I don’t want mushrooms you grew in your shed.
I want treacle sponge bastard for me—
and so on—
Cameron Bell looked longingly at Alice. The most beautiful creature that he ever had seen. He rooted in the clothing of the Beast, located Aleister Crowley’s paisley purse and took out a threepenny piece. This he dropped into a slot, activating the mechanism that released a pair of opera glasses. Cameron Bell raised these to his eyes, adjusted them and gazed awhile at Alice.
Her kiwis formed pyramids and played at leapfrog. Then cricket.
The private detective turned his opera glasses towards the exclusive boxes on the other side of the stage. Espied Mr Oscar Wilde in the company of Max Beerbohm and Aubrey Beardsley. A group of Venusians, their golden eyes trained upon the stage. Members of the aristocracy, sporting false moustaches. Here a foreign potentate. There a manufacturer of brass goggles to the gentrified classes. There— Cameron Bell caught air in his throat. Refocused his opera glasses. There, almost directly opposite him, in the box below the Venusians, sat a single figure. Lean, gaunt-featured, all in black. The monster in human form.
Cameron Bell raised his ray gun, gripped it in a trembling hand. It would surely be but the work of a moment. A well-aimed charge of deadly energy. From between the scarcely open curtains. No one would even see him. He could slip away quietly once the deed was done. It was murder, of course. But then was it murder if what you killed was not a man? Interplanetary agreements decreed that within the boundaries of the British Empire, all men, be they of Earth, or Venus, or Jupiter, were equal in the eyes of the law. And entitled to the protection of the law. But was this fiend Venusian? Or was he something other?
Cameron Bell would dearly have liked to interview the being at some length. Whilst employing certain techniques beloved of medieval torturers. But an opportunity such as this might never present itself again.
Cameron aimed the pistol. His finger tightened upon the ivory trigger. Then relaxed. He could not do it. He was a gentleman, of sorts. But an Englishman certainly. And this was not the English way of doing things. You had to give a fellow a sporting chance, no matter how unsporting he himself might be. And even though he hated this mannish thing with every fibre of his being and knew instinctively that it meant no good to the human race as a whole, he could not do it.
The sing-song came to an end. The crowd ceased their clamour and there was a moment of silence as Alice steered a kiwi dressed as Blondin along a slim raised tightrope.
Cameron Bell rose to his full height, flung aside the curtains and cried in the loudest of voices.
‘Hey, villain,’ cried he. ‘I have the Ring of Moses. And I have this for you.
The vast crowd, shaken to surprise by this sudden shouting, glanced towards its source and then took to ducking as a beam of red raw energy cleaved the air above.
The beam did not come from Cameron’s side of the stage. The detective fired back on the instant. Raising mixed emotions from the crowd. Some took at once to loud screamings and clamourings for escape. Others, and amongst these must be numbered many steadfast cockneys who, travelling from the relative civilisation of the East End to what they considered the very wilds of the country in Sydenham, had brought their weapons in case they encountered highwaymen or untamed savage beasts. These hearty fellows took at once to unholstering their weaponry.
Upon the stage stood Alice Lovell, by equal parts bewildered, afeared and appalled. Bewildered, because she recognised the shouting voice of Cameron Bell. Afeared, as anyone might be, by an ever-growing firefight. And appalled, nay, utterly appalled, that the attention of nearly ten thousand people was no longer all upon her.
Alice Lovell stamped a buttoned boot and called for calm.
But in din and growing chaos all her words were lost.
Then a bolt of energy sliced down onto the stage.
‘No!’ bawled Cameron Bell. ‘I am the one you want. Do not shoot at her.’ But his voice too was lost in the swelling cacophony.
Cockney fellows aimed their guns towards exclusive boxes. Those who inhabited these and had weapons of their own brought them out and rained down fire upon the crowd below.
More beams swept across the stage. The scenery took fire.
Alice Lovell fled, her kiwi birds upon her fleeing heels. The object of Cameron Bell’s hatred was suddenly no longer in his box. He was moving down the iron trelliswork, at speed and in a manner far from human. He moved like some great four-legged spider from tier to tier and onto the stage, amidst the smoke and flame.
