The Mechanical Messiah and Other Marvels of the Modern Age

  ‘It is so much more than gold, my friend.’

  ‘No friend, I,’ said Mr Churchill, chugging at his cigar.

  ‘Fetch me the box and now,’ said the figure in black and he poked at Mr Churchill with a blackly gloved finger.

  Poke-poke-poke, it went.

  Poke-poke-poke and peck-peck-peck as well.

  Alice Lovell awoke in a bed that offered moderate comfort. She awoke to sun shining in at the window and poke-poke-poke-and-peck.

  Alice blinked her eyes and said, ‘Oh my.

  For bumbling all around and about a-poking and a-pecking too were dozens and dozens of kiwi birds.

  ‘Oh mercy me,’ said Alice.

  48

  olonel Katterfelto slept rather longer than usual and finally awoke to find himself in circumstances very much to his liking. He and Darwin had engaged a double suite of rooms at the Ritz the previous afternoon. The double suite was luxurious to say the very least.

  Done to a perfection in the style of the legendary Enrico Dalberty, the walls were clothed in sumptuous silks that glowed in the early sunlight. Lacquered tables and burnished brass vases created the ambience of an Aladdin’s cave, where treasures twinkled in every corner and there were wonders galore.

  The colonel bathed in a circular bath hewn from a single piece of speckled basalt and fed with heated water by golden taps in the shape of diving dolphins. Lemongrass bath oil offered a heady fragrance. The colonel’s uniform hung on a peg, thoroughly laundered by lackeys who laboured at night.

  As he bobbed about and tasted a morning snifter of champagne, the old soldier thought back to the doings of the previous day. In particular to the latter doings. When he had revisited the engineering works at Alperton to collect his key to the rented chapel, wherein awaited the Mechanical Messiah.

  He had experienced extraordinary difficulty even entering the engineering works. The colonel had hired one of the new electrically powered flying hansoms, but when this put down before FERRIS ENGINEERING, armed guards immediately surrounded it.

  ‘What goes on here?’ the colonel demanded to be told.

  But he was hauled immediately from the hansom and marched away to a gatepost. Where his name, rank and number were taken.

  Huffing and puffing in the manner of a small steam train, the colonel was forced to await the arrival of a slight officious fellow with a polished iron beard and a black uniform that bore insignia quite unknown to the old campaigner.

  Within a tiny room that lacked for windows and charm, a curious interview followed.

  ‘Please be seated.’ The slight officious fellow indicated a stool. Then sat himself down on a taller chair.

  ‘Prefer to stand,’ said the colonel. ‘Prefer more to get what I came for and go.’

  ‘This is now a restricted area where weapons are designed and manufactured. FERRIS ENGINEERING leads the world in such marvels of the modern age,’ said the slight officious fellow with the polished iron beard. ‘You cannot simply turn up here without the correct clearance documentation. A state of National Emergency exists.’

  ‘Ah,’ puffed the colonel. ‘You mean that business with the spaceship in Trafalgar Square. Rum do that, to be sure.

  ‘Have you been abroad?’ asked the iron-bearder, making certain notes upon paper attached to a clipboard with a pen of advanced design that whistled when he used it. ‘In France, perhaps?’

  ‘Could say I’ve been abroad.’ The colonel viewed this bothersome being with ill-concealed contempt. ‘Hunting trip. Big-game hunt. Been away for a year, it seems.

  ‘Ah, the Dark Continent.’ The iron-bearder made more notes with his whistling pen. ‘Soon to become a much lighter continent.’ He laughed as if this were quite a joke. The colonel was perplexed.

  ‘The State of National Emergency has existed now for several months. Since the installation of the new administration, the National Executive has identified certain factions within our very midst. Subversive factions. Factions that must be brought under control.’

  ‘Anarchists and the like?’ said the colonel.

  ‘Anarchists, Bolsheviks, foreigners, off-worlders, Jews. To name but a few.’

  ‘Pardon me?’ said the colonel, his mouth dropping horribly open.

  ‘The list grows longer every day. They say Her Majesty never leaves her sitting room at Windsor now. Gentlemen of the National Executive Special Operations Unit maintain a constant vigil. And a good thing too, you will agree, after what happened yesterday. A suicide mission in a stolen spaceship set to destroy the Royal Family.’

