The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (21 page)

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Authors: Robert Rankin

BOOK: The Japanese Devil Fish Girl
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A sudden thought gripped him and he glanced back to the bunk, but the thought was a vain one and Ada Lovelace was not to be found sleeping there, her lovely red head upon the pillow, those emerald eyes closed in peaceful sleep.
 
George felt his way to the cabin door and eased it open a crack, and the bootboy’s grinning face displayed itself.
 
‘Lord bless my soul, guv’nor,’ said the mouth of this face. ‘You’ve a sorry look to yourself and no mistake.’
 
‘What do you want?’ asked George in a growly tone.
 
‘I’ve been sent to knock up all the passengers.’ The bootboy spoke in a chirpy voice. ‘Sorry if you were a sleeping.’
 
‘I am not a violent man,’ George managed to say, ‘but you surely try my patience.’
 
‘The captain would like a word in your ear,’ said the bootboy. ‘Not just yours, as it happens, but those of all on board. There is to be a big meeting in the concert hall in half of an hour. The captain apologises for any inconvenience, but would appreciate your presence.’
 
George closed the cabin door on the lad and sought a glass of water.
 
 
The concert hall of the
Empress of Mars
was an exact reproduction of the interior of the Hackney Empire Theatre. Which would cause much interest to future architectural historians, in that the Hackney Empire Theatre was not built until the year nineteen hundred and one
5
.
 
Three balconies rose above the stalls, gorgeous and fussy with all the rococo trimmings. Muses and cherubim, angels and demons, masks of comedy, tragedy and more. Clusters of fruits and columns and finials, domed faux temples either side of the stage.
 
George had once seen Little Tich perform his now legendary Big Boot Dance at the Hackney Empire. And once one has seen an act like that, one is pretty much spoiled for anything else.
 
In the gorgeous gilded foyer, George was met by the wine waiter who had served him the previous evening. The wine waiter held a board with an ornate brass clip on the top. A list of names was attached to this board.
 
‘Oh,’ said the wine waiter, without enthusiasm. ‘It is you.’
 
‘And it is
you
,’ observed George. ‘In yet another role, so versatile you are.’
 
‘And other roles to come,’ said the wine waiter, in that tone that is known, and universally unloved, as ‘grumpy’. ‘Half the crew jumped ship in New York, which is why I am so overworked.’
 
‘That explains much regarding, how shall I put this, your attitude,’ said George. ‘Where should I sit, anywhere? ’
 
‘Oh no,’ said the wine waiter. ‘Seats are allocated according to status. You are . . .’ And he ran his finger down the list. ‘In the back row,’ he said.
 
‘Back row of the stalls?’ asked George.
 
‘Back row of the gods.’
 
 
Whatever humour there had originally been in naming the very topmost balcony of a theatre ‘the gods’ was lost upon all who could only afford seats in ‘the gods’ and who had to walk up all of those steps to be so far from the stage.
 
George walked up with a slouch in his steps. He was hungry and wanted some breakfast. He had a right old hangovered grump on by the time he found his seat, but was not disappointed to find Ada Lovelace in the seat next to his and Darwin the monkey butler next to her.
 
‘Good morning,’ said George, smiling bravely.
 
‘Good morning to you,’ said Ada.
 
Darwin the monkey had nothing to say. He just picked at his nose.
 
There was a great deal of mumbling and grumbling in the concert hall. George viewed surly faces, many red and raw. He also viewed the royal box, where sat Venusians. Distracted and removed from it all, elegant and effete.
 
There was no orchestra in the pit and when a bosun piped the captain onto the stage, the captain received no applause.
 
The captain wore an elaborately decorated dress uniform, all swirling flourishes of golden thread upon a background of royal blue. He sported extravagantly flounced jodhpurs, highly polished knee boots and a high-crowned sola topi with silvered goggle accessories.
 
‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, ecclesiastics of Venus and burghers of Jupiter,’ said this man, clearing his throat politely and offering to all a professional smile. ‘My name is Captain Bigglesworth, overall commander of the
Empress of Mars
.’ He paused there in the hope of applause. Upon not receiving any, he continued, ‘It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that due to the unfortunate incident in New York, the work of a mad anarchist faction, I understand that the toll of non-dining passengers stands at two hundred and two.’
 
George whistled softly between his teeth. A general gasp of displeasure rose up throughout the concert hall.
 
‘Most regrettable indeed,’ the captain continued. ‘A full list of the non-diners will be posted in the vestibule of the great dining hall; a collection will be taken up later. It has been proposed that a burial at sea, with full honours for those of military rank and a Christian service for all, courtesy of the ship’s chaplain, will be held at three this afternoon when we reach the Pacific Ocean. It has been decided that we will not be stopping at San Francisco as was originally planned. It is considered unsafe to do so in the light of recent events, and let us be entirely frank here – the folk of the West Coast of America are to say the least volatile and eccentric. Was it not our own Charles Rennie Mackintosh who said, “if you turn America on its side, everything that isn’t screwed down rolls to California”?’
 
