The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (23 page)

He offered me a very stern face in reply.

We pressed on towards London, stopping to refresh ourselves at various alehouses along the way, and by the time we reached the heart of the Empire we were in a most merry mood. Accommodation was not easily to be found as so many had flooded here to visit the Great Exhibition.

So we took a room, above a pub . . .

In Brentford.

‘The Flying Swan,’ I said to Mr Bell. ‘I suppose you find this somehow amusing, though frankly the humour is lost upon me.’

‘Just think of the beer,’ said Mr Bell. ‘How good it was in nineteen sixty-seven. And any beer drinker knows that “the beer was so much better in the good old days”.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘So we can expect really wondrous beer.’

Mr Bell nodded and grinned quite lopsidedly.

For by now we had visited very many such alehouses, looking for a room.

Later, Mr Bell ordered dinner and it arrived in the company of fine ale. We dined and drank and were merrier still. And the more we drank, the more certain we became that this time we'd put paid to Arthur Knapton.

In vino veritas
.

‘In wine there is truth.’

It is not that way with beer.

27

lcohol left no hangover upon Mr Cameron Bell and so he was up with the lark and off upon his business.

I awoke somewhat late in the day, dragged myself into consciousness and did not feel a very well monkey at all. I viewed my normally handsome face in the bedroom mirror and found it less than appealing. My eyes were red, and as for my tongue – when I stuck this out to examine it, the thing presented such an unpleasant aspect that I felt disinclined to return it to my mouth.

But I did.

Upon the dresser I found a note, written by Mr Bell.

Dear Darwin,

I have gone into London to arrange things as best I can. Please do not leave the Flying Swan, as I fear you will be taken by Brentford's Monkey-Catcher-in-Residence and we would not want that. I may not return tonight, so be ready to leave at 9 o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. A driver will collect and instruct you and also settle our account.

C. B.

PS Should things not go according to my plans, know that I consider you the best friend that I ever had.

This note did nothing to raise my spirits. I had no wish to make the acquaintance of Brentford's Monkey-Catcher-in-Residence. And although I was deeply touched by the ‘PS’ part, I also found it most distressing.

So I sat in a rather grumpy mood until a knock at the door signalled the arrival of a very late breakfast that Mr Bell had taken the trouble to arrange for me. Bananas were included and strong coffee, too, and very soon I was once more my former self, bright, alert and ready for adventure.

But just what was I to do?

I concluded that as I had the day to myself, I should engage in an adventure of my own, independent of those involving Mr Bell. An adventure with some magic and of course a happy ending, and so this is what came to be . . .

The Adventurous Ape

in the Land of Clouds
^*

The adventurous ape was all alone and greatly in need of adventure. He enjoyed his breakfast and cleaned his teeth and sat peering out of the window. Beyond, the world of Brentford went about its everyday business. Above, the sky was blue and strewn with clouds.

The adventurous ape looked up at those clouds and wondered, as all of us have done at times, and sighed a little, too. He raised the sash window and breathed in the pure
Brentford air. And he leaned upon the windowsill and longed very hard for adventure.

And if one longs
really
hard for adventure . . .

Adventure
will
come calling.

From above came a curious rushing sound, accompanied by a shriek. These two were followed by a thump and a rather loud cry of pain.

The adventurous ape, rightly startled by these untoward sounds, climbed nimbly out of the window, up the drainpipe, over the gutter and onto the roof.

And here found a little boy.

He was a very grubby little boy, being all-over black with chimney soot, and he lay upon his back upon the grey roof slates, rubbing at his elbows and swearing through the gaps between his unwashed teeth.

‘Are you all right?’ asked the monkey. ‘And indeed, where on Earth have you come from?’

The grubby boy looked up at the ape. ‘You are a talking monkey,’ he observed.

‘I am and my name is Darwin,’ said the ape.

‘I am Jack Rankin,’ said the boy, ‘and I would shake your hand.’

Darwin reached out to shake a hand but found none offered to him.

