The Martian Ambassador (20 page)

The trees on the edge of Leason’s Wood were far enough apart to allow the easy passage of the electric carriage, and its progress was swift. Even when the tree trunks became more densely-packed, Ghell’ed’s driving skills were such that he negotiated them with ease, turning this way and that while sacrificing little in the way of speed.

Presently, however, the wood became too dense to allow the passage of the large vehicle, and reluctantly the driver brought it to a halt. ‘I fear that this is as far as we may proceed,’ he said.

‘No matter,’ Voronezh replied as he opened the door. ‘I believe we are close to the position from which Cold fired his shot.’

Blackwood turned to Sophia. ‘I think it best that you remain here…’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I shall do no such thing, Mr Blackwood!’

‘But Cold may still be out here. The danger–’

‘Is something I am more than capable of facing, I assure you.’ She smiled and took his hand. ‘Don’t worry about me, Thomas. I can look after myself.’

‘I don’t doubt it, but…’ He hesitated, noting her resolute expression. ‘Oh, very well.’

Voronezh instructed Ghell’ed to remain in the carriage, and then alighted, followed by de Chardin, Sophia and Blackwood.

The wood was still and silent, and as they walked away from the vehicle, their shoes crackled upon the fallen leaves. ‘We’re giving away our presence,’ observed de Chardin, his voice quiet nonetheless. ‘If he’s still here, he’ll know we’re coming.’

‘Then let’s make haste,’ replied Blackwood. ‘Mr Voronezh, are you still able to guide us?’

‘I am,’ said the Martian. ‘But a thought occurs to me: if Indrid Cold is here, and is aware of our presence, we will make an easy target for him.’

Blackwood had a sudden vision of the blue beam flashing out from the depths of the wood and incinerating them all in an instant. ‘Dash it all,’ he muttered, ‘you’re right.’

‘Well, we’ll just have to keep our wits about us, eh?’ said de Chardin. He turned to Sophia. ‘Your Ladyship, are you quite sure you will not remain in the carriage?’

‘Do you think I would be any safer there, Detective de Chardin?’ she said.

The Templar Knight sighed. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Then let us stop concerning ourselves with my wellbeing, and turn our attention to the matter at hand.’

Blackwood could not help but smile at her words, and the tone in which she uttered them.
Remarkable woman
, he thought. Something occurred to him, then, and he said, ‘Shanahan… Shanahan, come here.’

A few moments later, the faerie Helper appeared before them. ‘Here I am, sir!’

Petrox Voronezh started visibly and took a step back. ‘Relax, sir,’ said Blackwood. ‘He is our friend.’

Voronezh looked from Blackwood to Shanahan and back again. ‘He is… your
friend
?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Mr Blackwood, you grow in my estimation!’ said Voronezh, and gave to Shanahan a deep bow.

The little man seemed mightily pleased at the gesture. ‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Voronezh,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, always a pleasure to meet a Martian, for they are so much more polite than Earth people.’

‘The honour is mine,’ said Voronezh. Blackwood gave him a nonplussed look.

‘As I said to you before, sir,’ said Shanahan, ‘just say my name aloud, and I shall come to offer whatever assistance I may. Now… what can I do for you?’

‘The interplanetary cylinder carrying the Martian Ambassador’s body has just been destroyed. We believe that the Venusian Indrid Cold is responsible and may still be here in the wood. We are going to try to apprehend him, but we fear he may destroy us first. Can you see your way clear to pinning down his location?’

Shanahan nodded. ‘I’m aware of all these things, sir. The power required to bring down a craft of such size is considerable. It’s more than likely that the weapon used will need to be recharged before it can be fired again…’

‘That’s all very well, little chap,’ said de Chardin peremptorily. ‘But he probably has other weapons at his disposal.’

Voronezh turned to the Templar Knight, and this time Blackwood had no doubt about his expression: it was one of great anger. ‘Do not speak to him so!’

