The Chickens of Atlantis and Other Foul and Filthy Fiends (5 page)

‘When indeed!’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Because, as must surely now have dawned upon you, we are dealing with no ordinary criminal mastermind with delusions of world domination, but rather one in command of most singular skills. One who can travel through time.’

*
In several of my wonderfully written novels, now available for the Kindle. (R. R.)

1353 BC

5

felt that Cameron Bell had deceived me and my teeth fairly ached to sink into some tender part of his anatomy. And most surely they would have done so had it not been for the clamorous sounds of alarm bells ringing that now grew loud to our ears.

‘The game is afoot,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘and we had best be away.’

We returned to the time-ship in silence. Which is to say that no words passed between us as we sat side by side in another hansom cab and were driven along through the rain.

Once more aboard the
Marie Lloyd
, Mr Bell had the temerity to tell me that I should cheer up because a great adventure lay ahead.

I bared my teeth to signify contradiction. ‘Not
my
big adventure,’ was what I had to say.

‘We will travel, I think, to ancient Egypt itself.’ And with no more words spoken than that, Mr Cameron Bell took himself off to his cabin to select suitable apparel from his ample wardrobe.

I sat in the pilot's chair and I confess I sulked. It was quite clear to me now that I had been tricked from the very start.
Mr Bell, whose powers of observation and deduction were at that time unequalled by those of any other man on the planet, had clearly deduced
before
we launched into our journey that it was probable his adversary, the Pearly Emperor, was a fellow traveller through time. And that it was also probable that he might not be able to apprehend him at the British Museum and so would have to pursue him
through
time. And to draw me into this unfinished business of his, he had enticed me to share an oath which, on the face of it, had looked to be advantageous to myself.

In short, he had played a very mean trick upon me, and when he returned to the main cabin his duplicity became clearer still.

‘These are for you,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

I turned about in the pilot's chair to peruse what ‘these’ these might be.

‘A white linen three-piece suit with fitted tail-snood and matching pith helmet,’ said Mr Bell. ‘I ordered it from your personal tailor. It has your own personally chosen lining, too.’ Mr Bell flashed this lining at me. It was the one I had designed myself, blue silk with banana motifs.

It was a very beautiful suit, but I viewed it with a very jaundiced eye. ‘You
knew
!’ I said to Mr Bell. ‘You
knew
that he was a traveller of time.’

‘
Suspected
,’ said the smiling Cameron Bell. ‘It appeared to be the only logical conclusion, but in eighteen ninety no other time machine was available in which I could pursue him. I had to
bide my time
, so to speak.’

‘You are a very deceitful man,’ I said most bitterly. ‘You should have been honest with me from the start.’

‘And then you would have readily agreed to pursue this criminal rather than simply swan about through history
attending concerts or wandering the galleries of the Great Exhibition?’

‘Ah,’ I mused, ‘the Great Exhibition of eighteen fifty-one. I remember reading that they displayed a prodigious selection of cultivated bananas there.’

‘Precisely,’ said Mr Bell. ‘And I do wish to enjoy these pleasures with you. But you must understand, I am driven by my vocation. I am a detective. This is what defines me as a human being. I must bring Mr Arthur Knapton, the Pearly Emperor, to justice before I can consider doing anything else. I am sorry that I was not altogether honest with you. Would you care to try on the suit? White linen favours your complexion and it does have your personal lining.’

‘Well . . .’ I said, with some hesitancy.

‘And for desert travel one would also need one of
these
.’ And Mr Bell produced from the inner pocket of the suit he intended for me a bright and shiny object.

He placed it in my hands and I gave it my attention.

‘It is a little hip flask,’ I said.

‘Turn it over,’ said he.

I turned it over and read what was engraved upon it: ‘ “For my very best friend and partner Darwin, from one not so noble as he. Cameron Bell, 1900.” ’

A tear sprang up into my eye and I gave my
best
friend a cuddle.

‘Then we work together and bring this rogue to justice?’ asked Mr Bell.

‘We do,’ I said. ‘But I have not quite forgiven you as yet.’

‘I understand,’ said the detective. ‘Even so, let us plot a course for Egypt and adjust the time counter to the day of Akhenaten's ascension to his throne, and we will be off.’

‘Why
that
particular day?’ I enquired.

‘Because that will be
before
our paths crossed at the British
Museum, and so at that time he would not even have guessed that I would be on to him in the future.’

‘I can see that I will find time travel
very
confusing,’ I said.

‘Not just
you
,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Let us set the controls and get the ship in motion and then I suggest we take some supper. I brought along a rather special bottle of Château Doveston champagne. Best crack it now, as ever, don't you think?’

I grinned towards Mr Cameron Bell. ‘I do so like champagne,’ I said to him.

How long, I am occasionally asked, does it take to travel from one time period to another? Do you travel at several years a minute? Do you accelerate or decelerate, or does no time whatsoever pass within the confines of the time-ship as you travel?

All of these are questions which might well demand answers, but I have no answers to give. On gazing occasionally through the portholes during our periods of travel, it always looked to me as though we were simply travelling through space. Planets appeared to pass us by and distant galaxies wheeled. Once in some while or another, a queer thing was to be seen. Once I swear that I saw an angel pass by, but Mr Bell and I
had
been drinking Vin Coca Mariani at the time, whilst celebrating the fact that it was Mr Bell who had been responsible for bringing down the walls of Jericho.

