The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (40 page)

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Authors: Robert Rankin

BOOK: The Japanese Devil Fish Girl
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George gaped down at what lay before him. It glittered as a rare gem. As a piece of a pharaoh’s hoard caught in the beam of a treasure hunter’s lamp. It was a little larger than an average pocket Bible, but exuded a quality of absolute pricelessness.
 
‘The Book of Sayito,’
he said. ‘I thought somehow it might be bigger.’
 
Ada gazed at the wonderful book. The cover of gold embossed with unearthly gems. ‘It is identical to the one I read in Lemuria,’ she said. ‘It is
The Book of
Sayito
.’
 
‘A
Book of Sayito
,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘We are aware of at least five others. But for all we know there may be thousands, millions even, scattered throughout inhabited worlds across the universe.’
 
‘Goodness me,’ was all that George could say. But he gently placed his hand upon the cover of the holy book and swore a vow of secrecy.
 
Ada did likewise.
 
Mr Gladstone continued, ‘As you must know, Mr Fox, the sun never sets upon the British Empire. Two-thirds of this world are under our benign control, as is the planet Mars.’
 
George nodded thoughtfully and wondered what was coming.
 
‘As you will also know,’ continued Mr Gladstone once more, ‘after the failed Martian invasion, the British Empire carried the fight to the Red Planet and defeated the Martians there. Ambassadors from Venus and Jupiter made their appearance before Her Majesty Queen Victoria and an era of interplanetary trade and peaceful commerce commenced. Now, Mr Fox, what you will not know is that the British Government, or at least certain members of it, had been aware of the existence upon this planet of men from Venus and Jupiter long before the Martians invaded. A secret department called the Ministry of Serendipity had been set up to monitor their movements, investigate the supernatural, paranormal, outré and untoward. With a view to, how shall I put this, increasing the viability and protection of the Empire. If magic or suchlike actually existed, or functioned, then the Empire should have it as a resource. Surely you would agree?’
 
‘Certainly,’ said George.
 
‘The Ministry employed spirit mediums, astrologers, diviners of future events. Some proved to be charlatans and were summarily dismissed. Others, such as Mr Macmoyster Farl and his father, were genuine and a great deal of valuable information was gleaned from them. These mediums had thought that they were communicating with the dead. They were, however, actually receiving telepathic messages from the ecclesiastics of Venus.
 
‘I will not bore you with all the details. The crux of the matter is that the ecclesiastics have been seeking something for millennia, something they claim was stolen from them.’
 
‘The Japanese Devil Fish Girl,’ said George. ‘The statue of Sayito.’
 
‘Precisely so, Mr Fox. The book before you is one of the grimoires written in the universal language. It is the Bible to countless races, within this solar system and beyond. The Venusian search led them eventually to Earth. They telepathically communicated the plans for a machine. Would you care to continue, Mr Babbage?’
 
‘I would,’ said Mr Babbage. ‘And hello to you again, Ada dear.’
 
‘Ada dear?’ queried George.
 
‘I met Mr Babbage during our flight back from the island, George. We talked about mathematics. I believe he intends to employ me to help him work on his new Difference Engine.’
 
‘I would be honoured,’ said Mr Babbage. ‘But to continue with the story. A Mr Phineas Barnum put up the money to construct this machine, the Hieronymous Machine it was named. A device, I was led to believe, that would act as a communicator with the dead. In fact, it was a locator. It sent a beam of energy all around the world in order to locate the statue of Sayito. Do not ask me how it functioned. I have to confess it was beyond my abilities to comprehend its workings. However, the energy that it transmitted apparently reached Mars. And as you might expect, the folk of Mars also had
The Book of Sayito
as
their
holy book. And
they
believed that the statue was stolen from
their
planet. And so they launched their attack upon Earth to reclaim it.’
 
‘I did know some of that,’ said George. ‘But certainly not all.’
 
‘This treasure,’ said Mr Gladstone, ‘now resides within St Paul’s Cathedral. Where it will continue to reside, I will have you know—’
 
‘Professor Coffin intends to tour it around the world,’ said George.
 
‘Professor Coffin,’ said Mr Gladstone, ‘is presently being hailed as a hero of the Empire. But both you and I know him for the scoundrel that he really is. Mr Fox, Mr Macmoyster Farl made a prediction that you would find Sayito, did he not?’
 
‘He did, sir,’ said George Fox.
 
‘And you told the professor of this prophecy and he financed the expedition to find the statue?’
 
‘He thought She was a living being. He sought to exhibit Her. He is, of course, now doubly happy as She is not living and so does not need feeding or paying.’
 
‘But I understand there have been complications.’
 
‘Are you speaking of the Martians that inhabit Lemuria?’ George asked.
 
‘I am,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘Professor Coffin was not at all forthcoming regarding the inhabitants of the island. He skirted right around the issue, a most slippery individual.’
 
‘But what do you want of me?’ asked George. ‘I can tell you all I know about those Martians down there. And I can tell you this – if they are able to leave that island they will, and they will seek to destroy us all.’
 
‘Because they claim the statue to be theirs?’
 
‘Indeed.’ George nodded. ‘And what they read in The Book of Sayito is that they are the forces of Good and we are the forces of Evil, and they will destroy us in a mighty Apocalypse.’
 
‘Such as I feared,’ said Mr Gladstone, and he took from his pocket an oversized red gingham handkerchief and mopped at his brow with it. ‘I have to confess,’ said he, ‘that we are in a pretty pickle and no mistake. A party of Venusians visited the statue today—’
 
‘We saw them,’ said George.
 
