The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends

  ‘I see,’ said the young man, ‘and understand the wisdom of your words. Might I ask of you the names of these noble ladies?’

  ‘The Cheeky Girls,’ the Ape of Knowledge said. ‘Next, please!’

  Professor Thoth hustled out the fireman and whispered words of wisdom to the Ape.

  ‘Let it be with the shouting,’ he said.

  Darwin sipped from a glass of chilled champagne. ‘Has our special guest arrived?’ he asked.

  ‘Our special guest awaits without.’

  ‘Then bid them come within.’

  Professor Thoth bowed and departed, returning at length in the company of a very winsome lady.

  She was dressed in an old-fashioned bonnet, secured beneath her chin by a great big bow. Her blue silk frock flounced out from a profusion of petticoats and on her feet she wore the most dear little shoes.

  Over her arm she carried a large shopping basket, and from this peeped a monkey, dressed identically to the winsome lady.

  ‘Lady Buttercup,’ announced Professor Thoth, ‘and her monkey maid, Petal.’

  The Ape of Knowledge smiled upon Lady Buttercup.

  * Churchill often complained (privately) that Wilde stole much of his best material. (R. R.)

  * As an aside, it is of interest to note that when Brighton's West Pier was attacked for the first time by arsonists, a single ticket booth remained unscathed. This booth, it is believed, was haunted by the ghost of a ventriloquist's dummy. (R. R.)

  * It would not be wise to risk litigation over what is, after all, just the opinion of a monkey. (R. R.)

  17

  ‘ictory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.’ said Lady Buttercup.

  The Ape of Knowledge clapped his hands and cried a big bravo. ‘And you could add,’ he added, ‘never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.’

  ‘I might indeed,’ said Lady Buttercup, removing from her shopping basket a large cigar and thrusting it into her mouth, ‘if I were the Prime Minister, rather than a frail little female in a pretty little bonnet.’

  Darwin lit the lady's cigar then shook out the match with a flourish. ‘They say the Prime Minister is a very handsome man,’ he said. ‘I hope that one day I will have the honour of making his acquaintance.’

  ‘He is a close personal friend,’ said Lady Buttercup. ‘In fact, it was he who sent me here to meet you.’

  ‘I am touched,’ said Darwin, ‘but must express my enormous surprise that I have come to his notice.’

  ‘Your manager pushed a great many handbills advertising your unique talents through the letterbox of Ten Downing Street. He would have pushed more through, but Mr Churchill's monkey butler chased him away.’

  ‘Is this the monkey butler?’ Darwin smiled at the other ape. Whose face was clearly that of a young male monkey.

  ‘This is Petal,’ the lady said. ‘My little poppet, Petal.’

  Petal made a certain face. Which Darwin understood.

  ‘Mr Churchill,’ continued Lady Buttercup, ‘is a man who puts the defence of the realm above every other thing. He will have victory. He will.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said the Ape of Knowledge.

  ‘And as such, when word reached him via the printed pamphlet that a Prognosticating Primate was to be found displaying himself at Olympia, Mr Churchill naturally wished to know more of this wonder, that it might aid in the war effort.’

  ‘I predict that the talents of the Cheeky Girls will never find true recognition,’ predicted the Prognosticating Primate.

  ‘Such knowledge, though undoubtedly profound, may not be immediately applicable to present circumstances,’ said Lady Buttercup, puffing mighty plumes of smoke into the air. ‘Mr Churchill would like your advice upon a particularly pressing matter.’

  ‘I would be happy to assist in any way I can,’ said Darwin. ‘I am an ape who is true to King and Country. London and the Empire mean a great deal to me.’

  ‘Then please would you be so kind as to demonstrate your predictive skills by prophesying something that will come to pass this day.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Darwin, and he made a thoughtful face. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Something is coming through. Mr Churchill will hold a top-secret meeting today at a top-secret establishment known as the Ministry of Serendipity.’

  ‘Oooh,’ said Lady Buttercup. ‘I am most impressed.’

  ‘And not only that,’ continued the Ape, ‘but this meeting will be held with a malefactor by the name of Arthur Knapton, who seeks only ill for this nation.’

  ‘Goodness me,’ said Lady Buttercup.

  ‘And what is more,’ said the Ape, for the Ape had more to say, ‘Mr Churchill, being the generous, kindly and wise individual he is, will reward myself with a medal and present Professor Thoth with an item taken from the possession of the evil Arthur Knapton.’

  Lady Buttercup asked what this item might be, and Darwin the Simian Sensation told her.

  ‘An ancient Egyptian tablet engraved with hieroglyphics. Mr Knapton carries it close to his person.’

  Lady Buttercup nodded her bonnet. ‘There is no doubt that you are an ape of knowledge,’ said she.

