The Feaster From The Stars (Blackwood and Harrington) (31 page)

Thomas Blackwood sat in Queen Victoria’s private office at Buckingham Palace. The room was silent, save for the subdued hiss and gurgle from Grandfather’s steam-powered artificial legs as he sat on the chair next to him. The Queen herself was seated at her desk, reading Blackwood’s report on the affair of the King in Yellow. She had read it once already, as soon as Blackwood had completed it upon his return to Earth, but so singular were its contents that she could not resist perusing it once again, having summoned the Special Investigator and the Director of the Bureau of Clandestine Affairs for a private discussion.

Blackwood shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He did not enjoy being in the Queen’s presence, not only for the quite natural reason that he was in no small part intimidated by the redoubtable monarch, but also because her unnatural youth, artificially recaptured through the use of Martian rejuvenation drugs, unsettled him.

Although she was eighty years of age, Victoria had the appearance of a woman in her twenties: her skin was pale and flawless, her dark hair lustrous, while her eyes burned brightly with the vital fire of youth. She had accepted the gift of the rejuvenation drugs when it was offered to her by the Martian Parliament in the months following first contact between Earth and the Red Planet six years ago, and during that period her body and mind had drawn back from the approaching abyss of death, while the sunset which all had believed to be upon the Victorian Era had been transformed into a new dawn.

Victoria gathered the pages of the report together and placed them on her desk. A little way off to the right, another desk stood with nothing on it save the writing accoutrements which had belonged to her beloved husband, Albert. It was still the Queen’s habit to dress in black, for she had let it be known that however long she lived, she would never stop mourning his passing.

‘You are quite certain, Mr Blackwood,’ she said, ‘that this singular enemy of ours is utterly defeated?’

‘We need entertain no doubts on that score, Your Majesty,’ the Special Investigator replied. ‘The King in Yellow has been completely destroyed by the alien entity.’

‘And nothing remains of either?’

‘Nothing, Ma’am.’

‘And where is Lady Sophia?’

‘She is recuperating from her ordeal in the Faerie Realm. King Oberon took her there as soon as we had returned to Earth. He says that she will be fully recovered in a short while.’

‘We are most gratified to hear it. Her brave and selfless actions will not be forgotten.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

Victoria paused before continuing, ‘And now, Grandfather tells us that there is something you wish to discuss.’

Once again, Blackwood fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘Yes, Ma’am, there is…’

Victoria spread her hands and raised her eyebrows. ‘Come, sir, don’t be shy! What is it?’

‘It concerns the people of Carcosa. Their planet has been utterly ruined by the depredations of the King in Yellow, and while it is true that their nemesis has gone forever, still there is not enough left of the animal and plant life on that unhappy world to sustain the survivors. I was wondering…’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘I was wondering whether we might offer them a new home here, on Earth… in Great Britain…’

‘Do you think they would come, if we made such an offer to them?’

‘I’m not sure. It may be that the fight has been knocked out of them, that they no longer have the strength to continue, on their world or ours. All I know is that if they stay on Carcosa, they will become extinct.’

Victoria glanced at the report and shook her head. ‘We cannot even begin to imagine the horrors that have befallen them, the ruin that has overwhelmed their world. Indeed, had it not been for you and your colleagues, Mr Blackwood, those very same horrors would now be afflicting the human race. But tell us, how would they travel across the countless leagues of space from Carcosa to Earth? We are informed that even our new Æther zeppelins cannot travel such distances.’

‘I have taken the liberty of discussing this already with King Oberon. He has agreed to place several of his Æther galleons at our disposal to bring the last Carcosans to Earth. But of course, the final decision is yours, and yours alone.’

Victoria’s youthful, limpid eyes met Blackwood’s. ‘The decision is already made,’ she said. ‘You have our permission to offer the people of Carcosa a new home in the British Empire.’

Blackwood let out the breath he had been holding. ‘I’m grateful for your generosity and compassion, Ma’am. I will let Dr Castaigne know, for he would be the perfect choice as an ambassador.’

‘Do you think there are any more like him?’ asked Grandfather suddenly.

Blackwood turned to him. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘That King in Yellow blighter. Are there any more of his kind sniffing around out there?’

‘I’m not sure – although I must admit that it’s a distinct possibility.’

