The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (27 page)
Read The Japanese Devil Fish Girl Online
Authors: Robert Rankin
‘Then why not just wait here for him? After all, he does know what is—’
George cut her off in mid-flow. ‘Ada,’ he said, ‘I do not know what that man did to you, but I know he did something. Your about-turn regarding your opinion of him is overwhelmingly suspicious. Young ladies such as yourself are
not
for turning.’
not
for turning.’
George looked Ada deep in the eyes. ‘
Did
he do something?’ he asked.
Did
he do something?’ he asked.
Ada Lovelace made a puzzled face; a pretty face it still remained, but puzzled. ‘Something happened,’ she said slowly. ‘Something in the Ladies’ Accommodation aboard the
Empress of Mars
. But it is blurry and indistinct. Some of my memories are missing.’
Empress of Mars
. But it is blurry and indistinct. Some of my memories are missing.’
Two and two were making four with George. ‘The same thing happened to me,’ said he. ‘Both times in the company of the professor.’
‘Yes,’ said Ada, her green eyes growing wide. ‘The professor. He was—’ But she never finished.
Instead she screamed at the top of her voice and pushed George to the side.
The expedition was suddenly under attack.
Down they plunged from the sky, those horrid beasties. And as they swooped and dived towards the party upon the exposed promontory, it was clearly apparent that they were neither harpies nor pterodactyls.
‘They are flying monkeys,’ cried George, scooping up his knapsack filled with shrunken heads and whirling it about at the attackers.
Darwin the monkey butler, exhibiting a wisdom which spoke highly of the evolutionary link between ape and man, ducked away to silent cover and hid himself at the jungle’s edge.
Professor Coffin took to hurling stones.
Jovial Jovians cocked their mighty weapons.
The flying monkeys were really quite horrid, with nasty red faces and bad bat wings. They wore little waistcoats and big baggy trousers and muttered and hissed the most terrible things.
‘I think they are actually swearing at us,’ shouted George to Ada. ‘Take cover in the trees. I will do my best to keep them at bay.’
Ada fled to where Darwin lay hiding, while George continued with his swinging of the knapsack.
Which, although not actually serving as much of a deterrent, did at least create something of a diversion.
The Jovians, however, made a greater show of force.
They swung up their ray guns towards their attackers and beams of energy crissed and crossed the sky.
‘Those certainly put the old Royal Enfields in the shade,’ said Professor Coffin, appreciatively. ‘Oh mercy me!’
A flying monkey swinging close was atomised before him.
‘There wouldn’t be too much left of a tiger,’ said the professor, now hastening in pursuit of Ada Lovelace. ‘Come, George,’ he called. ‘Let’s leave this to the fellows with the space guns.’
And it did have to be said, the fellows with the space guns were making a considerable impact upon their aerial attackers. Flying monkeys exploded at the touch of fearsome rays. Alien technology, it appeared, was more than a match for mythic monsters made flesh.
It fleetingly entered George’s mind that there might well be a moral in there, or a lesson to be learned, or something, but just as fleetingly such thoughts were gone as George ran howling for cover.
The laughing burghers of Jupiter had arranged themselves into a kind of battle formation: a circle with their big broad backs towards the middle. And they were laying down devastating fire upon their swooping enemies.
‘I think we might just win this one,’ said George, flinging himself into cover and dropping down beside Ada and the professor.
‘Perhaps they might be persuaded to just wing one,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘I am indeed shocked and also awed by the magnitude of their firepower.’
‘We are winning the battle, though,’ said George. ‘And that, I suppose, is all that matters. Although—’ And here George paused.
‘Although?’ asked the professor.
‘Just what is
that
?’ said George, and he pointed.
that
?’ said George, and he pointed.
A swirling black cloud was billowing in the distance. Tumbling over and over in the sky. George had once spent a pleasant evening upon Brighton beach watching the vast flocks of starlings at play above the West Pier. And there was a certain similarity here. That swooping and twisting. That—
‘No!’ cried George. ‘Flying monkeys, thousands of them!’
The Jovian hunters saw them too. And realising themselves to be outnumbered beyond all reasonable, or indeed unreasonable, hope of victory or survival, they broke ranks and fled to the jungle’s edge.
The creatures came down like a swarm of locusts, blackening the sky. George was given to a fleeting wonderment as to where they could all have possibly come from, for surely this island could not sustain their dining for a single day. But again this was only a fleeting wonderment. George had more important things on his mind.
‘Run back down deeper into the jungle,’ cried George. ‘Everyone hurry, do.’
‘Ah,’ said the professor. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Not?’ said George, preparing to flee. ‘I do think so – come, Ada.’
‘George, no, don’t. The natives – look.’ Professor Coffin pointed.
And sure as sure and bad as luck could be, many little brown faces, with bones though the noses, were to be seen. Many, many brown faces.
‘Natives!’ cried George. ‘Thousands of them.’
‘It rather looks,’ said Professor Coffin, ‘as if
our
villagers have sought the assistance of most of the nearby villages. Which leaves us somewhere between the Devil and the deep blue sea, I do believe.’
our
villagers have sought the assistance of most of the nearby villages. Which leaves us somewhere between the Devil and the deep blue sea, I do believe.’
‘I do not like to say “I told you so”—’ said George.
‘Then kindly do not, it will not advance our situation by one iota.’
And they were suddenly in all but darkness, flying monkeys blackening the heavens. Down came these Hellish simians, intent upon no good whatsoever. The Jovians, no longer quite so jovial, mashed their way into the jungle, squinted towards the upcoming natives and trained their guns upon them.
