The Martian Ambassador (26 page)

‘Of course we shall,’ said Kharkarras, ‘but not in the way Zhinquahar is expecting…’ He paused, allowing the thought to settle within the minds of the others. ‘Not by
conventional
means, for a conventional war
would
have the effect they are hoping for, and weaken us to the point where we are no longer capable of defending ourselves.’

Ultima Volantis turned his eyes to Kharkarras, and they were filled with the horror and despair of a terrible realisation. ‘You… you are suggesting that we bring the Sun Cannon to bear upon Azquahar.’

At this, the chamber erupted with a sudden clamour of voices. Some of the satraps rose to their feet and began shouting at Kharkarras, while others hurled loud and angry words at those who were standing. Kharkarras remained in his seat, gazing impassively at his fellows and listening to the words which filled the room like a sudden swarm of fireflies.

‘Outrageous!’

‘Impossible!’

‘We cannot do such a thing!’

‘We may have no choice.’

‘Turn the Sun Cannon on our fellow beings?’

‘We may have no choice.’

‘That is not why we created it.’

‘We created it to defend ourselves.’

‘Against threats from the deep Æther!’

‘Azquahar may become such a threat.’

‘Unacceptable!’

‘We would not deserve our continued existence, were we to commit such an atrocity.’

‘One shell is all that would be necessary.’

‘One shell is too much!’

‘One shell, aimed at London, the capital of Victoria’s empire.’

‘No!’

‘What is the alternative? To walk into the Zhinquaharan trap? To conduct a conventional war with Azquahar?’

‘To do so would be to invite our own destruction.’

The exchanges continued in this vein for another minute or so before the High Minister stood up and raised his arms. Immediately, silence was restored.

‘We have a clear choice,’ he said. ‘Neither Azquahar nor Zhinquahar are aware of the Sun Cannon’s existence: it is
they
who are conducting themselves from a position of ignorance, not us. A shell from the Cannon, aimed at Azquahar, and one aimed at Zhinquahar, would certainly extinguish their hostile intent. But the question is: should we use it?’

The satraps returned to their seats as the High Minister continued, ‘The time has come to make our decision. I will have your answers to this question:

‘Should Azquahar consider it necessary to launch an attack on Rhenquahar… will we respond by using the Sun Cannon?

‘Khututhah.’

‘Yes.’

Kharkaraphon.’

‘No.’

‘Fhontarras.’

‘No.’

‘Sansarras.’

‘Yes.’

‘Bell’abrax.’

‘No.’

‘S’aghitar.’

‘No.’

‘Sten’dhek.’

‘Yes.’

‘Kharkarras.’

‘Yes.’

‘Ghot’anozhor.’

‘No.’

‘Ultima Volantis.’

The satrap hesitated, looked around at the others, and then gave a great sigh. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Five in favour, five against,’ said the High Minister. ‘It therefore falls to me to cast the deciding vote.’

Each of the satraps leaned forward in his chair, waiting for the Minister’s decision.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is the most momentous and terrible decision any Rhenquaharan has ever had to make. There is a part of my mind which recoils from the Sun Cannon and wishes our scientists had never discovered the atomic principles which govern its function. But it is futile to do so, for the Cannon now exists, and cannot be un-invented.

‘It is indeed appalling that we should have created such a weapon. It is appalling that we should have
needed
to… but the Things which our Far Seers have glimpsed in the depths of the Æther make it necessary. Who among us could have foreseen the possibility that we might be required to bring it to bear upon our fellow creatures in this Solar System?

‘But what is the alternative? We have the wisdom to see through the machinations of Zhinquahar; we have the discipline and the forbearance to avoid the snare of conflict which they have laid in our path. Can we say the same of the Azquaharans? Can we trust that they are mature enough to step back from the abyss of war? More pertinently, should we wager the security of our world and the continuation of our civilisation on such trust?

‘I believe we all know the answer to that question. For ten generations, since the time of Yoh-Vombis the World Builder, we have lived in peace and turned away from the folly of conflict; we have applied our minds and energies to the cultivation of knowledge and to the contemplation of Nature’s wonders and mysteries, while remaining ever mindful of its dangers.

‘We have come too far and built too much to tolerate the hostility of others – even those others who are our siblings in this, our solar cradle. We must protect Rhenquahar: this is the covenant our ancestors made with the World Builder, the unbreakable promise; this is the vow taken by all who serve our Parliament.