‘I’d like to get my hands on one of those Anti-Prism contraptions,’ Grandfather huffed. ‘Instantaneous travel, by golly! Think of the advantages that would bestow upon the Empire!’

‘I hope I never see one again,’ Blackwood rejoined vehemently. ‘Especially considering the means by which they are powered.’

‘Point taken, Thomas,’ said Grandfather, ‘but I’m sure that if we ever managed to find one and give it to the chaps at Station X, they’d find another way to power it…’

‘With Vril energy, perhaps?’ said Blackwood bitterly, and a little too loudly.

Victoria raised her eyebrows again, while Grandfather reddened somewhat.

Blackwood realised that he was in danger of overstepping the mark. ‘Forgive me,’ he said quietly. ‘I meant no disrespect, sir, Your Majesty; it’s just that I believe there are some things which mankind is not meant to know – at least at this stage of our technological development.’

‘Hmm,’ Grandfather murmured.

‘We fully appreciate and understand the strength of your opinions, Mr Blackwood,’ said Victoria. ‘We still have nightmares about our attempt to harness the power of Vril.’ She shuddered visibly. ‘Let us hope that those infernal devices remain forever hidden wherever in the universe they have been seeded.’

She glanced at Grandfather, who nodded. ‘Quite so, Your Majesty, quite so.’

‘And what of the ghosts on the London Underground?’ the Queen said. ‘Will they be less disruptive, now that the monster which had tormented them is no more?’

‘I believe so,’ Blackwood replied. ‘Queen Titania is there as we speak. She is reassuring them that the horror has departed forever…’

‘She’s also supervising the disposal of the thing,’ added Grandfather. ‘She’s doing a splendid job down there, and jolly pretty she is, too!’

‘Really, Grandfather! You surprise us!’ Victoria chuckled.

‘Oh, I… I do beg your pardon, Ma’am.’

The Queen returned her attention to Blackwood. ‘And what of the little ghost child who gave you so much help in your assignment? What was her name…?’

‘Anne Naylor. Oberon and Titania have decided to adopt her.’

Victoria’s face brightened. ‘You don’t say!’

‘It’s true, Ma’am. Anne once told me how she loved faeries but had never seen one. Now, she will spend eternity amongst the gentle miracles of the Faerie Realm.’

‘How delightful. Well, it only remains for us to congratulate you on another job well done, Mr Blackwood. And please do pass on our best wishes to Lady Sophia when you see her. Tell her it is too long since we last took tea together!’

‘I certainly will, Your Majesty,’ said Blackwood as he and Grandfather stood up to take their leave.

Three days later, Blackwood received a message from a runner, inviting him to Sophia’s home. Without delay, he left his apartments and hailed a cab for Kensington.

Sophia’s housekeeper opened the door, bid him good day and asked him to go straight through to the sitting room. The look of happiness and relief on her face was plain as the sun, and Blackwood gave her a warm smile, along with his hat and coat.

‘Thomas!’ cried Sophia, rising from her armchair and rushing across the room to hug him.

Her housekeeper caught sight of their embrace, blushed a bright shade of crimson and hurried off to prepare some tea.

Blackwood himself was a little embarrassed by this show of affection; nevertheless, he held her close. ‘How are you, my dear?’

‘Very well. Come, take a seat.’

They sat together on the
chaise-longue,
and Blackwood took her hand. ‘You’re quite sure?’

‘Indeed: the faerie physicians took very good care of me. It was so wonderful to spend a few days in their realm. You can’t imagine the healing power of simply being there!’

‘I have no doubt of it.’

‘But tell me: what’s been happening while I’ve been gone? Did you see the Queen?’

‘Yes, and she asked me to give you her best wishes… and I suspect you’ll be receiving an invitation to join her for tea at the Palace before too long.’

‘How splendid!’

‘And the Bureau is going to handle the demolition of the Void Chamber in preparation for the completion of the new tunnel from Bond Street to Westminster.’

‘And what of Charles Exeter?’

‘De Chardin was right: he has been incarcerated in Bethlem Hospital. Apparently, he has about as much chance of regaining his sanity as poor Alfie Morgan – which is to say, not very much.’

Sophia nodded. ‘Well, we certainly helped the detective to investigate the disturbances on the Underground… although not quite in the way I had expected.’

‘Indeed not!’

‘What will the Bureau do with all those thousands of tiles lining the Void Chamber?’

