The Martian Ambassador (18 page)

‘Let me go!’ cried the boy.

‘What, and let you put through the remaining windows in this lady’s carriage? I think not!’

‘Let me go!’ the boy cried again. ‘Let me go, Martian!’

‘Martian?’ De Chardin gave Sophia a shocked look, but he maintained his grip on the lad. ‘I am no Martian, my boy!’

‘You are! You are! Help, help! The Martians have come back! They’ve got me!’ The boy began to scream and cry with such force and anguish that de Chardin released his grip, but instead of making his escape, the boy collapsed in a sobbing heap on the ground.

Sophia went to him and gathered him up in her arms. ‘There there,’ she said. ‘It’s all right; there’s nothing to be afraid of.’

The handful of villagers who were outside were now joined by several others who, alerted by the commotion, emerged from the surrounding buildings. They all approached the carriage with hostile, frowning faces.

‘Leave the boy alone!’ shouted one.

Another cried, ‘Leave us all alone, whoever you be!’

The villagers drew up alongside the carriage. There were perhaps a dozen of them; several were brandishing knives and cudgels, and their faces were twisted with anger and fear.

‘What’s going on here?’ demanded de Chardin.

‘Just go,’ said the man who had spoken first. ‘We don’t want no strangers around here, not anymore.’

The Knight gazed at the man with unblinking eyes, and said, ‘I am Gerhard de Chardin of the Metropolitan Templar Police, and I will stay for as long as I please. And mark me well, sir: you
will
tell me what is going on here.’

The villagers glanced at each other uncertainly, and Sophia noted with surprise how the fight seemed to drain from them.

‘The… Templar Police?’ said one.

De Chardin indicated the boy, who had stopped crying and was now looking up at him, wide-eyed and panting. ‘This young ruffian put a stone through our carriage window.’ He pointed to the wound on his brow. ‘As you can see, it found its mark. No mean feat to injure a Templar, my lad!’

Sophia’s surprise grew as she saw the smile spreading across de Chardin’s face. She had no idea whether he was genuinely angry or as amused as he appeared to be. She suspected that it was a combination of both, for such was the reputation of the Templar Police for implacability and fighting prowess that a show of humour – especially in a fraught situation such as this – could be as disarming as a show of strength.

Not for the first time, Sophia decided that Gerhard de Chardin knew exactly what he was doing.

‘Now then,’ said the Templar Knight, ‘lower your weapons, for while I mean you no harm, you may be assured that harm will come to you if you continue to threaten us.’

The villagers looked at the smile which was still playing upon his lips, and then they looked at his eyes, and what they saw there made them obey.

A woman came forward and took the boy in her arms. ‘He didn’t mean no harm, sir,’ she said. ‘He was afraid, that’s all. He thought he was protecting us, didn’t you, Tommy?’

The boy said nothing, for he was still captivated by the tall, powerful Knight.

‘You’re his mother?’ asked de Chardin.

‘That I am, sir.’

‘What was he protecting you from?’ asked Sophia.

‘From the fiend who came through here last night!’ declared one of the men, and the others muttered loudly their agreement.

‘Let me guess,’ said de Chardin. ‘He was tall and powerfully built and dressed in a white suit with a curious box attached to his chest. And his face was taught and pale, as if it were stretched over his skull.’

A momentary silence fell upon the gathering, which was then broken by exclamations of assent mingled with snatches of observation and opinion:

‘Like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.’

‘Horrible, he was!’

‘He was a Martian.’

‘He wasn’t a Martian!’

‘How do
you
know what he was?’

‘A devil out of Hell!’

‘He was a man.’

‘A man can’t jump like that!’

De Chardin held up his hands, saying in a loud voice, ‘Good people, I pray you be silent! What you saw last night was not a man – but neither was he a Martian…’

‘What was he then?’

‘He was a Martian!’

‘Didn’t you hear what the gentleman just said, cloth ears?’

‘Well, he weren’t no Hampshire lad!’

De Chardin sighed and held up his hands again. ‘What did he do? Did he hurt anyone?’

‘No sir, he didn’t,’ said the boy’s mother. ‘But many people saw him come bounding through Furfield – bounding along, like he didn’t weigh nothing at all! It was unnatural, sir, that’s what it was.’

Once again, the other villagers offered loud confirmation.

‘And we saw where he went, too!’ declared one.