  ‘I do my best to please when I can,’ said Darwin in reply.

  ‘Thus and so,’ said Lady Buttercup, and, rising from the seat she had taken, she cast aside her bonnet. ‘Know me, enemy of England!’ she cried. ‘Nazi spy that you are. Know me as your nemesis, for I am Winston Churchill.’

  And Mr Churchill drew out a pistol and pointed it at Darwin.

  In Olympia at this time there was always a great deal of noise, merry cries and shrieks, many shouts of joy and the sounds of revelry and laughter.

  Consequently, no one beyond the booth that housed the Educated Ape heard the gunfire. And when presently a figure in a bonnet, carrying a monkey in a shopping basket, slipped away from the booth and merged into the joyous crowd, no one paid that figure any attention at all.

  The Ministry of Serendipity, as those in the know will know, is housed in caverns measureless to man, deep beneath Mornington Crescent Station. It is there that those ‘corridors of power’ of which people speak lead from one room to another, occasionally to a staircase and sometimes to a toilet.

  A special key is required to enter this secret Ministry, one that must be turned in a lock within the lift that freights the folk of London down to the platforms. Only a very few hold such a key, a very favoured few.

  Alone in the lift, but for the basket and monkey, the figure in the bonnet turned such a key and the lift fell downwards many floors, as if into the very bowels of the Earth.

  And then it stopped and a bell went ting and the figure left the lift. I would be wrong of course, to call this figure a lady, for this figure was no such thing – rather a frocked-up fellow with a frocked-up ape in his basket. As this frocked-up fellow left the lift, a guard at the door saluted.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Churchill, sir,’ saluted he.

  ‘Not when I'm all frocked-up,’ said the fellow. ‘Call me Buttercup.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Buttercup, sir, madam.’

  ‘I suppose that will have to do.’ Buttercup lit a new cigar then asked, ‘Has he arrived?’

  ‘The Galactic Emperor? Yes, sir, madam. He awaits you in the War Room, with his . . . things.’ And the guard made shudders.

  ‘His things?’ asked Winston Buttercup. ‘What things are these that you speak of?’

  ‘The tentacly things,’ said the guard. ‘The Martian tentacly things.’

  ‘Hm,’ went the smoker of the big cigar. ‘Well, as long as they all do what I wish, it is no matter to me.’

  ‘You'll probably wish to slip into your siren suit,’ said the guard.

  ‘Hm, I probably will,’ mused the frocked-up fellow as he swung his basket to and fro and to.

  ‘I will escort you to your changing room,’ said the guard, and that is
what he did.

  A little later, Mr Churchill emerged from his changing room. He wore the famous siren suit* that he popularised through the war years and smoked the cigar for which he was known and loved. He also still sported his bonnet.

  ‘Bonnet?’ queried the guard, saluting once again.

  Mr Churchill returned the salute. ‘I think I will keep it on,’ said he. ‘It is rather nippy down here.’

  Mr Churchill's monkey butler was no longer cluttered with satins and lace. He – and this monkey butler had always been a he – looked extremely smart in the dress uniform of a major of the Household Cavalry. The monkey saluted the guard and grinned. The guard saluted the monkey.

  ‘Lead us to the War Room,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘And keep a weather eye open – walls have ears, you know, and I encountered a monkey today whose knowledge of this establishment led me to believe that we have spies amongst us.’

  The guard cocked his rifle and led the way.

  The way to the secret War Room.

  *

  Now, a War Room is a War Room, no matter the where or the when. Bright harsh light shines down upon a table surrounded by a number of chairs. The chair at the table's head is slightly bigger and grander than the rest. The high muckamuck who holds the meeting always sits in this.

  Mr Winston Churchill, in the company of his monkey butler, Major Monkey B, entered the War Room. At the far end of the table, in the slightly bigger chair, sat a fellow with a long, strange face. A fellow by the name of Arthur Knapton.

  A passing Egyptologist, had there been one there to pass by, might well have been surprised by the looks of Arthur Knapton, finding that he bore an uncanny resemblance to a young pharaoh named Akhenaten.

  Mr Churchill cared not a jot for anything Egyptian. He spied the fellow with the face and shouted, ‘Out of my chair!’

  Two dreadful figures sprang from shadows into the harsh bright light. Monstrous things with waggling tentacles.

  ‘Easy, boys,’ said Mr Knapton, rising from the chair. ‘We are all on the same side ’ere, I'm finkin’. Let's ’ave no up'eavals!’

  The Martians, for such these beings were, muttered and gargled menacingly and then made their withdrawals.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Mr Churchill. ‘We will have decorum here.’

  ‘A rather fetchin’ bonnet,’ said Arthur Knapton, laughing his horrible laugh. ‘Will you wear that when they crowns ya King o’ the World?’

  ‘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.
r />   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?’