Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart (16 page)

Newbury met her gaze. He looked serious, all the playfulness suddenly gone. “Charles or Angelchrist?” he asked. His jaw was set.

“Angelchrist,” she said, quietly.

Newbury inclined his head. “As far as we can trust anyone,” he said, his tone level, unreadable.

Veronica nodded absently. What was he getting at? Was that a reference to her, their history together, the fact that it had taken so long for her to admit the truth about her role as an agent of the Queen? Or perhaps even a remark about her feelings towards Newbury, and the time they had shared in a cell, where they had talked about their mutual attraction? Could he even be making an obscure reference to Bainbridge? Was he, too, feeling that his friend had somehow got in over his head, mixed up in affairs that he shouldn’t have? Was this his way of advising caution?

Now, she decided, was not the time to press him on the matter. She would do that later, once they had heard what the Professor and Bainbridge had to say, when they could find a moment alone.

She was woken from her reverie by the insistent pinging of a bell and looked up to see she was standing directly in the path of a hurtling bicycle. Newbury was looking in the other direction at a strange dome-like machine. She tugged them both out of the way as the bicycle rushed by, its rider grinning and doffing his hat politely in acknowledgement. She realised, surprised, that the man was not actually pedalling, but that the bicycle—not unlike a penny farthing, with a large front and smaller back wheel—was self-propelled via a handle beneath the seat. She realised that the device must be a part of the exhibition and grinned. Now that was a progressive invention she could appreciate: no smelly fumes, no dusty coal. She wondered whether they’d ever actually take off.

Newbury, intent on other things, dragged her on towards the exhibit he had admired from afar. “Look at this,” he said, reading the small plaque beside the strange device. “The ‘Tempest Prognosticator.’”

“The what?” Veronica asked, perplexed.

“It’s a machine that predicts rain,” said Newbury, pressing his face to the glass dome and peering at the contents inside. Veronica could see over his shoulder that the centre of the machine was comprised of a large bell, a series of strings emerging from its heart. These strings terminated inside a circle of jars, each of which contained the squirming, bloated bodies of leeches.

Veronica took a step back, slightly repulsed.

“Apparently, when it is about to rain, the leeches—sensitive to this change in clemency—climb out of their jars, which causes the strings to pull taut and sound the bell in alarm,” said Newbury, grinning. “Quite ingenious.”

“Would it work?” asked Veronica.

“Who knows,” replied Newbury, with a shrug. “But it’s a fine-looking machine, all the same.” He glanced around, as if trying to get his bearings. A wide grin spread across his lips. “Look, over there!”

He was pointing to a bright yellow banner hanging between two posts. Painted on it in garish red letters were the words:
THE MENAGERIE
.

“Must we?” said Veronica, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Oh yes,” said Newbury, laughing. “We absolutely must.”

“Very well,” she said, with a playful sigh. She allowed herself to be led across the floor of the exhibition hall once again, jostled by the over-enthusiastic crowd at every step.

They stopped before what appeared to be an artificially constructed passageway: a cave system of sorts, formed from elaborate plasterwork designed and painted to represent coral. Embedded in these walls were a series of large glass tanks, each of them filled with burbling water. The lighting inside the cave system was diffuse and dim.

“We’re going in there?” she asked.

“Come on, Veronica!” he chided. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I rather fear I left it in Kensington,” she replied, wryly.

There were only a handful of other people meandering through the unusual exhibit as they stepped into the first of the darkened passageways. Newbury, releasing his hold on Veronica’s arm, went directly to the wooden sign beside the nearest of the glass tanks. She heard him chuckle and then turn away from the brief description of the tank’s contents, cupping his hands to the glass and peering inside.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Come and have a look.”

She crossed over to join him.

“There,” he said, pointing to something in the water. At first it was indistinct, a dark shape about a foot long, suspended in the gloom. She moved to get a better view. As the nature of the tank’s inhabitant became clear, she must have pulled a face, because she heard Newbury laughing beside her.

“It’s … it’s…” She was lost for words to describe it.

“A merman,” interjected Newbury.

“Grotesque,” she finished.