  The colonel made coughing sounds deep in his throat. ‘Suicide mission?’ he ventured.

  ‘Exactly what the National Executive has been predicting. As soon as the nation that launched this outrage has been identified, war will be declared upon them.’

  ‘Don’t think that’s really necessary,’ mumbled the colonel. Then, viewing the very hard stare he received, he said, ‘But you chaps know your own job best, I suppose.’

  ‘You will receive your recall papers shortly,’ said he of the iron beard.

  ‘My what?’ went Colonel Katterfelto.

  ‘Your records are on the way from London. Once I have checked through them I will assign you a rank.’

  ‘I am a colonel, be damned!’ boomed the colonel. ‘And now an angry one, too.’

  ‘Some vacancies exist in the catering corps,’ said the man upon the high chair, showing not a hint of concern. ‘A chap of your advanced years should at least be able to cook up some beans without getting himself into trouble.’ The iron-bearder smiled upon the colonel.

  There had been some unpleasantness.

  Burly guards had been forced to restrain the colonel. They had not treated him kindly at all.

  It was many hours later and after a very great deal of further interviewing from a chap who, unlike his predecessor, had not had his iron beard forcibly rammed into a private place, that Colonel Katterfelto left FERRIS ENGINEERING, carrying the key to his rented chapel.

  The flying hansom had long departed, and the colonel had a long march back to London.

  But that was yesterday and today was a new day and one filled with hope for the colonel. Today in fact might well be the very day when he would put all the world to right.

  The day when he would energise Heaven’s Last and Best Gift to Mankind. The Mechanical Messiah.

  His ablutions completed, shaving done and other details too, Colonel Katterfelto donned his very-clean-but-now-quite-faded uniform, slipped the Magoniam that had spent the night beneath his pillow into its pockets and took himself downstairs for a bang-up breakfast.

  He sat all alone in the magnificent dining room and was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected arrival of Darwin.

  The monkey carried a rolled newspaper. He sat himself down opposite the colonel and ordered coffee, which rather startled the waitress.

  ‘Probably prudent not to be too chatty,’ said the colonel. ‘Not everyone prepared to buy the idea that you’re me weirdo nephew.’

  Darwin spied a fruit bowl and helped himself to all the bananas in it. ‘Have you read the news today?’ said Darwin. ‘Oh boy!’

  ‘Trouble?’ said the colonel. ‘Trouble about the spaceship, I’ll wager.’

  ‘Trouble all over,’ said Darwin. ‘The Prime Minister is no longer in power, it appears. Some strange National Executive run by the Chancellor of the Exchequer controls the country now. Folk are being called up to prepare for a “Righteous War”.’

  ‘Had a bit of a set-to at Alperton yesterday.’ The colonel feasted on cornflakes. ‘Didn’t want to bother you with it last night, you were asleep when I got back. World’s gone mad since we’ve been away.

  ‘Are you visiting your rented chapel today?’ asked Darwin.

  The colonel nodded, munching as he did so.

  Darwin peeled a banana and pushed it complete into his mouth.

  ‘Mmmph grumpgh mm mmph,’ he said.

  ‘Rude to speak with your mouth ful
l, old chap.’

  Darwin swallowed. ‘I said I will gladly come with you,’ he said.

  ‘Jolly good show,’ said the colonel.

  The waitress brought Darwin coffee. She was a pretty waitress. Darwin thanked her and offered her a wink. The waitress all but fainted.

  ‘The world needs us, Darwin,’ said the colonel, pouring coffee for his friend. ‘Today could be the most important day of your life. You and me together, eh? Get the job all jobbed, doncha know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Darwin. ‘Quite so. And then in return I would appreciate it if you accompanied me to Coutts. There you must endorse my role as your “weirdo nephew”. The reaction of the waitress leads me to believe that folk are presently in a somewhat nervous state. I need you with me, Colonel.’

  ‘Happy to help, my dear fellow. Happy to help, oh yes.’

