Read The Japanese Devil Fish Girl Online
Authors: Robert Rankin
The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (28 page)
Finally George spoke. ‘We rescue Ada,’ he said. ‘If she is still alive we rescue her. Nothing more. I want no part of any Japanese Devil Fish Girl. This entire journey was cursed from the very beginning.’
Professor Coffin nodded thoughtfully. He had many homilies readily to hand regarding the warrior spirit of the Britons. And how the forging of a mighty empire had been brought about through the enduring of hardships by men of noble valour. Who had soldiered on, as indeed the two of them and the monkey were now doing, to achieve the glory they so truly deserved. These homilies, however, he kept to himself. ‘Whatever you say, my boy,’ he said.
George Fox glanced at his companion. For on this occasion he certainly knew a lie when he heard one.
They scrambled higher and higher, in terror of falling at times as chunks of the narrow path gave beneath their feet and plunged down and down to the jungle below. And always in terror of a renewed attack from the flying monkeys. For surely they had never been more vulnerable than now.
‘We are almost there,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Darwin, go ahead and see that all is safe.’
Darwin the monkey butler rolled his eyes, then slowly shook his head.
‘Obstinate wretch,’ said Professor Coffin, raising a knotted fist.
Darwin put a blowpipe to his lips and pointed same at the professor.
‘No hard feelings, old chap.’ Professor Coffin affected a grin. ‘Naturally I will go first.’
‘
I
will go first,’ said George. ‘And if anything gets in my way I will kill it.’
I
will go first,’ said George. ‘And if anything gets in my way I will kill it.’
There was such determination in the voice of George Fox that Professor Coffin limited his own words to asking George whether he had the safety catch off, on his big rifle ray gun.
George made affirmative gruntings and made his way ahead.
A plateau hewn from living rock and paved with Rose Aurora marble spread before the entrance to the wonderful temple. A film of volcanic dust covered the marble pavement, undisturbed by footfall, so it seemed, for many ages past.
The mighty temple doors were of tropical timber carved with the most fantastic of creatures. Beasts resembling tri-pedal crocodiles writhed amongst fish-headed lions and snakes with the faces of men.
George plodded forwards, Professor Coffin followed.
‘Have you ever seen such horrors?’ the professor asked of George. ‘Unnatural and nasty, the spawn of the Bottomless Pit.’
‘Un
worldly
is the word,’ said George. ‘These things are not of this Earth.’
worldly
is the word,’ said George. ‘These things are not of this Earth.’
The eyes of the carven creatures were inlaid with precious stones. Professor Coffin drew most near to feast his eyes upon them.
‘There is a fortune to be had here alone,’ said he. Thoughtfully.
‘When Ada is safe you can do what you like. I care not at all.’ George gazed up, beyond the mighty temple doors to vertical walls of stone. Painted were these walls, after the fashion of ancient Thebes. But not with the profiled likenesses of Rameses II. Rather with those of a beautiful woman. Although time had weathered her features to a blur.
George Fox put his shoulder to one of the temple doors and applied pressure. It gave a touch but then refused to open further.
George stepped back and once more looked aloft. ‘We cannot possibly batter these doors open,’ he said.
‘Stand aside there, then, George,’ said Professor Coffin, cocking his big rifle ray gun, ‘and I will blast our way in.’
George glared at the professor. ‘I am a desperate man,’ said he, ‘but such wanton vandalism may not be necessary. Look – see there what appears to be a large letterbox.’
‘That is a votive embrasure,’ Professor Coffin explained. ‘You see them in European churches of the Middle Ages. Lepers and those smitten with the pox were not allowed entry to the church. They passed their pennies through such openings and the priests blessed them in return. From a safe distance, as it were.’
‘Be that as it may,’ said George, unmoved by the professor’s knowledge, ‘it might be possible to squeeze through the opening, drop down and open the doors from the inside.’
‘You would not fit and neither would I,’ said the professor.
‘Darwin . . .’ called George.
Darwin lacked for a certain enthusiasm. Even when Professor Coffin expounded homilies of warrior Britons and empire-building heroes upon his hairy person.
‘As many bananas as you can eat,’ said George. ‘A complete new outfit, including fez and spats.’
Darwin looked thoughtfully at George. And scratched about himself at a flea or two.
‘I promise,’ said George and crossed his heart as he did so.
Darwin reached up and shook George’s hand. Then laid down his blowpipe, divested himself of bandoleers and water canteens, gave a perfunctory gibber, scampered up the temple door and in through the votive embrasure.
George Fox held his breath and prayed a bit. He hoped very much that he had not sent Darwin to his doom. But how else might entry be gained? George put his ear to one of the doors and listened. Sounds of a struggle? The drawing of a bolt?
And George fell forwards as the great door swung open before him.
It groaned dramatically upon its ancient hinges, but swung with a certain ease. George dragged himself once more into the vertical plane and congratulated Darwin for his efforts. Darwin swaggered past George and retrieved his blowpipe, darts and
one
water canteen.
one
water canteen.
‘Bring them
all
, please,’ said George.
all
, please,’ said George.
Darwin brought them all.
The temple was all but in darkness within, save for what sunlight welled in through the half-open door.
George swung this door fully open and then the other one too. Sunlight illuminated a floor of turquoise stone, deliciously inlaid with intricate patterns, symbols, sigils and writings. If words indeed were these, they were no words known to George, or indeed to the professor, who had travelled widely and entered many temples.
‘Japanese, do you think?’ asked George.
Professor Coffin shook his head. ‘I have seen such symbols somewhere, though,’ he said. ‘But not in a temple, I feel.’