‘They will be taken to Station X for further study. Our chaps suspect that the Yellow Sign is some form of mathematical symbol, perhaps with strange attributes. Some are already theorising that it is capable of aiding in the warping of time and space which the Anti-Prisms performed.’ He shook his head. ‘You would think that by now they’d have learned to leave such things alone.’

‘Are you surprised that they haven’t?’ Sophia asked.

‘Not in the least.’ Blackwood felt his mood darkening, which was not what he wanted today. ‘In any event, I think we could both do with a holiday, don’t you?’

‘I do indeed, Thomas!’ Sophia beamed and then furrowed her brows playfully. ‘And yet… don’t you think it would be awfully unseemly for us to take a holiday together?’

Blackwood shrugged. ‘I don’t think so; after all, we are professional colleagues. Why should we not enjoy some well-earned rest and recuperation in each other’s company?’

The playful frown disappeared as Sophia cried, ‘You’ve convinced me! Where shall we go?’

‘I don’t know. Where would you like to go?’

Sophia glanced through the sitting room windows at the dense fog outside. ‘Somewhere bright and warm. Atlantis is very pleasant at this time of year.’

Blackwood smiled at her. ‘Very well. Atlantis it is!’

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to Anna, Emma and Rob at Snowbooks for their continued encouragement and support, and to Anna in particular for her vigilant and judicious editing.

Thanks also to the shade of Robert W Chambers, who inspired this book with his marvellously sinister and eerie creation, the King in Yellow. I should point out that the beautiful ‘Cassilda’s Song’, quoted several times in the text, is not my work (would that it were!), but his.

Finally, to mum and dad for their love, support and encouragement, and to all my friends who continue to inspire me, a very big thank you.

A sneak peak from...

The

A BLACKWOOD & HARRINGTON MYSTERY

...coming soon from Snowbooks

Thomas Blackwood, Special Investigator for Her Majesty’s Bureau of Clandestine Affairs, stood on the promenade deck of the Royal Mail Dirigible
Randolph Churchill,
looking down through the panoramic windows, at the great sweep of the blue-green Atlantic and the distant edge of the island clutching the horizon ahead. Luncheon had just finished, and the diners filing slowly out of the restaurant and into the long chamber, which followed the shallow curve of the skyliner’s vast gasbag, chatted quietly and amiably to each other of the largely inconsequential matters which invariably exercise tourists at the start of their holidays.

The pleasant nature of his surroundings notwithstanding, Blackwood was somewhat out of sorts. Lady Sophia Harrington, Secretary of the Society for Psychical Research and his trusted colleague, should have been with him. They had arranged to take a well-earned break in Atlantis following the conclusion of the affair of the King in Yellow, which had placed a near-intolerable strain on Sophia. At the last moment, however, the SPR’s President, Sir William Crookes, had asked a favour of her, and she had informed Blackwood that she would join him in the island’s capital city of Chalidocean as soon as she were able.

This had darkened Blackwood’s mood considerably, for he was anxious that Sophia should take some rest without delay: she had been driven to the point of insanity and death in their struggle against the hideous extra-dimensional entity which had set its hungry eyes on Earth, and which had only been vanquished with the help of King Oberon and Queen Titania of Faerie.

Although the SPR routinely provided advice and help to Her Majesty’s Government on matters pertaining to the occult and supernatural, Sophia’s contribution to the affair had gone far beyond the call of duty. She needed a break, and every day her recuperation was delayed put an additional strain on her. Blackwood didn’t like it and would have had words with Sir William had Sophia not dissuaded him, giving her assurance that, once her responsibilities had been attended to, she would join him in Atlantis, and they would put all their cares behind them – at least for a week or so...

Blackwood’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice behind him. ‘Is this your first trip to Atlantis?’

Startled, he turned to see a tall woman standing a few feet away. She was attired in a fashionable dress of purple silk, which was complemented by the plum-coloured feathers adorning her toque hat.

‘I beg your pardon, madam?’ said Blackwood.

The woman smiled, revealing perfect teeth. To Blackwood’s eye, she looked to be of Far Eastern origin; in fact, there appeared to be something of the Tibetan in the roundness of her pretty face and the bright yet impassive intelligence in her brown eyes.

‘I was enquiring,’ she said, with an accent which was more redolent of the plains of Hampshire than the Himalayas, ‘as to whether you have been to Atlantis before, or if this is your first trip.’