  There was a certain unease. Although the sun shone down upon the great heart of the British Empire, there was no joy to be found upon the streets. Darwin and the colonel noticed things that they had not upon the previous day. What with all the excitement and everything. There were posters everywhere, pasted upon walls and shop windows. Posters that offered dire predictions. Demanded vigilance. Warned of an ‘enemy within’ that was preparing to strike. Offered financial incentives for those loyal persons willing to inform against potential enemies of the nation. The word WAR figured big and everywhere.

  And Londoners no longer walked along with heads held high. They scuttled almost insect-like with eyes turned to the pavement.

  The colonel and the monkey viewed this from their horse-drawn hansom cab.

  ‘Damned queer business, all this,’ puffed Colonel Katterfelto. ‘Not the British way of doing things at all.’

  The hansom’s driver peeped down through the little hatchway.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, guv’nor,’ he said, ‘but you do ‘ave a licence for that thing, don’t you?’

  ‘For that thing?’ bawled the colonel.

  ‘Well, it ‘as to ‘ave a licence. Prove it’s your pet and that.’

  ‘Have you gone completely mad?’ asked Colonel Katterfelto.

  ‘No, guy. But come on now. That little fellow could be taken for a Johnny Frenchman any old day of the week.’

  ‘He is a monkey!’ roared the colonel. ‘A monkey, can’t you see?’

  ‘Whatever you say, guv’nor.’ The hansom driver laughed. ‘But if he starts talking, I’ll know ‘im for a Frenchie and put a bullet in ‘is ‘ead.’

  Darwin opened his mouth to protest. The colonel covered it quickly with his hand.

  ‘That might explain the waitress,’ he whispered. ‘New billet for us tonight, I’m thinking. Whole damn world’s gone mad.’

  Whitechapel seemed as ever it was, but such indeed was Whitechapel. The folk here were always poor and always ground down. A new direction in government meant very little to them. As long as they had sufficient pennies in their ragged pockets to drink and fornicate and visit the Music Hall they were as happy as they would ever be in life. And as they had not suffered the unexplained loss of any virgins for the last year, this fashion apparently having shifted itself to Sydenham, the home of the new Chancellor of the Exchequer, the plain folk of Whitechapel all seemed happy enough.

  Colonel Katterfelto paid off the driver of the hansom cab, offering him a two-fingered gesture of contempt upon his departure. He then applied his key to the chapel door and followed Darwin inside.

  Long fingers of sunlight diddled about through the stained-glass windows and flickered over a large packing case that stood all alone in the middle of the floor.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Colonel Katterfelto, drawing his ray gun. ‘This is it now, Darwin.’

  The monkey looked up at the colonel. ‘Are you going to shoot it?’ Darwin asked.

  ‘Course not, my dear fellow. Just knock the case open. Don’t have a crowbar. Shouldn’t take a jiffy.’

  The colonel crossed to the packing case, a full head higher than himself, and began to belabour it with the butt of his ray gun.

  Darwin stood and watched him. And wondered what would unfold. Darwin looked up at the stained-glass windows, recognising many of the biblical scenes pictured upon them.

  There was Balaam’s talking donkey. And old father Noah, of course. Two monkeys on the roof of the ark. My first parents? wondered Darwin, scratching at his head.

  ‘Aha!’ cried Colonel Katterfelto. ‘Absolutely splendid. Darwin, come and look.’

  The monkey skipped across the chapel floor and joined the old soldier, who was tearing away at the wood shavings that were used as packing. The shavings gave off a delicious scent of pine. Darwin breathed it in.

  ‘Oh yes,’ cried Colonel Katterfelto. ‘Yes.’

  He tore away the last of the packing, then reached down and took Darwin by the hand.

  And then the two stepped back to behold

  The Mechanical Messiah

  49

  he prince and princess enjoyed a breakfast that was barely enjoyable. The princess paid for the rooms and breakfasts. The princess seemed rather grumpy.

  ‘I will pay you back for everything,’ Cameron assured Alice as they were driven towards London aboard a hired horse—drawn cart. This cart was towing a very large makeshift cage upon wheels. A cage that contained snoozing kiwi birds. ‘I have one of the uncut diamonds from Venus. Major Thadeus Tinker gave it to me. I had hoped to have it made into a ring.’ Cameron Bell sighed wistfully. An engagement ring for Alice was what he had hoped.

