The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (33 page)

‘I have been thinking, Bell,’ said the colonel, affecting a particularly hoity-toity expression and straightening up in his seat, ‘that this Martian business is unlikely at best and total madness at worst. I make no bones about it: I am suspicious of you, sir.’

Mr Bell nodded and smiled a bit, too. ‘I am aware,’ said he, in an even manner, ‘that you do not trust me. That you fear me to be an assassin and that you have taken certain measures.’

‘
Measures?
’ said the colonel, a-raising his eyebrows.

‘You carry no fewer than four concealed weapons,’ said Mr Bell, ‘which, given the slightest opportunity or excuse, you will employ to bring about my destruction.’

I raised wide eyes to my friend.

‘In your place, I would have done the same,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Although, as a gentleman, I would definitely
not
have done what
you
have done, in persuading Miss Defy to conceal a weapon of her own in a place quite unsuited to its holstering.’

There was a sudden silence in our carriage.

Three jaws now hung very slack indeed.

Mr Bell just grinned.

‘I am no assassin,’ said Mr Bell, ‘and you can search me for weapons, should you wish. Indeed, you may search me most intimately.’

Jaws hung, if anything, slacker.

‘You will find no weapons upon me.’ And Mr Bell folded his arms.

And it
was
true. He carried no weapons at all. No weapons and indeed no dynamite.

I
, however,
did
!

Because he had insisted upon it.

There was a certain smell about Number Ten. An earthy, musky, bodily, perfumy smell. I did not take to that smell at all, but I did like Mr Gladstone.

He was certainly a fine figure of a man. His clothes were expertly cut and I recognised his lapel detailing as the trademark stitch of my own London tailor. His shoes were well polished, his sideburns a treat, he had twinkly blue eyes and he patted my head as I passed him.

Mr Bell made very much of introducing Miss Defy to Mr William Gladstone, and Mr Gladstone made very much of his welcoming of Miss Defy. So much so, in fact, that other guests were forced to form an orderly queue outside. Which was most inconvenient for them as it was coming on to rain.

Colonel James Richardson-Brown did not take at all to Mr Gladstone. As one rogue will recognise another, he took in the honeyed words that Mr Gladstone spread lavishly over Miss Defy and once or twice even reached for the sword that he wore.

When, finally, all were within and champagne poured and chattings done and we were led to the grand dining hall,
^*
it came as no surprise to me that we were to be seated at the top table. With Miss Defy on the PM's right hand and Mr Bell on the left.

I noticed, all around and about,
security
. This came in the form of tall and pale-faced men, dressed entirely in black,
with blackly tinted pince-nez and gloves. These were the mysterious Gentlemen in Black, from the equally mysterious Ministry of Serendipity.

When all were seated, and there were many, and very well heeled were all, Mr Gladstone broke off his conversation with Miss Defy, did a little
tink-tink
upon his wine glass with an eel fork and rose from his seat to address the assembled guests.

I looked on at all and sundry, thinking to recognise a potentate here, a rajah there, a shogun over yonder. They were a magnificent crowd, a-glitter with jewels, decked out in the richest of silks and velvets. Tiaras twinkled, necklaces sparkled, gentlemen sported medallions of high orders.

‘My lords, ladies, gentlemen, kings, queens, princes, all of rank and noble birth, I salute you.’ Mr Gladstone did toasting with his glass and each took favour of the wine. ‘As you will know, you have all been invited here tonight to participate in an auction in order to raise funds for a worthy cause. In fact, it might be said, without fear of contradiction, to be
the
worthy cause. The most worthy cause upon Earth. That of eradicating poverty worldwide. My friends, and I feel I can call you my friends –’ Mr Gladstone's eyes swept over the assembled multitude, lingering here and there upon some particularly tantalising female or other ‘– to eradicate poverty, to eradicate want, to eradicate hunger, these are worthy causes indeed. Together they become
the
worthy cause, and
we
are the favoured few who will bring this world into a state of well-being.’

There was much applause at this and I clapped my hands, too. I had not thought at all about the reason for this exalted get-together – it had not in the least crossed my mind. But to find that these great folk were all gathered here to do something altruistic, something that would benefit Mankind
as a whole rather than doing what the rich generally did – line their pockets at the expense of all others – this was something wonderful.

Something historic.

‘It is my regret,’ continued Mr Gladstone, ‘that our fair Queen Victoria is unable to attend tonight. She has been taken unaccountably sick and sends her sincerest apologies. But, and here I must read from a telegram lately received, she sends her apologies and states –’ And here Mr Gladstone perched pince-nez upon his nose, unfolded from his pocket the telegram in question and read from it:

And applause like thunder was offered up.

‘Quite so.’ Mr Gladstone raised a calming hand. ‘So,’ said he, ‘as you can see, England is one hundred per cent behind this.’

More applause, but I did not join in, as I noted well a certain look on the face of Mr Bell. A look of
concern
, shall we say.

The Prime Minister continued, ‘And so, when our meal is concluded, we will hold our auction. The goal is to raise twenty million English pounds to complete the work started by the great Indian scholar, chemist and humanitarian Notpank Ruhtra, whose wonder food Ruhtrate is now ready to go into production and, with the funds raised tonight, will be distributed across the globe. This wonder food comes in
many forms. It can be planted to produce massive crops in less than a week. It can be beaten flat then used to create clothing. It can . . .’

And so the miraculous qualities of Ruhtrate were extolled. And they were many and various and rather difficult, to my small mind, for me to entirely believe. But Mr Gladstone was clearly convinced, and as he was talking here upon this evening in eighteen eighty-five to literally
all
of the world's current leaders – folk who, frankly, were
not
to be trifled with – I was prepared, up to a point, to suspend my disbelief and hope that the utopia Mr Gladstone was now enlarging upon, once the whole world was in possession of Ruhtrate, would indeed come about.

