The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (37 page)

‘As
you will.’ Lord Babbage threw a lever.

There
was a flash and a big cloud of smoke.

Which
cleared.

To
reveal a big fat chicken.

‘There,’
said Lord Tesla. ‘Another one! It just doesn’t make any sense.

35

 chicken!’
said Ernest Rutherford. ‘And it is
always
a chicken?’

‘Always
a chicken,’ said Lord Babbage. ‘No matter how far back in time we go, we always
turn up a chicken.’

‘Perhaps
there have been chicken farms upon this spot since the very dawn of
civilisation,’ was Mr Rutherford’s suggestion.

‘Perhaps,’
said Lord Babbage, ‘perhaps.’

‘I
cannot think of any other likely explanation.’

‘I
hate flaming chickens, I do,’ said Lord Nikola Tesla.

‘Flaming
chicken,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘Flaming chicken for lunch.’

Darwin
looked up at his lord and master. What was
this
all about?

They
sat side by side in a hansom cab parked at the kerb of the Mall.

‘I
will take you for lunch,’ Lord Brentford explained, ‘to the very latest and
most fashionable eatery in town. It is called Patrick’s Flaming Chickens. You
have no objection to eating chicken, I suppose?’

Darwin
shook his hairy little head.

‘Mean
to say, not as if they’re your ancestors or anything.’ Lord Brentford chuckled
merrily, then clutched at his wounded nose. ‘Anyhow,’ he continued, ‘this is
where the Grand Exposition will be held. The great house of glass stretching
all the way from there—’ he gestured towards the archway that led to Trafalgar
Square ‘—to there.’ And they viewed the palace of the Queen. ‘Construction will
start next week. We’ll pop down every day or so to keep an eye on things.’

Darwin
thought this a pleasant enough prospect and smiled as he nodded his head.

‘We
will be making history, my boy,’ said Lord Brentford, patting his monkey butler
upon his nodding head and nearly knocking his hat off. ‘Making history, what do
you think about
that?’

Darwin
raised a thumb approvingly.

‘Splendid
stuff Then let us go for lunch.’ Lord Brentford shouted up to the driver,
‘Patrick’s Flaming Chickens, man.

It was a rather
swank affair, was Patrick’s Flaming Chickens. It served a most nutritious
delicacy: farm-fresh chicken pieces cocooned in a batter of secret herbs and
spices, then plunged into a boiling vat of health-giving lard and cooked to a
tasty turn.

Willing
waiters lifted Lord Brentford from the hansom cab and conveyed him to the seat
he had reserved.

‘I am
sure you have no objection to standing while you eat,’ said his lordship to
Darwin. ‘Pretty swank affair, this —seats are hard to come by.’

And
indeed it
was
a pretty swank affair. The literati and glitterati and
indeed the obiterati were all well represented here this lunchtime. On behalf
of the literati, Lord Brentford drew Darwin’s attention to Mr Oscar Wilde, who
sat sharing a milkshake with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The
glitterati glittered as they should. There was Dame Nellie Melba and there too
Little Tich and several other stars of the music hall. And all were setting
about their tucker in a most poetic manner:

Sammy ‘Sherbert’ Schwartscof sucked a stripy sweet.

Freddie ‘Fat Boy’ Firkin favoured fowls.

When it came to pudding, Birdie Pinkerton could
claim

That he ate it while impersonating owls.

Of
the obiterati only one was present today: the late great Duke of Wellington.
Looking pale, but interesting.

‘Tuck
in me napkin, do,’ said Lord Brentford to his monkey butler.

Darwin
climbed onto the table and attended to the lord.

‘Would
sir care to see the wine list?’ asked a liveried waiter.

‘Just
bring me a bottle of Château Doveston,’ said his lordship, ‘and
squawk!’

‘I
don’t think we have
squawk
on the wine list, your lordship.’

‘It’s
not a damn drink,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘It was a damn
squawk
— damn
monkey butler’s tucked me napkin in too tight.’

Darwin
scuttled smartly from the table.

‘Dining
with a lady today,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘so bring two glasses.’

Darwin
made a hopeful face and tugged at his master’s leg.

‘And
a bowl of water for the ape.’

Cutlery
clattered and toothsome viands were munched upon with relish. The setting was
of the modernistic persuasion, with the very latest thing in red flocked
wallpaper, neon strip-lighting and Bakelite chairs that grated musically upon
the pink linoleum floor. It was chic beyond chic and they even served Treacle
Sponge Bastard.

Leah
the Venusian entered the eatery. Ravishing in high-heeled shoes, with high
cheekbones and high-plumed hair, she had the heads of high-born fellows
turning.

Lord
Brentford greeted her with much enthusiasm. ‘So happy to see you, most
beautiful lady,’ he gushed. ‘So sorry about all the misunderstandings yesterday
at my luncheon. No hard feelings upon the part of your companion, I trust.’

Three
waiters aided Leah into her seat, then began to fuss at her with napkins.

‘Sling
your hooks, waiters!’ bawled Lord Brentford. ‘Trying to have a bally
conversation here, don’cha know.’

Darwin
grinned. He actually quite liked to watch Lord Brentford throwing his weight
around and bullying the menials. Why? Darwin shrugged. He did not know, but
still it made him smile.

The
waiters departed. Then returned in the company of the waiter who was bringing
the champagne. Lord Brentford shooed the lot of them away and called upon
Darwin to open and pour out the bubbly.

Darwin
willingly obliged and sneaked a glass for himself Lord Brentford took his in
his good hand and toasted the delightful Leah.

