The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (35 page)

‘I am not sure I
really
believe that,’ I said to my friend. ‘Although, naturally, it does hold a certain charm.’

‘No ape such as you has ever existed before,
except
–’ and Mr Bell put a very large emphasis upon the word
except
‘– for the monkey Gods Hanuman and Thoth. And Thoth, as you may know, means “thought” and “time”, the Lord of the Past and the Future.’

‘I am only a monkey,’ I said. ‘Although I have certainly experienced more wonderful things than has the average monkey.’

‘You died and you rose from the dead.’

‘And that sounds blasphemous to me. I was born again through science.’

‘You are the Ape of Thoth,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘and you will release me from this cell.’

‘I cannot,’ I said. ‘I do not know how. Why say such things to me?’

Mr Bell pulled something from his pocket. It looked to be a piece of parchment. It
was
a piece of parchment.

‘Before I left Crowley's room,’ said my friend, ‘he pressed this into my hand. Crowley is a shameless and immoral rogue, but he
is
a real magician. He recognised in you the power of Thoth and whispered that when the time was right and when all appeared lost, I should pass this to you and you should read from it.’

‘And it will set everything right?’

‘It will release me from this cell so that
I
can put everything right. I am responsible for this tragedy, Darwin, my overconfidence, my foolishness . . . This Martian attack – it is all
my
fault.
I
must put it right.
You
must aid me in this.’

‘And I read the words and you will be magicked from this cell?’

‘In a word, yes,’ said my friend.

‘Well, isn't
that
convenient!’

‘Ahem,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Do you want to escape or do you not?’

‘You said only
you
could escape,’

‘Darwin, trust me,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘I do,’ I said, ‘but—’

‘But me no buts. You will magic me from this cell so that I can put my plan into operation, stop Arthur Knapton and defeat the Martians. You will leave this cell at three o'clock sharp this afternoon.’

‘
Three?
’ I said. ‘Why three?’

‘Darwin,’ said Mr Bell, ‘this is the British Empire. What happens at three o'clock every day in the British Empire?’

‘Everything stops for tea,’ I said.

‘Precisely. And so at three o'clock, a Gentleman in Black will bring a tray of tea and crumpets to this cell. It is the British way of doing things. Ultimately it is what we are all fighting for.’

‘Tea?’ I said.

‘And crumpets. The Gentleman in Black will enter the cell with his tray. He will be shocked to find I am gone. Whilst he is gaping about the cell with a stupefied expression on his face, you will quietly slip away. Agreed?’

I nodded without conviction.

‘Follow the Underground Railway System to Woking and make your way to the sandpits at Horsell Common. I
will meet you there at nine o'clock tomorrow morning and there we will conclude our business.’

‘Well, firstly,’ I said, as I had seen the flaw in this, ‘I would like to draw your attention to the fact that there is no—’

‘Darwin!’ said Mr Bell. ‘Just do as I say.’

I folded my arms and made a foul face.

‘All will be well, I promise you, Darwin.’

‘We will see about that.’

Mr Bell unfolded his parchment and placed it into my hands. It was printed with Egyptian hieroglyphics and these meant absolutely nothing to me.

‘There you are,’ I said. ‘I cannot read this.’

‘You can,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Look
very
hard.’

‘This is quite absurd,’ I said. ‘I am
not
a God, I am Darwin.’

‘Read the parchment,’ said Mr Bell, ‘or I will give you a smack.’ My friend made a very fearsome face and I gazed at the parchment.

And would not you know it, or would not you not, the hieroglyphics began to change. Not into English, but into
something
. Something that somehow I could understand. And the more I gazed, the clearer it all became.

All of it.

The truth, if you will.

About everything.

It was a magical moment and a profound one, too, and I only wish that there was time for me to enlighten you all by describing it in detail here.

But there is not.
^*

So I took a deep breath and read the words aloud.

A sudden and intense silence formed in that cell as a physical thing and then the world appeared to fold in upon itself, to vanish away and then to expand and return.

And I found myself all alone in that cell.

*
This will probably be the last time I say ‘outrageous’. So, ‘OUTRAGEOUS!’ (R. R.)

41

sat all alone and had a little cry.

I was, frankly, fed up with all this. When Mr Bell and I first set off upon our journey through time, I had been of the opinion that it was going to be an enjoyable experience. That we would see and hear wonderful things.

Like Beethoven conducting the Ninth, for example.

But it had been nothing of the sort. We had chased and chased after the Pearly Emperor, Arthur Knapton, who time and again had outsmarted my friend Mr Bell. He had always been one step ahead of the great detective and in truth I had no real reason to believe that this time would be any different. And this time the fate of the whole world rested upon Mr Bell defeating Mr Knapton. That was a very big responsibility, and much as I admired my friend's extraordinary skills in the field of crime detection, and loved him in a way that one might love one's own brother, and trusted him, too – yes, I
did
! – I worried that perhaps he
had
this time met his match and that nothing his remarkable mind could come up with would foil this terrible villain. So I sat and I snivelled and I felt very sorry for myself.

At three o'clock sharp, the cell door opened and a
Gentleman in Black brought in the tea. He was, as Mr Bell predicted, shocked to find that my friend had gone, and whilst he was gaping about the cell with a stupefied expression upon his face, I quietly slipped away.

An air shaft took me to Mornington Crescent Underground Station, and from there I began my journey to Woking.

I know that there will be those readers who have been intently studying my narrative to content themselves that all the details I provide are scrupulously accurate. For, after all, if I had not actually done the things I claim to have done within the pages of this book, then how, I hear you ask, would I know all I know? And be able to write with such historical exactitude and precision?

