Martin King and the Space Angels (Martin King Series) (6 page)

‘Can you see that weird woman?’

However, at the moment he spoke a train shuddered past, and when it had disappeared the woman had also vanished. It didn’t take Martin too long to forget. He was with Darcy.

*

They had a great time at the theatre. At the start of Act III, after the intermission, Martin put his arm around Darcy and she hugged herself closer to him.

When the actors had taken their final bows, they left the theatre, arm in arm. They took the Tube again; Martin got off at the first stop. He hugged Darcy and darted off the train before the doors closed, promising to text her later.

When he got back to the flat, his dad hit him.

Chapter 7: The Telescope

Martin’s dad stood up as Martin entered the room. He was very drunk; his eyes were bleary and he swayed as he walked towards Martin.

‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I was with Darcy, dad.’

Martin watched his dad uneasily. It was rare to see his father with so much energy. He seemed somehow like a live electricity cable that had become untethered and volatile.

‘Yeah? Who’s Darcy?’

‘Darcy Williams. My best friend, dad. I’ve known her for years.’

‘Never heard of her.’

Martin tried to dodge past his dad but he grabbed him by the shoulder.

‘Don’t… don’t walk away from… me when I’m talking.’

For almost ten years, Martin’s dad had been an alcoholic. It had started when his mum had died; his dad had never fully recovered from the grief. So Martin basically cared for himself, while his dad was very rarely in a state to converse, let alone to offer advice or support.

Martin kept his dad’s situation quiet. He had tried a couple of times to persuade his dad to seek professional help, but had quickly learned that it was a lost cause. Martin would do the weekly shopping, cook the meals, and clean the house—and attempt to keep up the impression that he was leading a fairly normal life.

He had even become used to his dad’s alcoholism. They had enough money to get by—his dad claimed benefits and was also given a small weekly allowance by Martin’s aunt (Clara Walker, his dad’s sister and Tommy’s mum).

He had settled into a routine, and comforted himself with the fact that his dad was rarely abusive. In fact, he had never hit him. Until then.

‘I just want to go to my room, dad.’

Martin tried to shove his dad’s hand off his shoulder; his dad reacted angrily, and lashed out. The back of his hand collided with Martin’s face, and Martin fell backwards onto the floor. He looked up at his dad through tear-filled eyes, hoping to see… what? Remorse?

But his dad’s eyes were the eyes of an angry drunkard. In those few seconds, Martin had a horrible revelation. He realised that he hadn’t had a dad for nine years.

He scrambled away from his father, ran into his room and locked the door. Martin had tolerated his dad’s behaviour for so long, but now… this.

Martin collapsed onto his bed and pulled the itchy pillow over his head. His tears ran into the ill-fitted sheet that was stretched over his mattress.

*

Martin didn't go to school the next day. He left the flat very early in the morning and spent the day wandering the streets of London. His phone buzzed continually with messages and calls, but Martin ignored them.

He caught Tube train after Tube train, allowing himself to be whisked away to stations all over London. A part of him wished Darcy was there, but he hated to show any weakness when Darcy was around. No, he would wander alone until he felt better.

Martin waited for the next train at the platform of the Angel Tube station, wondering vaguely if the Angel, Islington had been a real angel. Or an Axis Lord, perhaps. But his thoughts kept drifting back to his father.

How dare he hit me?

But then Martin saw two policemen standing at the other side of the platform. His anger vanished. The sight of the policemen had given him an idea.

*

Martin sat on the worn stone steps of the school; a stream of navy blazers from the reddish brick and glass building surged past. He waited almost fifteen minutes before Darcy walked out into the stormy afternoon.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘Darcy, I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry? I’ve been trying to call you all day! And you just thought you’d ignore me?’

‘I really am sorry, Darcy.’

Martin stared feebly at the cracked concrete, and Darcy’s face softened.

‘You know I can never stay mad at you, Martin.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sorry for getting angry. I’ve just… been so worried. I thought something… had…’

Martin hugged her.

‘After everything that’s happened,’ said Darcy, ‘and with everything that’s yet to happen… we need to stick together.’

They sat on the steps for a while, watching the storm.

‘So…’ said Darcy, ‘what’s your idea?’ She smiled. ‘Come on! I can always tell when you’ve got an idea—you’ve got that excited look in your eyes.’

‘You’re right,’ said Martin. ‘I’ve thought of a way to steal the Monograph.’

*

‘Come in,’ said Mr Slater’s voice.

The teacher looked up as Martin entered his office.

‘Morning, sir,’ said Martin.

‘I am glad you are all right,’ Slater replied. ‘I was worried yesterday. I thought that perhaps…’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Martin.

‘As your teacher it is my responsibility to chastise you for your actions. Your decision to not attend school yesterday was totally unacceptable.’ Martin lowered his eyes. Mr Slater smiled. ‘But as your friend, it is my duty to ask whether you have discovered any information that will bring us closer to retrieving the Monograph.’

‘I’ve done better than that, sir. I have a plan. But I was wondering… you know those Deceiving Necklaces you gave us…’

Martin explained his newly-formed plan to Mr Slater, and the alien teacher’s eyes twinkled.

‘That is certainly possible,’ he said. ‘And it just might work.’

*

The streetlamps glowed in the growing fog. Since the storms, the streetlamps in Britain had been permanently lit to ensure constant visibility. A police car was parked at the side of the road.

Three police officers stepped out of the car; the fourth officer remained in the driver’s seat. They made their way towards a large house. The odd glint of lightning cast light over their middle-aged features.

The three officers reached a tall black security gate, flanked on either side by stone pillars. The tallest officer rang the doorbell and they waited.

‘Hello?’ The voice from the intercom had a deep American accent.