So I smiled as he went on and on and on.

But not so Mr Bell.

The look of concern upon the face of my friend had transformed first into one of enlightenment, and now into one of extreme alarm.

I noted beads of perspiration and I became a-feared.

Mr Bell suddenly rose from his seat and flung his hands in the air. ‘Fire!’ he shouted. Very loudly. ‘Please vacate the premises. Ladies first, if you will.’

Mr Gladstone stared aghast at Cameron Bell.

Colonel Richardson-Brown made motions towards his arsenal.

Gentlemen in Black did likewise.

I became
more
a-feared.

‘What of
this
?’ the Prime Minister roared. ‘There is no fire. What of
this
?’

‘There
is
fire!’ my friend shouted. ‘All will be consumed in the flames. Flee now. Fire FIRE FIRE!’

‘Cease this nonsense!’ shouted Mr Gladstone.

‘FIRE!’

Shouted my friend.

And let us be honest here, there are few cries that will get folk up on their feet and making for the door in quite the manner that FIRE! does.

FIRE! just gets the job done.

It does.

And though Mr Gladstone made mighty attempts to halt the ensuing rush, all were to no avail. Mr Bell continued with his hollerings, raising his voice to volumes that I would hitherto have considered beyond his vocal range.

Colonel Richardson-Brown now drew out a pistol.

But my friend clubbed him down with a champagne bottle.

‘FIRE!’

And they bolted, crushed through doorways, heaved along corridors, flooded into the street.

Mr Gladstone raised his fists, but Gentlemen in Black, whose role it was to protect the Prime Minister, bore him aloft and heaved his struggling form from the premises.

Suddenly the great dining room was empty but for myself, Mr Bell and the unconscious Colonel James Richardson-Brown.

‘Now, what was
that
all about?’ I asked my friend. ‘I was looking forward to my dinner.’

‘Help me with him, Darwin,’ said Mr Bell, taking the fallen colonel by the shoulders. ‘We must hurry – there is little time left.’

‘But there is no fire,’ I said, and I sniffed with my sensitive nostrils.

‘But there will be soon,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And a very loud explosion.’

And he was certainly right about that.

For mere moments later, there came . . .

A VERY LOUD

EXPLOSION.

*
It is a fact known to few that the interior of Number Ten is somewhat Tardis-like – far bigger on the inside than the out. (R. R.)

39

s these were the days before radar, nobody knew they were coming. The Martian warships dropped down from the sky, bound for the heart of London.

Bound was one for Ten Downing Street.

The flagship of the Martian fleet, this was. The bomb that fell from it caused fire and fury and that loud explosion.

Mr Bell and I both covered our ears. We were out of Downing Street by now and although burdened by the weight of the colonel were making good progress.

For although the cry of
FIRE!
has the power to move people fast, falling bombs and mighty explosions do add a spring to that already hastened step.

‘Into that Underground station,’ shouted my friend, and we made for the steps. We were not alone in making this our shelter of choice. Londoners were pouring into the Underground. Flames were rising and explosions battered the air as we humped the colonel down the steps in the company of many.

At last, on the northbound platform, we laid our cargo to rest. Mr Bell patted about at the unconscious figure.

‘Looting?’ I enquired.

‘I want all his weaponry,’ said my friend, patting and pulling and probing.

We were huddled together in a corner with no one paying us any particular interest. My heart was beating rather fast and not amongst the smallest of my regrets was that this had happened
before
we had eaten our dinner.

I took deep breaths and tried to steady myself.

‘You knew,’ I said to Mr Bell. ‘You knew that this would happen.’

Mr Bell nodded and pulled out a shiny revolver.

‘You shouted “fire” because you knew the Martians were coming and that they were about to bomb Ten Downing Street.’

Mr Bell nodded once more and pushed pistols into his pockets.

‘
How
did you know?’ I asked Mr Bell. ‘How did you know it would happen?’

‘I reasoned it out, Darwin. All those heads of state and members of foreign royalty all together in a single room. All brought together for a single worthy cause.’

‘But it
is
a worthy cause,’ I said.

‘If it were real,’ said Cameron Bell.

I shrugged and said, ‘Go on,’ and so he did.

‘The miracle of Ruhtrate,’ said Mr Bell, ‘invented by that Indian philanthropist, Notpank Ruhtra.’

‘It is not a name I know,’ I said.

‘It is if you reverse the letters.’

I did this inside my head. ‘Arthur Knapton,’ I said.

‘None other than he,’ said Mr Bell. ‘And what a cunning plan – to have all those noble leaders of nations assembled in
a single place, lured there by such a worthy cause, and then to destroy them all.
Bang!
’ Mr Bell mimed the explosion.

‘And if you had not shouted
FIRE
—’

Mr Bell nodded once more. ‘They would all be dead.’

I gave my head a shaking. ‘But this is all wrong,’ I said. ‘This is
not
the way
The War of the Worlds
begins. It begins on Horsell Common, where the first spaceship lands. The spaceship that will later be known as the
Marie Lloyd
.’

‘That was the way it happened the first time, and the outcome is well known.
This time
, however, all will be different.’

‘I am very afraid indeed,’ I said to Mr Bell.

‘And I myself most inconvenienced. It was my intention to win the PM around to the idea that a Martian invasion was imminent and have him requisition for me the Empire's entire stock of—’

‘Dynamite?’ I suggested.

‘Precisely. Yet here we are, cowering underground whilst the Martian horde lays waste to London. Not the outcome that I might have wished for.’ Mr Bell made a very grumpy face.