The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (15 page)

The Ape of Knowledge sat upon a muchly cushioned chair, a velvet smoking cap aslant across his noble brow. He was bedecked in a suit of dark cloth and a most flamboyant bow tie. This attire was not altogether of his choosing, but as his own wardrobe had been lost to him, he was forced to wear the clothes his manager had acquired, which had been stripped – although the man kept the knowledge from the monkey – from a discarded ventriloquist's dummy.
^*

Upon this Friday morning, at a little after nine, the Ape was sharing his knowledge with a strapping young fireman who had been prepared to pay the now-necessary guinea.

‘I come,’ said the fireman to the Ape, ‘from a showman's
background, for once I was a circus strongman. I have sailed the Seven Seas of Rhye, but I still haven't found what I'm looking for.’

‘And what is
that
, young man?’ The Ape of Knowledge raised a languid hand to his face and drew upon a slim cheroot, releasing from his mouth white featherings of smoke.

‘I would know truth,’ said the fighter of fires.

‘Ethical axioms are found and tested not so very differently from the axioms of science,’ said the Ape. ‘Truth is what stands the test of experience.’

‘To quote Einstein,’ said the erstwhile circus strongman.

‘Hm,’ went the Ape. ‘Next, please.’

‘Ah, just one thing before I go. I have studied the poster that advertises your skills.’

‘Hm,’ went the Ape of Knowledge once more. It was a
certain
‘hm’.

‘It recommends you as the Prognosticating Primate and claims that you can predict future events. Speak to me of the future.’

‘The future,’ declared the Prognosticating Primate, ‘is much like the past, in that there will be an equal amount of it. But I might tell you this: the Greatness of Mankind is now behind us. The past is the new future. Fuss not for the future, for it will be on you soon enough and what is now will soon be then behind you.’

‘Such is the doctrine of Zen,’ said the seeker after truth.

‘Next,
please
!’ called the magnificent monkey.

‘Might you tell me something specific about the future?’ asked the young man, who had been kneeling, as he rose at last to his feet.

‘A man will come,’ predicted the Prognosticating Primate, ‘a man and two women. The man will be quite without
talent, yet he will be elevated to a position of greatness. This man's name will be R*ssell Br*nd.’
^*

‘And the women?’ asked the young man, stroking sawdust from his knees.

‘They will go unrewarded, though their talents surpass those of all who have gone before and their beauty eclipses that of any other female. For the small will attain greatness and the great become small. This will be the way of the future. Amen.’

‘I see,’ said the young man, ‘and understand the wisdom of your words. Might I ask of you the names of these noble ladies?’

‘The Cheeky Girls,’ the Ape of Knowledge said. ‘
Next, please!
’

Professor Thoth hustled out the fireman and whispered words of wisdom to the Ape.

‘Let it be with the shouting,’ he said.

Darwin sipped from a glass of chilled champagne. ‘Has our special guest arrived?’ he asked.

‘Our special guest awaits without.’

‘Then bid them come within.’

Professor Thoth bowed and departed, returning at length in the company of a very winsome lady.

She was dressed in an old-fashioned bonnet, secured beneath her chin by a great big bow. Her blue silk frock flounced out from a profusion of petticoats and on her feet she wore the most dear little shoes.

Over her arm she carried a large shopping basket, and from this peeped a monkey, dressed identically to the winsome lady.

‘Lady Buttercup,’ announced Professor Thoth, ‘and her monkey maid, Petal.’

The Ape of Knowledge smiled upon Lady Buttercup.

*
Churchill often complained (privately) that Wilde stole much of his best material. (R. R.)

*
As an aside, it is of interest to note that when Brighton's West Pier was attacked for the first time by arsonists, a single ticket booth remained unscathed. This booth, it is believed, was haunted by the ghost of a ventriloquist's dummy. (R. R.)

*
It would not be wise to risk litigation over what is, after all, just the opinion of a monkey. (R. R.)

17

‘
ictory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.’ said Lady Buttercup.

