The Witches of Chiswick (18 page)

The entrance hall was about the size of Victoria Station, its walls dressed with many huge canvasses, the work of Mr Dadd in his “you chuck it on and I’ll spread it” period, which was to say, his present period.

Will whistled once again.

“Very good,” said the liveried automaton. “The whistling goes with your costume, are you a professional actor?”

“No,” said Will. “I’m a time traveller, on a mission to catch Jack the Ripper.”

“Most amusing, sir. I must introduce you to Mr Oscar Wilde. I’m sure the two of you will have much to talk about.”

“I doubt that,” said Will. “I’m easily bored. Might I just peruse the guest list. I feel that one or two of my old friends may be here.”

“Certainly. Sir.” The liveried automaton took up a clipboard from one of the ormolu-mounted kingwood and marquetry commodes (the one on the right-hand side of the front door as you’re coming in) and offered it to Will.

Will perused and returned it. “Thank you,” said he. “Now if you will just steer me in the direction of Her Majesty.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The liveried automaton led Will through rooms filled with many wonders.

These had the looks of engineeriums. Mighty machines of shining steel and buffed-up brass, all cogs and flywheels, pistons and ball-governors, rose in the midst of these rooms. The air was heavy with the rich smell of engine oil and of ozone, which has something to do with electrical jiggery-pokery.

“Her Majesty appears to show a great deal of interest in electronics,” Will observed.

“The future lies in technology,” the liveried automaton replied. “And as long as the Crown holds every patent, the British Empire will continue to expand until it encompasses the entire globe, before moving on to the stars.”

“Do you have a brother?” Will asked.

“No, sir. I’m an automaton.”

“Then I perceive that you reside in Clapham and travel here every day upon the omnibus.”

“Gawd bless my soul,” said the liveried automaton. “You’re a regular Miss Shirley Holmes, ain’t you, sir?”

“The man’s an amateur,” said Will.

“We’re all gonna die,” said Barry.

“Tweezers,” whispered Will.

“Talking in my sleep,” said Barry. “Zzzzzzz.”

“The Great Hall,” said the liveried automaton. “You’ll find Her Majesty somewhere in here. I’ll have to leave you now, sir. I’m on door duties.”

“Fine,” said Will. “Thank you very much. See you on the way out, or perhaps I’ll catch you on the Clapham omnibus some time.”

“I’ll look forward to it, sir. Farewell.”

Will gazed into the Great Hall. It was a very wonderful Great Hall.

The ceiling was a magnificent dome, painted in the style of Michelangelo, but with more cherubs and a great deal more naked folk indulging in what toffs euphemistically refer to as the pleasures of the flesh, but what the commoners call shagging. The ceiling had been designed by Mr Aubrey Beardsley, but he hadn’t actually done any of the painting himself, because he had a bit of a cough. His brother Peter (who would later find fame playing football for Liverpool and earning fifty-nine caps for England) had done all the colouring in.

The walls of the Great Hall were hidden beneath swathes of red toile de Jouy fabric, which presented a most lustrous effect. The furnishings were splendid, and resembling, as they did, those in the famous apartments of Louis de Champalian, there is no need for description of them here.

So, all in all, it was a pretty natty Great Hall.

It was also a very crowded Great Hall, and it swelled with swells and glittered with the glitterati. Wilde was holding court before a bevy of breathless beauties. Wilde had come dressed as the Pope, who in turn had come dressed as Wilde. Count Otto Black was to be seen, clad in the star-spattered robes and conical hat of Merlin the magician. He was chatting with Queen Victoria herself, whom Will was surprised to see wore nothing but a diaphanous gown and a pair of high-heeled clogs.

Little Tich was there, of course, wearing his now legendary ever-popular big boots. Will was slightly disappointed to observe that they were not quite so big as he’d hoped they’d be. But then, you can’t have everything, and Will consoled himself with the fact that he had at least caught a glimpse of Queen Victoria’s muff.

Dadd was there, dressed as a packet of pork scratchings. And there were countless others, far too many for Will to count, although he was looking for one in particular.

A minion in a gorilla suit approached Will. The minion bore a silver tray with glasses of champagne. Will helped himself to one of these, took it up and sipped at it.

It was quite exquisite.

Will took another sip and said, “Oh yes.”

