“Jim, just concentrate on the matters at hand.”

“Tell me now, John, all of the truth – or although we have been lifelong friends, I will walk out of this pub right now and I swear that I will not see you again.”

John Omally took in breath. “Now, Jim,” he said. “Don’t be hasty, now.”

“I mean it, John.”

Omally took a large swallow of ale. “All right,” said he. “I’ll tell you. You won’t like it and you’ll be very angry and feel that you have been betrayed – that’s the way I felt. But you deserve to be told and I’ve not been happy keeping it from you. You are my bestest friend.”

“I really don’t like the sound of this.”

“Then don’t make me tell you.”

“I have to know, John, and you know that I have to know.”

“All right,” said Omally. “Let us sit over in the corner. I’ll get us in more ale.”

“At your expense? Now I really am worried.”

“Go and sit in the corner.”

Jim went and sat in the corner. John joined him in the company of further ales.

And then John told to Jim everything that the professor had told to John. And John told to Jim everything that had really happened to Jim.

And John omitted nothing.

And Jim chain-smoked cigarettes until John had eventually done with his telling.

And Jim was not a happy man.

And then John stared into the face of Jim Pooley, a face that was bereft of colour, and John said unto Jim, “Are you all right?”

And Jim could not speak for a moment. And it was a long moment. But when Jim was able to speak, he simply said, “Yes.”

“Yes?” said John. “Is that all you have to say on the matter?”

“No,” said Jim, “I have much to say. I must say thank you to the Campbell for saving my life and I will have much to say to the professor. But for all that you have said, let me ask you this: do you actually believe it?”

“I believe what I saw with my own eyes and what I experienced. I have never been so afraid in all of my life, which is one of the reasons that I didn’t want to tell you. It is all so fearsome, Jim.”

“What are we going to do, John?”

“I really wish I knew.”

“But if these dark, black things are really out to kill us—”

“I know, my friend. But the Campbell will protect you.”

“And what about you? Who’s going to protect you?”

“I trust the professor. We’ll come out of this in one piece.”

“It’s absurd,” said Jim. “It’s beyond absurd. And above that it’s unfair that we should have been dragged into this.”

“I think you’re taking it very well.”

“I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet.”

“I think we should just get on with doing what we’re doing – stick with trying to take the club to victory and leave all the magical stuff to the professor and the Campbell.”

“You don’t think that perhaps we’d both be better off just running away?”

“To where? Brentford is our home. I don’t know about you, but I have no wish to leave it. I like it here. I love it here.”

“Yes,” said Jim, “me, too. This is all very hard to take in. Very hard. It’s not exactly your everyday problem, now is it?”

Omally shrugged and shook his head.

“And the more I think about it, the more I think that you are going about all this in the wrong way.”

“How so?” John asked.

“Because of the scale of the problem, John. This is big, really big. Brentford hadn’t even played a single FA Cup qualifying game before these monsters were dispatched to kill us. Now Brentford has won a game, and handsomely, too. So what’s next? More assaults upon us, I would guess, more attempts upon our lives.”

“That will probably be the case.”

“And this Consortium that wants to take the football ground – it is run by some satanic magician, this William Starling character?”

“He would seem to be the villain of this piece,” said John.

Jim Pooley shrugged and continued, “How much power does this character have? A lot, would be my guess, and with every success the team has, he will throw more and more monsters at us.”

“The professor will protect us.”

“And who will protect the professor?”

“Ah,” said John. “Good point.”

“They’ll beat us,” said Jim. “They’ll kill us, and the professor, too. We can’t just sit around waiting for this to happen. Well, you can, if you want, but I won’t. We’re sitting targets, John, they’ll get us sooner or later. There could be thousands of them. You hear talk about Satanists and Black Magic covens, that they’re everywhere. Anyone could be a member. I’ve seen movies like this – you don’t know who to trust.”

“Stop this now,” said John. “Let’s just do our jobs.”

“No,” said Jim. “If we do that, then we’re doomed. If we’re involved in this, and seemingly we are, then we have to do something about it in order to protect our own lives. I trust the professor, the same as you do, but he’s a frail old man, not a superhero. We’re still young men, John. We should be doing something.”

“But what?” John drained away further ale.

“Get them before they get us,” Jim Pooley suggested.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Know your enemy,” said Jim. “I read that somewhere. Let the hunted become the hunter. Things of that nature, generally.”

“There is a wisdom in your words, Jim Pooley.”

“Thank you,” said Jim, finishing his pint. “The only question is, what should we do, and to whom?”

“Surely that’s two questions.”

Jim ignored this remark. “What do you know about this Consortium, John?” he asked.

“Probably as much, or as little, as you do. It’s a big multinational affair, property development. The headquarters are in Chiswick.”

“Just down the road,” said Jim. “Which makes a lot of sense.”

“It does?”

“If the ultimate goal of the character who owns this Consortium is to release the old serpent that is imprisoned beneath Brentford’s football ground, then it’s unsurprising that the headquarters would be nearby rather than, say, in Rio de Janeiro.”

“Ah yes,” said John. “I suppose it would.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at John.

“I’m really glad I told you all about this,” said John. “We work really well as a team.”

“Hm,” went Jim. “Well, that’s where we should start – at their headquarters. And today.”

“Today?”

“It’s Sunday,” said Jim. “Offices are closed on Sunday – a good time to have a little look around, I would have thought. See what might be seen. Find out what might be found out.”

“You really are on the case, Jim.”

“I don’t want to die, John. The prospect of impending death does tend to concentrate the mind.”

“So are you suggesting that we break into the offices?”

“Would I suggest a thing like that?”

“I’m beginning to wonder whether I really know you at all,” said John.

“We could pay the offices a little visit. I feel confident that you could talk our way in.”

John Omally put his hand out for a shake.

“Let’s take a trip to Chiswick,” said John.

“Let’s lose him first,” said Jim, rolling his eyes once more towards the Campbell.

John and Jim went off to the bog and left The Swan via the window. They shinned over the rear wall and had it away on their toes.

“We’ll take the bus,” said Jim.

“We’ll take Marchant,” said John.

Marchant was still in Jim Pooley’s allotment shed where John had left him when he stored the cache of Dadarillos – a cache that Jim was digging into once again.

“We’ll never make any profit from those,” John told Jim. “You’ll soon have smoked them all.”

“I’m not too happy about travelling on that bike of yours,” said Jim, filling his pockets with packs of cigarettes. “That bike hates me.”

“The lad’s all right,” said John, stroking Marchant’s saddle. “He’ll see us all right, too, won’t you, Marchant?”

The bicycle kept its own counsel.