The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (50 page)

‘Then
‘appen ‘e’ll just stand there in the dark.’ The pinky princess chuckled.
‘Where’s Crowley? I want me supper.

‘Slunk
away to some brothel, I expect.’ Lavinia Dharkstorrm sat herself down in
Aleister Crowley’s loveseat.

The
room was as grim as might be reasonably expected, walls, floor and ceiling all
painted the blackest of blacks, the walls relieved here and there by flashes of
garish colour, these provided by Crowley’s fanciful paintings. Most involved
copulation in one extreme form or another, although there was a rather fetching
still life entitled
Plums Upon a Paisley
hanging above a cabinet
containing mummified toads. A human skeleton maintained a lonely vigil in one
corner, and a pair of stuffed kiwi birds imaginatively mounted in the position
known as ‘taking tea with the parson’ lurked in another. Instruments of torture
hung above the fireplace. Crowley’s book collection was piled all around and
about.

The
walls owned to no windows. Moonlight entered with trepidation through skylights
high above.

‘Thou’ll
‘ave t’ kill that little baldy man,’ said Princess Pamela of Cameron Bell. ‘Now
‘ee knows of thy whereabouts, ‘e’ll make a right nuisance, mark my words and
trip me over backwards if he d’n’t.’

‘All
in good time,’ said Lavinia Dharkstorrm.

‘Don’t
all in good time
me, my lovely! Thou shouldst hath killed ‘im when thou
hadst the chance. But thou got all clever with it and put ‘im in a trance. Kill
‘im now and bring ‘im ‘ere — we’ll cook ‘im up for supper.’

Cameron Bell
felt hungry. A
very
late supper would have suited him well. He brought
out his pocket watch and held it up so street light fell upon it. It was
nearing twelve-thirty. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps Lady Raygun would
not appear.

‘A
most expensive mistake if she does not,’ whispered Mr Bell. ‘And I do not want
to go through all of this again tomorrow night.’

And
then he saw her, high in the sky. A glimmer of transparent membrane,
rainbow-hued as oil upon water, surrounding the woman with the tightly fitting
rubber headpiece and the corset of brass. She swung about and spiralled down,
then came to rest in perfect silence upon the roof of the sinister Palace of
Magic.

Within the
black-walled sitting room, Lavinia Dharkstorrm stirred the liquid in the silver
scrying bowl with the leg bone of a child.

‘Look-see,’
she said to the princess in pink. ‘The little man is leaving.’

And indeed Mr
Bell was. If he had learned one lesson when encountering Lavinia Dharkstorrm,
it was this: when dealing with an adversary who is capable of foretelling what
you will do next, it is always better to appear to be doing something other
than you actually are. Which was probably far easier to say than to do.

Or
otherwise.

Mr
Bell returned to the electric-wheeler, awakened the driver, who was having a
little nap, and settled himself once more in a passenger seat.

‘Home
is it, then, guv’nor?’ enquired the driver, hope very high in his voice.

Cameron
Bell fished out a cigar and lit it. ‘Not just yet,’ he said. ‘And please be
ready to depart when I give the word — there may be a little following to do.
However, first I would like you to drive to Sloane Square and then turn around
and drive back.’

The
driver sighed. ‘Whatever you say,’ said he.

‘And off he
goes,’ said Lavinia Dharkstorrm. ‘Home to his cosy bed.’

‘Thou
knowest what that means?’ said Princess Pamela.

Lavinia
Dharkstorrm shook her head.

‘Means
as wee man’s gone, thou’ll ‘ave to cook me some supper.

‘Beans
on toast?’ asked Lavinia Dharkstorrm. Then all manner of things occurred in a
great and terrible rush.

There
came a dazzling flash as of lightning and a dreadful shattering of glass. Then
something smashed down into the living room. Furniture tumbled and paintings
fell from the wall.

Lavinia
Dharkstorrm opened her mouth but found a firm hand clasped across it.

And
the feel of cold steel pressing against her left temple.

A
voice whispered softly in Miss Dharkstorrm’s ear.

‘Remember
me, sister?’ it said.

48

eturning
to the corner of Eaton Place, Mr Bell puffed away at his cigar and awaited
developments.

He
yawned and called up to the driver. ‘From where you are sitting, can you see
the coach house next to the building that bears the sign that reads “the Palace
of Magic”?’ he asked.

‘I
can,’ the driver replied.

‘Well,’
said Mr Bell, ‘shortly a black landau drawn by two black horses will issue from
there at speed. When it passes us by, I wish you to follow it.’

‘It
might not come this way, though,’ said the driver. ‘What if it were to turn
left instead of right when it leaves the coach house? It could then take the
first right into Eaton Square, or the next left into West Eaton Place, or
indeed carry on to the bottom then swing right into Chesham Street.’

For
the driver had done the Knowledge.

‘The
landau will
not
go
that
way,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘No
offence, sir, but you sound very sure of yourself’

‘There
is a post-box on the corner of Eaton Square where it meets Eaton Place,’ said
Cameron Bell.

‘I
have no doubt that there is, sir,’ said the driver.

Cameron
Bell removed from his pocket a slim brass contrivance with an extendable metal
rod. A slim brass contrivance that was something of a favourite with him.

The
boy who had delivered the music hall ticket to Aleister Crowley had also popped
a certain package into the post-box.

Mr
Bell’s thumb hovered above the FIRE button on the contrivance.