This was really something.
Really
something. Will had seen a lot of somethings during his travels with Hugo Rune. He had dined with potentates and emperors, and even with the Pope in Rome. (Will recalled how he had warned the Pope about the growing threat of vampires, who had been misidentified as saints, and wondered whether the Pope had paid any heed to his warnings.) And Will had visited many palaces. In fact, Will had done a whole lot of wonderful things with Mr Rune, the importance and relevance of which were only now becoming apparent to Will.

Rune had taught him how to fit in, and a whole lot more than that.

But for all that whole lot more, Will had never seen anything quite so splendid and eccentric as this, and as his eyes took it in, his brain did somersaults, which awoke the snoozing sprout, who was similarly impressed when he peered out through Will’s eyes.

“This is good,” said Barry, “if perhaps a little silly. Isn’t that the Duke of Wellington, who, if I’m not mistaken, will later go on to find fame as a lightweight summer sandal with a Velcro strap? Why is he dressed as a grandfather clock?”

Will shrugged. “Just go back to sleep, Barry. I am going to mingle and learn what there is to be learned.”

“And after that we can leave here and get back on the trail of Jack the Ripper.”

“Tweezers, Barry.”

“Good night, chief.”

Will grinned. He felt confident that the word “tweezers” would now be figuring prominently in his future conversations with Barry.

“Don’t forget the law of diminishing returns,” said Barry.

“What?” went Will. “Can you read my thoughts too?”

“No,” said Barry. “But that one was pretty damn obvious.”

“Good night, Barry.”

“Good night, chief.”

And so Will mingled.

Will mingled with members of the French aristocracy. They had come dressed as the cast of
Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat
, which was having its very first run in London’s West End. Will conversed with them in the fluent French that Hugo Rune had taught him. The members of the French aristocracy were much taken with Will. They talked a lot to him. Their talk seemed mostly concerned with the spread of the British Empire.

Will asked whether they’d come here by bus.

Will learned that they had not.

Will enjoyed a conversation with a Chinese trade delegation. They were pleased to meet an Englishman who could speak Mandarin. The spread of the British Empire bothered them, they told Will.

The Greek ambassador shared a joke with Will. Did the spread of the British Empire give him cause for concern, Will asked. The Greek ambassador said that it did and praised Will for his grasp of the language.

Will sat apart from the crowd of partying folk and took stock of the situation,
his
situation.

He really
did
teach me, thought Will. Rune. He may not have chosen to share his magic, if he did have any magic, but I really have learned so much. He prepared me. That’s what he did, prepared me. And I’ll just bet that he would have shared his magic, if I’d been his magical heir. But of course I’m not; Tim is.

And Will thought about Tim and how he missed Tim and how he’d really like to tell Tim all about this, and if it were possible, bring Tim back here and show it all to him.

But then Will thought about the job he had to do. The job he had sworn to do; bring Jack the Ripper to justice, and then,
with
the help of Barry, go home.

So what was he doing here?

Will knew exactly what he was doing here. And it had nothing to do with meeting the Queen, or searching for clues in the palace.

“Might I sit beside you?” A soft voice spoke at Will’s ear, a soft and lisping voice, a voice with a certain pain in it. Will looked up and found himself staring at a black mask; a sack more like, with a single eyehole cut into it. This sack hung about a head which seemed grossly overlarge. Some eccentric costumery, Will supposed. The figure who wore the sack upon his head was stunted, bowed; there was something altogether uncomfortable about his posture.

“Please do,” Will smiled. “Sit yourself down.”

“My thanks.” The figure seated himself, awkwardly.

Uncomfortably, Will noted the feet of the figure. They seemed huge in comparison to his height.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” the lisping voice said slowly. “My name is Joseph Merrick.”

“Please to meet you, Mr Merrick,” said Will. “I am William Starling, son of the late Sir Captain Ernest Starling. I am puzzled by your costume; what exactly have you come as?”

“I have come as myself. This is a carnival of curiosities and I am surely the greatest curiosity of this age.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Will.

“You do not recognise my true name. Then perhaps you might recognise my professional name. I am known as the Elephant Man.”

“The Elephant Man!” Will stared at the Elephant Man. “I have heard of you. I’ve read about you. This really is a very great pleasure.” Will extended his right hand for a shake. Joseph Merrick extended his and Will shook it.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” Will asked.

“Oh yes, it is wonderful, wonderful. Everyone had been very kind.”

Will nodded, and smiled in that excruciating sympathetic/condescending manner that folk just can’t help doing when confronted with a freak.

