Mothstorm

  We could all see the group he meant, clustered about a sailor with an alchemical dark-lantern who was signalling ‘Permission to dock’ in brilliant flashes. But although we could tell that several of them were civilians, and one a lady, only Jack could see them clearly enough to make out their features. We heard him gasp, and saw him lower his telescope with an expression on his face that was part joy, part shock and part some other emotion which I could not guess.

  ‘It is Sir Richard Burton and Ulla!’ he declared.

  Now, if you have been following these adventures of mine, you may be able to guess why we were all so surprised by this intelligence. It was only three months since we watched Sir Richard and his Martian wife shipped off to England in tubs of potting compost, having been turned into Venusian Changeling Trees by a spore devised by that black-hearted villain Sir Launcelot Sprigg. Professor Ferny, the director of Kew Gardens, had promised us that he would be able to effect a cure and had sent us several letters assuring us that our friends were doing well. But we had not dared to hope that we would see them restored to their old human forms quite so swiftly. We were delighted to watch them walk down the Actaeon’s gangplank and stand upon the mooring platform, looking for all the world their old selves.

  Yet there was something more than mere delight in Jack Havock’s face. His parents and his brother had been transformed into trees when the wild Changeling Trees of Venus flowered, wiping out the British colonies there, while he was but a babe. I knew what he was thinking as he stared down at Sir Richard and Mrs Burton.

  Would Professor Ferny’s cure be able to restore Jack’s family as well? And how quickly could he reach Venus to try it out?

  We hurried down to meet our new guests, and there was much pleasant chatter in the hall as the auto-servants helped them off with their hats and space capes and galoshes. Nor were Sir Richard and Ulla the only agreeable surprise the Actaeon had delivered, for along with them came a cheerful, roundish officer named Captain Moonfield, who had helped Myrtle and the Burtons to alert London to the schemings of the white spiders that spring, and with whom we were all jolly glad to renew our acquaintance. And they brought good wishes and Christmas cards from Mr and Mrs Spinnaker, who were spending the season at their new home on Starcross, along with their infant children, Modesty and Decorum, and their dear friend the Moob, with whom they had enjoyed a triumphant reception in the music halls of Farpoo and London.

  But they also brought with them a fellow I didn’t know: a meek, chinless, dusty-looking cove in a black frock coat, who hugged a large leather document case against his chest and eyed Jack and his crew with some unease. And although I know one should not judge a chap by his outward appearance, I looked at this cove and thought, He is trouble.

  And what happened later would prove me right, as you shall see.

  Anyway, amid much gay talk and merry laughter we made our way through into the drawing room, where Mother clapped her hands and called for more tea, more cakes and extra chairs. But all the time Jack kept his eyes upon Sir Richard and Mrs Burton, noting how well they looked, and how unlike trees, despite a certain green-ness that still haunted their complexions and a faint leafiness about their hair and Sir Richard’s beard. And as soon as he had a chance, he said, ‘How did he manage it? How did Ferny cure you?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sir Richard. ‘It wasn’t entirely Ferny’s doing. Rather a long story actually –’

  ‘And not one that should be told in front of just anybody,’ said the dusty-looking cove, with a meaningful glance at the Sophronias.

  ‘Nonsense, Doctor Blears,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Jack Havock and his crew are trusted agents of the British Crown. They have saved our bacon twice this year, and I don’t doubt that they shall soon do so again! And Jack, of all people, deserves to know the truth.’

  ‘I will not have it!’ said this Dr Blears. ‘I will not have state secrets revealed to these … these persons. Remember yourself, Sir Richard. You brought me to this place so that we might consult Mr Mumby about these.’ And he tapped the leather document case, which he was still holding in front of him like a shield.

  ‘But, Doctor Blears,’ said Father, jumping up from his seat, ‘unless I mistake your name, you are the Government’s Chief of Natural Philosophy. I am not sure why so eminent a person should wish to consult me – ’

  ‘What truth?’ asked Jack, also standing. ‘What secrets?’ He glanced at Father and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Mumby, but if a cure has been found for those spores, I must know about it.’