  ‘I will sell it at Hatton Garden,’ said Cameron. ‘You can have all of the money.

  Alice thought back to what the kiwi bird had said to her last night. That she was the only one who had not returned to Earth with something stolen from Venus.

  ‘I don’t want the money,’ said Alice. ‘I am going to see Lord Andrew Ditchfield. Perhaps the Electric Alhambra has been opened again. Perhaps he will let me top the bill once more.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Cameron Bell, shaking his head with vigour. ‘Firstly, even if the Electric Alhambra has reopened, it would not be safe for you to top the bill. There have been three deaths amongst those who topped the bill.’

  Alice made her sulky face.

  ‘And secondly, you are a wanted woman — THE EVIL KIWI GIRL, if you recall. Hence our disguises.’

  Alice made her angry face.

  ‘You must let me sort it out,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I will speak with Commander Case at Scotland Yard. And later with Sir Andrew Ditchfield, if he still manages the Electric Alhambra. I will sort this out for you. Please trust me.

  Back at the Adequate, the receptionist unrolled a poster that had arrived in the morning post.

  DANGEROUS ASSASSIN

  announced the poster.

  TO BE SHOT UPON SIGHT

  it continued.

  Below this there was that illustration by Boz of Mr Pickwick and words to the effect that Cameron James Bell had now been positively identified, by no lesser a figure than the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself, to have been the would-be suicide pilot who had crashed a Martian spaceship into the heart of London. The reward for this criminal’s carcass stood at two thousand pounds.

  ‘Everything will be fine,’ said Cameron to Alice. ‘A few misunderstandings. Nothing more.

  The prince and the princess did not earn a warm welcome from the people of London. Usually such an unusual pair of seemingly exotic beings would have received little more than whistles and jovial cheers from the populace. But not today. Today, instead, people jeered. Someone threw a stone. Another cried, ‘Down with Johnny Foreigner.’

  ‘Outrageous,’ declared Alice. ‘And me a princess, too.’

  ‘I shall return you to the Ritz,’ said Cameron. ‘Major Tinker will still be there having a lie-in. He can look after you until I return.’

  Alice Lovell folded her arms, then dodged a Brussels sprout.

  When Sir Arthur Conan Doyle modelled Sherlock Holmes upon Cameron Bell, it was only the private d
etective’s mental capacity, his skills at drawing inference from observation, that he used. Doyle drew the looks of Holmes from his own brother Terry, a lanky fellow whom history would fail to record. Doyle’s Holmes was a veritable master of disguise who fooled his biographer Watson on many occasions. Cameron Bell was not a master of disguise.

  He and Alice found Major Tinker breakfasting at the Ritz. The major nearly made himself sick from laughing at their disguises. He agreed, however, to offer Alice sanctuary in his room. Agreed rather too eagerly in Cameron’s opinion. And agreed also to allow Cameron to change his disguise there to something less foreign.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Major Tinker.

  They joined the major in a more than adequate breakfast and were just finishing up when the doorman of the Ritz approached Major Tinker. ‘They are all up in your room now,’ he said.

  ‘All of whom?’ asked the major.

  ‘About two dozen kiwi birds,’ said the doorman. ‘It was a right old struggle, I’ll tell you. But they’re all up there now, just as the princess ordered. She said you’d cover any damage.’

  Major Tinker made gagging sounds.

  The princess smiled upon him.

  At a little after ten of the London clock, a portly fellow in a slightly soiled dress suit, with extreme bandaging to his face and borrowed money in his pocket, left the Ritz and ordered a hansom to take him to Scotland Yard.

  ‘Morning to you, guv’nor,’ called the driver through the little hatch. “Ow do you fancy travelling today? Should I dawdle along, or whip up me ‘orse Shergar and ‘ave ‘im shift you like a batsman out of ‘ell?’

  Cameron Bell made groaning sounds.

  ‘Badly wounded, eh, guv’nor?’ called the cabby. ‘Probably ‘ad that spaceship fall on your ‘ead. Never mind, you don’t ‘as to speak. We’ll go by the park and I’ll do me recitation of “The Daffodils”.’