“I hate that smile,” said Joseph Merrick.

“Sorry,” said Will. “But you are having a good time?”

“Splendid,” the Elephant Man nodded his oversized head. “And I’m hoping to score later. I’ve been chatting up the Belgian ambassador’s wife and I’m taking her back to my room at the London Hospital later.”

“What?” went Will.

“They can’t resist me. And they can’t help themselves wondering, what’s his tackle like? Is he hung like an elephant?”

Will opened his mouth, but could find nothing to say with it.

“Got any tottie sized up for yourself?” asked Mr Merrick.

“Well, no,” said Will. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You’re not in The Queen’s Own Cross-dressing Nancy-Boy Shirt-lifting Fusiliers, are you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, there’s plenty of pussy going begging. And these posh bints bang like an outhouse door, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I have to be going,” said Will and he rose to his feet.

“Well, don’t be a stranger now. My light’s always on. Bedstead Square, back of the London Hospital. You can shin over the railings. And I’m always up for a threesome.”

“Good luck to you,” said Will. “And goodbye.”

“I’m not
him
, you know,” said Mr Merrick. “I know some folk think I am, but I’m not.”

Will turned back. “Him?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“You know who I mean: Jack the Ripper. I know there’s been talk. Rumour. Every murder has been committed within a ten-minute walk from the London Hospital. Some folk even say it’s Sir Frederick Treves, the Queen’s physician. He arranged for me to take refuge at the London Hospital, you know. So very kind. But it’s not him and it’s not me either.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever had
you
down as Jack the Ripper,” said Will.

“Well I think that’s most unflattering. But then it’s obvious who the murderer really is, isn’t it?”

Will sat back down again. “Is it?” he asked.

“Of course it is.”

“So who is Jack the Ripper?”

“
Was
,” said Joseph Merrick. “
Was
, because he did himself in. Committed suicide, he did. Sickened by his own crimes he took his own life.”

“Really?” said Will. “So you know who it was?”

The Elephant Man nodded his bulbous bonce. “Plain as the great big nose on my face,” said he. “His name was Hugo Rune.”

“It
wasn’t
Hugo Rune,” said Will. “I was with him during the time that the murders were committed. We were in Tierra del Fuego.”

“Oh,” said the Elephant Man. “Then I must have been misinformed. That’s the last time I travel on the Clapham omnibus.”

Will sighed deeply. “I should have expected this,” he said, “as soon as I decided to strike out on my own.”

“It’s my turn not to understand.” Mr Merrick lifted his champagne glass, passed it under his head sack and slurped upon it noisily.

“Running gags,” said Will. “I’ve read about them, but never encountered them before, in the flesh, as it were.”

“Speaking of flesh,” said Mr Merrick, “there’s a couple of right crackers over there; why don’t we move in as a team and have a pop at them?”

“I’m here on important business,” said Will.

“And you can’t fit in time for a shag?”

“Well,” said Will. “I have to confess that it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a shag.”

“How long?”

“More than three hundred years.” Will couldn’t count the woman Barry had picked up the previous night, because he couldn’t remember her.

“Are you an associate of the Comte de St Germain? I see him over there, chatting up Her Majesty.”

“I’ve never heard of
him
,” said Will.

“Claims to have discovered the philosopher’s stone and the elixir of life. Claims to be two thousand years old and to have met Christ.”

“You’re kidding me,” said Will.

“I am not possessed of a sense of humour. And when you clock my boat race, you’ll see why.”

“I’ve seen photographs,” said Will. “Although I’m sure they don’t do you justice.”

“They do. I look like shit.”

“But you’re still a big hit with the ladies.”

“Every cloud has a silver lining. Or, as I like to put it, every skirt has a pink one. So shall we have a pop at a couple? There’s two over there. Although I don’t like the look of your one.”

“All right,” said Will. “I can spare a little time.”

“Suffer from premature ejaculation, do you?”

“Your conversation is somewhat coarse,” said Will.

“If you think
that’s
coarse, you should see my—”

“What?” Will asked.

“Let’s go and pull.”

“All right,” said Will. “Let’s go.”

And they
did
pull. Will was amazed. His one wasn’t a catwalk model but later, in Mr Merrick’s room at Bedstead Square, she proved herself to be a willing and imaginative lover. And what Mr Merrick got up to, Will didn’t know. It sounded like a lot of fun by all the noise of it, but Will really didn’t want to look.