That, however, is quite another story. If I recall correctly, it only took about five minutes for us to travel back to eighteen ninety, but journeying more than two thousand years into the past was probably going to take a little longer.

*

We enjoyed a most delectable supper and refreshed ourselves with champagne. And then we took to our bunks with jovial goodnight-to-yous.

Which, looking back, was not perhaps the wisest of things to do, because several hours later we were both awakened by the crash.

The
Marie Lloyd
, unpiloted, had reached her destination and we plunged down without due let or hindrance into the Sahara Desert at a rate of knots that was to say reckless, if it were to say anything at all.

I said, ‘Eeeek!’ and, ‘Help!’ and, ‘What is going on?’

And then we struck the sand a thunderous blow.

Many things that had been distributed along the length of the time-ship now found themselves plunging helter-skelter towards the rear, for when travelling backwards through time the
Marie Lloyd
naturally flew in reverse. Myself and Mr Bell, issuing from our cabins, found ourselves accompanying the multifarious objects in their pell-mell rearward dash. Happily, neither of us was badly injured, and as I was wearing my nightshirt, I avoided besmirchment of my new linen suit.

Mr Bell, however, was not quite so lucky. He found himself intimately involved with the HP Sauce dispenser, the contents of which had smothered him head to foot.

I tried so very hard not to laugh.

But sadly I utterly failed in this endeavour.

When order was restored and Mr Bell had showered and changed his clothes, we ventured from the time-ship with a certain trepidation, fearing greatly that we might already have damaged it beyond any reasonable hope of repair.

I sported my new suit and pith helmet and cut a rather dashing figure. Mr Bell looked somewhat hot in his tweeds. He had a large pair of binoculars strung about his neck, a
mighty knapsack on his back and was carrying a fine stout walking cane.

The
Marie Lloyd
was well dug in to the desert floor. But the soft sand had clearly cushioned the impact and our limited inspection appeared to reveal that no great damage had been done.

Mr Bell produced a compass from his pocket, a lovely gold affair – a gift, he assured me, from a grateful Venusian ecclesiastic for sorting out a delicate business concerning an arch-druid, a pantomime dame and a whistling racoon named Frisky.

‘That way to the east,’ said Mr Bell, pointing off towards nothingness.

I looked up at my friend the detective and asked him if he was sure.

‘Never more certain,’ said he.

‘Only it looks to me to be a very large desert and the sun is shining brightly from a very cloudless sky.’

‘You have your hip flask?’

‘Yes, and some fruit for my breakfast.’

‘Excellent. Then we set forth to seek the city of Akhetaten. It is known that Akhenaten built this city in honour of the God Aten, Aten being an aspect of himself.’

‘That comes as little surprise,’ I said. ‘But given matters so far, I must insist upon hearing your plan before we set forth.’

‘My plan,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘Your plan. So that as your partner I might offer my considered opinion as to its validity. You do actually
have
a plan, I suppose? You were not simply thinking to strike out into a desert beneath a blazing sun, en route to an appointment with who knows what, without any plan at all?’

We returned to the
Marie Lloyd
.

*

An hour later, we re-emerged from the
Marie Lloyd
and I climbed up to the time-ship's pointy nose to have a good look around through my friend's binoculars. Then I climbed down and returned them to him.

‘There is a very large city in
that
direction,’ I said, pointing towards the west. ‘It looks to be a little less than a mile away, so it won't take us long to reach it.’

We marched in a spirited fashion. We even sang a music hall number or two, and Mr Bell told me a joke about a lady who grew parsnips in her window box. I laughed politely but did not understand it. Presently we climbed to the crest of a sand dune and gazed towards the mighty city beyond.

It rose from the sand like some fairy-tale creation, towers and cupolas shimmering in the heat. It held to such a rare beauty that I was touched to behold it. Mr Bell dusted sand from the lenses and peered at it through his binoculars.

Then he suddenly said, ‘Oh my, oh my,’ lowered his binoculars, then raised them once again.

‘They are building a pyramid,’ he said. ‘A gigantic pyramid.’

‘They did a lot of that kind of thing at this time,’ I replied. ‘Mr Hugo Rune believes that pyramids are just the tops of ob—’

‘I think you had better see for yourself,’ said Mr Bell, and he handed his binoculars to me.

I adjusted them to fit my face and raised them to my eyes. Then I fiddled somewhat with the focusing.

Then I beheld the sight of a half-completed pyramid. And something more that caused me to gasp and lower the binoculars.

‘You see them?’ asked Cameron Bell.

‘I see them,’ I replied. ‘Thousands and thousands of them, hauling great blocks of granite up ramps to build the pyramid.’

Mr Bell nodded. ‘
And?
’ said he.

I raised the binoculars and stared once more through their lenses. ‘
And
,’ I said, when I had done, ‘they are not men who haul those blocks, but thousands and thousands of chickens.’

6

‘
h my dear dead mother,’ said Cameron Bell.

And I, too, expressed considerable surprise.

We both took turns with the binoculars to assure ourselves that we had not fallen prey to some desert mirage. But there they were, large as life – thousands and thousands of chickens.