Steamoon Episode 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Secrets of the Sarcophagus

Tolly helped the wounded Balloque down the ladder from the S-boat and turned to see Barding hurrying across the military airfield towards them, the unscarred half of his face beaming with delight.

“Good morning Major.” Tolly straightened the prisoner with a hand on his shoulder.

“Allow me to introduce Professor Henri Balloque; spy and would-be saboteur for his imperial majesty Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany.”

“I claim diplomatic immunity!” Balloque blurted out.

“Very good Professor. And you shall have it, just as soon as your masters return two of my men that they are holding.” Said Barding.

He motioned to two guards who took Bolloque to a waiting thoat-carriage.

“Your timing couldn’t be better, gentlemen. Two of my men were caught in the German embassy on Friday night and I have been desperate to find a way of getting them back. Now I have something to trade with.”

He looked up and stared again at the sleek lines of the S-boat.

“A remarkable device, is it not Major?” Walter remarked.

“It’s so small.” Barding mused. “How could you ever spot such a thing without a jetstream?”

Rufus dropped to the gravel surface of the airfield and pulled off his leather helmet.

“She’s a bugger to fly though.”

Barding turned to Thaddeus as he stepped down from the ladder.

“Have we any idea as to its range, Professor?”

Thaddeus turned. Samantha had combed his hair, but his eyes still had a staring, haunted look.

“Not dead… but sleeping.” He muttered. He saw Barding’s look and seemed to collect himself.

“Range? Um. Yes. Less than fifty million miles, that’s for sure.”

“Which means it could not operate from earth without refuelling.” Walter added.

“Hmmm. More and more interesting.” Barding said.

“And it could be yours, Major.” Said Rufus. “We have a proposition to discuss with you.”

*		*		*		*		*

Gong Ho followed Walter and the others along the marble-floored corridor towards Lord Garnet Wolseley’s office. Three men were coming towards them and he saw that it was Balloque and his two guards. The Belgian stopped and smiled at them, a trifle gloatingly, Gong thought.

“So gentlemen, we meet for the last time. I am on my way to the German embassy and then the first spaceship to Berlin.”

Thaddeus gave him a level stare.

“It’s more than you deserve.” He said coldly.

“You think?” Balloque gave a smug chuckle. “Well, you kept your verd to me, so let me give you some advice…” He leant forward and lowered his voice.

“Get ze hell off Mars while you still can.”

“Get your face aht of mine while you still can.” Gritted Rufus.

Balloque’s smile slipped slightly, but he straightened and stepped past them calmly enough, waddling down the corridor followed by the guards.

“Zen good luck, my friends. You vill need it.”

Barding turned to them, holding the door open.

“Lord Wolseley will see you now.” He said.

The Governor-General sat behind a large desk. A slight and impeccably dressed man in his early sixties, Lord Garnet Wolseley waved them towards chairs facing his desk.

“I have read your report and that of Major Barding here.” He spoke with a practiced clarity.

“You have done your country a great service; but it is one that must remain secret.”

Gong noticed that one of the lord’s eyes was staring, slightly disconcertingly, somewhere into the air to his right. He realised that it was made of glass; a replacement, no doubt, for one shot-out in one of the General’s innumerable battles.

“I understand that you wish to place some conditions upon the surrender of the German spaceship that you captured in the line of duty?” Wolseley’s remaining eye seemed to glare slightly at them.

“We also wish to study the craft, my lord, as I know your people do.” Thaddeus explained. “The solution would be the appointment of Appleby Industries as official technical advisors on such matters to Her Majesty’s government.”

The Governor-General paused for a moment before replying.

“I am afraid I cannot speak for Whitehall. But I would be prepared to agree to such an appointment to Her Britannic Majesty’s Dominions on Mars.”

Thaddeus and the others exchanged glances.

“That would be most agreeable, my lord.” Said Walter. “You will not regret it.”

Wolseley gave the ghost of a smile.

“There is another matter that the Major and I would like to discuss with you.” He said, turning to look at Barding, who was standing by the desk.

“We wondered whether, since you have already been engaged in a most Secret Service for Her Majesty, you might like to see some more of it?”

“Why us?” asked Rufus.

“Adventurous and capable gentlemen of independent means, such as yourselves, could be extremely useful to us.” Barding replied.

“Because we would not be working for you officially, so you would not have to account for our actions?” Tolly asked.

“Precisely.” Wolseley announced. “You could do that which we could not.”

“What would we get out of this arrangement then, your lordship?” Rufus asked.

Barding answered before Wolseley could speak.

“We can’t pay you, of course, but then you don’t need money. You would be privy to some of the most important and secret work of government, and that might hold a certain interest for you. And you would have our gratitude and whatever assistance we could provide.”

“And what would that be?” Rufus asked.

“Anything that can supplied on my orders. Beyond that – well, you won’t be official agents of the Crown, but we could let you have a letter from Lord Wolseley saying that you are assisting him in a private capacity and asking all government officials to assist you wherever possible.”

