The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (30 page)

‘Then
I am very glad indeed that you are glad to hear it.’

‘I am
glad of
that,’
said Cameron Bell.

‘Then
I am sure you will be utterly delighted to know that I would be pleased to
engage your services, in order that you may track down this rogue female and
bring her to justice.’

‘That
might prove to be something of a challenge,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

‘Would
a fifty-guinea retainer and an open expense account nudge your elbow in the
direction of such a challenge?’ asked the chief inspector.

Cameron
Bell tugged at his beard. His most pressing unfinished business lay with Miss
Lavinia Dharkstorrm. But fifty guineas
was
fifty guineas and although
the mysterious Lady Raygun was clearly a most violent creature, at least she
was not possessed of supernatural powers. Such an adversary, although clearly
most dangerous, he could surely deal with.

‘I
will accept the challenge,’ said Cameron Bell.

Chief
Inspector Case stuck out his hand and Mr Bell shook it. A deal was a deal, as
both men understood.

‘Did
I mention,’ asked the chief inspector, a rather sly look creeping onto his
face, ‘that not only is this murderous woman now able to fly, but she is, so it
would appear, also invulnerable to bullets?’

Lord Brentford
looked particularly vulnerable as he lay in his hospital bed. He had much of
the Egyptian mummy about him, swathed as he was from head to toe in bandages of
white. Many much-prized parts of his lordship were broken, but the noble man
maintained his stiff upper lip. He was presently engaged in a private
conference with a Venusian ecclesiastic and although his mouth was moving, the
rest of him stayed still.

‘The
Wonders of the Worlds,’ said his lordship. ‘The TriPlanetary Exposition. It
would open upon the stroke of midnight on the thirty-first of December, to
welcome in the new century in a manner most fitting — do you not agree?’

The
Venusian ecclesiastic stood before his lordship’s bed of pain, an enchanting
creature, tall and slender, high of cheekbone, broad of mouth and large of
golden eyes. She, for surely such was her gender, wore a gown that seemed as
wisps of smoke and walked upon shoes with dizzying heels whose soles were
specifically sanctified to permit her to step upon a planet that Venusians
deemed unholy.

‘Your
lordship,’ she said, in a voice surely that of some echoing choir, ‘although
your motives are pure, there is danger in this enterprise.’

‘Danger?’
puffed his lordship. ‘A lot of organisation, perhaps, but no danger that I can
see.’

‘It
is not a propitious moment for such a venture.’ The Venusian ecclesiastic
swayed backwards and forwards, her long and shapely fingers drawing queer and
ghostly patterns in the air. ‘If you wish, I could cast a horoscope and tell
you the precise day and hour of that day which would serve you and your Empire
best.’

‘I
have no time for all that hocus-pocus. We did not have witch doctors rattling
their bones about when the Crystal Palace opened. A fanfare and horsemen and
Her Majesty the Queen was all it took.’ Lord Brentford tried to ease himself
about. He hurt in places he had quite forgotten that he owned. ‘I am not asking
much,’ he said, ‘only that your people play some part in it. Exhibit some of
your woven carpets, your handicrafts, your famous orchids. You know the drill.
Put on a bit of a show for the public. Do yourselves a bit of good. A lot of
tension exists between the worlds at present, what with all that revolution
business on Mars last year and the military junta taking over and all. Peace between
the worlds and all that carry-on — do you catch my drift?’

The
ecclesiastic’s fingers described a pentacle above the head of Lord Brentford.
‘I will see what can be done,’ said she, ‘but know that there are signs and
portents in the Heavens. Omens of the Coming of Ragnarök.’

‘Just
tell me that you will do your best,’ said his lordship, ‘that you and your
people will cooperate. I ask no more than that.’

‘I
will do what I can,’ said the Venusian ecclesiastic. ‘But now I must go — it is
time for my devotions. My blessings upon you, Lord Brentford. I hope that you
will soon be well once more.

The
enchanting creature turned to leave.

‘Before
you go,’ said his lordship.

The
enchanting creature turned once more towards him.

‘What
is your name?’ asked his lordship. ‘I do not know your name.

‘My
name is Leah,’ said the Venusian. ‘But you may only use this name when the two
of us are alone and no others are present to hear you speak it to me.

‘Leah,’
said Lord Brentford. ‘A very beautiful name.

The
Venusian ecclesiastic swept away from the hospital room, leaving nothing behind
but her name upon Lord Brentford’s lips and a haunting fragrance hanging in the
air.

His
lordship made a pained expression beneath his bandages, then gently turned his
head towards the window.

‘Come
in here,’ he called as best he could.

The
curtains twitched and a foolish face peeped in at the bed-bound lord.

‘Darwin,’
said Lord Brentford. ‘It
is
you, Darwin boy.’

Darwin
grinned and waved at his lordship.

‘Come
on in,’ called the noble lord. ‘I have no idea how you found me but I’m damned
glad that you did. Come on in and share this bowl of bananas.’

Darwin’s
smile widened and he danced into the hospital room.

‘And
then you can help me with my bedpan,’ said Lord Brentford.

29

h,
please leave it be,’ cried Mr Ernest Rutherford, flapping his fingers at the
troll named Jones. ‘We have a very busy day ahead of us and you are not helping
by fiddling with
that!’

Jones
made the face of shame then put away the thing with which he fiddled. ‘What is
it I can do for you, 0 master?’ he asked in a greasy tone. ‘Your wish is my
command, as well you know.’

