The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (16 page)

‘King of the World?’ said Mr Churchill in a very low and troubled tone.

‘You surely ain't forgotten our deal? You make me Commander-in-Chief of all the Allied Forces and I bring down me Martian mates and wipe the Nazis out.’

‘It is a plan that has much to recommend it,’ said Mr Churchill, elbowing his way past a tentacly beasty and taking his place in the slightly larger chair.

Arthur Knapton sat himself down at the other end of the table. And then leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table.

‘Feet
down
!’ commanded Mr Churchill.

Arthur Knapton slowly lowered his feet.

‘Your Martians interest me,’ said Mr Churchill, puffing like a tugboat on his big cigar. ‘I have read the
fictional
account of the Martian invasion – Mr Wells’
War of the Worlds
. I recall that the Martians died because they had no immunity to Earthly bacteria.’

Arthur Knapton laughed his most annoying laugh once more. ‘’Tis true,’ said he. ‘An’ as
you
an’ a few of yer in-the-know colleagues know, the War of the Worlds was
not
a fiction. It ’appened in eighteen eighty-five, and would ’ave remained a part of ’istory ’ad not
I
chosen to make some alterations.’

‘In your capacity as—’ Mr Churchill paused.

‘A time traveller,’ said Arthur Knapton. ‘The world's one an’ only time traveller.’

‘As a time traveller, thank you, you altered the past so that the Martian invasion did not take place?’

‘I postponed it. These Martians ’ere won't die from Earthly bacteria. These Martians ’ere are all dosed up with penicillin.’

‘Penicillin?’ said Mr Churchill. ‘Is this drug upon the shelves of Boots?’

‘Not as yet, it ain't. It was discovered by Alexander Fleming in nineteen twenty-eight, but it don't go into commercial use until nineteen forty-five.’

‘Interesting,’ said Mr Winston Churchill. ‘A man who can
travel through time may achieve so very much, it would appear. Pray tell me, Mr Knapton, where is your time machine?’

Arthur Knapton clutched at his chest, then threw his arms wide and smiled. ‘That's for me to know,’ said he, ‘an’ for you to wonder of. Now, I ’ave all the papers wiv me, if you'll look ’em over and sign on the dotted line.’

‘On the dotted line of what, exactly?’ said Mr Churchill.

‘Of the contracts we agreed upon – that you become King of the World an’ I your Commander-in-Chief.’

‘Ah, those,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘I don't think we'll bother with those.’

‘What of this?’

‘I am dissolving this partnership,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘I believe that, should I sign these papers, you will unleash a Martian invasion upon the whole world, after which I suspect a military coup would not be long in coming, and you, my very treacherous friend, would crown
yourself
King of the World.’

‘Oho,’ said Arthur Knapton. ‘A very fine fing is
this
. I'll ’ave t’ teach ya the error of yer ways.’

‘I think
not
.’ And Mr Churchill rose, discarded his bonnet and drew from his basket an army service revolver. ‘Know me, enemy of England,’ he declared. ‘Know me, enemy of Mankind that you are. Know me as your nemesis. Know me as Cameron Bell.’

‘Cameron Bell?’ went Arthur Knapton as his big face fell.

‘I have tracked you through time,’ said the great detective, ‘and now I will bring you to justice.’

‘But if you are Bell,’ said the villain, ‘what became of Churchill?’

‘Mr Churchill and his monkey butler are both safe and sound, tied up in a showman's booth at Olympia. I lured Mr
Churchill there with playbills advertising a Prognosticating Primate that could divine the future, and there overcame him when he pulled a pistol upon my companion. This pistol here, as it happens. I knew you had dealings planned with Mr Churchill and I knew the where and when of them. I studied your papers in ancient Egypt, where you are known as Akhenaten.’

‘You fiend!’ cried Arthur Knapton.

‘Quite the contrary. I also learned from our mutual acquaintance Aleister Crowley that you perambulate through time by means of a magical tablet, the Stele of Revealing, which you stole from him and then decoded through extensive study of the books you stole from the British Museum.’

