The Mechanical Messiah (36 page)

‘Dost thou wish then to resign from thy post?’ asked Corporal Larkspur. ‘Thou wouldst forfeit thy fee, of course.’

‘Not saying
that,’
puffed the colonel. ‘But agree with the Balls chap here. Queer planet, this. Need to step carefully is all.’

‘Cream or custard with your Treacle Sponge Bastard?’ asked Corporal Larkspur.

‘Both,’ said Colonel Katterfelto.

Dinner was brought to a satisfactory conclusion and the Jovian hunters prepared to engage in drinking games and songs around the piano. Colonel Katterfelto put a slight dampener upon this, however, by suggesting that they should do the decent thing and bury their dead before the local wildlife tucked in. Grumbling somewhat, the
Number Four
Jovians were issued with spades and garden forks from the ship’s stores and set out to accomplish this grim task.

‘Game of chess, Darwin?’ asked Cameron Bell.

‘That would be nice,’ said Darwin.

Alice opened her mouth rather wide. But upon this occasion it was not to complain that she was not being shown sufficient attention, but instead to admit the entrance of a large slice of Treacle Sponge Bastard, with custard.

The evening passed and although it was still daylight outside and would be for at least another ninety Earth days, midnight came to pocket watches, and all and sundry turned in.

Most had enjoyed their first day on Venus. Most were now eager for sleep.

Cameron Bell said his goodnights and took himself off to his cabin. But he did not find sleep. His driven mind was rarely ever at peace and to be here upon Venus and seemingly in the presence of genuine magic gave the private detective a lot to think about.

He lay upon his bunk for a considerable while, but as it was impossible to sleep he eventually left his cabin, poured himself a brandy at the bar and took himself outside the spaceship for a smoke.

The two deckchairs he had brought out for himself and Alice had de-glamorised along with the
Marie Lloyd
and Cameron Bell seated himself upon one of them, placed his brandy glass upon the lichen floor of the valley and sought a cigar to smoke.

But had none.

He was about to return to the ship’s bar, where a selection of cigars were displayed in a glass-fronted case, when he heard footsteps behind him.

It was certainly an instinctive thing with Cameron Bell. Rather than rise and say hello to whoever was stepping from the
Marie Lloyd,
Mr Bell chose instead to sink slightly lower in his deckchair and hope that he was not observed.

He was not.

Corporal Larkspur passed him by. The corporal carried some tools and a bulky piece of electrical apparatus.

Cameron watched him creep, for creep indeed he did, off into the distance. Then the detective followed.

He did not have far to follow.

Once out of sight of the spaceship, Corporal Larkspur put down his tools, placed his piece of electrical apparatus upon the ground and began to tinker with it, making adjustments here and there and extending a sectioned metal rod.

He then donned a pair of modernistic ear accoutrements and spoke into the electrical apparatus.

Cameron Bell crept near to hear what he was saying.

‘Agent Larkspur calleth Ground Base One,’ said Corporal Larkspur. ‘Agent Larkspur calleth Ground Base One.’

Words were evidently returned to his ears, but Cameron Bell could not hear these.

‘All goeth precisely unto plan,’ said Corporal Larkspur. Further words. Then— ‘Two dead so far,’ he replied. ‘No great loss unto the universe in general, thinketh I.’

Further words were spoken into his ears.

‘O yea and verily,’ said Corporal Larkspur. ‘He cameth aboard with the woman at the spaceport. I trusteth him not.’

The corporal listened intently as further words came to him through the aether of space.

‘Yes, sir,’ said he. ‘I shalt acquireth the necessary samples
of Magoniam
tonight. And dealeth with Mr Bell as and when it suiteth me to do it.’

Further words presumably followed.

‘Killeth him when convenient,’ said Corporal Larkspur. ‘And the woman?’

A pause for further words and then— ‘Returneth her to Earth for blood sacrifice. I understandeth. Over and out.’

tealthily Cameron Bell returned to the spaceship. Sensing a golden opportunity, he eschewed returning to his cabin and chose instead to search the private quarters of
Agent
Larkspur.

With nothing more than a dining fork, he picked the cabin door lock, then slipped inside and had a good look around. Sunlight streamed in colourfully through the porthole, lighting upon a room of chronic untidiness. Cameron Bell found himself wading amongst soiled socks and cast-aside long johns. A musky odour brought no joy to the private detective’s nostrils. Not a room to be in when the contents all became weightless in space, he concluded.

Beneath the bunk was a steamer trunk and Cameron eased this out. Applying his fork to the locks, he sprang them open. The trunk contained one of those brand-new silver-coloured atmospheric suits in which a space traveller could breathe and enjoy a degree of comfort in conditions of extremity when there was a lack of air. It resembled a deep-sea diver’s costume, with large brass helmet and boots with magnetised soles. Upon a cylindrical air tank was a brazen boss engraved with the maker’s name.

M. R. FERRIS & Co.

Alperton, England
.

‘I wonder if anyone else has been issued with one of
these?’
whispered Cameron Bell, surreptitiously making one or two minor adjustments to the valve-settings on the air cylinder.

Pleased with his handiwork, he closed the steamer trunk, relocked it and pushed it back beneath the bed, rearranging the floor litter around it into an unpleasing composition.