“Sounds like interesting work to me!” Exclaimed Walter. He looked at the others.

Gong shrugged.

“I got nothing better to do.” He said.

“You’re on, Major.” Tolly said. “What did you have in mind?”

“For the time being… rest and recuperation. You look like you need it!

*		*		*		*		*

Rufus closed the shutters fast and then bolted the windows in his room. The wind was getting up and it had already grown dark as the huge sandstorm approaching the town cast its shadow over them.

Barding had provided them with a spacious bungalow in the government compound and they had made themselves at home. They arrived to find a Thark cook and gardener bowing to them gravely from the veranda. The place had six bedrooms, and since Samantha and Betty had chosen to share a room, the rest of the party had a room each.

Barding had warned them about the storm when he came to deliver a cart-load of food and drink.

“It's a bloody big one.” He had said. “Blowing in from the West. Had a heliograph warning from the orbital fleet about it. They say it’ll last two or three days.”

“Suits me.” Tolly had replied. “All I want to do is wash, eat and sleep.”

And they had. Washed and eaten that is. And drunk quite a bit too, Rufus reflected. Now – at long last – he would be able to sleep in a proper bed. He lay down on the blissfully soft clean sheets, and let out a long sigh.

The sound of the wind rose and he was dimly aware of the force of the storm outside battering the bungalow. But he didn’t care. Inside it was beautifully calm and comfortable. Let it blow for three days, he thought as oblivion swept over him, he’d sleep through the lot.

*		*		*		*		*

Walter found himself in a vast unlit space, like a hall or hanger. Velvet darkness pressed all around. Something glowed dimly ahead of him. A golden something, about the size of a book; it seemed to hover a yard or more above the ground. Walter paused; he felt a sudden unease. He tried to turn away but found he could not. His legs were walking, as if of their own accord, bringing him closer. To his growing horror he saw the golden thing was a face; disembodied and shining in the blackness.

He had never seen such a face. Weirdly elongated, somehow loathsome but with its own repellent elegance, it stared at him with an expression of indescribable hauteur, its lip curled in a mocking sneer. Then The Face spoke in a voice like a brazen gong.

“I’ve been waiting.”

Rooted to the spot in horror, Walter could make no sound. Nevertheless, The Face answered his unspoken question.

“Waiting for you.”

With a mad clawing Walter scrambled upward, away from the darkness and the gloating golden thing. He was sitting on his bed, soaked in sweat. It was pitch black. Somewhere he could hear a dog barking. With shaking fingers he reached for the matches on his bedside table.

*		*		*		*		*

Bulls-eye was barking. It was not his ‘intruder alert’ bark, but a sort of puzzled alarm sound. Rufus sat up. Hours had passed, he realised, and it was the dead of night. The lamp by his bed had burned low; he had forgotten to blow it out. He opened the door and, picking up the lamp in one hand and his Lancaster pistol in the other, stepped into the corridor.

A hand gripped his shoulder. With a start he turned to see it was Gong. The martial artist motioned for him to follow, and glided noiselessly forward. A figure appeared ahead. It was Tolly, dressed in borrowed pyjamas, rifle in hand, moving along the corridor in darkness. Light shone out from another door and they saw Walter emerge in his silk dressing gown, holding a lamp and sword-stick.

Bulls-eye’s barking was coming from the drawing room ahead. As they approached they saw the door was partially open, but there was no light from within. Then they heard the voice, and Rufus felt a chill run down his spine.

Nyogtha cthalhuku tyogthala Kalnyothsala g’duma…

As one man, the four burst through the door, lamps held high. One wall of the drawing room was covered with a grotesque daubing of ash from the fire. Before it crouched a dishevelled white-haired figure, its hands blackened to the elbows. It turned, startled, to stare into their lights and they saw that it was Thaddeus, or at least the Thing With Thaddeus’s Face –wild-eyed and slavering.

Tolly took a long step forward and slapped the Professor firmly in the face.

“Thaddeus! Wake up!”

The professor staggered, disoriented, but then he stood straight and when he looked back at them, blinking in surprise, they saw that he was himself once more.

“What… what’s going on?”

“Bulls-eye found you,” growled Rufus, “making that.”

He pointed to the crazed picture on the wall. As he did so Gong realised, with sudden foreboding, that he recognised it. It was a crude, frantic imitation of the ghastly gate of Nyogtha beneath the City of Nightmares.

Thaddeus turned slowly, following their stares. When he saw the wall behind him he backed away suddenly as if physically shoved.

“My Dear God!” He gasped, blanching. “Dry Ones. Behind it.”

For a moment, in the flickering lamplight, Walter thought he caught a glimpse of what Thaddeus saw. A sort of ethereal corridor leading back from the gate; along it dozens of ghostly shapes seemed to be moving.