The creature in the water was a sort of twisted hybrid of a monkey and a fish. Its lower half comprised a fish’s tail, glistening with silvery scales, but above the waist it had the torso, arms, and head of a small mammal. In its hand it held a tiny spear. It appeared to be unmoving.

“I’ve seen these before,” said Newbury. “It’s not alive.”

“It’s not?” she asked.

“No. It’s a fake, an example of creative taxidermy. Someone very skilled dissected the two animals and attached their remains together to form the illusion of a new ‘undiscovered’ beast. It…” he trailed off.

“What is it?” she prompted.

Newbury’s face had taken on an ashen appearance. He was staring at the thing in the tank. She turned to look and saw it move. Its head turned towards her, glossy black eyes peering right through her. Its lips curled back, baring its sharpened fangs, and then its tail flicked once, twice, and it was swimming towards the surface of the water, breaking for air. It moved with a lack of grace born of compromise—as if this creature, whatever it actually was, had been forced to learn its movements anew and was not yet entirely comfortable with them.

“Good Lord,” said Newbury, uncharacteristically invoking the deity’s name. “Someone’s actually done it.”

“But you said it wasn’t alive?” said Veronica, confused.

“I was mistaken,” replied Newbury, “although it certainly isn’t natural. This is the result of some diabolical experiment, a creature constructed in a laboratory. Two animals welded together in a bizarre biological alliance. The knowledge and the skill to create such a thing…”

“Look,” said Veronica. “There’s more.” She pointed towards a small rocky shore on the far side of the tank, where the tentacles of an octopus were curling slowly out of the water and onto the rocks. They watched in horrified fascination as the beast ponderously dragged itself from the murky depths. As before, the creature that emerged from the water was an elaborate hybrid, a surgical construction that bore the torso of a monkey with the eight puckered arms of an octopus in place of its legs.

It slid across the rocks, its appendages curling and wriggling as it propelled itself along, its downy fur flattened and dripping. It scuttled towards a crevice in the rocks, squeezing into what Veronica assumed to be a small, artificial cave system or habitat.

“It’s unnatural,” said Veronica. “Repellent.”

“It’s a remarkable achievement,” said Newbury.

“But those poor creatures…” said Veronica. “It’s monstrous. Think of how they must have suffered.”

Newbury was quiet for a moment. “Come on,” he said, after a while. “There’s more to see.”

“If it’s more of the same, I’m unsure I want to see it,” she said as he led her out of the darkened passageway.

A moment later they reemerged into the bustle and clamour of the main exhibition hall. It took a moment for Veronica’s eyes to readjust to the light.

Close by, a large crowd had gathered around what appeared to be a huge glass enclosure. She couldn’t see what was within, other than the fronds of a few small trees peeking above people’s bobbing heads. There was an insistent tapping sound, too, as if something was repeatedly striking the glass. It reminded her of the noise made by Bainbridge when he rapped on Newbury’s front door with the end of his cane.

As she approached the exhibit, Newbury in her wake, whatever was inside the enclosure emitted a shrill, primal screech that caused the skin of her forearms to prickle with gooseflesh. She felt the bass rumble of it in the pit of her stomach, and her every instinct told her to flee. Instead, she pressed on, manoeuvring through the jostling crowd. They parted easily enough as she pushed towards the front.

What became apparent in the first instance was that there were not one but two creatures inside the enclosure. It took her a moment to come to terms with exactly what she was seeing. They were like something drawn from a nightmare of a deranged fantasist: two enormous birds, each at least ten feet tall, with plumages in all the gaudy colours of the rainbow, indigos, yellows, reds, and blues. They stalked about on two legs, splayed, taloned feet reminiscent of huge lizards. Their beaks were large enough that she imagined they could take off a person’s head in a single, snapping motion, and their beady eyes were darting and urgent, eyeing the crowd through the plate glass.

One of them opened its immense jaws and emitted another shriek, its pink tongue wriggling inside its mouth like a captive snake. It hissed and darted forward, its small, useless wings twitching as it thundered across the enclosure, butting against the glass and causing the crowd to fall back with a collective intake of breath. The barrier flexed in its housing but held firm. The creature shook its head in frustration, stepped back, and began rapping its curved beak against the glass pane once again, as if was attempting to chip away the glass in an effort to get at the gathered people outside.