Lady Raygun’s
thumb and fingers pressed very hard at Lavinia Dharkstorrm’s face.

‘Ooo
the ‘ell art thou?’ roared Princess Pamela. ‘Do you not recognise me,
headmistress?’ Lady Raygun said.

‘Take
off thy ‘orrid mask and let me see.

Lady
Raygun shook her head. ‘My
sister
knows who I am.

‘
You!’
Princess Pamela raised a manicured eyebrow. ‘Little Violet. We all thought
you were dead.’

‘How
well you lie,’ said Lady Raygun. ‘You did this evil thing to me, you and my own
sister. Had me altered, turned into a weapon — an assassin to destroy your
enemies.’

‘And
well thou art doing, lass. I’ve read of thy exploits in the penny dreadful.
Should’ve put two ‘n’ two together, I suppose.

‘Grmmph
mmmph,’ went Lavinia Dharkstorrm.

‘Thou
art suffocating my servant,’ said Princess Pamela. ‘Give ‘er air and we’ll ‘ave
a cosy chat.’

Lady
Raygun loosened her grip but slightly and said, ‘She will die most painfully.
As indeed will you.

Princess
Pamela laughed somewhat at this. ‘ ‘Appen, chuck,’ said she, ‘that matters
might be no’ so easy.

And
she turned to take her leave.

The
silver hand weapon spat electrical fire across the room.

Princess
Pamela waved the flames away.

‘Farewell
to thee,’ she said. ‘And dear Lavinia, best be free as a bird.’

There
was a ripple in the air. A troubling of the aether. And Lady Raygun no longer
held the head of Lavinia Dharkstorrm. Instead there was an eagle where the evil
woman had been.

The
eagle was upon her, all beak and ripping talons. The lady fired her ray gun,
again and again and again.

Cameron’s thumb
was on the firing button.

‘Doors
of the coach house are opening,’ said the driver. Cameron’s thumb did
hoverings.

‘And
the landau’s coming out—’ The thumb edged closer to the FIRE button. ‘And
they’re turning—’ Thumb-button-thumb-button— ‘Wait for it—’
Button-thumb-button-thumb— ‘Left!’

Button
down and— Nothing.

Cameron
pressed his thumb down again and again. And was rewarded by …

A
mighteous explosion.

The
post-box erupted. The landau’s horses reared. The landau all but overturned.

But
did not.

It
swung about in the narrow street and plunged towards the King’s Road.

On high, within
the Palace of Magic, Lavinia Dharkstorrm, now in the shape of a lion, leapt at
Lady Raygun.

‘Here they come,
sir,’ said the driver of the electric—wheeler, putting the motor into gear.
‘And crikey!’ he cried as the landau rushed by. ‘There’s no one driving that
thing.’

And
indeed there was not.

A
princess in pink lazed back amongst cushions, upon her lap an oversized
reticule.

‘She
has the reliquaries!’ cried Cameron Bell. ‘After her, man. There’s a guinea in
it for you if you can drive her off the road.’

‘It
will be my pleasure,’ said the driver.

And
the chase was on.

The well-to-do
of Eaton Place were throwing up their windows.

A
house that had once been handy for the post-box was now very much on fire.

And
flames were rising too from the Palace of Magic, as terrible growls and awful
screams echoed from within.

Cameron Bell had
discarded his cigar and replaced his brass contrivance in his pocket. He now
took to rolling up his right trouser leg.

‘Faster,
man, faster,’ he called to the driver as he tinkered at his leg.

It
was not a weapon he’d actually tested before. It came in several sections that
had to be screwed together. Mr Bell had taped these to his legs, as carrying
such a
very large ray gun
into the Electric Alhambra would have been
frowned upon by the management.

‘Those
horses are going like the very Devil,’ shouted the driver as he swung the
vehicle upon two wheels as it went around Sloane Square. ‘But we’ll ‘ave ‘em,
sir, you fear not.’

Cameron
Bell was now all over the floor. But he struggled to free further parts of his
great big weapon.

It
was a pleasant, fragrant night with a gorgeous star-filled sky and it put Mr
Bell in mind of another bit of following he had done more than a year before.
When he had pursued Lavinia Dharkstorrm to that high, narrow house in the
little square between the Temple and St Bride’s, where she had quite outfoxed
him.

That
was the night that he had first encountered Lady Raygun.

Within the
Palace of Magic, a mighty battle raged. Lavinia Dharkstorrm changed her shape
from beast to bird to beastly thing and each was met by a furious force in the
shape of Lady Raygun.

The driverless
landau raced ahead, negotiating tricky street corners, swerving to avoid
oncoming vehicles, striking down the occasional cycling cleric, cracking on at
a truly furious pace.

The
driver of the electric—wheeler said, ‘My motor’s overheating.’

‘I
will buy you a new one.’ Cameron Bell was upside down, but the ray gun was
nearly assembled.

It
was a Ferris Firestorm Nineteen—Hundred Series, the very latest thing for
big-game hunting. Although to a degree somewhat impractical for this purpose,
as one blast at an elephant would tend to reduce said pachyderm to little more
than four umbrella stands and a flywhisk.

‘The
landau’s heading for Chelsea Bridge,’ called the driver informatively. ‘They’ll
‘ave to stop there, so they will.’

‘Why
so?’ asked Cameron Bell, now proudly cradling a gun of such preposterous
proportions that it was hard to believe he could possibly have had all the
numerous bits and pieces simply strapped to his legs.