The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (34 page)

Colonel Richardson-Brown began to stir. ‘I will fight any man who dallies with my woman,’ he mumbled.

Mr Bell gave him a swift, sharp smack upon the cheek.

‘What? What? What?’ went the colonel, coming to. ‘And
where
?’ he asked, as he took in his surroundings. And, ‘Common folk,’ he continued, with disapproval.

‘Those Martians, whose existence you doubted, are presently destroying the Empire's capital,’ said Mr Bell. ‘And it is
your
duty, as a great patriot and hero of the nation, to bring these evil invaders swiftly to their knees.’

‘And
where
did you say we are?’ asked the colonel.

‘Safely below, in an Underground Railway station.’

‘Well, thank the Lord for
that
.’ The colonel patted all over himself. ‘I have been robbed,’ he declared.

‘Your armaments have been requisitioned. Together we must go to Mornington Crescent.’

‘Why?’ asked the colonel, and Mr Bell told him why.

‘Because beneath that station is the headquarters of the Ministry of Serendipity. The Prime Minister will have been conveyed there by the Gentlemen in Black.’

‘Well, I have no wish to go there,’ said the colonel.

‘The PM will have travelled in the company of that adventuress and society beauty, Miss Defy,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ The colonel rose, dusted at himself, straightened his uniform and adjusted his trouser seat. He cast a bitter eye upon my friend and then we all made off to Mornington Crescent.

Along the railway track.

‘Isn't this rather a dangerous thing to do?’ I said as we stumbled along in the dark.

‘A talking ape is an abomination unto the Lord,’ observed Colonel Richardson-Brown. And then he howled, because the talking ape had reasonably good night vision and very sharp teeth indeed.

I heard the distinctive chuckle of Mr Bell.

And on we walked.

At length, and I will not tire the reader with tales of our travails as we went upon our way – how we were nearly run over by Underground trains, eaten by legions of rats, threatened by curious mole men and troglodytes and once encountered a lost race, half of monkey, half of man – we arrived.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Bell, of a sudden. ‘We're here.’

He pressed his special key into a special lock and we three were gratified when it turned with a pleasing
click
.

I had wondered many times about the Ministry of Serendipity. It seemed to me one of those convenient hooks on to which one might hang the most extravagant of conspiracy theories. Whenever something appeared to be going wrong for no apparent reason, folk would say, ‘The
Ministry
is behind it.’ I found – to little surprise, I might add – that folk still said
that
in the year three thousand.

So, not a lot
had
changed
there
.

We moved along a stone lane and into the loading area where the
Marie Lloyd
would stand in the London of the Second World War. And on from there to that self-same top-secret conference room where Mr Bell would impersonate Winston Churchill and
not
lay hands upon Mr Arthur Knapton.

Mr Bell knocked on the door of this top-secret room.

Scuffling sounds issued from within, followed by the Prime Minister's voice calling, ‘Hold on there one moment and I will be with you.’

Mr Bell pressed down on the handle and flung the door wide open.

To expose a scene of nothing less than scandal.

There was Mr William Gladstone, struggling to pull up his trousers, and Miss Defy in a state of undress, struggling likewise with stockings.

I stared, aghast. I was quite lost for words.

Not so the colonel, however.

‘You absolute swine!’ cried he as he drew out his sword.

The Prime Minister stumbled in his trousers and fell heavily to the floor. As he turned to rise, the colonel kicked him hard in the bottom.

I looked up at Mr Bell.

A huge smile covered his face.

‘You can at times be a very bad man,’ I told him.

Mr Bell winked, then helped up Mr Gladstone.

‘This is all a misunderstanding,’ said the guilty man. ‘I was explaining military tactics.’

And that would have to do, it appeared, for an explanation as he added nothing more.

‘We came at once,’ said Mr Bell. ‘We knew we would be needed.’

‘Did you?’ the PM almost fell over again, for he had two legs down one trouser. ‘Why did you? What?’