This brought a surprising reaction from the others: they all turned to him, some with wide eyes, others with frowns of irritation. Voices were suddenly raised against him:

‘Shut up, Arthur!’

‘We don’t know that!’

‘Why did you tell them that?’

‘Don’t listen to him, sir. He’s deranged!’

‘He’s an ’alf-wit!’

‘Listen, you! I’m no ’alf-wit! Say that again, and I’ll knock you down!’

‘That’s enough!’ cried de Chardin. ‘You, man. Arthur. Come here.’

With obvious reluctance, Arthur stepped forward under the hostile gaze of his fellows.

‘You saw where he went?’

‘That we did, sir.’

‘No we didn’t!’ someone cried.

‘Enough!’ said the detective. ‘Where did he go?’

Arthur’s resolve seemed to drain from him as he stood before de Chardin, and it was quite plain that he was now beginning to question his own wisdom in offering the information. ‘The others, sir… they don’t want me to say.’

‘But
I
want you to say. And believe me, that is what you must hold uppermost in your mind. You have already decided to tell. You cannot go back. I will not allow you to.’

‘All right, sir,’ Arthur sighed, and pointed to the west, towards a high wall which surmounted a distant hill. ‘He went to the place this village is named after.’

‘No, Arthur!’ cried the villagers.

‘He went to Furfield… He went to Lord Pannick’s estate.’

‘Well, de Chardin, you look like you’ve been in the wars!’ Blackwood said, indicating the cut above the Templar Knight’s right eye.

‘A young lad, a good eye and a sharp stone: a dangerous combination,’ de Chardin replied. ‘How are you, Blackwood?’

‘Never better.’ Blackwood asked de Chardin and Sophia to be seated and took his own chair behind his desk. It was three o’clock, and they had just returned from Hampshire, coming immediately to the Bureau of Clandestine Affairs.

Blackwood’s secretary brought in a large tray bearing a pot of Earl Grey for his guests, one of Blue Mountain coffee for him and a plate of macaroons, and without further ado they got down to the matter at hand.

‘Did you see Petrox Voronezh, Thomas?’ asked Sophia.

‘I did. Your psychometrists were quite right, as we expected them to be. But the situation is much more serious and unsettling than even their brief glimpses suggested. Voronezh confirmed that there
is
intelligent life on Venus, and that the Venusians have all but destroyed their world through the unbridled development of technology and industry.’

‘Why didn’t the Martians tell us this before?’ asked de Chardin, handing Sophia a cup of tea.

‘I asked him that very question,’ Blackwood replied. ‘He said it was to protect us…’

‘Protect us?’

‘From potential contact with a hostile and acquisitive species. It seems that the Venusians aren’t the types to fall in with: they’re extremely aggressive and arrogant beyond all reason. They believe that it was their
right
to consume their world and turn it into a suburb of Hell. I must admit, I was wrong about the Martians: Voronezh assured me that they harbour no animosity whatsoever towards humans, and I believe him. The real danger lies on Venus, not Mars.’

‘You may well be right,’ said de Chardin. ‘But I fear that the people we spoke to would not agree with you, even if they were told the truth.’

‘Thomas,’ said Sophia, ‘we were thinking that it would be a very good idea to inform the public that there is hostile life on Venus, and that we have nothing to fear from Mars.’

Blackwood smiled. ‘I was thinking the very same thing. In fact, I suggested it to Grandfather as soon as I returned from the Martian Embassy. He’s going to discuss it with Her Majesty and the Prime Minister, and put forward the case for releasing this information.’

‘I hope they agree,’ said Sophia. ‘It seems plain enough that the Venusians are engaged in some kind of propaganda war, sowing fear and mistrust amongst the people of Earth…’

‘And fear and mistrust amongst the people of Mars,’ Blackwood added. ‘Voronezh believes – as I do – that this Indrid Cold chap is far from finished, that he has something else up his sleeve… perhaps a lot of things.’

Sophia was about to speak, but she was interrupted by a sudden puff of lilac smoke in the air above Blackwood’s desk.

‘Good afternoon, everyone!’ said Shanahan.

‘Good afternoon, Shanahan,’ said Sophia. ‘How lovely to see you again.’

The faerie alighted on the desk, gave a deep bow and, dragging one of the macaroons off the plate, proceeded to munch on it enthusiastically. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mr Blackwood?’ he said between mouthfuls.

