The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (20 page)

It
was all too much to think about. Too difficult to encompass. But wasn’t that
always the way with theology? What man could ever hope to fathom the mind of
God? What He did, He did for reasons of His own. For after all, He
could
do
as He wished, because He
was
God.

But
no matter the whys and wherefores of it, one thing was clear as a crystal ball:
the four reliquaries must
not
be brought together into an
unhallowed
place
for fear of hideous consequence and the possible extinction of each and every
one.

‘So,’
said Cameron Bell, wearily, ‘this
would
be the Big One, then. The
biggest case that ever there was that any detective could ever be set to
solve.’

This
thought, for some reason, gave him certain comfort. But it was comfort laced
with terrible fear.

Mr
Bell drew up short before the ticket barrier.

‘And
so,’ said he, ‘I will not just be saving a monkey but all of the human race
besides and all of the universe, too.’

‘Well,
of course you will, sir,’ said the ticket-collector. ‘And well done to you. Now
please move on through the barrier. There are sane people here who need to get
on with their business.’

The
sun beat fiercely down upon Cameron Bell as he strode from the station to the
Royal London Spaceport. Above him rose the Crystal Palace in all its noble
glory. It had been a while since Mr Bell had visited the Crystal Palace. The
last time, in fact, had been while he was pursuing another case. And upon that
occasion he had been
partly
responsible for reducing the mighty edifice
to ashes.

But
accidents
will
happen.

Beads
of perspiration ran into the eyes of Mr Bell. He blinked them away and
continued onwards.

The
departures building of the Royal London Spaceport was not unduly crowded.
Travelling to other planets was an expensive business and very few could afford
it. Employees of the great mining conglomerates travelled at their companies’
expense. But when it came to tourism, however, that was another matter.

Of
Venus, Mars and Jupiter, Mars was the most popular destination for the wealthy
tourist. Venus, through interplanetary treaty, remained closed to all but a
few. Jupiter welcomed all-corners, but the heavy gravity made for an exhausting
stay. Mars, however, was quite the place to be, with its romantic crimson
sunsets and its network of canals that spanned its globe. Upon these placid
waters, great pleasure boats moved, water-borne casinos that had much to offer
their well-tailored clientele. Then there were the big-game hunts, for although
the race of Martians was now happily extinct, the wildlife of the planet
remained to provide exotic trophies for a gentleman’s study walls. Yes, there
were fine times to be had upon Mars for those who could afford to travel there.

The
Phelamanga
stood upon the cobbled landing strip, a beautiful spaceship of the new
Excelsior Class.

Mr
Bell espied it through the window next to the ticket booth. He nodded approvingly.

‘Bell,’
said he to the menial who manned the booth. ‘Cameron Bell, booked aboard the
Phelamanga,
I believe.‘

The
menial did sortings through his papers.

‘Yes
indeed,’ said he eventually. ‘Booked aboard by Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm. What a
charming lady — such beautiful eyes. And travelling first class. How wonderful
that must be.’

‘I’ll
let you know,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

‘I
have no idea how you will,’ said the menial, pushing Mr Bell’s ticket towards
him, ‘for you have been booked into steerage with all those smelly miners.’

The
menial raised a finger and thumb to his nose. Mr Bell did grindings of the
teeth.

19

r
Bell did
not
travel steerage to Mars, but neither did he travel in the
First-Class Saloon. He was prepared to pay the considerable difference, but
the First—Class Saloon was all sold out.

‘It’s
the season, ain’t it?’ said the fellow in the second-class seat next to his. He
had introduced himself to Mr Bell as, ‘Luther ‘Iggins, as may be, traveller in
snuff, tobaccos and “things what a gentleman might require for private
circumstances”.’ And as Mr Bell settled himself into the lumpen seat next to Mr
‘Iggins, as may be, Mr ‘Iggins felt the need to regale his fellow peregrinator
with tales of the travelling life.

‘Mars
is a regular stop for me,’ said Mr Luther ‘Iggins. ‘I suppose you might say it
is one of the last frontiers, as were perhaps the Americas when the wagon
trains moved west. A man might still make ‘is fortune on Mars, if ‘e ‘as ‘is
wits about ‘im.’

‘If
you must speak to me at all,’ said Mr Bell, affecting a tone of indomitable
condescension, ‘please confine your discourse to explicit knowledge of the High
Echelons of Martian Society.’

‘The
toffs, like?’ said Mr Luther ‘Iggins.

‘The
toffs, like,’ Mr Bell agreed.

‘Well,
as I was saying, it’s the season, ain’t it?’ Mr Luther ‘Iggins wore a pair of
those long and trailing side-whiskers which are known as Piccadilly Weepers and
a suit of beige twill in the tartan of Lord Burberry. The pomade upon his hair
had a bluebottle-stunning range of approximately five feet. ‘The season,’ said
Mr ‘Iggins, ‘when the toffs take to the water, like.’

‘Go
on,’ said Mr Bell, patting himself in search of cigars. In search of
anything,
in fact, that might stifle Mr ‘Iggins’ pomade.

‘They
‘as palaces, sir,’ said the noxious Mr ‘Iggins, ‘big as ocean liners and they
sails the canals in right regal splendour, with balls and masquerades and
promenade concerts and soirées. All the toffs of London do be goin’ to Mars at
this time of year. I ‘as my carpet bag chock full of gentlemen’s requirements.’

Cameron
Bell found his cigars and thrust one into his mouth. A blessed relief was on
its way, thank God.