  ‘Of course, my dear boy,’ said Father, somewhat startled by Jack’s tone. He had met Jack only as Myrtle’s suitor and had never yet seen the grim, dangerous Jack Havock who had fought space battles and stood alone against the whole British Navy until Sir Richard persuaded him to change sides.

  Sir Richard had, of course, and he looked warily at the boy and said, ‘It’s exceeding complicated, Jack.’

  ‘My ma and pa and my brother have been trees on Venus these past twelve years,’ said Jack, ‘and now it seems there’s a cure for their condition. What’s complicated about that? All I ask is, what might that cure be and where do I get a hold of it?’

  ‘I warn you, Sir Richard,’ said Dr Blears, ‘not a word to this space mongrel.’

  ‘Jack is right,’ said Mrs Burton. ‘If you will not tell him, Richard, then I shall.’

  ‘Sir Richard, control your wife!’ demanded Dr Blears.

  Sir Richard stared at him a moment, then turned to Jack.

  ‘When Professor Ferny took us back to his laboratory at Kew,’ Sir Richard said, ‘he sent at once to the Royal Xenological Institute, asking for all their files about the Changeling Trees. At first they would show him almost nothing, but luckily I have powerful friends, and Ferny persuaded them to make representations to the Institute. Eventually, their efforts bore fruit. Not only does the RXI have some surprisingly detailed files on the trees, they also have a serum which will reverse the effects of Changeling spores. It was devised some years ago, partly as a result of the studies they made of you when you were their guest at Russell Square. For, as you know, Jack, you have a natural immunity to the Changeling’s influence.

  ‘Professor Ferny injected the serum into our trunks, and within a few weeks we were restored. We are a little stiff in our joints, perhaps, and sometimes I find myself yearning to curl my toes down into some nice, rich loam, but in every important respect I am myself again, and Ulla is herself.’

  Jack’s face was a picture. I wish that you could see it, but I doubt that even the great Mr Wyatt could do justice to the mingled look of awe and dawning hope that shone in our friend’s eyes.6

  ‘A cure!’ he said. ‘Then why has it not been used on the Venus colonies? We must hurry there and restore Ma and Pa and Sidney and all the people of New Scunthorpe and Port Victoria –’

  ‘Out of the question!’ snapped Dr Blears. ‘You see, Sir Richard? I warned you not to speak of this! If rumours get out, there shall be hell to pay. The newspapers will all be demanding serum be sent out to Venus, and it is costly stuff. A hundred guineas for a small bottle! Were we to try to restore all those unfortunates on Venus, why, it would mean an extra penny on the income tax!’

  ‘You should tell Mr Havock the rest, Richard,’ said Ulla in a warning voice which I took to mean that if he did not, she would. ‘You should tell him why the Royal Xenological Institute knows so much about the Changeling Trees.’

  Sir Richard looked quite sheepish for a moment, like a schoolboy who has been called to his headmaster’s office to explain some prank. Then he said, ‘Jack, the truth is, it was our Government that made those trees what they are. When Sir Joseph Banks brought the first samples back from Venus in the 1770s, the Institute quickly saw their potential. At that stage the Changeling spores had no effect on Earth creatures, so they sent their best xeno-botanists out to Venus to tinker with them. They hoped to breed a tree which would transform human beings. They planned to use it as a weapon against the rebel
s in America.

  ‘But, as so often happens when we attempt to improve upon Nature, something went awry. The new trees which they had bred got out into the wild somehow, and the result was the Tree Sickness of 1839, in which your parents and so many others were changed.’

  Jack looked from Sir Richard’s face to that of Dr Blears. ‘Is this true?’ he demanded.

  ‘It is wild speculation!’ retorted that gentleman, who seemed to be trying to conceal his entire person behind that leather case he carried.

  ‘It is outrageous, sir!’ declared Father.

  ‘What criminal folly!’ cried Mother. ‘I remember being quite astonished at the speed with which those trees adapted to work on human beings, but I did not think any sentient creature could be vicious and wicked enough to deliberately have engineered such a development!’