Cameron Bell fired down upon him, missed, and rushed from his box. The corridor was no longer empty. Folk were running, screaming, falling. Cameron returned to the box, stepped over Aleister Crowley, climbed up onto the elbow rail and flung himself towards the burning stage. But Mr Bell was no athlete. He managed to grab at a curtain with his free hand, tearing it down and tumbling with it to the stage floor beneath. Flames were leaping higher now and, climbing painfully to his feet, Cameron struck at them with the curtain. But to no avail.
‘Alice!’ shouted Cameron Bell. ‘Alice, where are you, Alice?’ The backstage was in darkness and all about him now the fire rose. Cameron stumbled forwards, ray gun at the ready, shouting the name of Alice.
Into the blackness beyond.
But then to be met by light.
A curious light, though, this. A violet light, as of some will-o’-the-wisp or of St Elmo’s fire. The source of this light, the evil creature, dressed though all in black.
Hissing sounds issued from its mouth and it raised its head to fix the detective with the most terrible eyes. They were ugly, reptilian and glowed a ghastly yellow.
And as it had been when the thing looked down upon him from the flying platform, it was as if Cameron Bell was alone with this creature, somehow removed from the world he knew and flung into one of terror.
The sounds of chaos and fiery destruction seemed to cease, to be drawn away, and he inhabited now a vacuum of silence. A place of dread cold fear.
But then another sound came to his ears. It was the scream of a woman. It was the scream of Alice Lovell. The monster hauled her into view, held her in front of him, held her by the throat.
Her terrified eyes stared at Cameron Bell. Her mouth pleaded soundlessly for help.
Cameron Bell held his ray gun now in both hands, aimed it unshakingly at the head of the monster he hated. Prepared to pull the trigger without any qualms at all.
‘Hold hard.’ The voice was as a snake might use had it been granted speech. ‘So easily might you harm this woman who means so much to you.’
Perspiration dripped into Cameron’s eyes. His body shook but his aim remained steady.
‘You will hand me the Ring of Moses,’ hissed the evil creature, ‘or I will breathe death into this woman before I take it from you.
Cameron Bell stared eye to eye with the monster.
The monster’s fingers tightened around Alice’s throat.
30
ou have no cause to harm an innocent woman. Cameron Bell edged forwards, ray gun firmly gripped. ‘Release her now and I will let you live.’ It was bravado, of course, but Cameron Bell did not wish to show any fear if he could possibly avoid it.
‘Let me live?’ The creature’s voice pressed hard upon the ears of the private detective. ‘You dare to speak to me in such fashion? Down upon your knees.’
Cameron’s heart was beating far too fast, but his hands remained steady, the nozzle of the ray gun aimed at the creature’s head. He continued standing and glared at his mortal enemy.
‘The ring,’ the creature demanded. ‘Hand me the ring and I will choose who lives. Pray you well that I choose kindly. Hand me the ring at once.’ His cruel hand tightened further around Alice’s throat. Alice’s eyes were wide with fear and pain.
‘All right,’ cried Cameron Bell. ‘You shall have the ring.
But first let go your hold upon the woman.
‘Cast aside yo
ur weapon, then.’
Mr Bell clung tightly to his weapon. ‘That thing I will never do,’ said he.
‘And so the woman dies.’
Alice’s eyes were popping now, her face was going purple.
Cameron Bell slowly lowered his weapon, but he did not cast it aside. ‘You shall have the ring,’ he said, softly. ‘But tell me, why all this? Who are you and what do you want on this planet?’
‘I do not answer to you.
Cameron Bell took a careful step forwards. His eyes swept over the being before him. Dressed as a man yet emanating the curious violet glow. The detective viewed the costume and the shoes, seeking to gain some vital information. But he could draw nothing. Perhaps the clothes and shoes were not what they appeared at all. Perhaps they were part of the creature itself Some cunning form of anatomical camouflage. As of the chameleon.
‘You would know so much,’ said the creature, and a terrible smile appeared on the terrible face. ‘And you have come closer to discovering me than any other of your sorry race. Do you wish that I should tell you my name?’
Cameron Bell nodded slowly. Perspiration ran into his eyes.