Walter stepped forward and, yanking a cloth from a low table, scrubbed it hard across the markings on the wall. A moment later the others joined him, Tolly dashing a vase-full of water over the surface to help smear the ash.

When there was nothing but blotches and streaks left on the wall, Thaddeus sank onto the divan and put his head in his hands.

“I cannot believe what I was trying to do.” He mumbled. “I can remember fragments of the incantation. This must be what madness is…”

“Nah its not.” Said Rufus passing him a glass of brandy. “You was mad. But not now.”

Gong turned to them, his look serene.

“The ancient sage Kong Fuze said: ‘madness is, as madness does.’”

“What does that mean?” Rufus grunted.

“Not really sure.”

*		*		*		*		*

Rufus followed Walter the others down the main street of Port Victoria. The storm had finally blown over and the sky was a brilliant bluish-purple. Thark road sweepers were laboriously clearing the sand from the streets, shovelling it into carts to be hauled away.

Rufus saw that he was passing a pub and looked longingly through the doorway for a moment, as he turned away he nearly bumped into a heavy-set man in a battered bowler hat. The townsman stared at Rufus for a moment and then broke into a gap-toothed smile.

“Well! If it ain’t Rufus Ward himself! Ow are you me old mucker?”

The broken nose was familiar. Yes, he knew him now.

“Frankie… Frankie Fraser. What brings you ‘ere?”

“It's a long story, Rufus.” Frankie put a thick arm around Rufus’s shoulders and steered him through the doorway.

“’Ere. Let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell yeh.”

Frankie, it seemed, had found the temperature in London a little too warm for his liking after the bodies of his rivals for the Cripplegate protection racket had been found floating in the Thames, and last year he had taken up an offer from his aunt to help her manage her brothel on Mars. But now, it seemed, he had an opportunity to make some real money.

“Rufus - ’ave a look at this.”

Frankie took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and spread it on the table. It was a poster.

EGYPTIAN EXHIBITION Egypt, The Land Of The Bible Illustrated by its antiquities, at Government House MUSEUM The Amazing Treasures of Schliemann’s Excavations Direct from the Famous Egyptian Museum, Berlin

“Fing is,” Frankie continued, lowering his voice, “I got a fence for one of ‘em objects for a lotta money. But I got no cracksman, see? I was stuck. But then I bump into Rufus Ward!”

He sat back, grinning.

“Well now, Frankie, ‘ow much you talkin’ about?” Asked Rufus.

“Five ‘undred for the cracksman. You in?”

Rufus took a moment to reflect, sipping at his pint. There was something intriguing about the matter; and a part of him relished the thought of using his old burglary skills.

“Whose the fence?”

“C’mon Rufus.” Frankie spread his hands. “Dahnt ask that.”

“Who else yeh got?”

“Two other lads. Sound enough; but no real skills. C’mon Rufus, what you say?”

“Tell you what, Frankie; let me case it out and meet you later. See what we might be able to do.”

“Good idea Rufus. It’s open to the public this afternoon. You ‘ave a look rahnd and I’ll see you back ‘ere at six – alright?”

“Six it is Frankie.” Rufus finished his drink and slipped out.

*		*		*		*		*

Tolly looked round and saw Bulls-eye sitting outside the pub they had just passed, presumably waiting for his master.

“I think Rufus has gone for a quick drink. Carry on gentlemen, I’ll see you at Barding’s office.”

With a strange feeling that Rufus would rather not be disturbed at present, Tolly set about assiduously window shopping, keeping his eye on the dog. Sure enough, some minutes later Rufus reappeared and, as he passed him, spoke from the side of his mouth without looking at him.

“Round the corner.”

Tolly straightened in a leisurely way and sauntered around the aforementioned corner to find Rufus waiting.

“What’s going on?”

“An old acquaintance of mine. He’s up to something, and I want to know what.”

Rufus bent to pat Bulls-eye’s head. Pulling the exhibition poster from his jacket pocket he let the dog sniff it.

“Follow Frankie, Bulls-eye.” He said, nodding towards the pub. “Follow ‘im, got it?”

The dog knew. He promptly set off back towards the pub.

“I’ll follow Bulls-eye at a distance.” Said Rufus.

“And I’ll follow you.” Said Tolly.

“Good plan.”

*		*		*		*		*

“What can we do to help then, Major?”

Walter, Gong and Thaddeus were standing around Barding’s desk. By way of answer the Major unrolled the same exhibition poster that Frankie had shown Rufus.

“There is talk of a plot to steal ancient artefacts from this exhibition, and I think the Germans are somehow involved. The exhibition was sponsored by Lord Carnarvon and is the biggest diplomatic event we have had here for some time. Dignitaries from all the Thark city-states are being shown around it this morning before the public opening this afternoon.”

“You’d like us keep an eye on the exhibition and look into any plots we can detect?” Walter asked.

“Precisely.”