Mr Bell aided the trouser-struggler. ‘The colonel is your man,’ said he. ‘To lead us to victory.’

‘Am I?’ asked the colonel.

‘Yes,’ said my friend. ‘You are.’

‘Well, if I am, then I am, I suppose.’

‘What is all this about?’ Now once more fly-buttoned into respectability, Mr Gladstone sat himself down in that chair that is slightly bigger than the rest and did, to my mind at least, a very reasonable impression of a man who had done absolutely nothing wrong whatsoever.

My gaze strayed over to Miss Defy, who was now fully dressed and sitting primly at the table's other end, gloved hands in lap, looking demure and innocent.

The colonel was rather red in the face. Mr Bell suggested that he should sheathe his sword.

‘It is this way,’ said Mr Bell to Mr Gladstone. ‘The colonel here informed me during your speech at Ten Downing Street that the sixth sense he has developed during his many exciting and dangerous adventures had alerted him to imminent danger. He directed me to shout “FIRE!” so all would be saved from the forthcoming Martian attack.’

I really admired my friend for the way that words of
untruth could sometimes spill from his mouth and I wondered just what was coming next.

‘Naturally,’ continued Mr Bell, ‘you will see to it that he receives the nation's highest honour for this act of valour alone.’

I would describe the look on the face of the colonel throughout all this as baffled. It brightened considerably, however, with this talk of a decoration.

Although he did look rather bitterly towards the lovely lady.

‘And,’ continued Mr Bell, ‘the colonel, as a natural hero and ideal figurehead to spur on the nation during this time of national calamity, will be pleased to take control of the armed forces, with myself as his personal adviser.’

The Prime Minister made gagging sounds.

Mr Bell smiled serenely.

‘Naturally,’ he went on, ‘no word of what has occurred here will reach my close friends at
The Times
newspaper.’

The Prime Minister drew out an oversized red gingham handkerchief and mopped his brow with it.

‘What do you suggest, then?’ he asked in the voice of one lost.

‘I suggest,’ said Mr Cameron Bell, ‘that we formulate plans here and now to destroy the Martian strike force.’

‘And how would we do
that
?’ asked the Prime Minister. ‘We did not even know of the existence of Martians until an hour ago.’

‘The colonel did,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘
Did
I?’ asked the colonel.

‘Now, do not be so modest,’ said my friend. ‘Only last night, after your highly successful book signing, you told me that you feared such an eventuality as this and that you had
gleaned secret information about the Martian invasion and the man behind it all.’

The colonel's mouth opened and shut, but no words came from it.

‘Such a modest gentleman,’ said Mr Bell to Mr Gladstone. ‘He has been working undercover for months to track down the evil villain behind this attack. A beast in human form who leads these Martian foes. A man by the name of Arthur Knapton.’

‘Is this true?’ asked the PM of the colonel.

The colonel shrugged, then nodded his head. ‘I suppose it is,’ said he.

‘Then if you know so much, tell us what is to be done.’

The colonel's mouth opened once more, then shut, then opened, then shut. Mr Bell gave him a certain look.

‘Aha,’ said the colonel, ‘I see.’

‘You do?’ asked the Prime Minister. ‘Go on.’

‘I have confided all to my aide, Mr Cameron Bell,’ said Colonel James Richardson-Brown. ‘He will brief you on the details, won't you, Mr Bell?’

‘If you insist,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘But these are
your
ideas.’

‘Please go ahead,’ said the colonel, and he took himself off to the table's end to engage in a rather heated, if lower-toned, conversation with Miss Defy.

‘So,’ said Mr Gladstone. ‘Say your piece, Mr Bell.’

‘The
colonel's
piece,’ said my friend.

‘I do not care whose it is, just
say
it!’

Mr Bell smiled and began.

‘We are going to need some dynamite,’ he said.

40

he destruction of the capital was awful. The spaceships rained down fire and bombs, destroying all and sundry. The Martians were not employing the tactics they had used in the original
War of the Worlds
. They were laying waste to London even before they landed to unleash the terrible tripods.

