Corporal Larkspur, who was serving the evening’s repast —rather splendid lamb shanks in gravy with two veg and Treacle Sponge Bastard for pudding — overheard these words and was moved to contribute some of his own.
‘The hunters hath paid a great deal of money to cometh on this trip,’ he told Mr Bell. ‘Once we hath sufficient trophies to fill the Refridgetorium, we shalt depart for Earth.’
‘Might not be as simple as that,’ said the colonel, splashing red wine into glasses about the table. ‘Big white furry thing in the glade this afternoon. All took aim. All missed. Chaps shot each other. Big white furry thing should have been caught in the crossfire. But no trace. Nothing. Odd planet, this. At least on Mars, if you shot something with a ray gun, it had the decency to die. Here things come and go as they please.’
‘Dost thou wish then to resign from thy post?’ asked Corporal Larkspur. ‘Thou wouldst forfeit thy fee, of course.’
‘Not saying that,’ puffed the colonel. ‘But agree with the Balls chap here. Queer planet, this. Need to step carefully is all.’
‘Cream or custard with your Treacle Sponge Bastard?’ asked Corporal Larkspur.
‘Both,’ said Colonel Katterfelto.
Dinner was brought to a satisfactory conclusion and the Jovian hunters prepared to engage in drinking games and songs around the piano. Colonel Katterfelto put a slight dampener upon this, however, by suggesting that they should do the decent thing and bury their dead before the local wildlife tucked in. Grumbling somewhat, the Number Four Jovians were issued with spades and garden forks from the ship’s stores and set out to accomplish this grim task.
‘Game of chess, Darwin?’ asked Cameron Bell.
‘That would be nice,’ said Darwin.
Alice opened her mouth rather wide. But upon this occasion it was not to complain that she was not being shown sufficient attention, but instead to admit the entrance of a large slice of Treacle Sponge Bastard, with custard.
The evening passed and although it was still daylight outside and would be for at least another ninety Earth days, midnight came to pocket watches, and all and sundry turned in.
Most had enjoyed their first day on Venus. Most were now eager for sleep.
Cameron Bell said his goodnights and took himself off to his cabin. But he did not find sleep. His driven mind was rarely ever at peace and to be here upon Venus and seemingly in the presence of genuine magic gave the private detective a lot to think about.
He lay upon his bunk for a considerable while, but as it was impossible to sleep he eventually left his cabin, poured himself a brandy at the bar and took himself outside the spaceship for a smoke.
The two deckchairs he had brought out for himself and Alice had de-glamorised along with the Marie Lloyd and Cameron Bell seated himself upon one of them, placed his brandy glass upon the lichen floor of the valley and sought a cigar to smoke.
But had none.
He was about to return to the ship’s bar, where a selection of cigars were displayed in a glass-fronted case, when he heard footsteps behind him.
It was certainly an instinctive thing with Cameron Bell. Rather than rise and say hello to whoever was stepping from the Marie Lloyd, Mr Bell chose instead to sink slightly lower in his deckchair and hope that he was not observed.
He was not.
Corporal Larkspur passed him by. The corporal carried some tools and a bulky piece of electrical apparatus.
Cameron watched him creep, for creep indeed he did, off into the distance. Then the detective followed.
He did not have far to follow.
Once out of sight of the spaceship, Corporal Larkspur put down his tools, placed his piece of electrical apparatus upon the ground and began to tinker with it, making adjustments here and there and extending a sectioned metal rod.
He then donned a pair of modernistic ear accoutrements and spoke into the electrical apparatus.
Cameron Bell crept near to hear what he was saying.
‘Agent Larkspur calleth Ground Base One,’ said Corporal Larkspur. ‘Agent Larkspur calleth Ground Base One.’
Words were evidently returned to his ears, but Cameron Bell could not hear these.
‘All goeth precisely unto plan,’ said Corporal Larkspur. Further words. Then— ‘Two dead so far,’ he replied. ‘No great loss unto the universe in general, thinketh I.’