‘Harvey Longfellow?’ said the tallest officer. ‘We’re from Scotland Yard. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’

‘Certainly. I’ll open the gate. Hang on a second.’

The electronic gates opened with the whirr of a motor. The police officers stepped over the threshold and crunched along gravel towards the house.

A door opened as they reached it, and light poured out into the misty morning. Harvey Longfellow smiled at the officers. His hair was neatly-combed, and he was wearing a business suit. He was overweight, and his skin was pale and rough.

‘I am going out in an hour or so, sirs,’ said the businessman, smiling, ‘but what can I do for you?’

‘We’re sorry to bother you, sir’ said the tallest officer, ‘but we have quite a sensitive matter to discuss with you. My name is Sergeant Martin King, and my colleagues are Constable Darcy Williams and Constable Tommy Walker. Do you mind if we come in?’

‘Not at all, gentlemen—lady,’ said Harvey.

The three police officers followed Harvey into his home. Martin was grateful that his thick police tunic masked the heavy beating of his heart. In actual fact, neither Martin nor his friends were wearing police uniforms. They were still wearing their own casual clothes. But they
were
wearing Deceiving Necklaces; Mr Slater had reprogrammed them to create the illusion that the teenagers were middle-aged police officers.

‘Have a seat,’ said Harvey, as they sat down. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

‘No thanks,’ said Tommy.

Martin glanced around the inside of Harvey’s living room. It was large and grand, and filled with expensive furniture. A Picasso hung above the fireplace.

‘Now gentlemen—lady—what is it that you wanted to ask me?’

‘We understand, Mr Longfellow, that you own a significant collection of rare exhibits.’

‘My museum is second to none. But what is it that interests you about it?’

Martin took a deep breath.
So far, so good.
But this was where the real plan came into action.

‘We have had a report of a robbery,’ said Martin. ‘And we have reason to believe that you purchased a similar item at auction recently.’

Harvey’s face was inscrutable. ‘I purchase lots of things at auction.’

‘You must understand that we’re not accusing you of anything,’ said Darcy, ‘but it would help our investigation if we could take a look at the object for ourselves.’

Mr Longfellow hesitated; then he smiled. ‘Why not? Come with me. Come and see my museum!’

Harvey led the three teenagers to an ornate staircase, and they followed him down into the darkness.

The plan was simple yet audacious. They knew that Harvey was a dishonest man. Therefore, it seemed likely that he wasn’t too concerned about the sources of his purchases. Also, a man with such a shady history was probably eager to avoid any police scrutiny. All they needed to do was convince Harvey that his Monograph was a stolen artefact and get him to hand it over.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Harvey pulled a heavy switch. Light after light flickered on. Harvey wasn’t exaggerating by calling the place a museum. It was huge.

‘Impressed?’ said Harvey, grinning. ‘This place was built as a secret bunker for your Royal Family during the Second World War. The idea was that if the Nazis ever invaded the Royals could hide themselves away safely to avoid Hitler’s clutches. My house was, in fact, owned by the Royal Household until 1978.’

‘It
is
impressive,’ said Tommy. ‘How long did it take you to collect all of this?’

Harvey laughed. ‘A long time. You see this?’

He pointed out one glass case. A skull lay on a red satin sheet, lit by a small directional light.

‘Now
this
is a very special exhibit. This skull is the only existing piece of the body of King Arthur.’

Martin stared at the skull’s blank eyes. He wondered whether it really
was
King Arthur’s skull. After all, skulls were so very alike.

Harvey had already moved on; he beckoned them to look at the next display case.

‘This,’ he declared, ‘was found inside a meteorite that came down in Tibet in 1834.’

Martin had never seen anything like it. It was a blue triangular prism—totally smooth—with a tiny speck of light trapped in the centre. It was almost as if someone had captured a little star.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Darcy.

‘It is,’ agreed Harvey, ‘but it’s not what you came for, right?’ He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the Monograph. ‘
This
is what you came for.’

Two men stepped from the shadows. They were tall, muscular, and carrying guns.

‘The game’s up,’ said Harvey. He reached into his other pocket and took out a Truthful Eye. ‘You know what this is, right? I saw you guys through the monocle when you were outside my gate. I was expecting you three.’

‘What?’ said Tommy. ‘You knew we were coming? How?’

‘I was informed. Informed by the same person who sold me this monocle, in fact. Now, you have a choice. I can get my men to shoot you… or you can help me.’

‘Doesn’t sound like much of a choice,’ said Darcy.

‘Perfect,’ said Harvey. ‘Oh—and you can take off those necklaces now.’

How does he know so much?
Martin wondered.
How could he possibly know about the Deceiving Necklaces?

‘Like I told you before, I have a contact,’ said Harvey, as the teenagers removed their Deceiving Necklaces. ‘The person who sold me the monocle told me that you would come here today. And they also said that you would be able to help me.’

‘Your contact,’ said Martin, ‘is he an Axis Lord?’

Harvey laughed his booming laugh. ‘Sharp one, aren’t you? Obviously, all my contacts are confidential, but I guess you can say this particular person is… out of this world.’

It’s Slater
, thought Martin,
it’s got to be. He was the only other person who knew about their plan.

‘So, what do you want us to do?’ said Martin.

‘Come up to the attic, and I’ll show you.’

*

A large skylight looked out at the darkened, stormy sky.

‘There she is,’ said Harvey. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

She certainly was. The telescope was cast out of polished brass and mahogany, and it was gilded with an elegant floral design. And there was something alien about it. Martin knew instantly where it must be from.

‘This telescope was built by the Axis Lords,’ said Harvey. ‘I confess that I know little about these mysterious creatures—apart from the one I know, that is—but it is clear that they are masters of design and elegance.’