“Very good.” Said Thaddeus. “Is there someone we can talk to about the exhibits?”

“The curator is Flinders Petrie. I’ll tell him to expect you.”

*		*		*		*		*

Tolly walked casually along a quiet pavement. He was in a part of Port Victoria he had not realized existed. The large Georgian-style terraced houses of Arcadia Avenue spoke of wealth and aspirations of taste. Some seventy yards ahead of him he could just see Rufus, walking steadily as if on some errand. He stopped and knelt, to tie his bootlace, and then walked on. Tolly caught a glimpse of Bulls-eye crossing the street to join him. He was pretty sure no one was following them, but nevertheless he stopped at a newspaper kiosk on the corner and took his time selecting a broadsheet.

Satisfied there was no one behind him, Tolly strolled on, passing the spot where Rufus has knelt, and glanced swiftly at the house opposite. Number 27 was a handsome two-storied end-of-terrace, set back from the street and protected by black iron railings. The windows were still shuttered after the storm, but he saw a trace of smoke from one of the chimneys. A hundred yards later he took the next turn and re-joined the main street.

As he approached Government House, Tolly saw Rufus had met the others and the party was now waiting for him at the gate.

“Where to now gentlemen?”

Thaddeus pointed up the street with his stick.

“Government House Museum. We’re going to an exhibition.”

*		*		*		*		*

It was an impressive sight, Gong had to admit. The gallery was some three hundred feet long and forty high, lit by long windows running its entire length and a conservatory-style glass wall at one end. Around the walls were dotted stone statues, steles and freezes of gods, goddesses and pharaohs. Along the centre axis of the hall stood a row of glass-topped mahogany display cases filled with all manner of artefacts - pottery, tools, fragments of clothing and pieces of jewellery.

Flinders Petrie, an earnest bearded man in his thirties, seemed keen to answer their questions where he could.

“I must admit to being astonished that Schliemann agreed to the loan. Last year, when he announced that he had discovered the tomb of Akhenaton, the famous ‘heretic pharaoh,’ it was a bombshell. To have all of the major finds here is extraordinary.”

“How did Lord Carnarvon manage it?” Thaddeus asked.

“I understand that Count Esterhazy arranged it. He knows Schliemann, apparently.”

“Count Esterhazy?” Tolly asked, as casually as he could.

“Yes, the Swiss cultural attaché. He’s a great enthusiast. When Lord Carnarvon asked me to curate the exhibition I could hardly believe the list of artefacts.”

They were walking slowly down the hall and Walter was listening while peering into the display cabinets. He had felt a strange disquiet ever since he had entered the space and now, as he approached the next cabinet, his unease grew into a sort of dread. He feared to look into the next case and yet, somehow, he knew he had to.

Then he saw it; the Golden Face from his nightmare. The strangely-lengthened, sneering visage lay, gloating, on a velvet cushion surrounded by fragments of painted pottery from some statue.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Petrie was saying. “Unnatural, somehow. It’s Akhenaton’s death-mask, or at least one of them…”

But Walter was only dimly aware of what was being said. The Face was reaching out to him, he felt a loathsome delight washing over his mind. ‘Closer… come closer…’ it commanded, softly but overwhelmingly. ‘Come talk to me…’

It took all of Walter’s strength of will to wrench his eyes away from the ghastly thing and turn, gasping, to stare at the wall. Rufus noticed his reaction and glanced cautiously at the mask in the case. The weird face gave him a sense of unease, but nothing more. Thaddeus took care to keep his eyes away from the case and trained on Petrie’s face.

“Akhenaton’s name was expunged from the records; his monuments destroyed because he promoted his own ‘heretical’ cult.” The curator was saying.

They had come to a magnificent sarcophagus, covered with blue and gold designs. Thaddeus indicated the hieroglyphics that that adorned the lid.

“Has this been translated?”

“Yes. It reads. ‘The criminal Akhenaton and his priests learned the forbidden curse of Nyarlathotep. We sealed it with him lest it destroy the Two Kingdoms. Do not release it. It is most terrible.’ Well, that’s my translation anyway.”

“Good lord.” Said Thaddeus. “What does it mean.”

“It’s not clear. But curses are often inscribed on pharaonic tombs.”

Tolly had walked further along and come to a second sarcophagus. This was entirely different from the brightly-decorated one behind him. It was black stone, smooth as obsidian, roughly coffin-shaped, but almost entirely featureless except for a single hieroglyphic phrase carved over and over again on the surface. It looked unspeakably ancient.

“What about this one?” He asked.

“That one is something of a puzzle.” Petrie walked over to join him. “Its is clearly much older, perhaps even pre-pharaonic, and what it was doing in the tomb no-one knows.”

“And the writing?”

“It says: ‘Disturb Not The Sleeper’ over and over again.”

There was a stir at the far end of the hall. People were turning to look in amazement as a glittering figure made their way down the centre of the hall, flanked by two museum attendants.