‘My
dear lady,’ said he in a confidential tone, ‘I really am so glad that you chose
to dine with me this lunchtime. Terribly embarrassed about yesterday and
everything. Especially in front of Her Majesty. I consider it all Sir Peter
Harrow’s fault. Man’s a scoundrel, should have seen it from the first.’

‘It
is of no consequence,’ said Leah, tasting champagne. ‘And regarding my
companion, he underwent rigorous purgations to repurify himself. He has had
his skin scoured and powerful laxatives—’

‘Well,’
went Lord Brentford, humming and hah-ing, ‘let us not dwell upon such a
personal matter. Do you find the champagne palatable?’

Leah
nodded, her golden eyes fixed upon his lordship. Lesser men might well have
wilted, but Lord Brentford was the son of sterling noble stock. ‘It is a
delicate matter, ‘he said, ‘that I wish to broach. You see, yesterday at the
luncheon table, your companion caused certain events to occur.

Leah’s
gaze remained unfaltering.

‘The
fire,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘that fell from the Heavens. Narrowly missing Sir
Peter Harrow but playing merry havoc with my table decorations.’

‘It
was a regrettable occurrence,’ said Leah.

‘It
wasn’t a bad shot,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘It only
just
missed him.’

‘Regrettable,’
said Leah, ‘as it is against interplanetary agreement for Venusians to practise
magic on Earth.’

‘I
know, I know,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘Darwin,’ he called to his ape, ‘top up the
lady’s glass, if you will.’

Darwin
hastened to oblige and also topped up his own.

‘It
is forbidden,’ said Leah. ‘My companion will be punished for his undisciplined
behaviour — fifty strokes of the Poomdanger’s Pizzle, followed by—’

‘I do
not wish to know,’ said his lordship, who knew nothing of Poomdangers, but
having served in the Queen’s Own Electric Fusiliers was no stranger to a
flogging with a pizzle. ‘Never seen such stuff myself before,’ said his lordship,
placing his empty glass before him. ‘Fire falling out of an empty sky. Most
impressive.’

The
golden eyes were focused on Lord Brentford.

‘Question
is,’ said he, ‘what would it take to persuade you to teach me a trick or two
like that?’

‘Trick?’
said Leah.

‘And
a damn fine one, too. Would certainly put the wind up the chaps at the
Explorers’ Club if I knew how to do it.’

Leah
stared hard at Lord Brentford. ‘I think you fail to understand,’ she said.
‘These are neither parlour tricks nor stage illusions as might be displayed
before an audience at the Electric Alhambra. This is magic of the purest kind.
This is genuine magic.’

‘Genuine
magic, you say?’ Lord Brentford rattled his glass on the table and Darwin
swiftly refilled it. ‘
Genuine
magic?’

‘How
can you doubt it?’ asked Leah. ‘Interplanetary treaties have been drawn up
regarding it. Laws passed.’

‘Hmph,’
went his lordship. ‘Well, I
have
been away for a couple of years.
Airship crash. Stuck on cannibal island. Long story, won’t bore you with it
here.’

‘It
is genuine magic,’ said Leah.

‘Is
it, by Jingo?’ his lordship said.

Presently meals
were ordered, and further champagne. Mr Patrick, the suave and debonair
proprietor of the establishment, even happened by to offer a rose to Leah and
present her with a voucher which enabled her to eat for half the price on
Monday evenings.

By
the serving of the Treacle Sponge Bastard, Lord Brent-ford was somewhat into
his cups. As was Darwin, who now could see two Lord Brentford’s and an infinite
number of Leahs.

Which
set him to wondering whether an infinite number of Shakespeares might be able
to write a really good monkey.

‘So,
would you teach me?’ asked Lord Brentford, swaying in his chair. ‘A little
piece of genuine magic. I promise that I’d only use it for good.’

‘Absolutely
not,’ said Leah. ‘It is quite forbidden.’

‘But
if it
is
genuine,’ said Lord Brentford, within whose head many ideas
were now percolating, ‘then it is right and proper that you share it.’

‘No,‘
said Leah. ‘It cannot be done.’

‘For
the sake of peace,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘I am a man of peace, you know this.’

‘I
do,’ said Leah. ‘We Venusians are gifted with an ability to discern character.
Yours, although severely flawed in many areas, is intrinsically good.’

‘I’ll
take that as a compliment. And if I might be permitted to offer you one, might
I say that you are the most fascinating creature that it has ever been my
honour to dine with.’

‘I am
flattered,’ said Leah, and a flash of pink came to her ivory cheeks.

‘Pity,
though,’ said his lordship, ‘about the magic. The Empire and the Crown have
enemies, you know, upon this planet and possibly upon others. If there was a
magical spell which, say, could protect our dear Victoria from harm, as a loyal
subject I would do all in my power to gain the knowledge of it. I know I
probably appear a bluff kind of body, but I care. I really do care. Know it’s
not perhaps a manly thing to say, but I do care, yes, I do indeed.’

Leah
looked thoughtfully upon Lord Brentford. ‘I do believe you to be sincere,’ she
said, ‘but it
is
forbidden.’

‘And
I would not wish to get
you
into any trouble. Nor wish to see the pizzle
inflicted upon you, or any of that frightful stuff.’

‘I
know,’ said Leah. And she stared long and hard at her host. ‘Perhaps,’ she said
slowly, ‘something might be arranged. Something of a secret nature.’

‘Really?’
said Lord Brentford. ‘Well—’

‘No
one must ever know. I might teach you certain things, certain minor cantrips
and invocations.’