They all looked at him in surprise, except for Shanahan, who merely smiled. ‘See what I mean? So much more polite than humans.’

De Chardin said, ‘I apologise for my tone. I merely meant to…’

‘No matter,’ said the Helper. ‘I will scout out the area and report back to you.’ And with that, he vanished in a puff of lilac smoke.

Voronezh looked at de Chardin and shook his head. ‘You do not know to whom you speak,’ he said.

‘If you please, Mr Voronezh, I know very well,’ the detective retorted. He was about to say more, but Blackwood held up his hand.

‘Who is he?’ he asked.

The Martian regarded him in silence.

Blackwood continued, ‘He claims to be the Helper from my cogitator, and he was certainly there when the contraption went wrong. Do you know something that we don’t?’

Voronezh turned away from them. ‘If you do not know, it means that he does not want you to know, and I will not go against his wishes. Come… the weapon was fired from this direction.’ And with that, the Martian walked away into the depths of the wood.

‘What the deuce was that all about?’ muttered de Chardin as they followed him.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Blackwood, taking out his revolver. ‘But it seems that there is more to Mr Shanahan than meets the eye.’

*

Voronezh was true to his word, for presently they came upon a small clearing, hardly more than twenty yards wide, at the centre of which stood a low mound covered with branches, leaves and clods of humus.

‘That doesn’t look natural,’ said Blackwood. ‘Let’s take a closer look.’

De Chardin glanced at the clearing and the surrounding trees with a penetrating eye. ‘I don’t like it. We’ll be terribly exposed.’

‘Shanahan will warn us of any danger,’ Blackwood assured him. He turned to Sophia. ‘All the same, I think it’s best if you remain here.’

‘Thomas, I–’

‘Just until we make sure that it’s safe,’ he interrupted her gently. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ll hear no arguments. Mr Voronezh, will you remain here also?’

‘I will,’ the Martian replied. ‘Just until you make sure it’s safe. Then her Ladyship and I will join you.’

Sophia folded her arms and gave Blackwood a stern look, her brow furrowed over her deep brown eyes. He found the expression delightful but forced himself not to smile. ‘Come on, de Chardin,’ he said.

With their revolvers at the ready, the Special Investigator and the Templar Knight stepped into the clearing, moving slowly and carefully. Although he tried to focus his attention entirely on his surroundings, Blackwood couldn’t help thinking about Voronezh’s reaction to the appearance of Shanahan. He knew him, or at least knew
of
him, and had displayed a deference Blackwood had never seen a Martian display before – not even to Her Majesty. It was really quite extraordinary.

This, however, was a puzzle for another time, he told himself, and returned his attention exclusively to the matter at hand. He listened intently for any unusual sound, and watched for any furtive movement in the trees surrounding the clearing, ready to drop to the ground and take aim at a moment’s notice. But he was aware of nothing but trees and silence…

Silence
, he thought.
No sounds at all…
That struck him as odd, for there should have been the rustlings of woodland animals, the occasional chirrup of a bird. It was as if they had fled…

De Chardin gave voice to Blackwood’s thoughts. ‘The animals have been frightened away,’ he whispered. ‘The villain is still here… somewhere.’

‘Keep your eye out, de Chardin,’ said Blackwood. ‘I’m going to have a look at that mound.’

De Chardin nodded and swept the barrel of his revolver back and forth, covering the line of trees on the far side of the clearing, while Blackwood edged towards the mound.

There was something under there, that much was evident – but what? Blackwood recalled Voronezh’s suggestion that Indrid Cold had come to Earth in a small vessel, which he had probably concealed somewhere near London.

Blackwood peered closely at the pile of branches and leaves. Something glinted faintly beneath them. He reached out and pulled away some of the vegetation.

‘Good God,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ asked de Chardin, his eyes still firmly fixed upon the surrounding trees.

‘Voronezh was right. It’s Indrid Cold’s Æther ship!’

‘The devil you say!’