  ‘My dear madam!’ said Dr Blears. ‘It is natural that a mere woman cannot understand such matters. But I assure you, if you found your home and children threatened by white spiders, or Martian renegades, or the armies of the Tsar, you would soon sing a different tune. “Why does the Government not protect us?” you would cry. “Has it not a duty to investigate every new discovery and see if it may be used as a weapon to defend our homes and our possessions on the other worlds?” Yes, madam; we do have such a duty, and if sometimes it goes wrong and results in a few unimportant farmers and fishermen being converted into shrubs, then that is a price that must be paid!’

  Having concluded this great speech, the gentleman retreated again behind his document case, like a tortoise into his shell. Jack was looking daggers at him. I believe we all were. I had never dreamed that such unsporting acts were carried out in the name of Britain and her empire, and I had a good mind just then to cancel my subscription to the Boy’s Own Journal and set up as some sort of anarchist!

  And if that was how I felt, you may imagine the emotions which were seething within Jack Havock’s bosom. He had been a sort of anarchist to start with, you may recall, sworn to oppose the might of Britain, and it had only been his encounter with a greater threat in the form of the horrid First Ones which made him join forces with our Government. To discover now that it was that very Government which had orphaned him and turned his family into a small copse or spinney must have been most upsetting.

  I saw Myrtle reach out to try to comfort him, but he shoved her away. He was glaring so angrily at Dr Blears that I thought he might at any moment draw out a pistol or stiletto and do that unfortunate gent to death. But at last he collected himself and said in a small, tight voice, ‘We are leaving. All aboard that’s coming aboard.’

  ‘Now, Jack,’ said Sir Richard, trying to stop him as he strode towards the door. ‘Be sensible! I shall speak with my friends in Parliament and you may be sure –’

  ‘I am sure of nothing!’ said Jack. ‘Only this: never again shall I work for you or your country. And somehow I shall get hold of that serum and save those poor folk on Venus who your Doctor Blears thinks so unimportant. And I reckon a lot of them will be hearty men, and maybe they’ll want a word with him about how come they’ve been trees these past twelve years, and then we shall see some fun!’

  He reached the doorway and turned, hesitating for a moment as his gaze swept past the cringing Blears to fall upon Mother, Father and myself. ‘I’m sorry for breaking up your Christmas after you’ve been so kind, all of you,’ he said. ‘But I cannot stay. You see that, don’t you? I cannot stay.’ He looked at Myrtle, and reached out his hand. ‘Myrtle,’ he said, ‘come with me. You truly wish to be an alchemist one day? Then come with me; you can help Ssil in the wedding chamber and learn all that she knows.’

  ‘Jack, I can’t!’ said Myrtle in a horror-struck whisper. ‘You know I can’t!’

  For a moment more he lingered there, one hand stretched out to her, his face darkening a little with anger. Then he turned and was gone, striding back to his ship, while his crew hurried after him, some pausing to glare at Dr Blears or wave regretfully at us.

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ said Nipper hopelessly, squeezing me gently in his pincers before he left.

  ‘Jack!’ cried Myrtle tearfully. ‘Oh, make him come back!’

  ‘Captain Moonfield,’ ordered Dr Blears, ‘that ragged pirate ship is not to leave this house!’ (He wanted Jack back too, you see, though not at all for the same reasons as Myrtle.) ‘You heard that boy!’ he snapped. ‘He’s a radical! A dangerous revolutionary! Get aboard your ship and stop him! Capture him or blast him from the skies!’

  But Captain Moonfield, to his great credit, merely drew himself to attention and said, ‘I am sorry, sir, but I can take no such action without written orders from the Admiralty.’

  Mother, meanwhile, was hurrying towards the door, dragging Father with her. ‘Come, Edward,’ I heard her say. ‘We cannot let them go off like this … ’

  But Dr Blears barred their way. ‘Mr Mumby, I did not come here to waste my time with pirates and their friends. I came to consult you on a matter of some importance, and unless you wish to land yourself in as much trouble as Captain Moonfield here, you will attend to it, sir!’

  His long, pale fingers had been busy with the buckles of his document case, and as he stepped in front of my parents he flourished in their faces a photograph. It was not a very good one, for it was all black, except for a pale grey stain in the middle.