The creature spoke and his words brought dreadful fear to Cameron Bell.
‘I am become Death,’ the creature spoke. ‘Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.’
Cameron Bell still firmly held his ground. But it was not proving easy. He was doing his level best to retain the stiff upper lip of the English gentleman. But it was becoming increasingly difficult by the minute. And his fears for the life of Alice overwhelmed him.
‘You are not of this world,’ whispered the private detective. ‘Why have you travelled here?’
‘To destroy you. To erase you and your filthy race.’
‘Harsh words,’ said Mr Cameron Bell, whose teeth were starting to chatter.
‘Your evil Empire must be brought to an end.’
‘Evil Empire? Steady on.’ The ray gun was trembling now in his hands.
‘The British Empire.’ The creature fairly spat out the words. ‘Your British Empire has extended to your moon and to Mars. It must spread no further. If you are not stopped now you will rampage amongst the planets, spreading your pestilence. And then the stars will be your destination.’
‘We would come in peace,’ said Cameron Bell.
‘You know only war,’ declared the creature. ‘War and the acquisition of all that is not yours. Your foul corruption must go no further. I am here to put an end to you.
Cameron Bell fought hard to retain some semblance of control. ‘You alone cannot defeat an entire race,’ said he.
‘Incorrect. For I possess something no man of Earth possesses.’
Enlightenment dawned upon Cameron Bell. ‘You are a Venusian,’ said he. ‘And the thing you possess is magic.’
‘Correct.’ The creature’s terrible smile exposed terrible pointed teeth. ‘The ecclesiastics of Venus, those effete, aloof beings that visit here, take the vow as soon as they cam speak — that they will never practise magic anywhere other than upon their home world. They fear that should they do so they would break the spell of protection that surrounds their planet and lose all powers they have.’
‘Then to use magic here you will harm and possibly destroy your own kind.’
‘I am not as they. I am the last of my kind. They destroy my kind upon birth. But my mother hid me. And I shall wreak revenge upon them, as I bring justice to all worlds by your destruction.’
Cameron Bell concluded that this being certainly had a number of unresolved psychological issues that would be of interest to young Dr Freud. Now, however, was not the time to suggest a consultation. But as Cameron Bell stared in the creature’s direction he became suddenly aware of something that brought a wry smile to his face. Something he felt might slightly tip the scales of the present power struggle in his favour.
‘Right, then,’ said Cameron Bell, forcing as much fearlessness into his voice as he could muster. ‘I think you have told me all I need to hear. Unhand the woman and take your leave and don’t let me catch you behaving so badly again.’
‘What?’ The creature was brought to a pure fury. Its eyes flashed unbridled hatred. It rose upon its toes, dragging Alice from her feet. ‘The ring,’ it hissed. ‘Hand the ring to me.
Cameron Bell displayed the magical object on his finger. ‘I think I will keep this as a souvenir of our encounter,’ he said. ‘It is a garish gewgaw of no intrinsic value. But it amuses me.
‘And so die, puny Earthling!’
The creature loosed its hold upon Alice, who sank to the floor in a faint. Then made to leap and then destroy Mr Bell.
But did not.
Because of a sudden the creature vanished. Vanished and went down in a great blur of fluttering feathers and pecking beaks. For the something that had brought the wry smile to the face of Mr Bell had been the stealthy arrival of Alice’s kiwi birds, creeping up to attack the thing that dared to menace their mistress.
Cameron aimed his ray gun, but could not shoot for fear of harming the loyal birds. So instead he pocketed his pistol, threw himself forward and hastened to the rescue of Alice. The slender girl felt all but weightless as he scooped her up in his arms and took himself at speed to seek an exit.
Sounds rushed back to fill the vacuum of otherwise silence. Sounds of fire-fighting appliances and police vehicles wildly ringing their bells. Sounds of crackling flames and the screamings of men and of women. The Crystal Palace was now mightily ablaze, panels of glass exploding from its great arched roof The auditorium had become a raging inferno.
Cameron Bell emerged from the rear of the stricken building to comparative sanity. Bearing Alice in his arms and caring now only for her safety, he ran towards the carnage park. Here to encounter very much confusion.