Darwin the monkey, for of course it was
he
with Mr Bell, masquerading as Churchill's monkey butler, Major Monkey B, scratched at his chin and pondered, ‘I am not too certain that works out,’ said he.

‘It is best that we dismiss plot holes,’ said Mr Bell. ‘When dealing with time travel it is something of a free-for-all.’

‘Fair enough,’ said the Ape of Knowledge.

‘So ’ow did you get ’ere?’ asked Arthur Knapton, effecting a thoughtful expression. ‘Do you ’ave a stele of yer own?’

‘I travel through the medium of science rather than magic,’ declared Mr Bell, ‘in a time-ship invented by Mr Ernest Rutherford, the workings of which are contained within a back-engineered Martian warship.’

‘One commandeered after the failed invasion of eighteen eighty-five?’ asked Arthur Knapton.

‘Best not continue this line of conversation,’ said Darwin, ‘lest we stumble once more into a mighty big plot hole.’

‘I am leaving now,’ said Arthur Knapton. ‘Do not try to stop me.’

‘Absolutely
not
,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Hand over the Stele of Revealing or I will shoot you dead and take it from your body.’

‘Kill ’im, boys!’ cried Arthur Knapton, flinging himself behind his chair and urging on his Martians.

Cameron Bell drew down fire on his attackers.

Darwin the monkey dived for cover.

Arthur Knapton fled.

‘After him, Darwin!’ shouted Mr Bell. ‘We must not let him escape.’

The Martians now floundered about on the floor, leaking green goo from numerous wounds. Mr Bell leapt nimbly over them, closely followed by Darwin the monkey.

Arthur Knapton pelted down a corridor of power.

‘There he goes,’ cried Mr Bell. ‘After him, Darwin, hurry.’

The monkey and the man gave chase.

And as they did so, they heard the chant rise up from the mouth of Arthur Knapton.

And as they reached the end of that corridor of power, near the stairs but quite a way from the toilet, they saw a bright light emanate from the runner. Then they saw the flash and heard the sound of water entering some titanic plughole.

And then together they stopped and sighed.

For Arthur Knapton was gone.

*
You might want to look this up. (R. R.)

18

‘
ell, that might have gone somewhat better,’ said the monkey to the man. ‘He has escaped and we are trapped here for ever.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘
Not a bit of it?
’ Darwin the monkey stamped his feet and showed his very sharp teeth. ‘He has departed in the company of the magic tablet. We are trapped and doomed.’

‘All has gone as I planned it,’ said the great detective. ‘We shall pursue him now and bring him to justice just as I have planned.’

‘
What?
’ cried the ape, a-gnashing his teeth. ‘Have you gone stark raving mad?’

‘Follow me, Darwin,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I have been here before, as you know, and I am well acquainted with the layout.’

‘And—’

‘We shall proceed to the loading docks.’

‘And—’

‘Take our leave in the
Marie Lloyd
. If that finds favour with
you
.’

‘And—’ went the ape once more, and then, ‘
What?
’

‘That
is
what we came for,’ said Mr Bell. ‘That and to foil Arthur Knapton's plan in this day and age.’

‘
And
to bring him to justice, I recall.’

‘That would have been a bonus, but I considered it unlikely.’

‘Now just hold on right
there
,’ said Darwin. ‘This is all getting quite beyond me. Are you saying that the
Marie Lloyd
is somewhere in this underground complex?’

‘Where else would it be?’ asked Mr Bell. ‘This is the top-secretest top-secret place in all of the British Empire. If you sought a captured Martian spaceship, would you not seek it here?’

‘But our time-ship ceased to exist, because in this day and age, you and I are considered purely fictional, because the War of the Worlds never happened. Am I correct?’

‘Up to a point,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘But you did see those Martians with your own two eyes?’

‘I did,’ said Darwin.

‘And you do of course possess absolute proof of the
Marie Lloyd
’s existence.’

‘Do I?’ asked Darwin.