  Father stared at it, quite perplexed. ‘But, my dear sir,’ he said, ‘what on earth is it intended to show?’

  Mother, on the other hand, seemed quite astonished. She forgot all about following Jack Havock and his crew, and stood peering at the photograph. ‘Good Heavens!’ I heard her whisper.

  And outside, the sound of the Sophronia’s engines rose in mournful song, and the golden light of her alchemical backwash flickered through a skylight and touched all our faces for a moment as she soared away from Larklight.

  Chapter Three

  Wherein We Learn of a Strange Phenomenon, and Father Hears Sad Tidings Concerning an Old Acquaintance.

  ‘Oh, Jack!’ whispered Myrtle, running to a window and contorting herself into a most unlikely shape as she craned to watch the distant light that was the Sophronia dwindle to a pin-point among the other stars, and then fade altogether. What heart would not be moved to pity by her grief?

  Well, Dr Blears’s for one. He was no more concerned about Myrtle than about all those poor colonists turned to trees on Venus.

  ‘Mr Mumby,’ he said, ‘this photograph was taken by the Astronomer Royal from his observatory on Io a month ago. It has puzzled and confounded all the learned gentlemen who have yet seen it. But when Sir Richard recovered from his sickness he assured me that if we were to come to Larklight and show it to you, you would be able to offer an explanation. Is that so, or have I wasted my time and the tax-payers’ money in travelling out to this remote spot?’

  ‘I, ah, do not know what to say,’ replied Father. ‘Astronomy is not my field, sir. Not my field at all.’

  ‘Indeed, you are mistaken, Blears,’ said Sir Richard. ‘It was not Mr Mumby I told you to consult, but his good lady wife.’

  Dr Blears turned to stare at my mother, looking as if he suspected himself the victim of some foolish joke. ‘What can a woman know of Astronomy, or any other science?’ he said.

  ‘More than you might imagine,’ replied Mother sweetly and took the photograph from him. ‘Pray be seated, sir, and tell me all that you know of this.’

  Dr Blears remained standing, watching suspiciously as Mother carried the photograph into the light of an oil lamp which stood upon a nearby table. He said, ‘That is an image of the outermost regions of our solar system. The circular smudge near the bottom left-hand corner is Georgium Sidus, which some vulgar people call nowadays Uranus. But that is of no concern to us. What we are interested in is the curious cloud or smear at the centre of the image.’

  ‘A mark upon the plate, perhaps?’ asked Mother, looking closely at it. ‘Or a piece of dust upon the lens of the Astronomer
Royal’s telescope?’

  Dr Blears shook his head and reached once more into his document case. ‘After that first image was made, the observatory’s staff took all their instruments apart and cleaned them thoroughly with Morrison’s refractor polish. Then more photographs were made, each with the same result. Observe.’

  He laid three more photographs beside the first. In all of them the stain showed clear.

  ‘But they are not quite the same,’ said Mother. ‘In each, the stain is slightly larger.’

  ‘So it is growing!’ said Father.

  ‘Either that,’ said Sir Richard, ‘or … ’

  He did not need to complete his sentence. Mother already understood. ‘There is some vast object out there in the gulf which separates our solar system from the other stars,’ she said. ‘And it is moving closer!’

  This is never the sort of thing one likes to hear. Suddenly, despite the fire which burned so merrily in the grate, the room seemed cold, and Myrtle, Father and myself drew a little closer together for comfort.

  Mother took up one of Father’s magnifying lenses and looked through it at the photograph. I had seldom seen Mother baffled, but when she looked up again there was a look of frank bewilderment upon her face.

  ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, but I cannot say what it might be. I believe my knowledge of everything within the realms of the Sun is sound enough, but this is something else – something from another place entirely.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dr Blears, gathering up his pictures and glancing towards Sir Richard with a look that seemed to say, ‘I told you a woman would be no help in this.’

  ‘But may I ask,’ said Mother suddenly, ‘what led the Astronomer Royal to turn his telescope upon Georgium Sidus in the first place?’