‘No, it is not,’ Blackwood replied, in a tone which, while polite, was nevertheless intended to dissuade his interlocutor from any further attempt at conversation.

She paused, clearly waiting for him to say something more. Blackwood returned her gaze, hoping that his expression would tell her what his tone of voice had not: that he didn’t want to be disturbed. In fact, he was rather surprised that she had approached him unannounced in the first place. Was she travelling alone? If not, where was her companion?

Her attire suggested that she was well-to-do, and Atlantis was certainly the place to be at this time of year: the fierce heat of summer had long since released its sweaty grip on the island, and the average daytime temperature was a pleasant seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit. Blackwood was willing to bet that the majority of the people here in the First Class section of the
Randolph Churchill
were like her: wealthy and bored, and ready to spend a few weeks on the beaches of the south, or to take in the sights of Chalidocean and the other large towns.

The young woman stepped forward and stood beside him at the railing. Looking through the angled windows at the steadily-approaching island, she said wistfully, ‘I do so adore Atlantis in the winter... my favourite country, my favourite time of year...’

‘I am truly delighted for you,’ Blackwood muttered. ‘The beaches are quite superb.’

She laughed, and Blackwood had to admit that he liked the sound: it was easy and rather sensuous in a subtle kind of way, and he barely managed to suppress a smile. ‘I am not speaking of the beaches!’ she chided. ‘I mean the towns and villages, the architecture, the history of the place. Chalidocean, the Temple of the Ages, the Great Hypogeum...’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself.’

I’d rather you didn’t,
thought Blackwood.

‘My name is Athena Lee, but you may call me Athena.’

Great Scott!

‘In that case, I shall call you Miss Lee, and bid you a good day,’ Blackwood replied, and with that, he gave her a curt bow and withdrew from the observation deck.

*

As he retired to the First Class lounge, Blackwood felt a twinge of regret at his less-than-gallant behaviour. The fact was, however, that he was in no mood for casual conversation with unaccompanied and unaccountably forthright young ladies, no matter how exotic and intriguing their ancestry.

He sat in one of the burgundy leather armchairs scattered around the lounge, ordered coffee from a passing waiter and withdrew a letter from the inside pocket of his frock coat. The letter, which had arrived at his rooms in London two days earlier, was from Professor Thorfinn Skalagrimsson, Director of Antiquities at the University of Chalidocean.

17th November 1899

Dear Thomas,

I write to you with news of an astonishing discovery which we have made in the Great Hypogeum. As you know, for many years it has been suggested that there is a hidden chamber directly beneath the Main Depression. I had always assumed such speculation to be little more than wishful thinking (and I know that you are of the same opinion).

However, following a minor earth tremor which occurred a week ago, I led a small party into the Hypogeum to assess any damage. We were mortified to discover that the plaster beneath several frescoes in the corridors had been shaken loose and immediately began an operation to retrieve the pieces and attempt to restore them.

However, this dreadful happenstance had an unforeseen and fascinating consequence, for beneath the plaster in the third quadrant of Corridor 1 spotted what appeared to be a large stone plug.

We partially removed the plug as soon as we were able, whereupon we discovered a passageway leading deeper into the ground at a steep angle. As I am sure you have already guessed, this passageway led more or less directly into a hitherto unknown chamber!

You were always my brightest student, Thomas, and I still recall with great affection our many fascinating conversations during our time at the Sorbonne. For this reason, I would like to invite you to participate in our examination of the chamber – and its contents, which I will not mention here. Suffice to say that this may well prove to be the most significant archaeological discovery ever made in Atlantis – indeed, anywhere on Earth.

I hope you will come at your earliest convenience, and join us at the outset of what I believe will be a new era of historical study and research.

Yours, etc.

Skala

Blackwood folded the letter, replaced it in his pocket and took a pensive sip of his coffee. Skala (for thus was the professor known by his friends) was not fond of needless exaggeration, and yet the letter was almost breathless in tone.
The most significant archaeological discovery ever made in Atlantis – indeed, anywhere on Earth. What had they found in the newly-discovered chamber?

At any rate, it would be good to see Skalagrimsson again: Blackwood had fond memories of studying with him at the Sorbonne in the early 1880s, long before he had been recruited to Her Majesty’s Bureau of Clandestine Affairs. Skala had occasionally acted as a consultant to the Bureau on matters pertaining to ancient history and was one of the very few people who knew of Blackwood’s position as a Special Investigator.