There walked a slender Queen of Egypt, lithe and living, clad in glistening cloth of gold. The long skirt fell to the floor but the clinging material did little to conceal the superb contours of her legs. She wore a short bodice edged in bright blue that left her flat stomach bare except for a fine golden chain. She walked with graceful authority, small chin lifted, a golden circlet on her bobbed black hair and a dazzling necklace of gold and lapis lazuli around her bare neck.

Suddenly she stopped; the azure, Kohl-lined eyes swept haughtily across the room and settled on the friends; then opened wide in delight. The Queen gave a little squeal.

“Howdee guys!” She called. “Whadya think of mah new job?”

“Miss Page,” Thaddeus raised his hat, “you look, um, absolutely… dazzling.”

“Aw shucks pro-fessor…” she drawled, taking his arm. “You can call me Betty…”

Petrie gaped in astonishment.

“I didn’t know you knew Miss Page…”

“These gen’lemen saved me when Ah was a slave of the Martians, Flinders. Though your Major Bah-ding says I mustn’t say a word about all thaht!” She made a scowling face and dropped her voice an octave.

“Many lives may depend upon your discretion, Miss Page.” She mimicked.

“How did you land this one then Betty?” Rufus asked in conversational terms.

“Well, Ah bumped into the Lord of Carn-haven, or some such place. He asked me to model all this crazy ancient jewellery! So now Ah guess Ah’m the Queen of the Nile!”

She gave a little smirk.

“And Ah’m meeting Lord Carn-haven this evening for dinner.”

*		*		*		*		*

Barding was not in his office, but Mishmash was there in his stead.

“Alas the Major Barding has had to go away and deal with a difficult great matter.” He explained.

“What sort of matter?” Walter enquired.

“A very big incident diplomatic. When the Great Prophet Gwan Kwoth Sendthadosh saw the Egyptian making an exhibition, he was very angry. He said the British humans had a Very Great Evil brought to Barsoom. The High Lord of Harki, Kuaar Bok Kuttadash, and the High Lord of Helium, Kuarr Bok Spledidsash, were with him in the looking around. They agreed. They said the British must take the Evil Things away at once.”

“So much for impressing the natives.” Said Tolly. “I suppose they’ll have to close the exhibit?”

“No. Lord Carnarvon has refused it. He said unpolite things about the High Lords and all the Tharks. There is now a terrible big row. Major Barding is trying to make the Thark lords calm.”

“I see.” Muttered Tolly. “Shot ourselves in the foot again.”

“Mishmash, the Major asked us to investigate something.” Gong explained. “What can you tell us about the person who rives in number 27 Arcadia Avenue?”

Mishmash picked up his cane and donned his top hat.

“Let us look at the Council Register.”

“I’ll meet you there.” Said Rufus. “I have a man to see about a robbery.”

*		*		*		*		*

Rufus walked back into the pub and found a seat in the corner. He checked his hunter: it was just after six.

Frankie Fraser stepped through the doorway, went to the bar and collected two pints before taking the seat opposite Rufus. After a while Frankie spoke.

“So, whacha fink Rufus?”

“It’s possible; but we need an Inside Man. ‘As it happens, I know just the fella. Chinaman.”

Frankie pulled a face.

“It’ll have to come aht of your share Rufus. I got five ‘undred for cracking and that’s all.”

At this point two men walked into the pub and made a beeline for Frankie’s corner.

“Hey Rufus. This is Burt Thomson and Ron Wood. They’re good lads. This is my old mate Rufus Ward from Southwark. Get the beers Ron.”

When they were all settled with drinks Rufus leaned forward.

“Here’s the plan. We get to the museum ‘bout nine. Burt stays at the corner as a lookout. For a warning whistle God Save the Queen. Frankie, Ron and I go over the railings. At 9.15 my inside man opens a window on the South side. Ron stays as lookout, Frankie and I go in. What we looking for when we’re in there Frankie?”

“That’s for me to know, Rufus. But I got a replica from the fence to swop for it.”

“Then we all get aht the same way we got in – got it?” Said Rufus.

The others nodded.

“Right then.” Rufus donned his cap. “See yer there.”

*		*		*		*		*

Pishposh ruffled through two draws of the filing cabinet simultaneously, using a pair of hands for each one. He stopped and extracted a file.

“It is here. Ah Yes. 27 Arcadia Avenue. Owner is Gentleman of Independent Means Mister Augustus Place.”

“Do you have any other information on this Augustus Place?”

“Exactly not really. But if he came or left by spaceship we have lists of all passengers. Now I will be checking that. Please me follow.”

They made their way along the corridor of the Port Victoria Registry building and into another room full of filing. Pishposh busied himself hunting through paperwork. At last he straightened holding a sheet of paper.

“Found it; Yes. Indeed. Augustus Place left for earth on SS Gloucester on the 17th.”