To Veronica they might as well have been prehistoric beasts somehow resurrected in the here and now, excavated from the archives of history and renewed through some dark art or technology. She glanced at Newbury, who was reading the information plaque beside the enclosure.

“They were found in the Congo,” he said, when he noticed her looking. “A whole colony of them, living amongst the ruins of an ancient civilisation. It says here they can swallow a creature the size of a small dog.”

Veronica’s eyes flicked back to the twin beasts, which had now returned to stalking around the perimeter of their enclosure, heads bobbing nervously. One of them began pecking at something on the ground, its long neck snaking round as its razor sharp beak tore at the object, gouging chunks from it. She realised with disgust that it was the remains of a goat.

“Vicious brutes, aren’t they?” came a familiar voice from behind Veronica. “I certainly wouldn’t wish to encounter one in a dark alleyway.”

She turned to see Bainbridge standing behind her, a smile on his lips. “It’s good to see you, Miss Hobbes.” He watched the beasts for a moment with what appeared to be equal parts horror and admiration. “Dreadful things,” he said.

“Beautiful, though, in their own way,” said Newbury, joining them. “Good afternoon, Charles.” Bainbridge inclined his head. “I must say, I’m delighted with the rather impressive venue that you and Archibald selected for our little rendezvous.”

Bainbridge laughed. “Yes, I thought you’d like it. Although I fear I cannot take any credit. Archibald picked the place. Something about killing two birds with one stone.” He glanced at the two birds in the glass pen with a grin. “He said it was the perfect place for him to clear up a little misunderstanding.”

Veronica raised a sardonic eyebrow. “A little misunderstanding?”

Bainbridge shrugged. “You know as much as I do, Miss Hobbes.” He glanced at Newbury. “Any word?”

“From Aldous?” He shook his head. “No, not yet. I did, however, pay a short visit to the Prince of Wales this morning.”

“You did
what
?” said Bainbridge, aghast.

“It occurred to me,” said Newbury, “that in the Prince we might find an ally. The other day when he visited Chelsea, he expressed his concerns for his mother’s … health. He said that I should call if there was ever anything he could do to help.”

“And?” prompted Veronica. She was as surprised as Bainbridge to hear Newbury’s announcement.

“So I asked about that list of agents we needed. If Her Majesty was not prepared to let us see it, it struck me that perhaps there was another way.” He grinned to himself as their expressions changed.

“Let me get this straight, Newbury,” said Bainbridge, apparently flabbergasted. “You called on the Prince of Wales to ask for his assistance in obtaining sensitive materials behind the back of the Queen herself?”

“Yes, well. I suppose it does sound rather sensational when you put it like that,” said Newbury, laughing.

Bainbridge grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “The sheer audacity of it! Well, man, what did he say? Did he throw you out on your ear?”

“He said there were people at the palace he could trust, and that I should return to Marlborough House tomorrow evening to collect the information we needed. He’s very much on our side in this matter, Charles.”

Bainbridge chuckled. “At last, some good luck. Well done, Newbury.” He glanced down at his pocket watch. “Right, well, we’re meeting Archibald by a particular exhibit. Some sort of search lamp, designed to be mounted on the belly of an airship, I believe.”

Newbury nodded. “Similar, I’m guessing, to that one just over there?” he said, chuckling as he pointed across the hall. Veronica followed his gaze. About twenty feet away, through the milling crowds, she could see a large silver lamp mounted on a swivel housing. A man in overalls was demonstrating the device, throwing a brilliant beam of light up and out through the transparent ceiling of the Crystal Palace. A small crowd of onlookers were marvelling.

“Come on,” said Newbury, brightly. “Let’s see if we can’t find the professor.” He led Bainbridge away towards the search lamp exhibit.

Veronica took one final look over her shoulder at the two massive birds in their enclosure, shuddering as they continued to rend flesh from the now barely distinguishable remains of the goat. Then, with some trepidation, she followed Newbury and Bainbridge as they started off in search of their somewhat dubious friend.