‘It may be that ultimately the Azquaharans will see no alternative but to act against us. Yes… that may be the case, for as Ultima Volantis has observed, a sufficiently clever trap cannot be avoided, even when one is aware of its existence. If that happens, we must be prepared to respond with all the power at our disposal. The alternative is defeat, death, subjugation. The alternative is unacceptable.’

‘High Minister, if I may…’ said Ultima Volantis, who had risen to his feet.

‘Speak,’ said the Minister.

‘Could we not warn the Azquaharans that we possess a weapon capable of destroying their world? Could we not send word to them that they must not allow themselves to be manipulated by Zhinquahar? That if they do, the consequences would be terrible beyond imagining?’

‘And if we were to send such a warning, what do you think their reaction would be? Even if the present crisis were averted, they would consider us potential aggressors for evermore. Relations between our worlds would be irreparably damaged.’

‘Will they not believe us to be eternal aggressors if we rain atomic destruction upon one of their cities?’ the satrap persisted.

Fhontarras rose to his feet. ‘High Minister, if I may…’

‘Speak, Fhontarras.’

‘We are assuming that this crisis will continue towards the conclusion planned by Zhinquahar. That may not be the case, for there are agents of Azquahar who are, even as we speak, working towards its peaceful solution.’

‘You are speaking of the one called Thomas Blackwood.’

‘And his companion, Sophia Harrington. It is quite clear that Queen Victoria has the utmost confidence in their abilities. We should not forget that it was their investigation which revealed the existence of a Zhinquaharan on their world, and they who were instrumental in uncovering the plot to foment war between Rhenquahar and Azquahar.’

‘And your point, Fhontarras?’ said the High Minster.

‘My point is that we should continue with our present policy of non-interference, that we should allow Blackwood and Harrington to continue with their investigation. If they apprehend the Zhinquaharan Indrid Cold, if they reveal him to their own people to be an enemy of both our worlds, rather than an ally of ours, then I am certain that the crisis
will
be averted, and peace will continue. There will be no need to use the Sun Cannon, against either Azquahar
or
Zhinquahar. We need to give them more time.’

The High Minster nodded. ‘Your words make sense, Fhontarras. Very well, we will do as you suggest – but know you all that my vote is this: should Blackwood and Harrington fail, should this matter end in a declaration of war, then we
will
launch a shell from the Sun Cannon at the Azquaharan and Zhinquarahan capitals, for the sake of our own survival!’

Blackwood looked down the barrel of Lord Pannick’s revolver and gave a silent but vehement curse.

‘Such a shame,’ said Pannick, ‘that you saw fit to continue meddling in my affairs.’

‘
Your
affairs?’ said Blackwood. ‘It is
you
, sir, who are meddling in the affairs of Earth, and in so doing are sealing the fate of every man, woman and child upon it.’

‘And securing my own future in the process,’ Pannick said with a satisfied smirk.

‘He’s going to betray us all, Thomas,’ said Sophia, who was still clinging to Blackwood, but she was regaining her strength and resolve with every passing moment. ‘He’s made a deal with the Venusians: they’re going to bestow power and riches upon him, while the rest of us are reduced to slavery, or worse.’

‘The rest of
them
, my dear – not you. As I said, you and Mr Blackwood will not live to see the future of Earth. In fact, you will not live beyond the next few seconds.’ He pulled back the revolver’s hammer.

‘What’s the purpose of that Æther zeppelin you’ve got outside, Pannick?’ asked Blackwood suddenly. He was keenly aware of the need to stall his enemy by any means possible, while he tried to figure a way out of this fix. He was not confident that he could do so.

‘Ah! The Æther zeppelin. You saw it, did you?’

‘I did.’

‘And presumably you saw what it contains?’

‘Hundreds of canisters, filled with what looks like
Acarus galvanicus
.’

‘Quite right. It seems to me that you already know the answer to your question, sir. I intend to send the zeppelin to Mars, where it will enter the atmosphere and release the
Acarus
mites. Of course, they won’t kill
all
the Martians, but enough of them will succumb to guarantee their rage and desire for revenge upon the Earth.’

‘And who will fly the zeppelin? You?’

‘Oh dear me, no!’ Pannick laughed. ‘That’s much too dangerous for me, and besides, I’ve never particularly cared for the notion of space travel. I will leave that particular job to my man here. I believe you know Mr Meddings?’

Peter Meddings appeared in the doorway behind Pannick. He was also brandishing a revolver, which he pointed at Sophia. ‘Good evening, sir, madam,’ he said. ‘Good to see you again, Mr Blackwood.’

‘I assure you the feeling is not mutual, sir,’ muttered Blackwood. ‘How much is he paying you to betray your entire world?’