It was a curious and welcome coincidence that the recent discoveries should have occurred so shortly before Blackwood’s and Sophia’s decision to take a holiday in Atlantis; and Blackwood looked forward to telling his colleague about them. Perhaps Sophia would agree to join their investigation. He certainly hoped so, for a little intellectual recreation might be just what the doctor ordered.

Once again, Blackwood’s thoughts were interrupted by Athena Lee, who sat down in the armchair opposite and gave him a broad smile.

‘We meet again,’ she said.

‘Indeed we do,’ Blackwood huffed.

‘If you will forgive the observation, sir,’ said Athena, ‘I have introduced myself to you, but you have yet to return the courtesy.’ Her tone of voice suggested amusement rather than offence.

Blackwood sighed. ‘My name is Thomas Blackwood, and I am delighted, just
delighted
, to make your acquaintance.’

Athena hailed a waiter and ordered a cup of green tea. ‘So, Mr Blackwood, may I ask why you are going to Atlantis?’

The question was casually phrased...
a little too casually,
Blackwood thought. He regarded his unwanted companion more intently. ‘I’m taking a holiday. Why do you ask, Miss Lee?’

She shrugged. ‘Just making conversation.’

I wonder,
the Special Investigator thought, returning her smile.

The waiter brought her tea, and Athena gave Blackwood a long look as she sipped it daintily. ‘I couldn’t help noticing, as I approached, that you were reading a letter from someone called Skala. Could that possibly be Professor Thorfinn Skalagrimsson?’

Well, really!
thought Blackwood.
The nerve of the girl!

‘Forgive me, Miss Lee, but while I admire your perceptiveness, I must say that the contents of my letter are none of your concern.’

‘Oh, indeed not! And I assure you that under any other circumstances I would not have made such an observation. It’s just that ... well, Professor Skalagrimsson’s name is well known in academic circles; and with the recent discovery in the Great Hypogeum, I’ll wager that he is about to become world-famous.’ She leaned forward suddenly. ‘Are you an archaeologist, Mr Blackwood?’

‘No, I am not, although I did study the subject in my youth.’

Athena looked disappointed, and although he really shouldn’t have cared, Blackwood found himself slightly offended.

‘I for one am fascinated by the mysteries of the remote past,’ she said. ‘And I have to say that I can’t help wondering whether the new discovery might shed some light on the legend of Lemuria...’

‘Lemuria!’ Blackwood couldn’t help laughing. ‘Surely you’re not one of those poor benighted souls who believe in lost civilisations and the like!’

‘I do indeed, Mr Blackwood!’ Athena returned with a sudden smile. ‘Let us not forget that ten thousand years ago, Atlantis was the greatest civilisation on Earth. Surely it must have had an antecedent, a mother civilisation: it didn’t just pop up fully-fledged out of nowhere.’

‘No, it didn’t. It developed, like all civilisations, from hunter-gatherer, through the development of agriculture, to city-based living. There’s no mystery there, I assure you.’

Athena then followed what to Blackwood’s mind was the typical tactic of the crank: having had her misconception dispelled, she immediately shifted course and pounced upon a related topic in an attempt to buttress her already-failed assertion.

‘Well then... what about the
decline
of Atlantis? Surely you’re not going to deny that there is a genuine mystery there. Why did the classical Atlantean civilisation end?’

Blackwood sighed, although this time he could not resist a genuine smile. Having resigned himself to the impossibility of avoiding this attractive but insistent young lady, he decided to allow himself to be amused by her. ‘Very well, Miss Lee; why do
you
think it ended?’

‘Some historians think that the ancient Atlanteans practised black magic, which was originally the source of their success, the reason for their attaining such a high level of sophistication when everyone else on the planet was wearing loincloths and living in mud huts. But then, something happened: the Atlanteans went too far along the path of dark power. The keepers of the Universe’s ultimate secrets saw what they were doing and punished them, destroying their civilisation. Plato says as much.’

‘Ah!’ Blackwood rejoined. ‘Actually, Plato says that Poseidon deserted them when they began to worship other gods. But you mustn’t place too much confidence in ancient writers, however great their stature. The Atlanteans have always been romantics, lovers of strange stories and tall tales. I suspect that when Plato travelled there, he fell in with a few leg-pullers.’