‘Ah,
look,’ said Mr ‘Iggins as a sign began to flash. ‘No smoking in the cabin,
please, the ship is about to depart.’

The
Phelamanga
boasted many of the latest innovations. A Wiff-Waff court with an
electrical scoreboard. A Turkish bath. Tri-planetary cuisine and female serving
staff who wore bright red tightly fitting bodices with matching culottes and
fascinator hats and sported tiny aeronaut’s goggles, and who were already
affectionately referred to as the ‘Scarlet Harlots’.

As
the NO SMOKING sign took to flashing, one of these lovelies appeared.

‘Ladies
and gentlemen,’ she said, in the voice of one not unacquainted with a
finishing-school. ‘please fasten your safety belts, extinguish all cigarettes,
pipes and cigars and join me in a prayer for our salvation.’

Cameron
Bell was not alone in raising an eyebrow to this.

‘Take
no notice,’ said Mr ‘Iggins. ‘Spaceships ‘ardly ever explode nowadays. I
‘aven’t been in a serious crash for almost three weeks.’ And he nudged Mr Bell
in the approximate area of his ribs. ‘Always tickles me that the toffs sit up
front. I always sit well back, me, because I’ve never ‘eard of a spaceship
backing
into a mountain, ‘as you?’

‘Madam,’
called Mr Bell to the Scarlet Harlot. ‘Would it be possible for you to check
first class, just in case a seat has unexpectedly become available?’

But
the Scarlet Harlot was praying softly as the spaceship rose into the sky. There
was none of that sickening shaking-all-about that you got with old hulks like
the
Marie Lloyd.
The
Phelamanga
swept smoothly aloft, borne as it
were upon the wings of angels.

‘And
please remain seated until the NO SMOKING sign ceases its illumination,’ said
the Scarlet Harlot, having made her peace once more with the Almighty, ‘at
which time the spaceship will have taken to revolving, creating a state of
artificial gravity without which you will float about and get yourself all in a
mess. Anyone caught using the water closets prior to this time will be prosecuted
by the management.’

With
that, the Scarlet Harlot took herself off to a seat with a safety belt.

Mr
‘Iggins opened his mouth to speak once more. Mr Bell, however, informed him
that this was his particular hour for silent meditation, so quiet as the eternal
grave must Mr ‘Iggins be.

It was a three
day-voyage to Mars and there was no sleeping accommodation provided for the
second-class passengers. In first class there were elegant little private
booths, with fitted wardrobes and hammocks where the wealthy might spread out
and relax when they had exhausted themselves from too much Wiff-Waff.

Few
of the second-class passengers had thought to withdraw clothes from their
luggage before this luggage was stashed away in the hold. And so, by the second
day, the atmosphere within the second-class accommodation was not one conducive
to good health.

The
food, though basic, served as it should and Mr Bell ran up a considerable bill
for brandy and cigars.

As
the
Phelamanga
moved imperceptibly through the aether of space, those
who had never travelled between the planets before gazed in wonder through the
portholes whilst those more seasoned to off-world perambulation affected blasé
dispositions, read journals, drank themselves to insensibility or congregated
in the gentlemen’s water closet for illicit games of Snap.

With
so many things upon his mind, Mr Cameron Bell found the journey tedious at best
and when Mars was finally sighted, he joined in what cheering there was.

The
Red Planet slowly swelled to fill the endless void and the
Phelamanga
fell
into orbit about it. The Scarlet Harlot made several speeches concerning the
officious nature of those who manned the customs hall and read from a long list
of prohibited items, which ranged from tooth powder to tennis balls.

The
illegal importation of apes, Mr Bell duly noted, carried with it a long prison
sentence.

Mr
Bell gazed towards the porthole. How much did he
really
know about Mars?
Very little,
was the answer to this. He knew, as did all men of the age,
that it was girded about by vast canals; that the now happily extinct Martian
race had been an amphibious species, part sentient cephalopod, part reptile;
that the lands were predominantly jungles, where all the trees were red and
where walked, crawled and scampered many mysterious beasties which provided
sport for big-game hunters.

Of
the Earth-folk who lived there, he knew a little. He was acquainted with Mr
Septimus Grey, Governor of the Martian Territories — and a gentleman with a
colourful past. And he was aware that members of the British aristocracy
favoured Mars as a summer resort and dwelt there upon spectacular floating
palaces. The social divide was extreme upon Mars between the toffs and the
working class, which consisted of servants and those who toiled in the mines
for the great conglomerates or chanced their luck in the uncharted jungles,
seeking the mother-lode. And there were always rumours that a revolution was
about to break out, that there were anarchists hiding behind every red bush,
waiting to blow something up.

Oh
yes — and then there was Princess Pamela, identical twin sister of Queen
Victoria. A secret so well kept that even
he
had not heard of her until
now.

Not
even a rumour,
thought Cameron Bell.
Somewhat surprising, that.

Regarding
law and order upon the Red Planet, the wealthy maintained small private armies
and considered themselves above the law. For the rest, a thuggish militia in
the pay of Her Majesty’s Government dispensed a summary justice, which was open
to negotiation. Mars certainly had the ‘frontier’ feel, and that caused Mr Bell
a certain degree of alarm.

The
NO SMOKING sign began to flash and Mr Bell fastened his safety belt.

The
Scarlet Harlot appeared once more and called upon the second-class passengers
to join her in prayer, then made good her escape from the evil-smelling cabin.