Will slept very soundly after everything was done, and was somewhat surprised to suddenly awaken in the dark.

Will didn’t say, “Where am I?” for he knew just where he was, but he wondered what had woken him and why.

Curious sounds came to Will in the darkness. Hissing sounds and clickings and the sounds of whispered words. Will raised his head and eased himself away from the sleeping female at his side.

The hissings and clickings continued and so did the whispered words. Will rose from the hospital bed.

A door was ajar; a wan light shone through the ajarness. Will stealthily crept towards it.

“Ground control,” he heard words whispered. “Ground control to Major Thomas.”
[17]

Will peered through the gap between doorframe and door.

Mr Merrick sat at a table. Before him was a complicated-looking piece of apparatus. Some kind of radio transmitter, Will correctly assumed, but not of a type he’d ever seen before.

“Ground control to Major Thomas,” said Mr Merrick once more.

“Major Thomas speaking,” a voice replied. “What do you have to report?”

“The date for the moonship launch is confirmed.”

“Well, you’ll just have to stop it happening, won’t you?”

“I can’t do that,” said Mr Merrick. “How can I do that?”

“Blow it up. I don’t care.”

“I’m hardly equipped to blow it up, am I? I’m not a trained assassin. I’m just a spy.”

“And a pretty rubbish one,” said the voice of Major Thomas.

“Well, that’s hardly my fault. You said that the alien-human hybridisation programme would make me indistinguishable from a normal human being. That wasn’t exactly true, was it?”

“A bit of a glitch in the system, but you have achieved a certain celebrity. You’re a darling of royalty. You have connections in high places. That’s worked out much better than we could ever have hoped for.”

“That’s all right for you to say. I have to cart this big huge head around.”

“Just stop the launch,” said the voice of Major Thomas. “We don’t want the British Empire builders blundering onto our moon base.”

“I have certain connections in the London underworld,” said Mr Merrick. “Anarchists. I will arrange to have a bomb placed in the moonship, to explode when the countdown reaches zero!”

“Splendid. That will do nicely. Is that all that you have to report?”

“Well, actually, no, it isn’t. The British Empire’s space programme may be a threat to our home planet Mars, but there is an even greater threat. It is not the British government we have to fear. It is the power that lies behind the British government.”

“Her Majesty Queen Victoria?”

“Not her,” said Mr Merrick. “A cabal of witches. They are up to all manner of wickedness. Their evil extends throughout this society and their power grows ever stronger. I hear rumours from my informants that these witches seek to take control of the government. They disguise their evil by passing as the seemingly benign middle class ladies of a philanthropic chit-chat and charity organisation called the Chiswick Townswomen’s … just hold on, will you?”

“What’s going on?” asked Major Thomas.

“I thought I heard something.”

Will edged away from the open door, returned to his bed and feigned sleep. He heard the approach of the Elephant Man, the shuffling feet, the movement of fabrics. He felt the warm breath against his cheek, and smelled it also. It smelled of woman.

Will made snoring sounds.

The breath left his cheek. Mr Merrick moved away and Will heard a door shut behind him.

“And what do you make of
that
?” Will asked. “Zzzzzzzzzzzzz,” went Barry.

“So let me just get this straight,” said Tim McGregor, downing Large and running a knuckle over his mouth. “Sorry to interrupt you in mid-chapter as it were. But your tale seems to have entered other dimensions. We now have Barry the Holy Guardian sprout or Phnaargian genetically-engineered Time Sprout, depending upon your particular take on reality, or otherwise. And Mr Merrick, the Elephant Man, who is a human-alien hybrid spy.”

“Yes?” said Will. “So?”

“Oh nothing.” Tim shrugged and tucked back the hair that now engulfed him. “So what happened next? Did you go to the launching of the Victorian moonship?”

“Not yet,” Will’s glass was once more empty. “That hasn’t happened yet in the time I’ve returned here from. I think I might go on to halves now,” he said. “Or I will shortly be too drunk to continue with the telling of my tale.”

“Right,” Tim drained his glass to its naked bottom. “But this Barry, whatever he might be. Is he still inside your head?”

Will nodded and tapped at his earhole. “Still in there,” said he. “Which is how I came to be here with you.”

Tim cocked his head upon one side and peered thoughtfully at Will. “Would you like me to winkle him out?” he asked. “I’d be happy to let him nestle in my bonce, if you want. I’m ever so keen to get going on whatever it is we’re supposed to be be getting going on.”