Meddings smiled. ‘Enough to make me want to betray it.’

‘It sounds to me like his Lordship has you marked down for a suicide mission.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I certainly do. How far do you think you’ll get, once you’ve entered the Martian atmosphere. Do you really think they’ll let you fly around, polluting their world with deadly organisms?’

‘But they won’t know, Mr Blackwood,’ Meddings replied, his smile growing broader. ‘Lord Pannick will place a glamour upon the zeppelin. Do you know what that is?’

‘A Magickal disguise.’

‘Precisely. When the Martians look at the craft, they will see one of their shantak birds – nothing more.’

‘Very clever,’ said Blackwood sarcastically.

‘I think so,’ said Pannick.

‘Where’s your other lackey?’

‘Lackey?’

‘Indrid Cold. Where is he?’

‘In London, causing more mayhem. He’s stepping up his campaign of psychological torment. There will be many more deaths in the capital this evening, I assure you.’

‘You wretch!’

‘Now, now, sir. Insults will get you nowhere.’

‘And what about the Greater Exhibition? What do you plan to do there?’

Pannick laughed. ‘My! We
have
been busy, haven’t we? If you saw the Æther zeppelin, then you must also have seen the Martian fighting machine in the neighbouring hangar. It’s the first of a planned shipment of heavy armaments from Mars to Earth…’

‘A secret weapons treaty,’ said Blackwood.

‘Quite so, and one which I helped to broker. The Martians believe that they are offering us the means to defend our planet against threats from the deep Æther, about which they seem to know rather a lot. But I have quite different plans for this particular contraption.’

‘You plan to attack the Exhibition.’

‘Indeed I do. In 1851, the Great Exhibition represented the pinnacle of human technological and cultural achievement. The Greater Exhibition, which will be opened by Her Majesty the day after tomorrow, will surpass even that grand enterprise – not least because it will include a number of Martian exhibits. It is seen as the culmination of the first phase of Martian-Human contact – the first and
last
I might add.’

‘Because you intend to attack it with the fighting machine.’

‘The machine’s Heat Ray will turn the New Crystal Palace – not to mention the whole of Hyde Park – into a charred wasteland. I hardly need describe the reaction of the British people to such an event, especially since Her Majesty will be among the dead.’

‘They will believe that the Martians are to blame and demand a declaration of war upon Mars.’

‘And the Government will accede to their demand. And of course, in the meantime, my Æther zeppelin will be headed to Mars to deliver my calling card, which the Martian people will take in a similar vein.’

‘You beast!’ said Sophia, shaking her head in disgust.

Lord Pannick ignored her. ‘Now, I will ask you to come with me.’

‘To where?’ asked Blackwood.

‘You are standing on a particularly beautiful Persian rug, and it will be impossible to get the bloodstains out, so we shall retire to the entrance hall, which has a stone floor.’

Blackwood was tempted to stay where he was, but he had no doubt that Pannick would sacrifice his precious rug if necessary. ‘Come, Sophia,’ he said gently.

‘Thomas…’

‘It’s all right, my dear. Come.’ As Pannick and Meddings backed out of the room, Blackwood led Sophia into the corridor. Pannick gestured with his revolver, and they began to walk towards the main staircase.

As he walked, Blackwood’s eyes darted between the walls, searching for some means of escape or defence. There were antique swords and battle axes mounted at intervals upon the oak panelling, but there was no way he would be able to grab one and use it before Pannick fired. He would have to wait until they reached the hall, and then…

And then he would have to think of something pretty sharpish, or he and Sophia would surely die…

As he began to descend the staircase, Blackwood realised that there was no way for both he and Sophia to get out of this fix alive. From his vantage point, he could see nothing in the entrance hall which might be brought to bear as a weapon. His only option was to make a lunge for both Pannick and Meddings as soon as they reached the foot of the stairs. They would surely cut him down in short order, but it might just provide Sophia with the opportunity to make a run for it. He only hoped that she would do so and not waste her chance by staying with him as he fell.

‘Well,’ said Pannick, ‘here we are. I do so hate long goodbyes, so…’ He raised his revolver and took aim between Blackwood’s eyes.

At that moment, Blackwood heard a familiar voice inside his head. The voice said,
Get ready to run, sir
.

In the next instant, the entire house vibrated with a dull concussion, as though a colossal hammer had pummelled the ground nearby.

Pannick hesitated. ‘What was that?’ he whispered.

Shanahan
, thought Blackwood.
What
was
that?

As I said, sir, get ready to run.