“Do arrivals have to give an address when they arrive?” Asked Thaddeus. “Can we find out if anyone went to stay in 27 Arcadia Avenue?”

“We could start with the passengers who arrived on the SS Gloucester.” Tolly suggested.

“Good. Very. I will be checking the landing cards.” He went to another cabinet and began sorting cards. Thaddeus refilled his pipe and settled down to wait.

“Yes yes. One, two, three… Four. Look at these. 27 Arcadia Avenue all of them. Sybella Marsh, Ferdinand Stock, Percival Beauchand-Lake and Gulliver Grey. First Class passengers all four.”

“Marsh? That rings a bell.” Said Walter. “Didn’t Fortesque-Smythe mention a Lady Marsh?”

“Yes.” Replied Tolly. “Lady Sylvia Marsh was the leader of his chapter of the Golden Dawn. They must be related… sisters perhaps. So, it looks like Cultists are after something in that exhibition.”

“I think I can guess what.” Said Walter, supressing a shiver. “The golden mask of Akhenaton, I’ll be bound.”

The door opened and Rufus appeared. He quickly explained the upshot of his meeting with Frankie Fraser.

“I’ll need Gong and Tolly with me for the robbery. We’d better change clothes.”

“Very good.” Declared Thaddeus. “Walter and I thought we should pay Lord Carnarvon a visit, and then go to the officer’s mess to find out what we can about the mysterious Count Esterhazy.”

“Right then. Meet you back at the Museum around eleven.”

“I take it that after the robbery you are going to confront this ‘fence,’ whoever they may be, and arrest them?” Thaddeus asked.

“Arrest is one option.” Rufus conceded.

Thaddeus pulled Barding’s Very Pistol from his pocket.

“You better take this then. Send up a flair and we’ll come with whatever reinforcements we can muster.”

*		*		*		*		*

Lord Carnarvon, it turned out, had taken the best set of rooms in the Clarence, and was not expecting visitors. But Thaddeus and Walter sent up their cards and eventually a bellhop appeared to say that the Lord would see them, and showed them up to the top floor.

They found four men sitting in an expensively furnished lounge, smoking cigars. A tall man of about twenty got up to greet them, and a thickset older man stood quickly to hover at his elbow. Carnarvon looked harried. He presented a hand.

“George Herbert of Carnarvon. Nice to meet you Professor Carruthers, Mr Appleby. May I introduce Count Charles Esterhazy and Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

He indicated the two men, who had remained seated.

“And this is my man, Jenkins.”

The heavy man gave a nod. His nose had been broken many times and his face had the lumpy look of a prize-fighter. With a start, Walter realised that he must be the famous pugilist Jem Jenkins, who had been heavyweight bare knuckle champion in the ‘70s.

“We are most impressed by your exhibition, Lord Carnarvon. And particularly delighted you brought it to Mars.”

“I thought it important that the Tharks appreciated the age and grandeur of human civilization. So much of their culture is reminiscent of our ancient history.”

Walter studied the seated men. The wiry one, Moran, looked bored, flicking cigar ash irritably from his dinner jacket. The other, Esterhazy, wore some dark military uniform. He lounged motionless in his armchair, his expression stony, as if masking an inner fury. His face was scarred by what looked like old pockmarks, his prominent eyes bulged, giving him a faintly reptilian look. It was difficult to imagine a man with such an unpleasant face marrying the cool beauty whose body now lay in a shallow grave in the Martian desert. Any pity that Walter might have felt for this unwittingly widowed husband evaporated at the sight of him. Esterhazy gazed levelly back with a cold, contemptuous stare, and Walter felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. There was something dreadful about him; something monstrous.

“How on earth did you persuade Berlin to loan Schliemann’s extraordinary finds?” Thaddeus was asking.

“That was all Count Esterhazy’s doing. He knows Schliemann personally, eh Charles?”

Esterhazy rose quietly to his feet. He gave a thin-lipped smile.

“Indeed. Schliemann was happy to help an old friend.” He spoke with an odd, indeterminate European accent.

“I would very much like to talk more with these gentlemen, but unfortunately I have another engagement. Excuse me.” He added quietly.

Esterhazy took a black and silver kepi from the sideboard and turned to leave.

Walter’s curiosity was aroused; he wanted to somehow find out more about the man. He stepped towards Esterhazy wearing his most inane grin.

“Well, dashed good to meet you Count.” He stuck out a hand.

Esterhazy looked down at it for a moment before taking it.

“And you. Goodbye.”

As Esterhazy’s flesh touched him Walter’s mind filled with the ghastly image of the lump of ectoplasmic flesh kept by Darwin and Black in the George Street house in London. Just as the slime had suddenly revealed a staring eye, Walter had a vision of Esterhazy’s entire body composed of hundreds of hate-filled eyes; a creature made of monstrous frog-spawn.