The Ape of Knowledge clapped his hands and cried a big bravo. ‘And you could add,’ he added, ‘never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.’

‘I might indeed,’ said Lady Buttercup, removing from her shopping basket a large cigar and thrusting it into her mouth, ‘if I were the Prime Minister, rather than a frail little female in a pretty little bonnet.’

Darwin lit the lady's cigar then shook out the match with a flourish. ‘They say the Prime Minister is a very handsome man,’ he said. ‘I hope that one day I will have the honour of making his acquaintance.’

‘He is a close personal friend,’ said Lady Buttercup. ‘In fact, it was
he
who sent me here to meet you.’

‘I am touched,’ said Darwin, ‘but must express my enormous surprise that I have come to his notice.’

‘Your manager pushed a great many handbills advertising
your unique talents through the letterbox of Ten Downing Street. He would have pushed more through, but Mr Churchill's monkey butler chased him away.’

‘Is
this
the monkey butler?’ Darwin smiled at the other ape. Whose face was clearly that of a young male monkey.

‘This is Petal,’ the lady said. ‘My little poppet, Petal.’

Petal made a certain face. Which Darwin understood.

‘Mr Churchill,’ continued Lady Buttercup, ‘is a man who puts the defence of the realm above every other thing. He
will
have victory. He
will
.’

‘Quite so,’ said the Ape of Knowledge.

‘And as such, when word reached him via the printed pamphlet that a Prognosticating Primate was to be found displaying himself at Olympia, Mr Churchill naturally wished to know more of this wonder, that it might aid in the war effort.’

‘I predict that the talents of the Cheeky Girls will never find true recognition,’ predicted the Prognosticating Primate.

‘Such knowledge, though undoubtedly profound, may not be immediately applicable to present circumstances,’ said Lady Buttercup, puffing mighty plumes of smoke into the air. ‘Mr Churchill would like your advice upon a particularly pressing matter.’

‘I would be happy to assist in any way I can,’ said Darwin. ‘I am an ape who is true to King and Country. London and the Empire mean a great deal to me.’

‘Then please would you be so kind as to demonstrate your predictive skills by prophesying something that will come to pass this day.’

‘Gladly,’ said Darwin, and he made a thoughtful face. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Something is coming through. Mr
Churchill will hold a top-secret meeting today at a top-secret establishment known as the Ministry of Serendipity.’

‘Oooh,’ said Lady Buttercup. ‘I am most impressed.’

‘And not only that,’ continued the Ape, ‘but this meeting will be held with a malefactor by the name of Arthur Knapton, who seeks only ill for this nation.’

‘Goodness me,’ said Lady Buttercup.

‘And what is more,’ said the Ape, for the Ape had more to say, ‘Mr Churchill, being the generous, kindly and wise individual he is, will reward myself with a medal and present Professor Thoth with an item taken from the possession of the evil Arthur Knapton.’

Lady Buttercup asked what this item might be, and Darwin the Simian Sensation told her.

‘An ancient Egyptian tablet engraved with hieroglyphics. Mr Knapton carries it close to his person.’

Lady Buttercup nodded her bonnet. ‘There is no doubt that you are an ape of knowledge,’ said she.

‘I do my best to please when I can,’ said Darwin in reply.

‘Thus and so,’ said Lady Buttercup, and, rising from the seat she had taken, she cast aside her bonnet. ‘Know me, enemy of England!’ she cried. ‘Nazi spy that you are. Know me as your nemesis, for I am Winston Churchill.’

And Mr Churchill drew out a pistol and pointed it at Darwin.

In Olympia at this time there was always a great deal of noise, merry cries and shrieks, many shouts of joy and the sounds of revelry and laughter.

Consequently, no one beyond the booth that housed the Educated Ape heard the gunfire. And when presently a figure in a bonnet, carrying a monkey in a shopping basket,
slipped away from the booth and merged into the joyous crowd, no one paid that figure any attention at all.