The flying monkeys tore at the treetops, ripping away at the foliage. Natives raised their blowpipes.
A mighty battle ensued.
Caught in the very midst of it, without any weapons and not a lot of hope, George clung to Ada, who clung right back to George, and Darwin clung to the professor.
‘We are doomed,’ cried the professor. ‘It should not come to this. Do something, George, save us all.’
‘Me?’ cried George, as blowpipe darts went whizzing by his head and ray-gun rays set the jungle on fire. ‘Why me?’
And a flying monkey stole his sola topi.
If the horrible goings-on in the great dining hall of the
Empress of Mars
when the airship went down had resembled a scene from Dante’s
Inferno
, then the present mayhem held more to the fevered imaginings of Hieronymus Bosch, after a hard night down at his local upon whatever was the fifteenth-century equivalent of absinthe.
Empress of Mars
when the airship went down had resembled a scene from Dante’s
Inferno
, then the present mayhem held more to the fevered imaginings of Hieronymus Bosch, after a hard night down at his local upon whatever was the fifteenth-century equivalent of absinthe.
The screaming and the swearing and the ripping and the tearing of the monkeys.
The horrible destruction of each awful terror gun.
The war-chants of the natives and the blowings of their blowpipes.
The fear and flames, the blood and death and all upon an island.
In a sea of blue beneath a summer sun.
‘To the temple,’ cried Professor Coffin, ‘to claim sanctuary. It is our only hope.’
‘I do not know what to do,’ shouted George.
‘Trust the professor,’ said Ada.
George Fox threw up his fists in despair.
As the worst that could occur did.
They were suddenly all about him, scratching and savaging. His hand was torn from Ada’s and as George looked on, horror-struck and in mortal fear, several of the flying, screaming horde plucked up Ada and bore her into the sky.
‘No!’ cried George. ‘Shoot those monsters, someone.’
But the Jovian huntsmen were otherwise engaged.
George watched, as best he could amongst the flapping wings and scrabbling claws that were all about him now, and saw Ada carried up and up and then in through one of the windows in the dwindling towers of pearl that soared above.
‘This way,’ shouted the professor. ‘Here, George, come with me.’ And Professor Coffin dragged George after him, to what looked like some kind of oversized rabbit burrow, and pushed George ahead of him into it.
It was dark and smelled poorly of dung. And when something moved, George nearly died right there and then from absolute terror. But a friendly hairy hand laid hold of George and Darwin cooed gibberings of comfort into his ear. Above, the sounds of battle were terrific. And seemed to go on hour after hour. George huddled low and rocked to and fro. Professor Coffin hid his face and said certain prayers of his own.
Perhaps hours had passed, for George had lost all sense of time. But when all became finally silent, Professor Coffin peeped from the hideaway and, once assured that all was safe as it could be, whispered for George to follow him.
George did so.
George saw carnage. Trees reduced to blackened stumps. Bodies strewn, two burghers of Jupiter dead. And the smell of death, that ghastly miasma, hung like a shroud over all.
‘My God,’ said George. But that was all he could say.
Professor Coffin rummaged all about himself, unearthed his cigar case, took out a cigar, bit off the end and spat it out. He applied the fire from a Lucifer and drew in calming breaths.
Darwin directed certain urgent sounds towards the showman and Professor Coffin shared his cigar with the ape.
‘All is lost,’ said George, when he could find more words to speak. ‘Everything is lost.’
Professor Coffin opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again.
‘But,’ and George looked up, to the temple rising above, ‘she might still be alive.’
‘She?’ said the professor. ‘The Goddess? That She?’
‘I mean Ada,’ said George. ‘The creatures carried her away into a window high in that tower.’ And George pointed. ‘She might still be alive. I have to find her.’
‘Find her?’ And Professor Coffin smiled. It was not a pleasant smile and he turned his face away so George should not see it. ‘Find Ada,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Somewhere in the temple. Oh yes. That would be for the best.’
29
T
owers of pearl glittered in afternoon sunlight and rooftops of gold glittered too. Through the shimmering haze climbed George, the professor and Darwin the monkey, each alone with their thoughts – dire thoughts, of what might lie ahead.
owers of pearl glittered in afternoon sunlight and rooftops of gold glittered too. Through the shimmering haze climbed George, the professor and Darwin the monkey, each alone with their thoughts – dire thoughts, of what might lie ahead.
They had taken the precaution of arming themselves and although George felt it instinctively wrong to enter a temple of any religious persuasion carrying a weapon, his only thoughts at this time were for Ada Lovelace.
He and the professor carried long unearthly rifle ray guns, taken from the bodies of the fallen Jupitarians. Darwin the monkey held a blowpipe. Several bandoleers of poisoned darts and as many canteens of water swung from his now most shabby waistcoat.
George himself looked very much the worse for wear. His ludicrously shrunken suit was thoroughly besmutted, his hair was matted, his face begrimed, and lines of sweat ran down from his forehead to drip from his striking chin. George was not in the finest of moods and Professor Coffin felt it for the best not to engage him in idle conversation.
Above, the marvellous temple pierced the sky. A rugged pilgrims’ trail snaked up against the naked rock. The heat was fearfully oppressive. The dismal party soldiered on.
Other books
No Second Chances by Marissa Farrar
A Not So Perfect Crime by Teresa Solana
The Ugly Stepsister by Avril Sabine
Naufragios by Albar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca
Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Maberry
The Emerald Casket by Richard Newsome
The Providence of Fire by Brian Staveley
The Ex-Mrs. Hedgefund by Jill Kargman
Sunday by Georges Simenon
No One (Element Preservers, #3.5) by Linwood, Alycia