‘Jones,’
said Mr Rutherford, ‘you arouse mixed feelings in me — abhorrence and disgust
in equal measure.

‘Master
flatters me,’ said Jones, finding something else to fiddle with.

‘I
feel certain,’ said Ernest Rutherford, ‘that I could reverse the process which
brought you from your world to this. What say you — shall we give it a try?’

‘I
would prefer not,’ said Jones. ‘Great things here will shortly be mine, of this
I am most certain.

Ernest
Rutherford peered into the wall mirror. His ears still smarted from the
tweakings that Darwin had given them. The chemist rubbed at the left one and
tugged at the right.

The
doorbell rang and Mr Rutherford waved to Jones to answer it. The troll,
however, stood his ground, picking at his nose.

‘Door,’
said Mr Rutherford. ‘It will not answer itself’

‘It
will be
her,’
said Jones the troll. ‘The beast in human form.’

‘That
is no way to talk about the delightful Miss Violet Wond.’ Mr Rutherford
straightened his tie, took off his work coat and slipped on a velvet smoking
jacket. Topping this off with a matching fez, he said, ‘She’s a charming woman.

Jones
ground yellowed teeth together. ‘I can’t stand the sight of her,’ he muttered.

‘Without
her help I do not believe I could ever have come so far with the present
experiment. She has been invaluable.’

‘She’s
horrible,’ said Jones, examining the yield from his nose and popping it into
his mouth. ‘Promise you will get rid of her as soon as the time-ship is
finished.’

The
doorbell rang once more and Mr Rutherford glared at the troll called Jones.

‘All
right,’ said the ugly creature. ‘I shall let her in.’

Mr
Rutherford watched as Jones left the work-room, slamming the door behind him.
In truth the chemist had grown quite fond of the strange Miss Violet Wond. As
the months had passed he had grown more and more attached to her. She had
allowed him to take her to dinner on several occasions and the conversation had
been polite, at times extremely interesting, but never as yet of the intimate
persuasion.

Miss
Wond was a woman of mystery. Mr Rutherford had so far failed to draw her out
regarding the matter of what lay beneath the veil she always wore. Nor had he
learned anything of her past other than that she had spent much of it upon
Mars. Miss Violet Wond was a mystery wrapped up in an enigma and cinched at the
waist by a very fetching corset.

The
door banged open and Miss Violet Wond stood in the opening, black parasol in
hand.

‘Fair
lady,’ said Mr Rutherford. ‘My apologies for keeping you waiting. I will
chasten that Jones, have no fear.’

‘I
took the liberty of doing so myself,’ said Miss Wond, lifting her parasol and
waggling it about. ‘He has retired to his nest beneath the stairs. Although he
will not be sitting down for quite a while.’

Mr
Rutherford coughed politely. ‘So he will not be joining us upon our journey
today,’ said he, and he smiled as he said it. ‘Just you and I.’

‘Just
you and I,’ said Violet Wond. ‘I think we can manage by ourselves.’

‘We
certainly can.’ Mr Rutherford now hastily removed his velvet jacket and
matching fez and replaced these with a sober morning coat and high silk top
hat.

‘If
you will walk this way,’ he said to Miss Wond.

‘If I
could walk
that
way …’ she replied, but did not finish the sentence.

Mr
Ernest Rutherford felt tiny hairs stand up in certain places. ‘To Crystal
Palace,’ said he.

‘A regular
palace,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘I am sure you will agree.’

Mr
Septimus Grey gazed up at the grand façade of Syon House. ‘It is a most
imposing building,’ said he. ‘But you have yet to explain to me why I have
literally been dragged here from the Martian Embassy to join you in looking at
a country house. I
am
the Governor of the Martian Territories, you
know.’

‘I
do, I do,’ said Chief Inspector Case, dipping into his tweed shooting jacket
and drawing out his pipe. Sensibly clad now, was the chief inspector, although
he had toyed with the costume of a Jovian potentate, to put Mr Grey at his
ease, as it were.

‘Something
occurred here last night,’ said Scotland Yard’s finest. ‘A spaceship crashed
down out of the sky into the rear of this house.’

Septimus
Grey fixed the chief inspector with a beady eye. ‘A spaceship?’ said he. ‘A
spaceship crashed? What has this to do with me?’

‘The
reports are,’ said Chief Inspector Case, ‘that it was a
Martian
spaceship.
And as Mars is under your control—’

‘Never
under
my
control!’ Septimus Grey spoke sharply. ‘I was the administrative head
until the July Revolution of last year. A military junta now
controls
the
planet.
I
inhabit the Martian Embassy in London.’

‘I’ll
wager you would like to return on Mars.’

Septimus
Grey gave Chief Inspector Case the full force of both beady eyes. ‘When the
generals now in control are sent on their way,’ he shouted, ‘then
yes,
of
course I would like to return! Mars is a beautiful planet. There are many op—
He paused in mid-flow.

‘Opportunities?’
asked the pride of Scotland Yard. ‘Financial opportunities?’

‘I
was going to say many op— Many op— Oh, what word is it that begins with “op”?’

‘Opportunities,’
said the chief inspector, lighting up his pipe, ‘and I applaud this. Heaven
knows, existing upon the meagre pay of the Met, I would be grateful for a few
“opportunities” myself.’

‘Ah,’
said Septimus Grey. ‘I think then that we understand each other.’

‘I
think, sir, that we do.’

‘But
I still do not understand exactly why you have brought me here.’