Further words were spoken into his ears.
‘O yea and verily,’ said Corporal Larkspur. ‘He cameth aboard with the woman at the spaceport. I trusteth him not.’
The corporal listened intently as further words came to him through the aether of space.
‘Yes, sir,’ said he. ‘I shalt acquireth the necessary samples of Magoniam tonight. And dealeth with Mr Bell as and when it suiteth me to do it.’
Further words presumably followed.
‘Killeth him when convenient,’ said Corporal Larkspur. ‘And the woman?’
A pause for further words and then— ‘Returneth her to Earth for blood sacrifice. I understandeth. Over and out.’
36
tealthily Cameron Bell returned to the spaceship. Sensing a golden opportunity, he eschewed returning to his cabin and chose instead to search the private quarters of Agent Larkspur.
With nothing more than a dining fork, he picked the cabin door lock, then slipped inside and had a good look around. Sunlight streamed in colourfully through the porthole, lighting upon a room of chronic untidiness. Cameron Bell found himself wading amongst soiled socks and cast-aside long johns. A musky odour brought no joy to the private detective’s nostrils. Not a room to be in when the contents all became weightless in space, he concluded.
Beneath the bunk was a steamer trunk and Cameron eased this out. Applying his fork to the locks, he sprang them open. The trunk contained one of those brand-new silver-coloured atmospheric suits in which a space traveller could breathe and enjoy a degree of comfort in conditions of extremity when there was a lack of air. It resembled a deep-sea diver’s costume, with large brass helmet and boots with magnetised soles. Upon a cylindrical air tank was a brazen boss engraved with the maker’s name.
M. R. FERRIS & Co.
Alperton, England.
‘I wonder if anyone else has been issued with one of these?’ whispered Cameron Bell, surreptitiously making one or two minor adjustments to the valve-settings on the air cylinder.
Pleased with his handiwork, he closed the steamer trunk, relocked it and pushed it back beneath the bed, rearranging the floor litter around it into an unpleasing composition.
Cameron then continued his searchings. Uncovering a number of books about mineralogy authored by a certain Herr Döktor. A wallet containing a quantity of calling cards, one of which Mr Bell slipped into his waistcoat pocket. Personal items and private possessions, all of which he perused then carefully returned to their places.
Nodding his bald head in some satisfaction, he left the private quarters of Corporal Mingus Larkspur and returned to his own. There he bolted the door and wedged a chair beneath the handle. Then he prepared for sleep.
Darwin the space monkey woke to a clamour of bells. He could have had a cabin to himself, as there were more than sufficient to go around, but he chose instead to remain in the company of his friend and business partner.
Colonel Katterfelto floundered about, discovered the noisily ringing alarm clock and flung it to the cabin floor, where it gave up its ghost and lay silent.
‘Seemed like a good idea at the time,’ said the colonel. ‘But then always been an early riser myself Sorry to stir you from your slumberings, my dear fellow.’
Darwin the monkey yawned and stretched. He wore a gingham nightshirt with matching nightcap, and looked very dear indeed.
Colonel Katterfelto broke morning wind. ‘Sorry pardon,’ said he.
As the porthole did not open, Darwin left the cabin. A buffet breakfast had been laid out in the dining room and Darwin helped himself to cornflakes.
Several Jovians, already i
n their safari suits, were munching fried sausages and toast. One of them, catching Darwin’s eye, made gun-fingers with his big right hand and mimed a-firing at the hairy fellow.
Darwin the monkey returned in haste to his cabin. The colonel was lathering up for a shave. ‘Speedy breakfast,’ said he.
‘A Jovian pretended to shoot me,’ said the monkey. ‘Although Venus is a pretty place and the financial remuneration considerable, I confess that I would rather be back at the Snap tables of The Spaceman’s Club.’
‘Have no fear for your safety,’ said the colonel, spitting shaving soap in numerous directions. ‘I’ll look after you. And you’ll come out of this rich as a monkey can be.’