“Oh no,” said Will and he shook his head vigorously.

“Easy, chief,” said Barry. “I was having a nap.”

“Sorry, Barry,” said Will.

“Did he speak to you?” Tim made a most excited face.

“He rarely shuts up. But I’ll hang on to him for now. I’ve grown somewhat attached to Barry. We’ve been through a lot together.”

Tim shrugged once more and took himself off to the bar.

“Are you sure we really need
him
?” Barry asked. “I can find you far better, I really can.”

“We do,” said Will. “I’m still running things, remember?”

“As if you are, chief.”

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Of course you are, chief’.”

“Well I
am
and that’s that. I’ll tell Tim the story and then we’ll all go back and sort out the last part. And then you and I can go our separate ways.”

“I might take Tim up on his offer, chief.”

“I thought you’d been having a nap.”

Tim returned with the drinks. “I just love this pub,” he said, placing two pints upon the table.

“I asked for a half,” said Will.

“The part-time barman wouldn’t hear of it. Heroes drink pints, he said.
And
he sells pork scratchings. Imagine that. Pork scratchings!” Tim waved a packet at Will.

“This wombat is thrilled by pork scratchings.” Barry wriggled about in Will’s brain.

“We don’t have pork scratchings any more,” said Will. “There aren’t any pigs any more.”

“You’re not all vegetarians, I hope,” Barry now shivered.

“Most foods are synthetic,” said Will.

“You’re talking to him again, aren’t you?” Tim sat himself down. “Could I see him if I peeped in your ear?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Okay, fine by me. So, go on with your tale.”

“Well,” said Will. “I have to tell you, I wasn’t feeling too well.”

“Nerves, I suppose.” Tim took up his latest pint and supped upon it. “What with you knowing that another Victorian Terminator robot might well be on your tail.”

“That constantly worried me.” Will glanced towards the saloon bar door. “I was always looking over my shoulder. But it wasn’t that.”

“So, go on.”

And Will went on.

Will awoke in Mr Merrick’s spare bed in Bedstead Square, at the London Hospital, Whitechapel. A now unappealing woman snored on top of him. Across the room, on a somewhat grander bed Mr Merrick slept in a seated position, his knees drawn up and his monstrous head resting upon them. It was the first light of day now and in that first light, Will viewed the full grotesquery of Mr Joseph Carey Merrick: the horrible pendulous flaps and folds of skin, the spongiform eruptions, the grubby underwear. And
this
man was a big hit with the ladies!

Will yawned silently and then took to gripping his forehead. It was possibly the worst hangover he’d ever had. Whatever had he been drinking last night? Will took to shivering. Medical alcohol, that was it. Laced with absinthe and mescal.
A Merrickan Express
, Mr Merrick had called it. Because it gets you into the “Love Tunnel” and makes you “Elephant’s trunk”. And it had.

Will now dimly remembered his former awakening. And the business of Mr Merrick and the transmitter. That
had
been true, hadn’t it? Or had he dreamed it? Had it been the drink? Will didn’t know for sure.

To be absolutely certain, he’d have to get another look into the adjoining room where the equipment had been. Will tried to rise, but the recumbent female weighed heavily upon his chest. Will eased her off and she made curious whimpering sounds. Will swung his legs down from the bed, rose with difficulty and staggered as quietly as he could across the room to the door in question.

Will reached out to the doorknob.

And then Will groaned.

There was no doorknob, as there was no door.

“No door,” whispered Will. “Barry, are you awake?”

“Keep the noise down, chief. I’ve got a right hangover here.”

“
You’ve
got a hangover?”

“I sustain myself on your vital juices, chief. Which means I’m pretty pickled. Can we get out of here and have some coffee? And some breakfast too?”

“Not yet. Something very weird happened last night.”

“You are the master of understatement, chief. You had a foursome with the Elephant Man and a couple of foreign princesses. I’d head on out before the paparazzi arrive, if I were you.”

“There was a door here and—”

“Did it open into another world, chief? Was there a big lion and a witch?”

“There was some very strange equipment.”

“I’ll just bet there was. Thankfully, I slept through that bit.”

“Oh, forget it.”

“Consider it forgotten, chief. So breakfast, is it? Sausages, eggs, bacon. No tomatoes, no mushrooms, no potatoes.”

Will shuffled back to his bed, found his trousers, shirt, cravat and shoes, and tweedy cap, dressed and quietly took his leave.