‘Be my guest.’ Blackwood briefly considered allowing him to finish the biscuit, but since its size was to Shanahan what a cartwheel would have been to a human, he decided that the interval would be too great. ‘Would you mind telling us what you have learned about the sabotaging of my cogitator, if anything?’

‘Ah! In fact I learned something very interesting while I was away in Faerie,’ Shanahan replied. ‘Although I’m not entirely sure how much use it will be to you.’

‘We shall be the judges of that,’ said Blackwood. ‘Pray tell.’

Shanahan licked his fingers and sat himself down cross-legged on the desktop. ‘Well, as soon as I arrived home, I set about finding my colleagues, who had been commissioned by Mrs Cottingley to run your machine. They were all in a fine state, sir, I can tell you, torn between relief at having avoided destruction by the djinn and remorse at what they believed to be your unfortunate fate. I can’t tell you how glad they were when I informed them that you were safe and well, thanks to the quick thinking of the beautiful young lady here.’ He indicated Sophia, who smiled and blushed.

‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘I gathered the De Dananns together, and persuaded them to help me track down the miscreant who removed the dream catcher from your cogitator.’

‘And?’ said Blackwood.

‘We found him, sir!’ Shanahan declared, his tiny chest swelling with pride.

‘Who was it?’

‘Not “who”, sir – “
what
”! It was a kobold: a nasty little sprite of Germanic extraction…’

‘And he managed to infiltrate your team?’ said de Chardin.

‘Well… yes,’ Shanahan replied in a slightly hurt tone. ‘Mr…?’

‘Gerhard de Chardin, of New Scotland Temple.’

‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir! Yes, he
did
manage to infiltrate the De Dananns – but only because kobolds are shape-shifters and can appear as any person, animal or object they choose.’

‘How did you manage to track him down?’ asked Blackwood.

‘Ah, Mr Blackwood, would that I were able to tell you! But I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a rule amongst the Good People of Faerie that we never discuss our world with the people of this one. Were I to explain the details of our investigation, I would be in breach of that rule, and things would not go well for me back home. I hope you understand.’

Blackwood sighed. ‘Of course. So, you found and apprehended the kobold. What then?’

‘We questioned him, but we weren’t able to get very much out of him, I’m afraid, for he had a pellet of iron secreted upon his person, which he managed to swallow…’

‘Good grief!’ said Sophia in shock. ‘He
killed
himself?’

‘That he did, your Ladyship. It’s my guess that he was terrified of what his employer would do to him if he found out that he had been captured. Death, it seems, was preferable.’

Blackwood tutted in disappointment. ‘What
did
he tell you?’

‘That he had been summoned and employed by a very powerful man…’

‘In what way “powerful”?’

‘In
every
way, Mr Blackwood. Powerful enough to summon him; enough to bind him to his will; enough to summon a djinn; enough to walk the human world with impunity. Very powerful and very rich.’

‘But he didn’t give a name,’ said Blackwood.

‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ replied Shanahan regretfully.

Blackwood noticed Sophia and de Chardin glancing at each other. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘We may already have a name, Thomas,’ said Sophia.

‘Indeed?’

‘We passed through a village in Hampshire this afternoon, where we encountered people who were in a state of great fear and agitation. Last night, they said, Spring-Heeled Jack passed through, and such was the impression he made upon them that they no longer welcome strangers there.’

‘Was he still babbling about Martian victories?’

‘He was. Detective de Chardin received his wound from a young boy who hurled a stone at my carriage, believing us to be Martians. He was terrified, as were the rest of the villagers, for they came to meet us carrying makeshift weapons. In fact, I believe that it was only the forcefulness of the detective’s character that saved us from a most unpleasant encounter.’

Hmm
, thought Blackwood.
Bravo to the detective
.

‘One of the villagers,’ Sophia continued, not noticing the slight sourness that had crept into Blackwood’s expression, ‘told us that they saw Spring-Heeled Jack bounding over the wall surrounding the neighbouring estate. So dismayed were his fellows when he told us this, that they very nearly turned their weapons on him.’

‘What’s the name of this village?’ asked Blackwood.

‘Furfield,’ Sophia replied.

Blackwood leaned forward suddenly. ‘Furfield? But that’s Lord Pannick’s estate!’

‘It is,’ said Sophia.

‘Who is Lord Pannick, if I may ask?’ said Shanahan.

‘A powerful man,’ Blackwood muttered. ‘A
very
powerful man.’