The Mechanical Messiah (22 page)

The kiwi bird ceased its attempts at the washing-up. It was making no progress. What with having no hands and the most rudimentary of wings.

‘I am sorry to startle you,’ it said with politeness, ‘but there are matters of great importance that I need to speak with you about.’

‘Which way is the exit?’ Alice Lovell asked. ‘By rabbit hole or looking glass, I wish to return to my world.’

‘And so you shall,’ said the kiwi and it smiled.

Alice had never seen a kiwi bird smiling before and she thought it the prettiest thing.

‘I could stay and talk to you for a short while,’ said she. ‘But I cannot stay long, for I must return to
my
kiwis.’

The kiwi bird nodded and said, ‘Walk with me, Alice, and I will tell you why I have come to visit.’

‘You have brought gentlemen to visit me,’ said the Harmonising Arithmetical Logisticator. ‘I see by the elder fellow’s shirt cuffs that he holds a high rank in the London Police Force.’

Commander Case tucked in his cuffs. He was not having
that.

‘What trickery is this?’ he asked Charles Babbage. ‘Some stage magician’s folderol, like the Mechanical Turk?’

‘The Mechanical Turk,’ said Charles Babbage, wistfully. ‘That takes me back. Do you know that I saw that illusion when I was a child. A clockwork figure in the shape of a Turk that could beat all-comers at chess. I did not know at the time that the operator’s assistant lurked within, moving the pieces. I thought it to be real. I then reasoned that if a machine could be made to play chess, another could be made to perform mathematical calculations. And so was born the Difference Engine.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Commander Case, his voice implying that he considered it otherwise. ‘But a
speaking
machine —that is surely the province of Far—Fetched Fiction.’

They had entered the room now that housed the Great Nexus, and what a Great Nexus it was. There was much of the vast pumping engine at Kew to this construction. Much more of the workings of a musical box, hugely magnified. And there were a great many whirring brass ball-governors, pistons moving up and down, networks of cogwheels rattling round, belt-drives whirring endlessly. And atop all a brazen head that somewhat resembled its creator. The eyes in this head appeared to focus upon the visitors. The animated jaw moved rhythmically as the automaton spoke.

‘So, fine joke,’ said Commander Case. ‘But how is it done, Babbage? Chap inside at the controls, I suppose.

The backroom boffin shook his baldy head. ‘It is fully automatic,’ he said.

‘Incredible,’ said Commander Case.

Constable Williams said, ‘Sir?’

‘What is it, lad? Cannot you see I am talking with this gentleman?’

‘I think the gentleman is not being entirely honest with you,’ said the young constable.

Commander Case gave Mr Babbage a very hard look indeed.

The backroom boffin said, ‘Much of it is electrical, of course. I have designed something I refer to as a logic circuit, which—’

‘Honesty?’ asked Commander Case, with his face very close to that of the famous inventor.

‘I think the Harmonising Arithmetical Logisticator wants to say something,’ said Charles Babbage, pointing towards the brazen head.

‘By the looks of the young constable’s elbows,’ said the Harmonising Arithmetical Logisticator, ‘he has all the makings of a French spy. He should wait upstairs whilst I engage in conversation with his handsome superior officer.’

Commander Case gave his shoulders a shrug.

‘Please, sir,’ said Constable Williams.

‘Perhaps you should go and wait upstairs, lad.’

‘No, sir, please. Mr Babbage is pulling the wool over your eyes, sir. He has some kind of speaking tube concealed in his sleeve and he is making the automaton’s jaw move by pressing a button on the floor there with the toe of his right boot.’

‘What of this?’ cried Commander Case.

The backroom boffin made a guilty face.

The kiwi’s face looked very jolly. Alice patted its head.

‘Let us walk over the rooftops,’ he said. ‘Hold on to me tight and we’ll fly.’

Alice put her arms about the bird’s neck and held on ever so tightly. The kiwi bird, with no wings really to flap, simply rose from the pantry floor and floated from the room hauling Alice with him. They drifted up the staircase, with Alice observing that things were becoming ‘curiouser and curiouser’, then out through a fanlight and onto the roof.

‘You can let go now,’ said the kiwi bird, ‘for you are all but throttling me.

‘Sorry,’ said Alice. ‘But why have we come up here?’

The kiwi bird shook its feathers about. ‘Just look at that sky,’ said he.

Alice looked up towards the sky. It was indeed a beautiful sky. But then, was it a
real
sky? And was she really on the rooftop looking up at it?

‘Look,’ said the kiwi, ‘an airship.’

Alice looked up and saw it. ‘What a pretty thing,’ said she.

‘Would you like to travel on it, Alice?’

‘Oh, indeed I would,’ said Alice. ‘And if I ever marry some dashing young gentleman, I will have him take me away upon such an airship for our honeymoon.’

‘What about a spaceship, then?’ asked the kiwi bird.

‘He would have to be a very rich gentleman indeed to pay for our passages aboard a spaceship.’

‘Can you imagine what it would be like?’ asked the kiwi bird.

‘Oh yes,’ said Alice. ‘I have seen photographs in ladies’ journals. There are cushioned seats in rich blue velvet. A games room with a Wif-Waf table and when you hit the ball it never falls to the floor but floats for ever in the air instead. And there is a dining salon where they serve foods from all over the Solar System and the views as you rise up from our world are said to be spectacular.’

‘Like this, then, you would imagine?’