‘Come and see for yourself,’ said Blackwood as he flung aside the clods of humus and cleared away the rest of the branches and leaves.

De Chardin took a quick glance at the object thus revealed. ‘Saints preserve us, what an odd-looking device!’

The Templar Knight was right: never in his life had Blackwood seen such a strange contrivance. The Æther ship was perhaps fifteen feet long, and shaped like a teardrop. From the stern (or what Blackwood supposed was the stern) extended a complex agglomeration of pipes and funnels, entirely enclosed within an elongated dome of some material akin to glass or crystal. The main body of the craft was fashioned from an iridescent metal which reminded Blackwood of the fragment which Sophia had retrieved from the Alsop family’s front door.

Blackwood moved around to the blunt nose of the ship and peered into the interior through the single round porthole.

‘What do you see?’ asked de Chardin.

‘Nothing. Looks like it’s empty.’ Blackwood began to inspect the vessel’s flanks, searching for some means of gaining entry. Before long, his eye fell upon a lever set flush with the metal, and he pulled it gingerly.

With a hiss of hidden hydraulics, a small hatch opened.

‘Good man,’ said de Chardin. ‘Now, if we can–’

He was interrupted by the appearance of Shanahan in the air before them. The tiny man flew back and forth in extreme agitation. ‘Mr Blackwood! Mr de Chardin! Have a care, sirs, for he is returned! In fact, he was here all the time – he has led you into a trap!’

At that moment, the silence was pierced by a scream from the edge of the clearing. Both men span around and looked in the direction from which they’d come. The sight which greeted them made their blood run cold.

Petrox Voronezh was on his knees, an ugly black rent in his chest. He pitched forward onto his face and lay still, while Sophia cried, ‘Thomas! De Chardin!’

‘
Sophia!
’ Blackwood bolted towards the line of trees, brandishing his revolver.

The fiend appeared from amongst the trees, bounding along with unnaturally long strides towards Sophia. Blackwood fired once, twice. He felt de Chardin’s bullets whizzing past his head as the Templar Knight let fly with his own weapon, but if the bullets found their target, there was no sign of it.

With a final leap, Indrid Cold fell upon Sophia. She screamed again, struggling frantically to free herself from his loathsome grip, but he was far too strong, and her desperate efforts were in vain.

‘
Sophia!
’ Blackwood cried again, still running at full tilt towards the dreadful scene. He had emptied his revolver’s cylinder, but even had the weapon been fully loaded, he would not have been able to fire it again without risk of hitting her.

‘Let her go, you blackguard!’ shouted de Chardin.

Blackwood had nearly reached them. He caught a glimpse of narrow, hate-filled eyes – eyes that were as hostile and implacable as the unplumbed depths of the Æther – before Indrid Cold, still clutching his captive firmly by the waist, leaped up into the branches of a tree. He paused for a moment, gazing down at Blackwood and de Chardin. Then, with a contemptuous sneer he said, ‘My ship for her Ladyship. A fair exchange, don’t you think? Ha ha!’

And with that, he was gone, swinging through the trees like some hideous monkey. Blackwood was about to give chase, but he saw immediately that it would be useless, for the villain’s passage through the wood was far too swift. ‘Shanahan!’ he cried. ‘Shanahan!’

‘Here, sir!’

‘Follow them. Find out where he takes her, but don’t let him see you.’

‘That I will,’ said the faerie, and hurtled off into the depths of the wood.

Blackwood turned and saw de Chardin kneeling beside the prone body of Petrox Voronezh. ‘How is he?’

The Templar Knight looked up and slowly shook his head. He had turned the Martian over onto his back, and a single glance told Blackwood the horrible truth. The gaping wound smoked in the cold air, its edges ragged and cauterised. The great barrel chest rose and fell fitfully, and Voronezh’s body twitched with intermittent spasms as the last of life’s breath prepared to leave it.

Blackwood leaned over and looked into Voronezh’s eyes. Even in the shadow of death, they remained inscrutable, guarding their mysteries. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured.