smiled. "I got it!
Elvis was about to say something else but shut his mouth as he noticed the whiteness around them begin to thin out and be replaced by darkness. In a few seconds more the whiteness was all gone and he saw that they were outside the front door of Apocalypse Acres, with the moon shining down beatifically on them from above.
"I guess we're here old man, though I still don't know how.
"It appears so young fellow, now we just have to wait for the others - they shouldn't be long.
"Others? Elvis looked alarmed. "One of them's not a bony dude who likes kickin' asses is he?
The old man smiled. "Relax He said again "You're posterior is safe. I suggest we sit down over here until they come. He dug around in his bag and produced his pipe. "Care to join me in a smoke?