‘Well, I care not,’ said George, cocking his rifle ray gun. ‘I want only Ada.’
The three of them moved forwards, slowly, warily, with care. For it is well known to anyone who reads adventure stories that places such as these are always wrought with deadly traps. A misplaced footstep onto a secret button leading to spears striking out from hidden recesses, or great stone pendulums swinging down from above. Floors that open to plunge the unwary explorer down onto sharpened stakes below, there to dwell amongst the skeletons of the formerly unwary.
As a child, George had read such adventure stories. So had the professor, though Darwin had not.
They were to all appearances within a great cathedral, like Notre Dame, or Salisbury, or St Paul’s. Gothic fan vaulting, mullioned truss-work and a dome adorned with stars and a vision of a God upon high. But was it a God, or a Goddess? So high above and in such poor light, it was impossible to tell.
There were no pews or benches, nor any furnishings at all.
Just a vast expanse of inlaid floor and walls that rose and rose.
‘I wonder just what
that
is?’ whispered Professor Coffin, his whispered words echoing eerily about the vastness of the temple as he drew George’s gaze towards something that bulked ahead.
that
is?’ whispered Professor Coffin, his whispered words echoing eerily about the vastness of the temple as he drew George’s gaze towards something that bulked ahead.
It was certainly huge and stood at the furthest end of the enormous cathedralesque hall. But whatever it was it was covered, as if by some builder’s dustsheet, and offered little clue to its identity.
‘A pagan idol?’ George suggested. ‘Some heathen horror, I have no doubt.’
And stepping with the utmost care, the three of them moved forwards. Two of them at least testing every footfall. One with a blowpipe to his lips and showing the whites of his eyes.
‘Shall we see what lurks under the dustsheet?’ asked the professor.
‘It is of no concern to me,’ said George. ‘I seek only staircases to reach the pinnacle where Ada was carried. And frankly I see no other doors, do you?’
Professor Coffin shook his head. ‘Perhaps under the dustsheet?’ he suggested.
George squinted in his direction and many others. The only doorway into this mighty chamber appeared to be the one through which they had entered. But there surely had to be another. ‘Go on then,’ George said to the professor. ‘Pull down the sheet.’
‘Go on then, Darwin,’ said the professor. ‘Do what the nice man asks. I bet he will give you more bananas.’
Darwin made a thoughtful face and cocked his head on one side. Then once more he laid down his weaponry and water flasks and sauntered slowly forwards.
The sheeting that covered the monumental something was not some builder’s coarse-cloth. It was silk of the finest quality, delicately embroidered. The effect was of a beautiful tapestry, once bright colours dimmed to pastels by the passing of time. The depictions were in panels almost after the fashion of a penny comic book. An epic saga created by the hands of skilled artisans, surely the work of several lifetimes, so gorgeous to be—
Darwin took the silk in his hairy hands and ripped it away. It tore, the sound like a cry of anguish, and fluttered down, countless yards of silk, onto the monkey.
Darwin struggled and freed himself and backed away to look up.
George and the professor looked on, transfixed by what rose up before them.
It was the statue of a Goddess. But unlike any other Goddess was She. No huntress like Diana, nor ancient Roman love queen Venus, nor Aphrodite to the Greeks, nor Bel to the Babylonians. This was not Freya, Viking Goddess of beauty, nor Ix Chel, the Lady Rainbow of the early Mayan Empire. Nor was She Anu, Celtic Goddess of fertility, nor indeed the virgin mother of Christ.
None of these was this Goddess, though somehow She encompassed all.
George tried to take in the wonder before him. A statue wrought from gold and silver, bronze and copper and lapis lazuli. The wings of an angel and a mermaid’s fishlike tail, arms spread in an open posture of beatitude, face raised towards the heavens. Atop bronzed ringlets, a helmet belikened to that of the samurai, a silvered disc with a crescent moon and the image of a devil fish.
Professor Coffin shook his head and whistled through his teeth.
George stared on, most wholly rapt in wonder.
About the angled, slender, gilded neck hung many pendants and gemstoned necklets, adorned with the symbols of deities. Hindu, Jain, Judaic, Christian, Taoist, Shinto, one upon another.
And George took in all that he thought that he could. And then saw something more.
‘It is Her,’ whispered Professor Coffin. ‘The fish scales, the symbol on the helmet. It is the Japanese Devil Fish Girl, there can be no doubt.’
George shook his head and rocked upon his heels. ‘But do you not see it?’ said he.
‘I see it,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘I see it. And yes, I
claim it
on behalf of the British Empire. I had hoped for some living specimen of course, but this surpasses all of Western art. This will truly be the greatest attraction of this or any age.’
claim it
on behalf of the British Empire. I had hoped for some living specimen of course, but this surpasses all of Western art. This will truly be the greatest attraction of this or any age.’
‘No,’ said George. ‘You do not see it.’
‘I do, my boy, believe me that I do.’
‘The face,’ said George Fox, slowly.
‘Golden,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘With emeralds the size of a man’s fists for eyes and fringed by copper ringlets.’
‘The face,’ said George. ‘The face of the Goddess. The face of Ada Lovelace.’
30
P
rofessor Coffin viewed the gorgeous statue. He looked from it to George and back again. The resemblance to Ada was uncanny. He put a hand on George’s shoulder, felt the young man’s pain.
rofessor Coffin viewed the gorgeous statue. He looked from it to George and back again. The resemblance to Ada was uncanny. He put a hand on George’s shoulder, felt the young man’s pain.
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