‘Are you leading them out on another safari today?’
‘Thought I’d make ‘em leave their guns behind. Rope the blighters together. See if we can get through a morning without any further loss of life.’
‘I might just stay in the cabin and read a book,’ said the ape of space.
At a little after ten of the London morning clock, those Jovians within whom the spark of life still flickered assembled outside the Marie Lloyd. Eight now remained out of the original ten and this eight seemed more inclined to heed the words of Colonel Katterfelto than they had upon the previous afternoon. All had been issued with spades. All were now roped together about their ample waists.
‘No shooting today,’ said the colonel, swagger stick lodged beneath one arm, boots both highly polished.
‘Awwwwwww,’ went the Jovians, most harmoniously.
‘Appalling mess yesterday,’ said the colonel, ignoring this awwwwing. ‘Can’t have any more of that. Need to get organised. Need to get disciplined. Understand me?’
Jovians dismally nodded their heads. One said, ‘Canst we go fishing instead?’
‘Probably end up drowning yourselves,’ said the colonel. ‘No, what we’re going to do is have a little competition. You all have your spades?’
The Jovians displayed these without enthusiasm. ‘Any of you fellows heard of Magoniam?’ the colonel asked.
A single Jovian raised a single hand.
‘Ah,’ said the colonel. ‘Stumpy. Heard of the stuff, then, have you? Know what it looks like?’
‘Gold,’ said Stumpy.
‘Gold-coloured, eh?’
‘Just gold,’ said Stumpy.
‘Looks a bit like gold, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Is gold,’ said Stumpy. ‘Or as we knowest it upon Jupiter, Jovite. On Earth thou callest it gold. Upon Venus, Magoniam. Surely thou knowest that?’
‘Hm,’ puffed the colonel. ‘Only testing. Glad to see you were paying attention. So, treasure hunt this morning. Prize for whoever brings back the most Magoniam.’
The Jovian hunters now sought to make off in different directions, but as they were firmly roped together, this resulted in considerable confusion and much comedic falling over.
‘Still not all batting from the same end,’ said the colonel, ‘but we’ll have you chaps licked into shape by lunchtime.’
Darwin took a late breakfast then returned to his cabin to read. Cameron Bell took his breakfast with Alice and now the two sat out in deckchairs.
‘I really hope they don’t kill anything,’ said Alice. ‘It would be so wrong to kill anything here.’
‘I regret that it is what they have come for.’ Cameron Bell lit up a recently acquired cigar. ‘But as to how many of them will actually return to Jupiter with their trophies, who can say?’
‘Would you kill something here and take it home?’ asked Alice.
‘I do not have a home any more, I’m afraid.’
‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Alice, ‘full of beautiful things.’
‘All destroyed,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘The house blown up. All gone.
‘That is awful.’ Alice gave his arm a little squeeze. ‘Was it that horrible man in black who attacked me at the Crystal Palace?’
Cameron nodded and said that it was. ‘But it does not matter now.
‘But all your books and family photographs?’
‘What is done is done,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘and cannot be undone. And strange as it might sound, I no longer feel any loss. I feel now somehow liberated. As if my own past in the shape of those objects somehow held me captive.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Alice. And she considered telling Cameron all about her queer experiences and identifying herself as the Alice of the popular storybooks. She might even mention her meeting yesterday with the white rabbit.
But she did not.
Because he would think me quite mad, thought Alice, and so she changed the subject.
‘I wonder if my kiwi birds are missing me,’ she said. ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ asked Cameron Bell.
Colonel Katterfelto had tea in a vacuum flask and whilst the Jovians, looking now to be for all of the world an overweight chain gang, toiled away in search of Magoniam, he unscrewed the lid and poured himself some and smiled a little bit.
Vacuum flasks always made the colonel smile. Ever since he had attempted to explain their workings to Darwin.