Alice found herself now to be sitting on a comfortable chair cushioned with rich blue velvet. Beside her was something resembling a ship’s porthole, ringed by solid brass with many rivets.

Alice peeped through the porthole and saw the most wonderful sight. A sweeping arc of blue bisected the blackest of skies. This night-time sky was strewn with stars as Alice had never seen them before, each one a diamond or other rare jewel set in a black velvet heaven. The arc of blue she knew to be Earth, clouds lightly sprinkled above an ocean of turquoise.

The beauty brought tears to Alice’s eyes. But she wept too for she knew it was all an illusion.

‘The constable has caught me out. It is of course an illusion.’ Charles Babbage raised his left hand and spoke into his sleeve. ‘I meant no offence,’ said his voice, issuing from the brazen head. ‘I confess that I feel considerable guilt when I deceive poor Lord Andrew Ditchfield with it. He believes that he possesses the only genuine
thinking machine
in the British Empire. Anywhere, in fact. I just cannot bring myself to shatter
his
illusion. I should have known better than to have tried it on with a sharp-eyed officer of the law, though.’

Constable Williams wore a smirk.

Commander Case did grindings of the teeth.

‘So it is all stuff and nonsense,’ said the commander.

‘On the contrary, this machine literally manages the entire theatre. It lights the stage and shifts the scenery, it controls the temperature and quality of the air and a hundred other things besides. One day every great theatre will have a Harmonising Arithmetical Logisticator.’

‘It has a somewhat unwieldy title,’ observed Constable Williams. ‘Perhaps you should shorten it.’

‘I already have,’ said Charles Babbage. ‘Considerably.’

‘You could use its initials,’ the constable suggested. ‘H. A. L. You could call it
Hal.’

Charles Babbage thought about this. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I think that would be silly.’

‘This is all very wonderful,’ said Alice, ‘but all of course rather silly. I will never fly through the aether in a spaceship. I would like to return to my kiwis now.’

‘There is something I need to say to you first, something you need to know.’

‘Please tell me this,’ said Alice. ‘Am I dreaming? Or am I having some kind of magical experience, a vision or suchlike? Or is this actually real, but in another reality that most people can never visit?’

‘I cannot answer those questions,’ said the kiwi. ‘I was sent to give you a message. I thought I would make it enjoyable for you while I deliver it. As it is a rather gloomy message.

‘Who sent you?’ asked Alice.

‘It would surprise you very much if I told you. And frighten you just a little, too. So let me tell you what I must tell you and then you can return to your world and feed your kiwi birds.’

‘All right, then tell me,’ said Alice.

The kiwi nested himself onto the seat next to hers. ‘It’s about the magic,’ he said. ‘It has been brought to Earth. It should not have been. It was not supposed to have been. But an evil being took it and he brought it here. And it must be taken back before it does any more damage. And you must be the one to take it back. You have been chosen to be the one to take it back.’

Alice nodded her beautiful head. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’ she asked.

‘I do not have time to waste, talking about nonsense names and party tricks.’ Commander Case stamped his foot, which quite put the wind up the constable. ‘Two men have died in balls of flame. Possibly three, counting the infamous Mr Crowley. But if there is any justice at all, God sent down a thunderbolt to deal with
that
individual. But the culprit, if one exists, must be brought to book.’

‘If one exists?’ queried Mr Babbage. ‘I read your words well enough — you still have some utterly unfounded suspicions regarding—’

‘Hal,’
said Constable Williams.

‘Be quiet,’ said Commander Case. ‘The answer to what happened will be found somewhere within this theatre. And I will find it, no matter how long it takes.’

‘Have you rounded up all the Frenchmen in London?’ asked Charles Babbage. ‘That would be a start, at any rate.’

‘Babbage?’ said Commander Case. ‘That is a French name, is it not?’

‘Case derives from the Old French
cas,
meaning “a happening”,’ said Constable Williams, helpfully. ‘Williams is Welsh, of course. And the Welsh
are
the true British.’

Commander Case struck down the British constable and stormed away to search for clues elsewhere.

‘Magic comes from elsewhere.’ The kiwi pointed with its beak towards the porthole. ‘It does not originate upon Earth. There are planets where magic is part of everyday life.’

‘Venus,’ said Alice Lovell. ‘I am told that Venusians use magic to make their spaceships work.’

‘Yes, indeed, Venus,’ said the kiwi. ‘But not here upon the Earth.’

‘But I have known magic,’ said Alice. ‘And I think I am experiencing it now.’

‘I cannot explain everything to you mow, but I will visit you again.’ The kiwi tapped at Alice with its beak. ‘The magical thing that has been brought to Earth must be returned to where it came from. You will play a part in this.’
Tap-tap-tap
went the kiwi’s beak.

‘Please don’t do that,’ said Alice.

‘You will go on a very long journey.’

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

‘That really hurts,’ said Alice. ‘Please will you stop doing that.’

‘A lot of horrid things will happen—’
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

‘But there will be a happy ending. ‘
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—
‘Please stop doing
that!’
cried Alice.

And she awoke to find herself in the bedroom that she had settled into the night before, wearing the nightdress she had put on the night before and being peck-peck-pecked and tap-tap-tapped by several kiwi birds.

From downstairs came the sounds of breaking porcelain. The kiwi birds had somehow escaped from the outhouse and were wreaking havoc on the home of Cameron Bell.