The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (46 page)

BOOK: The Japanese Devil Fish Girl

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The book shook in the hand of George, urging him to read once more from its pages.

And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away.

The night sky parted, golden light poured down in sweeping shafts. As George and Ada looked on, the entire cathedral shone with a heavenly radiance. And on high, Sayito, wings spread, golden fish-scaled tail so gently waving, ascended into the vastness of space and the glorious golden light. And there was a sound, as of angels singing, and then the light faded and Sayito was gone.

Sight and sound returned to normalcy. Flames and firestorms guttered, died away. Alien craft hung motionless above.

And then, with no words spoken – for what indeed could be said? – the commanders and captains of the sky-borne warships turned their faces to the heavens, raised their craft above the clouds and set courses for their home worlds.

George and Ada stood for a moment, then they knelt to pray. The Book of Sayito in George’s hand melted into nothing and was gone.

The Second War of Worlds was at an end.

There would not be another.

There would only now be peace.

L
ord and Lady Fox took the carriage out for a Sunday spin.

Lord George would dearly have liked to do the actual driving, but their weekend house guest General Darwin OBE (in reward for services rendered to the Crown for valiant deeds involving flag-sticking in the face of overwhelming odds) had taken the reins, and made known by the baring of teeth that
he
would do the driving.

It was a pleasant Sunday in May, though, ten months since the terrible war between worlds. Lady Fox cradled upon her knee their one-month-old son, named Connor.

It was as if the war had never occurred. That war which had been prompted by the stealing of a Goddess and concluded by a suitably
deus ex machina
ending. A great project of restoration had been put into force. All had worked together.

Those terrible slums about St Paul’s were gone. New and decent housing for the poor were built. And all over London the damage was repaired, gardens were tended, windows shone, there was a brightness to all. There was a love for this London, this new London. All played a part in her revival. All would feel the benefit.

The horses trotted gently and Lord George settled back beside his wife and child. These days treated him well. He was a man of social status now. Knighted by Her Majesty the Queen for his role in saving the Empire. Author of a best-selling autobiography. Husband to a beautiful wife. Father to a wonderful son.

George looked proudly to his beautiful wife. It was she who had spoken the sacred word. She, who looked so like Sayito, had spoken the word that was love.

Other adventures might well lie ahead for George and Ada.

Ada now worked for Mr Babbage, designing logic patterns for his new Difference Engine. But her adventurous nature still bubbled up and having a child would scarcely still this bubbling.

George was toying with the idea of perhaps purchasing a spaceship, that they might adventure abroad across the galaxy. He had put this possibility to General Darwin and General Darwin seemed keen to sign aboard.

The carriage moved to the high street of Hounslow. The yearly fair was on. George Fox thought back to his not too distant past. To the stinking pickled Martian in its tank. That all felt now so very long ago. He had come so very far since then.

Darwin drew the carriage to a halt and gestured with a hairy hand towards the milling crowd. George looked on and there he spied a ragged shuffling figure. This figure had the aspect of a beggar, though the clothes that he wore, though ragged now, were of expensive stuffs. He limped along, his head bowed low, but there could be no doubt.

‘Professor Coffin,’ George Fox whispered. Ada raised her head.

The professor limped to a grubby showman’s booth, entered same and vanished from their sight.

Lord George read the sign that hung above the tent-flap entrance.

PROFESSOR COFFIN’S
CELEBRATED
FLEA CIRCUS

‘And so are the mighty fallen,’ said George. ‘Drive on, Darwin, if you please.’

The monkey took the reins in hairy hands. But then, it seemed, he sought to fight against some inner demon. Strained against some primal urge that would not be resisted. Darwin gave up the unequal struggle, produced dung, and prepared to throw it.

George Fox raised a hand and said, ‘No, do not.’ He dug into the pocket of his waistcoat and produced a golden guinea. ‘Throw this instead.’

Darwin grunted, but George remained firm. Darwin flung the golden coin.

‘Now please give your hands a wipe and drive us back,’ said George.

And Darwin did so. At speed.

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