Cameron then continued his searchings. Uncovering a number of books about mineralogy authored by a certain Herr Döktor. A wallet containing a quantity of calling cards, one of which Mr Bell slipped into his waistcoat pocket. Personal items and private possessions, all of which he perused then carefully returned to their places.

Nodding his bald head in some satisfaction, he left the private quarters of Corporal Mingus Larkspur and returned to his own. There he bolted the door and wedged a chair beneath the handle. Then he prepared for sleep.

Darwin the space monkey woke to a clamour of bells. He could have had a cabin to himself, as there were more than sufficient to go around, but he chose instead to remain in the company of his friend and business partner.

Colonel Katterfelto floundered about, discovered the noisily ringing alarm clock and flung it to the cabin floor, where it gave up its ghost and lay silent.

‘Seemed like a good idea at the time,’ said the colonel. ‘But then always been an early riser myself Sorry to stir you from your slumberings, my dear fellow.’

Darwin the monkey yawned and stretched. He wore a gingham nightshirt with matching nightcap, and looked very
dear
indeed.

Colonel Katterfelto broke morning wind. ‘Sorry pardon,’ said he.

As the porthole did not open, Darwin left the cabin. A buffet breakfast had been laid out in the dining room and Darwin helped himself to cornflakes.

Several Jovians, already in their safari suits, were munching fried sausages and toast. One of them, catching Darwin’s eye, made gun-fingers with his big right hand and mimed a-firing at the hairy fellow.

Darwin the monkey returned in haste to his cabin. The colonel was lathering up for a shave. ‘Speedy breakfast,’ said he.

‘A Jovian pretended to shoot me,’ said the monkey. ‘Although Venus is a pretty place and the financial remuneration considerable, I confess that I would rather be back at the Snap tables of The Spaceman’s Club.’

‘Have no fear for your safety,’ said the colonel, spitting shaving soap in numerous directions. ‘I’ll look after you. And you’ll come out of this rich as a monkey can be.’

‘Are you leading them out on another safari today?’

‘Thought I’d make ‘em leave their guns behind. Rope the blighters together. See if we can get through a morning without any further loss of life.’

‘I might just stay in the cabin and read a book,’ said the ape of space.

At a little after ten of the London morning clock, those Jovians within whom the spark of life still flickered assembled outside the
Marie Lloyd.
Eight now remained out of the original ten and this eight seemed more inclined to heed the words of Colonel Katterfelto than they had upon the previous afternoon. All had been issued with spades. All were now roped together about their ample waists.

‘No shooting today,’ said the colonel, swagger stick lodged beneath one arm, boots both highly polished.

‘Awwwwwww
,
’ went the Jovians, most harmoniously.

‘Appalling mess yesterday,’ said the colonel, ignoring this
awwwwing.
‘Can’t have any more of that. Need to get organised. Need to get disciplined. Understand me?’

Jovians dismally nodded their heads. One said, ‘Canst we go fishing instead?’

‘Probably end up drowning yourselves,’ said the colonel. ‘No, what we’re going to do is have a little competition. You all have your spades?’

The Jovians displayed these without enthusiasm. ‘Any of you fellows heard of
Magoniam?’
the colonel asked.

A single Jovian raised a single hand.

‘Ah,’ said the colonel. ‘Stumpy. Heard of the stuff, then, have you? Know what it looks like?’

‘Gold,’ said Stumpy.

‘Gold-coloured, eh?’

‘Just gold,’ said Stumpy.

‘Looks a bit like gold, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Is
gold,’ said Stumpy. ‘Or as we knowest it upon Jupiter,
Jovite.
On Earth thou callest it gold. Upon Venus,
Magoniam.
Surely thou knowest
that?’

‘Hm,’ puffed the colonel. ‘Only testing. Glad to see you were paying attention. So, treasure hunt this morning. Prize for whoever brings back the most
Magoniam.’

The Jovian hunters now sought to make off in different directions, but as they were firmly roped together, this resulted in considerable confusion and much comedic falling over.

‘Still not all batting from the same end,’ said the colonel, ‘but we’ll have you chaps licked into shape by lunchtime.’

Darwin took a late breakfast then returned to his cabin to read. Cameron Bell took his breakfast with Alice and now the two sat out in deckchairs.

‘I really hope they don’t kill anything,’ said Alice. ‘It would be so wrong to kill anything here.’

‘I regret that it
is
what they have come for.’ Cameron Bell lit up a recently acquired cigar. ‘But as to how many of them will actually return to Jupiter with their trophies, who can say?’

‘Would you kill something here and take it home?’ asked Alice.

‘I do not have a home any more, I’m afraid.’

‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Alice, ‘full of beautiful things.’

‘All destroyed,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘The house blown up. All gone.

‘That is awful.’ Alice gave his arm a little squeeze. ‘Was it that horrible man in black who attacked me at the Crystal Palace?’

Cameron nodded and said that it was. ‘But it does not matter now.

‘But all your books and family photographs?’

‘What is done is done,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘and cannot be undone. And strange as it might sound, I no longer feel any loss. I feel now somehow liberated. As if my own past in the shape of those objects somehow held me captive.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Alice. And she considered telling Cameron all about her queer experiences and identifying herself as the Alice of the popular storybooks. She might even mention her meeting yesterday with the white rabbit.