The Ministry of Serendipity, as those in the know will know, is housed in caverns measureless to man, deep beneath Mornington Crescent Station. It is there that those ‘corridors of power’ of which people speak lead from one room to another, occasionally to a staircase and sometimes to a toilet.

A special key is required to enter this secret Ministry, one that must be turned in a lock within the lift that freights the folk of London down to the platforms. Only a very few hold such a key, a very favoured few.

Alone in the lift, but for the basket and monkey, the figure in the bonnet turned such a key and the lift fell downwards many floors, as if into the very bowels of the Earth.

And then it stopped and a bell went
ting
and the figure left the lift. I would be wrong of course, to call this figure a lady, for this figure was no such thing – rather a frocked-up fellow with a frocked-up ape in his basket. As this frocked-up fellow left the lift, a guard at the door saluted.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Churchill,
sir
,’ saluted he.

‘Not when I'm all frocked-up,’ said the fellow. ‘Call me Buttercup.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Buttercup,
sir
, madam.’

‘I suppose that will have to do.’ Buttercup lit a new cigar then asked, ‘Has
he
arrived?’

‘The Galactic Emperor? Yes, sir, madam. He awaits you in the War Room, with his . . . 
things
.’ And the guard made shudders.

‘His
things
?’ asked Winston Buttercup. ‘What
things
are these that you speak of?’

‘The tentacly things,’ said the guard. ‘The Martian tentacly things.’

‘Hm,’ went the smoker of the big cigar. ‘Well, as long as they all do what
I
wish, it is no matter to me.’

‘You'll probably wish to slip into your siren suit,’ said the guard.

‘Hm, I probably will,’ mused the frocked-up fellow as he swung his basket to and fro and to.

‘I will escort you to your changing room,’ said the guard, and that is what he did.

A little later, Mr Churchill emerged from his changing room. He wore the famous siren suit
^*
that he popularised through the war years and smoked the cigar for which he was known and loved. He also still sported his bonnet.

‘Bonnet?’ queried the guard, saluting once again.

Mr Churchill returned the salute. ‘I think I will keep it on,’ said he. ‘It is rather nippy down here.’

Mr Churchill's monkey butler was no longer cluttered with satins and lace.
He
– and this monkey butler had always been a
he
– looked extremely smart in the dress uniform of a major of the Household Cavalry. The monkey saluted the guard and grinned. The guard saluted the monkey.

‘Lead us to the War Room,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘And keep a weather eye open – walls have ears, you know, and I encountered a monkey today whose knowledge of this establishment led me to believe that we have spies amongst us.’

The guard cocked his rifle and led the way.

The way to the secret War Room.

*

Now, a War Room is a War Room, no matter the where or the when. Bright harsh light shines down upon a table surrounded by a number of chairs. The chair at the table's head is slightly bigger and grander than the rest. The high muckamuck who holds the meeting always sits in this.

Mr Winston Churchill, in the company of his monkey butler, Major Monkey B, entered the War Room. At the far end of the table, in the slightly bigger chair, sat a fellow with a long, strange face. A fellow by the name of Arthur Knapton.

A passing Egyptologist, had there been one there to pass by, might well have been surprised by the looks of Arthur Knapton, finding that he bore an uncanny resemblance to a young pharaoh named Akhenaten.

Mr Churchill cared not a jot for anything Egyptian. He spied the fellow with the face and shouted, ‘Out of
my
chair!’

Two dreadful figures sprang from shadows into the harsh bright light. Monstrous things with waggling tentacles.

‘Easy, boys,’ said Mr Knapton, rising from the chair. ‘We are all on the same side ’ere, I'm finkin’. Let's ’ave no up'eavals!’

The Martians, for such these beings were, muttered and gargled menacingly and then made their withdrawals.

‘Quite so,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘We will have decorum here.’

‘A rather fetchin’ bonnet,’ said Arthur Knapton, laughing his horrible laugh. ‘Will you wear that when they crowns ya King o’ the World?’