Death rays cleaved the streets and houses rumbled into dust. In Trafalgar Square, the fountains foamed and steamed as Nelson fell. Architectural treasures became nothing more than memories. The seat of the British Empire became a flaming Hell.

Within the top-secret room in the Ministry of Serendipity, Mr Cameron Bell held forth. Gentlemen in Black were crowded therein, as were the surviving members of the Government (3), the Queen (1) and the royal corgis (18).

‘Dynamite,’ said Mr Bell, and, ‘Dynamite,’ again.

‘And this will get the job done?’ asked Mr Gladstone, fumbling to light a cigar with wildly trembling hands.

Mr Bell made so-so gestures. ‘It will certainly give them something to think about,’ he said.

‘Something to think about,’ said the Prime Minister, and very thoughtfully, too. ‘And whilst we are giving them something to think about, what will we
actually be doing to stop them
?’ His voice rose terribly here and I took a nimble step back.

‘I will be putting
my
plan into operation,’ said Mr Bell.

‘And your plan is . . . ?’

‘Ah.’ Mr Bell gave his snubby nose a tap. ‘That would ruin the surprise.’

‘
Ruin the surprise?
’ The Prime Minister cast his unlit cigar aside and rose with a rush to his feet. ‘Gentlemen in Black,’ he shouted. ‘Take this Mr Pickwick fellow and toss him into a cell!’

I was about to protest this outrage, but I was snatched up by the collar.

‘Yes!’ cried Mr Gladstone. ‘And his monkey, too. Sling them both in a cell and get me a large gin and tonic!’

‘This is really not going according to plan,’ I said to Mr Bell. ‘Pardon me for saying this, but I do recall
you
saying that this time you would sort everything out.’

‘I do not recollect being quite so specific,’ replied my friend, and he sighed a most heartfelt sigh.

We sat side by side in a dire little cell, which I hate to say smelled of wee-wee. The cell's iron door had been slammed shut upon us and the big bolt crammed into place.

‘I suppose at least we are safe in here,’ I said.

‘Safe at least until all in the Ministry are dead and we then starve to death,’ said my friend.

‘Help! Let us out!’ I shouted, and I banged upon the iron door.

‘Darwin,’ said Mr Cameron Bell. ‘We find ourselves in
extreme circumstances. Probably the most extreme circumstances we have so far found ourselves in—’

‘Nearly getting our heads chopped off in Fairyland was rather extreme,’ I helpfully suggested.

‘Quite so.’

‘And I can think of several more such extreme instances, if you wish.’

‘I do not. But I am going to have to leave you here whilst I put my plan into action.’

‘Leave me here?’ I said, both slowly and with care. ‘This would suggest to me that you have found a way to escape from this cell.’

‘There is a way,’ said my friend. ‘A possible way. But one I would never under any normal circumstances even consider trying. But I can see no other way of getting us, and indeed the world, out of this terrible mess.’

‘Right,’ I said, and I waggled a finger at Mr Bell. ‘Well, firstly, I have no wish to be left here all alone. Secondly, you told me when we first set off upon our adventures through time that we should always stay together. Look what happened the last time we parted company. You left me alone in Brentford and I jumped off a church spire and died.
And thirdly
, this cell has no windows and only a locked iron door for an exit. How could you possibly hope to escape?’

‘
You
will bring about my escape,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

‘And how could I possibly do
that
?’

‘You will do it through magic.’

I stared at my friend, and my mouth spoke a silent word: ‘Magic?’

‘You overheard my conversation with Aleister Crowley,’ said Mr Bell, ‘in which he identified you as the Ape of Thoth.’

‘The kiwi bird called me that, too,’ I said, ‘when I was dead and up there in the clouds.’

‘Through our travels,’ said Mr Bell, ‘and through the skills in language and the written word that you were taught by Herr Döktor, you have become unique. An ape amongst apes. And through releasing your monkeys into the far and distant past, you have become the father of all Mankind.’