‘You do.’ Mr Bell reached down to the monkey butler, dug about in his uniform and drew out a key on a chain.

‘The ignition key to the
Marie Lloyd
,’ said Darwin.

‘Around your neck all along,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Which set me early to thinking that all might
not
be so simple as we supposed.’

‘I never supposed it was simple.’

‘If the key was still with you,’ said Mr Bell, ‘then it was my conjecture that the
Marie Lloyd
must be here also. And if it is still
here
, then this is the
here
where we'll find it.’

‘In the loading bay?’ said Darwin the monkey.

‘And untampered with, I'm hoping, as you have the only key.’

‘I am sadly not wearing a hat,’ said Darwin, ‘or I would take it off to you, my friend.’

‘I detect a hint of sarcasm in that.’

‘Lead me to the loading bay,’ said Darwin, the Ape of Knowledge.

And of course it
was
there.

And
I
– and here I shall return once more to ‘first monkey’ – was suitably impressed by its being there.

‘I would like to leave now, please,’ I said to Mr Bell. ‘This is a dreadful time for the world and I have no wish to remain here.’

There was
some
unpleasantness.

There were guards surrounding the
Marie Lloyd
and they were not convinced by Mr Bell's impersonation of Mr Winston Churchill. In fact, they sought to arrest Mr Bell as a Nazi spy and me as a spy also.

I feel that had Mr Bell not flourished dynamite, taken on a wild-eyed look and threatened to blow all and sundry to kingdom come unless the guards made haste with their departures . . .

. . . I think things might have taken a turn for the worse.

‘Where to, and
when
?’ I asked Mr Bell when we were once more aboard our time-ship, with the hatchway door locked firmly from within.

‘I have a theory,’ said the great detective.

‘I am sure that you do. But do you have a date?’

‘I do,’ said Mr Bell, and he whispered it into my ear.

‘I am not keen,’ I said in reply. ‘That is further into the
future. What if there is still war? Things will be
very
grim then.’

‘I am confident that there will be no war in this particular time.’

‘I recall you saying something similar about
this
time,’ I recalled.

‘I was getting my “time legs”, as it were. All will be well, I promise.’

‘And why this particular time and this particular date?’

‘Because I found this,’ replied Mr Bell, pulling something from the pocket of the siren suit.

‘It is a ticket,’ I said, regarding same.

‘It is indeed a ticket. Arthur Knapton evidently gave it to Mr Churchill for him to write upon it the time and date of today's meeting.’

I made the face that says,
Go on
. So Cameron Bell went on.

‘It is a bus ticket,’ he said.

‘Go on.’

‘A bus ticket from the future.’

‘And how can you tell
that
?’ I asked.

‘By the date upon it,’ said Cameron Bell.

I took the ticket and examined it with interest.

‘London Transport, route sixty-five,’ I read aloud. ‘And yes – the date
is
stamped upon it. Is not
that
convenient!’

‘God clearly smiled upon our endeavours,’ said Mr Bell.

‘Let us be grateful for His mercy.’

‘Quite so. Now, according to
this
—’ Mr Bell produced from another pocket a London gazetteer –

‘Which just happened to be in the pocket?’ I said.

‘Exactly. Well, according to this, the Number Sixty-Five bus route was established in nineteen thirty-eight. It runs between Ealing and Leatherhead.’

‘So where would you like me to land the ship?’

‘Sniff the ticket,’ said Mr Bell, ‘then tell me what you smell.’

I put the ticket to my sensitive nostrils and sniffed. ‘It smells like rotten eggs,’ I said.

‘Precisely. And to my knowledge, unless they have moved it and I doubt whether they have, only one place on the Sixty-Five bus route smells like that.’

Mr Bell paused that we both might enjoy his triumph.

‘Get on with it,’ I told him.

‘Brentford,’ said Mr Bell. ‘The gasworks down in Brentford.’

And so I set the controls for Brentford.

And nineteen sixty-seven.

19

nd so upon the dubious strength of a bus ticket that smelled of rotten eggs, we set out for the sixties and for Brentford.