Clearly, I would not. And so, when I attempted to take issue with Mr Bell in the previous chapter regarding the means by which I would travel to Woking, the more scrupulous readers will certainly have reached for their maps of the London Underground and cried, ‘Aha – the London Underground does
not
run to Woking.’

Bravo!

Good for you!

Well done.

So, naturally I did
not
follow the course of the London Underground System to Woking.

I followed it to Horsell Common Underground Station.

Which was somewhat closer to the sandpits.

And there I spent what was truly the most miserable night of my life.

The sky that night glowed hideous red as tripods stalked from the Martian spaceships, wreaking havoc across the countryside. London was ablaze, Old London Town, of
many memories, all gone to ruination as the mighty armoured war machines picked their three-legged way above the streets, ray guns showering down destruction. Poor Old London Town.

With dawn came refugees, thousands fleeing destruction. I had settled myself into a tree for the night and watched the sorry hordes of broken people struggling with meagre belongings away from the engines of death. There was, it appeared, no hope left. Nothing remaining but sadness.

I shook my head and shivered for I was rather cold, and having had no sleep at all, most tired, too, was I.

‘It is all too awful,’ I said as thousands passed beneath my tree.

I had dreamed a terrible dream of a blackened landscape and Martian tripods, a dream that now was becoming reality. I had a little blubber and then I heard the call.

‘Darwin,’ came this call to me. ‘Darwin, where are you?’

‘I am here,’ I cried and dropped down from the tree into my best friend's arms.

Mr Bell smiled upon me. ‘You look all in,’ he said.

Folk tramped by to either side, caring naught for us.

‘I have brought a picnic,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

‘You have brought a picnic?’ I said. ‘At a time like
this
?’

‘You
are
hungry, are you not?’

‘And footsore, too,’ I told him.

‘Then let us hasten away to one of the sandpits and enjoy breakfast beyond the eyes of the refugees.’

I stared at my friend and shook my head. ‘Have you any idea how utterly insane that sounds?’ I asked him.

‘I have quail's eggs, croissants, Swiss cheese and Château Doveston.’

‘Ah,’ said I, and, ‘Ah,’ once more.

‘And Treacle Sponge Bastard for pudding.’

‘Breakfast with pudding,’ I said. ‘What could be
less
insane than that?’

‘Always best to go into battle on a full stomach,’ said my friend, and he placed me onto his shoulders and took up the picnic basket.

And so we picnicked. In the sandpits on Horsell Common with Martian tripods moving ever nearer and thousands fleeing in terror just out of sight.

I tucked into croissants and marmalade. ‘How goes your plan?’ I enquired between munchings. ‘I suppose you are aware that London is now utterly destroyed.’

‘We can put that right,’ said Mr Bell.

‘Oh, can we?’ I replied.

Mr Bell poured two glasses of bubbly. ‘All will be well,’ said he.

‘You do look rather chipper for a fellow who has wrought destruction upon the planet.’

‘Now now, Darwin,’ said my friend. ‘Have a little faith.’

‘A little faith?’ I smiled as I said it. ‘The world as we know it is coming to an end. We are sat drinking champagne as the Martians lay waste to southern England. And if all of
that
is not bad enough,
I
had to spend an entire night
up in a tree
!’

Mr Bell looked at me.

I looked at him.

And then we began to laugh.

‘It is
not
funny,’ I said, when we had quite finished laughing and refilled our glasses with champers. ‘I saw regiments of soldiers marching into battle against the Martians last night. I have seen two or three sorry survivors making a retreat this morning. All is gone, Mr Bell. All is lost. All is doom.’

‘But looking on the bright side—’

‘There
is
no bright side.’

‘I have it all under control.’

I sighed deeply and shook my head. Distant explosions were growing ever less distant. ‘They are coming this way. You know that?’

‘Of course I know that,’ said my friend. ‘And I am sure that Arthur Knapton will know that I know that. Seeing as how he has always been one step ahead.’

‘So what are we going to do – just sit here and wait for him to arrive?’

‘Unless you have a better plan.’

I was sipping champagne, but now I spat it. ‘
A better plan?
’ I spluttered. ‘Than sit here and wait for death? I think I can come up with something better than that.’

‘It is all under control.’

‘No, Mr Bell, it is
not
.’

We heard yet more distant explosions.

‘I love the sound of dynamite in the morning,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Sounds like . . . victory.’

‘Give me more champagne,’ I said. ‘If I am to die, I would prefer to do so whilst drunk.’ I gave myself a thorough scratching. ‘And my fleas would prefer to do likewise,’ I said. ‘More champagne.’

‘What do you know about Martians?’ asked my friend, possibly by way of conversation.

‘Well, according to one now apparently inaccurate Eternal Verity, they are vulnerable to Earthly bacteria.’

‘What else?’

‘That they are tentacly and horrid.’

‘Anything else?’

I scratched at my head. ‘I recall reading that Sir Frederick Treves performed a post-mortem upon a Martian. It was described as the first “alien autopsy”.’

‘And?’ asked my friend.

I ceased to scratch and just shrugged.

‘Martians have no vocal cords,’ said Mr Bell. ‘They do not communicate by speech. They are telepathic.’

‘And why would you mention this
now
?’

‘Because it is significant. You will remember from history that
all
the Martians died from Earthly bacteria.
All
of them, Darwin.’

‘And how is
this
significant?’

‘Because not every single one of them actually came out of their war machines to breathe Earthly air, did they?’

‘I do not know,’ I said. ‘But I suppose they must have done – they all died, after all.’

‘They died through, you might say, a psychic plague. The King of all the Martians stepped down from his tripod to view the destruction he had brought about. He gained the fatal infection of Earthly bacteria and passed it on telepathically to all other Martians then upon the Earth.’