‘And a party of Jupiterians also.’
 
‘We saw them too,’ George said.
 
‘Both parties reported back to their respective embassies in Grosvenor Square. And both of their ambassadors have sent me letters.’ Mr Gladstone lifted these letters, then let them drop from his fingers. ‘Both these letters demand the return of the statue,’ said he.
 
‘Difficult,’ said George. ‘I suppose you should probably have it returned to the Venusians. The Jupiterians appear as a race less religiously fanatic in their nature.’
 
Mr Gladstone nodded. ‘No,’ he said.
 
‘No?’ asked George.
 
‘Precisely, no. Do you not think that explorers of the British Empire have sought Sayito? All manner of men have sought Her. Sir Richard Burton, Professor Challenger, Doctor Livingstone, Allan Quatermain. All sought, all failed in their searches. You, however, were successful. How would you account for that?’
 
‘I would say sheer luck,’ said George. ‘But all luck long ago fled this dismal episode. Except for meeting Ada, of course.’
 
‘There must be some reason,’ said the Prime Minister, ‘why you should be the one to find Her. I believe that Mr Macmoyster Farl’s prediction went—’ Mr Gladstone sought notes before him, ‘—“Upon your shoulders will rest the future of the planets”.’
 
‘Yes,’ said George. ‘I recall
that
line only too well.’
 
‘The question is,’ said Mr Gladstone, ‘how will your shoulders be employed in this matter?’
 
‘I will certainly do anything I can to help,’ said George. ‘If you would care for my advice, I would say, give the statue to either the Venusians or the Jupiterians. Let them sort out the matter between themselves. Elsewhere and not upon this planet.’
 
‘There may be wisdom in your words and I will bear them in mind,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘But for now and for the foreseeable future, the most sacred object in the entire universe will stay
exactly
where it belongs. In St Paul’s, in London, at the heart of the British Empire.’
 
George Fox bit at his upper lip. Ada leaned across and squeezed his hand. ‘Prime Minister,’ she said. And Mr Gladstone nodded. ‘I really do feel that you should heed my husband’s words. Perhaps it might be decided by a show of hands around the table.’
 
‘Are there any more matters that must be discussed?’ Mr Gladstone asked of Mr Babbage.
 
Ada Fox did foldings of her arms. ‘Well,
really
!’ she said.
 
‘We need whatever information Mr Fox can give us regarding the martial strength of the Martian inhabitants of Lemuria,’ said Mr Babbage. ‘Anything at all will be helpful. I understand Mr Faircloud here has alerted the observatories around the world to “keep watching the sky”.’
 
‘I have,’ said Mr Faircloud. ‘If anything untoward appears in orbit around the planet we will be notified.’
 
George stood up and protested. ‘And do what?’ he asked. ‘The Martian weapons were far superior to our own. Who knows what awful death rays and killing beams the Venusians might possess?’
 
‘Negotiations are ongoing,’ said Mr Gladstone.
 
‘Negotiations over
what
?’ George asked.
 
‘Young man,’ said Mr Gladstone, ‘
I
am the Prime Minister of England. I will not have
you
demand answers of
me
.’
 
‘This is all madness,’ said George. ‘We will all be killed.’
 
‘Things must move slowly and precisely through diplomatic channels,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘The ambassadors of Venus and Jupiter have made certain requests. These must be looked at, discussed, amended, reviewed. Committees must be formed to discuss procedures. Areas of discussion and negotiation must be broadened. These things are not to be rushed. No decisions must ever be made hastily. Such is the nature of democratic government.’
 
George Fox rolled his eyes and sat back down.
 
‘We need to be in command of
all
relevant information, ’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘Which is why you are here: to help by telling all that you know. But big decisions must be left to big men. Negotiations over the statue may take weeks, months, years, decades even. So much red tape. So many departments that must be consulted. Leave it to us to make decisions, Mr Fox, and all will be for the best. You mark my words.’
 
George Fox rolled his eyes once more.
 
A knock came at the door.
 
‘Come,’ called the Prime Minister. And a Gentleman in Black entered, bearing letters on a tray.
 
The Prime Minister received the letters, dismissed the Gentleman in Black, opened the envelopes that held the letters, read the letters to himself, then leaned back in his chair.
 
‘It would seem,’ said he, to one and all, ‘that our discussions must now take a different tack, for as of—’ he brought out his pocket watch and studied its face ‘—five minutes ago, both Jupiter
and
Venus have declared war on us.’
 
41
 
M
r Winston Churchill now rose to his feet and bowed.
 
His baby face smiled sweetly as he declared that the time for empty words had passed and that he personally would take charge of dealing with the alien threat. Immediately. And have it all done before bedtime.
 
George, at least, applauded
this
timescale.
 
‘Mr Gladstone,’ said Mr Churchill, ‘might I be so bold as to propose that you elevate me to the rank of Supreme Commander of all land, sea and air forces, that I might expedite matters swiftly and conclusively?’
 
Mr Gladstone scarcely paused. ‘Why, certainly, sir,’ he said.
 
‘The responsibility will be mine,’ said Mr Churchill, bringing out his cigar case, selecting a fine Havana and slotting it into the corner of his mouth. ‘I have planned for such an eventuality as this. The Martian invasion caught us with our trousers around our ankles, so to speak. My apologies for the metaphor, dear lady.’

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