‘You put in something hot and it stays hot,’ Colonel Katterfelto told the monkey, ‘and something cold and it stays cold.’
‘But how does it know?’ asked Darwin. Which had sounded funny at the time.
So for now the colonel sipped at his tea and watched the Jovians dig. They went at it with a will and with good grace and with their usual humour. The colonel determined that he would do his level best to see that as many as possible survived to the end of the big-game hunt.
‘Magoniam!’ cried one of the Jovian diggers.
‘Put it on your own pile,’ said Colonel Katterfelto, observing with some delight the growing heaps of Venusian gold. This planet was a, well, a veritable gold mine, so it seemed. The old soldier sipped some more at his tea and smiled a bit more also. The Jovians could surely come to no harm by simply digging and he had already crammed more than enough Magoniam into every pocket of his uniform to overfill the empty compartment of the Mechanical Messiah, which was probably even now being manufactured for him.
‘It does not get better than this,’ puffed the colonel. ‘Does not get better than this.’
Cameron Bell would certainly have agreed with the colonel. The private detective had brewed tea in the galley and brought out a pot, with cups for two and a nice plate of biscuits beside. He settled himself down in the deckchair next to Alice, poured her a cup and placed one sugar in it.
‘It really is paradise here,’ said Alice, taking two biscuits from the nice plate she was offered. ‘I do miss my kiwi birds. But I would not have missed this for all of the world.’
The biscuit plate now being empty, Cameron went without. But he smiled at Alice and agreed that being here was very special indeed.
‘I think that I have never known such peace,’ he said.
Rainbow shafts fell here and there onto the valley floor. A gentle breeze turned the occasional fallen leaf and butterflies danced in the crystal air. Something furry bobbed in the distance, and Cameron Bell sighed softly.
Then stiffened as he heard the sudden shouting.
‘Whatever is that?’ asked Alice. ‘What is that terrible noise?’
Cameron Bell cupped a hand to an ear. ‘The Jovian hunters,’ he said.
‘They have not shot each other again, surely?’ Alice set aside her tea and biscuits and rose from her deckchair to peer into the distance.
Cameron Bell was rising too as the sounds of shouting grew louder.
‘I think we had better return to the spaceship,’ he told Alice.
‘If someone is in trouble, perhaps you should help them,’ said Alice. ‘While I wait safely in the spaceship.’
‘Yes,’ said Cameron Bell, who was having his doubts. What with the increasing volume and frantic nature of the shouting.
‘Oh dear,’ he continued as he sighted Colonel Katterfelto. The old gentleman was running
full pelt towards the Marie Lloyd, flapping his hands as he ran and shouting, ‘Get inside, damn it! Get inside.’
‘Let us get inside now,’ said Cameron Bell. Behind the colonel ran the hunters, still roped together but making extraordinary progress. For big and bulbous beings they were putting on an impressive display of speed.
But not without good cause, for now both Cameron and Alice beheld the reason for all this running and shouting.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Cameron Bell.
‘That is a dragon,’ said Alice.
37
oologically speaking,’ said Colonel Katterfelto, as he caught at his breath and peeped out through a porthole of the Marie Lloyd, ‘dragons are improbable at best.’
Cameron Bell was intrigued by the beast and as all of the hunting party, the colonel, Alice and himself were now relatively secure within the spaceship and the door firmly bolted upon the magical world beyond, he took a little quiet time to contemplate the dragon.
His skill to draw conclusions through intense observation had been put to the test upon animals of Earthly origin. He recalled a time whilst seeking a criminal mastermind in New York City when the direction of the hairs on a wiener dog’s tail had led him to the conclusion that its owner was not the humble person he claimed to be, but rather the notorious Lord of Misrule, Eskimo Jim McNaulty. Cameron also remembered how his own mother had taught him to accurately predict thunderstorms by ‘reading’ the lay of a spaniel’s ears. But then the divination of future events through the study of spaniel ears dated back to Pythagoras and Pliny.