And thusly did the golden Army of the Underworld smite the evil Army of the Dead. And verily did they smite them and did trounce them, too. And Tyler was made King of the City of Begrem and many were his golden concubines and muchly did he take his joy in them when he was not a-strumming upon his ukulele.

Or, so I thought, it could oh so easily be.

And I wished I’d read a few more pages of The Great Book of All Knowledge (and Selected Lyrics). Just to make sure.

But I hadn’t and I’d have to wing it.

But the golden warriors crowded all about me upon the rubbly platform of Mornington Crescent East (discontinued usage), all a-cheering mightily and rattling their sabers, and waving the flaming torches that they held.

And I gave hearty cheers to them and called them mighty men.

And I gave a little speech then of the ‘once more into the breach, dear friends’ persuasion. And I counted up those who crowded round me, some thirty in number, lit, rather nobly I thought, by the flaming torches, and bade them call to their comrades in arms, who were surely lolling about on the stairways checking out the ancient posters, that all should gather round to listen to, what I felt, would be later considered a historic speech.

As soon as I had managed to compose it in my head.

And the high priest did the calling out.

And he called out to me, saying-

‘What other warriors, sire?’

And I liked the ‘sire’ part of that, but said, ‘What do you mean by that?’

And he said, ‘By which part of which?’

And I said, ‘The bit where you asked me what other warriors?’

And he said, ‘Oh, that bit, well, because there are no other warriors, sire. We are all the men of Begrem.’

‘And the women also,’ added a golden girlie.

‘Except for my mum downstairs,’ said the high priest.

And I said, ‘Hold on there, what are you telling me? That you, noble fellows that you undoubtedly are, are all that remain of the people of Begrem?’

And the high priest shrugged and said, ‘Well, how many folk could you sustain in a closed environment on a limited diet of cockroaches and mushrooms?’

And I did not like the tone of the high priest and did tell him so. And the high priest shrugged and said he was sorry, but surely thirty men was a pretty big army. And how many warriors did I think they were liable to run up against? Because they were all well hard and up for it. And the other army could come and have a go, if they thought they were ’ard enough.

Well, you had to admire his courage, anyway.

‘So,’ I said, suddenly downcast, ‘just the thirty of you.’

‘Thirty-one, including my mum.’

‘Forget your mum,’ I said. ‘Although she did ask me to pass on her love and say that she really enjoyed the pudding.’

‘Aie,’ said the high priest. ‘She’s a bonny lass and no mistake.’

To which I raised my eyebrows, but had no reply to make.

‘So, sire,’ said the high priest, ‘would you care to make your rousing battle speech now?’

And I took to shrugging and said that I was no longer in the mood and perhaps I’d make it later. But the high priest said that now really would be the best time. And that he had memorised the bit in the Book that said that I did. So it would probably be better for me if I didn’t try to mess with prophesied Fate. And there was something about the way he said it that suggested he really really meant it.

‘Oh, all right then,’ I said. All sulky. ‘Gather round, oh mighty warriors, and hearken unto me.’

The high priest gave me the thumbs-up to this and winked an eye in my direction.

‘Now is the winter of our discontent,’ I began, ‘when we must fight them in the fields and on the beaches and keep a welcome in the hillside and gird up our loins and ride ’em, cowboy. Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Cry God for Harry and the George. And the show’s not over until the fat lady takes tea with the parson.’

And I paused and did noddings of the head. But nobody cheered.

So I continued in a likewise manner, ‘The time is right for fighting in the street,’ I said. ‘War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. But you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs. Oh, and kill everyone and let God sort it out. Geronimo!’

And I stopped there and did some shakings of the head. And one of the golden girlies clapped a little.

‘Oh, listen, fellas,’ I said. ‘I don’t have any great battle speech to give you. Directly above us there is what you will consider to be a mighty tower. And at the very top of this tower sits the Evil One. Except at weekends, when he probably plays golf with the President, or something. But I’m pretty sure we can catch him in on weekdays. And although you don’t understand the concept of days, I will explain it to you. But he’s up there and we’re down here. So the idea is that we get ourselves up there somehow and slay him, pretty much as bloodily as you fancy, really.’

And the golden warriors looked at one another and then they looked at me. And then one of them whispered some words into the ear of the high priest.

And the high priest said to me, ‘He wants to know what an omelette is.’

‘Right,’ I said. And rightly so.

And then I had an idea.

‘Anyone hungry?’ I asked. And all of them nodded.

‘Would you like to try a little top-side tucker?’ And all of them looked rather blank.

‘Food,’ I said. ‘Good food. No cockroaches. Well, possibly some, but they’re not supposed to be included in the dishes. I’ll treat us all to dinner – I’ve still got loads of money.’ And I dug into my trouser pockets and I did still have loads of money.

‘You lot stay here,’ I said, ‘in the Tunnel of the George, because he might appear at any moment to greet you.’

‘You think so, sire?’ said the high priest.

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. But I will go upstairs, and I’ll bring us back food. Pizzas and Coca-Colas. I’ll get lots. An army marches on its stomach, doncha know?’

And they all looked blank again.

‘Just stay here,’ I said, ‘and I’ll get food.’

‘Do you wish to take a couple of underlings to fetch and carry for you, sire?’

‘No,’ I told the high priest. ‘I’ll be fine. Now, I’m going to leave you in charge down here.’

‘I’m always in charge,’ said the high priest. And he folded his arms rather huffily.

‘Well, of course you are. So exert your authority and make sure that everybody stays put and no one goes upstairs.’

‘Why?’ asked the high priest.

‘Because I say so?’ I ventured.

‘That’s good enough for me,’ said the high priest. And he saluted.

So I saluted back and took myself off and away from the platform at the hurry-up. And up the stairway. But as I didn’t have my big torch, it was rather dark on the stairway and I tripped over a few times and got myself in a right old strop.

But eventually I made it to the concourse and from there to the outside world. Which wasn’t too easy, as someone had nailed back the timber I had prised away to gain entrance.

But I did some petulant kickings and eventually I was out. And I sniffed once more at the New York air. And the New York air smelled rank. And I glanced up at that great building soaring high above, and I knew that he was in that building. The Homunculus, I could feel him. And a hunter’s moon swam in the heavens above that building.

And it was night-time in smelly New York. But I didn’t have a watch, so I didn’t know what time of night-time it was. But it didn’t really matter, because in New York, as in all civilized cities, you can always buy a pizza at any time of the day or night.

I glanced across the street to the parade of shops where I’d purchased all my sub-ground paraphernalia. I figured that if Mr Molesworth was still behind his counter, I’d pop in and sing the praises of his torch and braided cord. Not to mention the dynamite.