The next moment he found himself shaking hands and fighting desperately to show no reaction. He turned, face impassive, to open the door for the Count, and mumbling some sort of goodbye.

“I am afraid I too must go now. I have a dinner appointment.” Carnarvon declared.

“In that case we will repair to the bar.” Thaddeus replied. “Perhaps you would like to join us, Colonel?”

Moran stood and tossed his cigar stub into a plant-pot.

“Very well. I could do with a brandy.”

Moran proved to be irritable and difficult to draw out. He said he cared not a jot for Carnarvon’s exhibition, but had been engaged, as the best big-game hunter of his generation, to take the Lord on a Martian safari.

“I’m just waiting to get started. Land-crab, banth or hostile Thark, it’s all the same to me.” Moran remarked, swilling the brandy and soda in his glass.

“That Esterhazy is an interesting one. Do you know him well.” Walter asked.

“No. But he’s a devilish good shot. I saw him blow a man’s brains out in a duel last year.”

“Good lord. Really?”

“Yes. An impossible shot. Clean between the eyes at twenty paces and I swear no man saw his hand, it moved so fast. I wondered if it was some sort of trick and he had someone with a rifle shoot from cover. But if it was I’ll be damned if I can work out how the devil he did it.”

He drained his glass and got, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet.

“I’m going now.” He gave a curt nod and made his way to the door.

Walter and Thaddeus exchanged glances.

“Dangerous men, Walter. Esterhazy and Moran.”

“And not much love lost between them, Thaddeus, I would say.”

*		*		*		*		*

Gong checked the museum guards were reasonably comfortable. They sat, backs to the walls of the broom cupboard, gagged and apparently bound hand and foot. He stepped out into the darkened exhibition hall. One of the moons had risen and a faint silvery light filtered through the tall windows, giving just enough light to see by. The large clock above the double doors clunked slightly and the minute hand moved to quarter past. Time to force the window.

As it happened, he did not have to. The latch opened easily from the inside. Pulling himself onto the sill he looked out to see four pale faces looking up at him in the darkness. Rufus, Frankie, Ron and Tolly. Frankie had not been happy when Rufus had turned up to their rendezvous accompanied by a friend.

“What you playing at Rufus?” He had snarled.

It had taken all of Rufus’s diplomatic skills to persuade him that another man was needed as lookout by the window, since Burt could not see the other approach to the building from the corner. In the end Frankie had given way with ill grace, muttering repeatedly that the extra cost would all have to come out of Rufus’s share.

Now Rufus and Frankie stood on their friends’ shoulders to clamber through the window and drop onto the marble floor of the exhibition hall. It was very quiet.

Frankie moved swiftly to the central row of display cases holding a sack in one hand and a shuttered lantern in the other to cast a beam of light onto the artefacts.

“’Ere it is.”

Rufus saw that it was indeed the case containing the golden mask. There were two locks. Pulling out his lock picks he made a start of the first while Frankie held the lantern.

“Got it.” He declared after a few seconds, moving to the second lock.

This lock proved more stubborn. But Gong tried his hand at it and moments later the catch opened with a snap.

The uncanny golden face looked up at them from its velvet cushion, sneering timelessly. Frankie now reached into his sack and pulled out another mask. It was golden-coloured, but it was clear from the way he handled it that it was too light to be made from the metal. A moment later and they had swopped the objects and set about relocking the cabinet.

“Easy as pie, Rufus.” Frankie whispered with a grin.

“Let’s go. This place gives me the creeps.”

*		*		*		*		*

The officers had just finished dining when Walter and Thaddeus arrived at the Mess and were shown onto the balcony where they sat smoking in their red and black dress uniforms. Bristick and Fatly were talking to an officer Walter did not recognise. Major Wearing stood and waved them towards some chairs.

“Thank you very much for agreeing to see us, Major.” Thaddeus began. “We have been asked by Lord Wolseley to look into a private matter on his behalf, and wondered what you could tell us about Charles Esterhazy?”

“Count Esterhazy? Well. He’s the most feared man in France, they say.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s the very Devil for duelling. Killed forty men that way, apparently.”

“Good lord!”

“Has a beautiful and headstrong wife, I heard, and uses her honour as an excuse to challenge anyone he takes against.”

“Surely duelling is illegal now?”

“Not in France. But the top brass got sick of him shooting fellow officers dead and sent him here as a punishment posting. Then he quarrelled with an officer on the embassy staff and challenged him to a duel. So Montlosier slung him out. He works for the Swiss consulate now.”

“I say!”

They heard a small commotion behind them and then saw Barding stride onto the balcony dressed in regular uniform. His face was tense.

“Major.” He gave a perfunctory salute. “Crowds are forming in the streets. I need a platoon at the exhibition and another in readiness here.”

“Very good Barding.” Wearing got up. “Whatever you think best.”

Bristick and Fatly gave a sidelong glance.

“I say Fatly, I heard some of them men laughing over this rhyme.” Bristick said loudly.