‘I
would
shake your hand,’ said Jack Rankin, ‘but I've all but busted me elbows a-falling onto this roof.’

‘You are a chimney-sweep's boy,’ said the monkey, for this was evident to his eyes. ‘But the chimneys here are rather small and I heard you come down from above.’

‘That I did,’ said Jack. ‘Precipitated, I was, out of a big chimney at Syon House. I'm Lord Brentford's step-and-fetch-it, I am, and pleased to be in service to that noble
man. But his lordship has these ideas, you see. Of inventions and the like.’

‘Go on,’ said the monkey, for he found the lad's conversation to be not without certain points of interest. ‘Speak to me of these inventions.’

‘Them's many,’ said Jack, ‘and they mostly don't work. Save for the one what brought me here. That one worked well enough.’

The monkey tried to dust Jack down, but he was sooty, it appeared, right down to the bone.

‘A pneumatic chimney-cleaning ap-ar-ma-ra-tus,’ continued the soot-smothered boy, ‘what would fit about a fireplace and then blow the soot from the chimney out of the chimney pot.’

‘That might make the land around and about rather grubby,’ said the ape.

‘Not on a windy day. His lordship reasoned that if the wind blew hard to the west, Isleworth would cop for the soot. And who cares for Isleworth, eh?’

‘True enough,’ said the ape. ‘A bit of added soot might even improve the place.’

‘Such was his lordship's thinking. However, he decided he'd have a little test today. So here I am.’

‘I feel there is a small piece missing from the tale,’ said the ape.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Jack. ‘The chimney was blocked, you see, so he sent me up to clear it. And being at times an absentminded fellow, my supposing would be that he forgot I was up there and switched on the damnable pneumatic motor once more. Thus precipitating me, as a cork might escape from a bottle of champagne, out of the chimney, into the sky and down onto this here rooftop.’

‘An unlikely tale if ever there was,’ said the ape.

‘I do so agree,’ said the lad. ‘But that is the truth of it.’

‘There is some coffee left over from breakfast in my room,’ said the monkey. ‘You can have some to refresh you, before you return to his lordship.’

The sooty boy did shakings of his very sooty head and Darwin took a step or two away.

‘I ain't going back,’ declared the sooty boy. ‘I'm done with chimney-sweeping and lion-taming and underwater ex-plor-a-mor-ation.’

‘I raise my eyebrows regarding the last two,’ said the ape and did so.

‘His lordship maintains a small private zoo and has recently patented an air-filled suit what enables its wearer to walk on the ocean's floor.’

‘Your life with his lordship is little less than exciting.’

‘It is little less than hazardous and I will have no more of it.’

‘Then what will you do?’ asked the ape.

‘I will take my chances aloft.’

‘In a crow's nest, do you mean? Aboard a sailing ship?’

‘Aloft, as in
up there
.’ The lad pointed skywards with a blackened finger. ‘Up there. Up in the clouds.’

The ape scratched his head, as an ape often will when baffled. ‘Has his lordship invented a sky-going carriage?’ he asked.

‘Not to my knowledge,’ said Jack. ‘But he well might soon, which would be another good reason for me to quit his employ as of now.’

The ape looked up at the sky above, all blue with scudding clouds.

‘How do you mean to get up
there
?’ he asked. ‘And
why
?’

The boy sat up and eased at his elbows. ‘I spends a lot of time on rooftops,’ he said. ‘I hides upon rooftops, I make no
excuse. I knows the rooftops of Syon House well enough and I've spent enough time lying on them a-gazing up at the Heavens to see a bit of what goes on up there.’

‘What
does
go on up there?’ asked Darwin, squinting towards the sky.

‘There's a whole world up there amongst the clouds. A world that is made of them clouds, and things what are made out of clouds. Surely you've noticed the likenesses? Surely everyone does.’

‘If you mean that clouds sometimes look like things, then yes,’ said Darwin. ‘That one up there, for instance, looks like something rather rude, as it happens.’