The floor trembled beneath their feet as the house was shaken by another massive
thud
.

‘What’s happening, your Lordship?’ asked Meddings, looking up at the ceiling with fear in his eyes.

‘Shut up,’ said Pannick. He took renewed aim at Blackwood. ‘What have you done?’

‘Nothing. I’m as mystified as you, I assure you.’ Blackwood was about to say more, but his voice died in his throat as a searing pain lanced through his chest. For a fleeting moment, he thought that Pannick had fired at him – but the source of the pain was not a bullet. The amulet which Count Saint Germain had given him felt suddenly red hot upon his skin. He grimaced.

The floor shuddered again at a third impact, and this time it was accompanied by the distant sound of splintering wood.

‘My God, what’s happening?’ cried Meddings.

‘I told you, be silent!’ shouted Pannick, but Meddings was already edging across the hall towards the front door, his eyes darting this way and that, looking for the source of the concussions.

Blackwood was not surprised: Lord Pannick’s lackey had probably seen more than his fair share of dark Magick in this place. No wonder he was so inclined to terror.

Pannick glanced down at Blackwood and saw the look of pain on his face as the house shook yet again. This time, there was the sound of shattering windows from somewhere above them. Pannick’s face twisted into a grimace of fear and rage. ‘No,’ he said. ‘
No!
’

A crack appeared in the ceiling and rapidly spread from one side of the hall to the other. As Pannick looked up, Blackwood saw his chance. Grabbing Sophia’s hand, he rushed away from the staircase towards Meddings, who had nearly reached the front door. Swinging Sophia behind him, he pivoted Meddings around and took him in a powerful neck lock with his left arm, while with his right he grabbed the man’s wrist and pointed the revolver at Lord Pannick.

‘Open the door, Sophia!’ he cried.

He squeezed Meddings’s hand tightly, forcing him to fire the gun, but Meddings was struggling so much that the two shots went wide of their mark. Pannick crouched low and fired a single shot. Blackwood cursed him for the trueness of his aim as the back of Meddings’s head exploded, spraying him with blood and brains. The man went limp instantly, and the muscles in Blackwood’s left arm screamed in protest as he strove to maintain the sudden dead weight. He tried to wrest the gun from Meddings’s hand, but his finger was curled tightly around the trigger, and Pannick was already firing again. Blackwood felt his macabre, makeshift shield jerk horribly with the impacts of the bullets.

‘Sophia!’

‘It’s open, Thomas!’

‘Get out, now!’

Pannick had fired his six shots, and was already reloading with bullets pulled rapidly from a pocket of his waistcoat. Blackwood was about to rush him, for he was confident he could cover the distance to the staircase before the revolver was brought to bear upon him again, but Shanahan’s voice echoed through his mind.

No, sir. You must leave now and get as far away from the house as you can. You must leave
right now!

The searing pain in Blackwood’s chest grew yet more intense, and he felt himself grow lightheaded, as though he were about to pass out. Panting and grimacing against the agony, he decided that he had to follow Shanahan’s entreaty. He dropped Meddings’s bullet-riddled corpse and dashed out through the door, slamming it shut behind him. No sooner had he done so than the wood cracked and splintered as Pannick fired through it. He lunged at Sophia, forcing her to the ground and lying on top of her, shielding her with his body while he counted the number of shots.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

‘Up!’ he barked, dragging her to her feet. They ran together across the lawn, away from the house.

‘Curse this infernal dress!’ Sophia gasped, as she gathered the lower part of the evening gown around her knees to make running a little easier.

When they had reached what Blackwood judged to be a reasonably safe distance, they stopped before a stand of trees and looked back at the house.

‘Good grief!’ cried Sophia. ‘What’s happening to it?’

All of the windows on the first floor appeared to have been shattered, blown outwards by some strange force, and from them a fierce blue glow emanated, flooding the surrounding lawn with an unnatural flickering light.

Blackwood was bent double from the pain, his hands grasping his knees, his legs threatening to buckle at any moment. ‘Oh God!’ he panted.

Shocked and terrified, Sophia put her arms around his shoulders. ‘Thomas, you’ve been hit! Where did the bullet strike?’

‘It… it isn’t a bullet,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘The amulet…’

‘What amulet?’

‘A form of protection… against…’

‘Thomas, it’s killing you. Take it off!’

‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, sir,’ said a voice in the air above them.

‘Shanahan.’ Blackwood gazed up at the faerie, his eyes filling with tears. ‘I can’t stand it… I have to take it off… it’s going to kill me.’