Wealthy patrons sought escape from the grounds in their carriages. Carriages that were now somewhat all jammed up together. An appropriate word to describe this jamming-up rose unbidden in the mind of Cameron Bell. The word was ‘gridlock’.
‘Out of my way!’ he shouted, fighting his way through the toffs who had managed to get themselves all wedged in amongst the carriages. ‘Out of my way. Injured woman in need of medical attention.’
He elbowed here and elbowed there and presently winkled his way to the single cause of the gridlock: a parked hansom cab that blocked the way of all, besieged by toffs who each sought to claim it as their own.
Through a somewhat complicated piece of girl-juggling, Cameron Bell managed to draw out his ray gun without dropping Alice to the ground. Still unconscious, Alice did not see what followed.
Cameron Bell shot at the driver’s hat. Reducing it to ashes. ‘Down from there,’ he shouted. ‘I am commandeering this cab.’
‘Lord save me!’ cried the driver, clutching at his hair which smouldered somewhat. ‘It’s ‘im. ‘Im as robbed me before.’
Some toffs took to backing away at this. Cameron brandished his ray gun at them. The circle widened further.
‘I’ve called the bobbies on you,’ quoth the driver. ‘And not just me, it seems. That Johnny Foreigner in the ticket office called ‘em, too. And the fitter of clothes. You are a wanted man, Mr Pickwick.’
‘Down!’ shouted Cameron Bell. ‘Or I add murder to the charges against me. Take the woman from me, place her in the cab, sit beside her and see that she comes to no harm.’
‘Now see here—’ said a toff.
Cameron clunked him with the ray gun.
The driver descended and did as he was bid. Cameron climbed up to take his place at the reins.
‘Out of the way,’ he shouted at the toffs. The toffs got out of the way.
Cameron Bell took up the whip, cracked it in the air. ‘Gee-up, Shergar,’ he shouted to the horse. ‘Fly like a bats-man out of Hell.’
It certainly eased the gridlock.
But it did not please the thousands fleeing down the hill upon foot.
‘Out of the way!’ shouted Mr Bell once more, whip
ping away at Shergar.
Patrons of the Music Hall dodged to either side as best they could as Cameron steered the hansom cab forward. And them above the awful sounds of fiery destruction, the screams of fear and cries of anger as Cameron drove over fellows’ feet, came other sounds that Mr Bell did not find any too pleasing.
These were the sounds of police whistles blowing. And of policemen shouting. ‘There he is, driving that hansom, ‘came one such shout. ‘It’s Mr Pickwick all right,’ came another. Further shouts identified this Mr Pickwick to be a robber, a fanatic, an assassin and an arsonist.
From his perch upon high Cameron could see the bobbies climbing into the cockpits of their new electric Marias. He also noted, without satisfaction, that they were armed with ray guns far bigger than his own.
‘Faster, Shergar,’ Cameron shouted. ‘Out of the way there, please.’
Down the sweeping drive from the Crystal Palace ploughed the hansom. Flames roared within the mighty building, flared out through the fractured roof Electric Marias purred after Cameron Bell. Phrases such as ‘dead or alive’ were being bandied about. Thousands fled in terror and Mr Bell whipped Shergar into a frenzy.
Down the hill and gathering pace towards the Royal Spaceport.
Upon the departure strip of the Royal London Spaceport stood a single ship of space preparing to depart. It was a somewhat battered old hulk, although serviceable, and Colonel Katterfelto, arriving half an hour before, had identified it to be none other than—
‘The good old Marie Lloyd, Darwin. Flown in this old spacebird before, damn me. Very small world at times, doncha think?’ he asked.
Darwin had agreed that yes, he considered that it really was a very small world at times. Perhaps at certain times to a degree where such an abundance of coincidences surely argued for the existence of a higher force, orchestrating such coincidences for a purpose presently beyond all Earthly comprehension.
‘Possibly so,’ the colonel had said. ‘Now give us a hand with me bags.’
The bags were now aboard the Marie Lloyd. The Jovians too were all aboard and they were all strapped in. Their luggage and their weapons stowed, their space-sickness tablets taken. Corporal Larkspur was demonstrating how to use the oxygen masks, if they were needed, and where the emergency exits were.