‘They often do
that
,’ agreed Jack. ‘But what about
that
one?’ And he pointed.

‘That one looks like a whale,’ said Darwin.

‘Because that's just what it is.’

‘Ah,’ said Darwin. ‘I regret I must disillusion you there. Which is a pity, but it must be done. You are using your childish imagination here, which is a wonderful thing, do not get me wrong. But you are imagining, as children do, that there is a land in the clouds. That there is a land made out of clouds. That clouds that look like whales
are
whales, cloud whales. It is not really true, I'm afraid.’

‘Have you quite finished?’ asked the boy, now standing on the rooftop.

‘It is a cloud and
not
a whale,’ said Darwin.

‘It is a cloud
and
a whale,’ said Jack. ‘It is a sky whale.’

‘No,’ said Darwin.

But, ‘Yes,’ said Jack, and he nodded his head very hard. ‘And,’ he went on to say, ‘I can prove it.’

The monkey shrugged and said, ‘Go on, then.’

‘You'd have to trust me,’ said Jack. ‘You would have to believe.’

‘Ah,’ said the monkey. ‘I see.’

‘Wouldn't you like to go up there?’ asked Jack. ‘Up amongst the clouds? To sail across the world and gaze down upon oceans and continents, forests and mountains and all?’

‘I think it would be a very wonderful thing to do,’ said the monkey. ‘But it is what one does in dreams, and not, I regret, when awake.’

‘Well, I'm going,’ said Jack. ‘And if you won't come with me, then at least you can watch me go.’

The monkey shrugged once more and said, ‘I will.’

‘Then you must climb with me to a high place and you'll see me board a low-runner.’

The monkey had one shrug left in him and so he offered it now.

‘Follow me,’ said Jack and took off at the trot.

He was very nimble on his toes, was Jack, and he fair bounded over the slate roofs, jumping from building to building. Darwin followed on with admiration.

‘Not much further now,’ called Jack and pointed up ahead, towards the spire of Saint Joan's Church that rose beyond the rooftops.

A swing, a jump, a swing and they had reached Saint Joan's.

Darwin gazed up at the spire that dwindled into the sky above. It was a
very
tall church spire and monkeys
do
really like high places. Darwin worried for Jack, however, and said so.

‘Fear not for me,’ said Jack most bravely, ‘for I have no fear of my own.’

And with that said, he began to scale the spire.

Up and up went Darwin and the boy, past grinning gargoyles and decorative slates, right up to the weathercock.

The views were utterly wonderful. The beautiful borough
of Brentford spread all around and about. The Thames a mirrored snake reflecting the sky.

A gentle breeze rippled Darwin's coat and danced soot from Jack's head.

‘We're here,’ said he. ‘And now you'll see for yourself.’

Darwin was admiring the views. ‘What am I going to see?’

‘You'll see me go up, that's what.’

And Jack clung to the weathercock and waited.

Darwin waited, too. But being a monkey of mercurial disposition, he soon tired of waiting and asked, ‘What are we waiting
for
?’

‘A low-runner, I told you.’

‘But what
is
a low-runner?’

‘That's one there,’ said Jack, and he pointed. ‘If it comes near enough.’

Drifting towards them was a tiny little cloud. About the size of a bathtub, it was, or perhaps a rowing boat. In fact, it did rather resemble a rowing boat, truth be told. It was the right shape and it almost looked as it if had oars as well.

‘Perfect,’ said Jack. ‘That's just what I'm after.’

‘Jack?’ said Darwin. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Board that low-runner and go aloft,’ said Jack.

‘Do you mean climb onto that cloud?’

The cloud was almost upon them.

Jack simply nodded his head.

‘Oh no,’ said Darwin. ‘Jack, do not. Please, you must not do that.’

‘What have I to lose?’ asked Jack.

And with that said, he leapt from the spire towards the passing cloud.

*
From
Ki-Vi and the Sky Whales and other Far-Fetched Fictions
by Robert Rankin. Reproduced by kind permission of Far-Fetched Books
, ¥ 2014.