The captain paused now, possibly in the hope of a laugh. But upon not receiving one he went on with what he had to say.
 
‘We will be pressing on,’ said he, ‘to our next port of call on the itinerary: the paradisiacal island of Hawaii. You will find the natives there
extremely
friendly, eager to please and given to gay caprice. We have encountered an unfortunate incident, but we will not let that stand in our way. We are British and we possess this.’ And he pointed to his stiff upper lip. ‘Let us put the past behind us and press on with this voyage of a lifetime. What say you to this?’
 
The applause was polite, and it rippled through the audience, but ripple indeed it did,
and
applause it
was
.
 
George just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
 
‘So that is
it
, is it?’ he said to Ada. ‘The show must go on.’
 
‘It is the British way of doing things,’ said Ada.
 
‘So,’ continued the captain, ‘we will reach Hawaii tomorrow evening, hopefully in time to see the sun set upon it. I am told it is a thing of great beauty to behold. The natives of Hawaii have many quaint customs, one of which is their evening ritual of the setting sun. They believe that the volcano upon their island gave birth to the sun, a belief that goes back to the very dawn of their civilisation. The Greeks, who visited Hawaii one thousand years ago, named it the
Umbilicus Mundi
– the Navel of the World.’
 
 
George was one of the last to leave the concert hall. It is as far
down
from the gods as it is
up
and there were a lot of people mooching down before him.
 
When he gained the foyer he was surprised to find Professor Coffin bouncing up and down and looking very pleased indeed to see him.
 
‘What splendid news it is, my boy,’ he said to George, a-wringing of his hands. ‘It is fate indeed, is it not? Your fate.’
 
‘I know not quite of what you speak,’ said George.
 
‘The ,’ crowed Professor Coffin, and he fairly crowed. ‘The Navel of the World, my boy.’
 
‘It means nothing to me,’ said George.
 
‘Ah no, of course it would not. But it is the destination that we seek, my boy. Hawaii is where lies the object of our quest.’
 
‘Object of your quest?’ asked Ada Lovelace.
 
‘Ah!’ went the professor. ‘Fiddle de, fiddle dum. I did not see you there, Miss Fox, all hid behind your brother.’
 
‘He is such a
big
boy,’ said Ada, ‘and I a mere slip of a girl.’
 
‘Quite so. Well, come, George, we have much to speak of.’
 
‘You may speak in front of me,’ said Ada. ‘George has no secrets from his sister, do you, George?’
 
‘Really?’ said Professor Coffin, looking hard at Ada. ‘Well, I have no wish to bother you with manly business. I am sure there are feminine matters that require your close attention.’
 
‘So nothing that I should bother my pretty little head with?’
 
‘Quite so,’ said the professor once more. And, ‘Come, George,’ he also said.
 
‘I have some misgivings, Professor,’ said George. ‘There are certain things bothering me.’
 
Professor Coffin’s fingers toyed at his waistcoat pocket. Within this waistcoat pocket lay a slim glass phial of colourless liquid.
 
‘If you will excuse us, dear lady,’ Professor Coffin said to Ada. ‘A few words in private with your brother and then I will return him to you as good as new.’
 
‘What a queer choice of words,’ said Ada Lovelace.
 
‘Well, be that as it may, come, George.’
 
George Fox scratched at his striking chin and made a doubtful face.
 
‘Whatever is the matter, my boy?’ asked the professor.
 
‘It is about our quest,’ said George. ‘I am having second thoughts.’
 
‘Then come, George,
please
, and we’ll sort this matter out.’
 
‘George is not feeling very well,’ said Ada, squeezing George’s hand. ‘He is still very upset about what happened yesterday.’
 
‘
Very
upset,’ agreed George.
 
Professor Coffin jigged about from one foot to the other.
 
‘Perhaps George and I might see you for lunch, Professor,’ said Ada.
 
Professor Coffin’s knuckles whitened on the skull-top of his cane. ‘Yes indeed,’ he said. ‘Well, no matter, these things can wait.’ He looked long and hard at Ada Lovelace. ‘We do not arrive at Hawaii until tomorrow evening and who knows what might happen in the meantime?’
 
And, bowing deeply, he turned on his heel and marched away at the double.
 
Ada Lovelace let out a breath. Her hand in George’s shook.
 
‘I fear,’ said Ada Lovelace, in a still, small voice, ‘that I have made a mortal enemy.’
 
23
 
P
rofessor Coffin was absent from lunch and also absent from tea. George and Ada paid their respects to the departed at the afternoon funeral service and George looked on in awe as tightly shrouded bodies were dispatched over the guardrail of the promenade deck to fall down and down to the rolling ocean below.
 
The Pacific Ocean spread towards foreverness. An endless expanse of blue, it seemed, broken only by the airship’s mighty shadow. George marvelled greatly at the speed of the airship. Capable, as it was, of spanning America in a single day. George might well have found himself lost once more in awestruck reverie, had not Ada Lovelace nudged him in the ribs and suggested that they do something adventurous to exercise their minds.

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