“The captain had a little lamb Its skin as green as snot And everywhere the lambkin went The captain followed at a trot!”

Barding ignored him.

“Fatly. Take number three platoon to the museum and guard it. Don’t let them shoot anyone. I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”

“Not to shoot anyone… does that include Tharks?” Bristick asked with a laugh.

“No shooting Fatly. Understand? Get over there now.”

Thaddeus turned to his friend, picking up his stick.

“I think maybe we should go to the museum too, Walter.”

“I quite agree, Thaddeus.”

*		*		*		*		*

27 Arcadia Avenue stood in darkness, only the faintest gleam of light escaping from one of the heavily shuttered downstairs windows suggested it was occupied. The six men standing outside were arguing in angry whispers.

“No way Rufus, I do the deal with the Fence.”

“C’mon Frankie. What if they do for you? I have five hundred riding on this.”

“Alright. But just the two of us.”

“Good idea Frankie.” He turned to the others. “You four wait here and come if we call.”

Opening the gate in the railings, the two men approached the door. Frankie knocked softly. The door immediately opened a crack.

“Who is it?” Came a male voice.

“It’s me. I got it.” Frankie muttered in reply.

The door opened wider and, as Frankie entered, Rufus slipped in beside him. He found himself in a hallway, dimly-lit but expensively-furnished. Two well-dressed, youngish men stood by the door, each had his right hand submerged in his jacket pocket, no doubt holding a revolver. The taller of the two had a moustache and frowned as he spoke.

“Who’s he? We said come alone.”

“The cracksman. He’s wiv me.” Frankie replied with a hint of truculence.

“Do you have it?” The shorter one asked, stepping closer.

By way of answer Frankie pulled out the bundle of sacking and uncovered the mask so that the gleaming gold was visible. Both men stared greedily for a moment, the taller turned to close the door. Rufus put his foot in the way for a moment.

“Just so as we’re clear. You see our mates there? If we don’t come aht with the money, they’ll be coming in ‘ere.”

The moustached one gave a sort of snort.

“Don’t worry. We have your money.” He hefted a heavy velvet purse.

“Twelve hundred guineas. As agreed.”

“Twelve?” Rufus interjected. “Nah. That’s not enough. It’s gotta be fifteen.”

Frankie wheeled on him. Before he could speak Rufus spoke calmly in his ear.

“They can afford it Frankie. C’mon. Don’t let ‘em make chumps of us.”

“Twelve is the price. You agreed to it.” The shorter man said angrily.

“We had extra costs, see?” Rufus replied.

Frankie ground his teeth staring at Rufus. After a long pause he gave a nod.

“Yeah. Extra costs.”

The two men exchanged angry glances. Rufus spoke again.

“C’mon Frankie. Let’s go. I know anuvver fence.”

The taller of the men held up a hand.

“If you want more money you will have to ask her for it.” He nodded towards the door behind him.

Rufus stepped forward.

“Alright.”

The shorter man opened the door and stepped inside. The room was furnished as a study. The only light came from a reading lamp on the large desk in front of them, angled so that the slender figure sitting behind it could only be seen in outline.

“They want more money.” The taller man declared. “Fifteen hundred guineas.”

“I see. First of all, show me the mask.” A female voice came from the shadow.

The tone was aristocratic and pleasantly rich, but there was something faintly sibilant about the pronunciation, a trace of a lisp.

Frankie pulled the golden thing from the sacking and, stepping forward, laid it on the desk.

“Fifteen ‘undred.” He muttered.

Rufus noted that the two men were standing on each side of Frankie and himself, just behind them. His own left thumb was stuck conspicuously into his waistcoat pocket, his right hand hung in the shadow by his side and he let the automatic knife drop unseen into his palm.

The woman leant forward to inspect the mask and Rufus caught a glimpse of glossy auburn hair above a pearl necklace.

“We agreed the price. You cannot renegotiate it now.” She said after a pause.

“We ‘ad extra costs.” Rufus replied conversationally. “It’s only fair you help cover ‘em.”

“Oh I see.” Came the reply. “In that case we must give you something…”

Rufus had been watching for it. The signal was a swift chopping motion of her hand. But before the man at his elbow could react Rufus had spun and slammed his knife into his windpipe, sinking it home even as the blade flicked from the handle. There was a deafening bang behind him and he sensed, rather than saw, Frankie staggering sideways as the tall man put a bullet in him.

Rufus stepped around the man he had stabbed as he tottered, gagging, holding his throat. Grasping a handful of jacket he held the dying man between himself and the gunman, using him as cover. There was a second shot, and Frankie was knocked to the floor, head shot through. But Rufus now had his sawn-off shotgun in his hand and, levelling the weapon over the shoulder of the choking man, blasted his taller companion knocking him back into the corner.

Somehow still holding the stabbed man in front of him, Rufus turned his weapon towards the woman behind the desk. She raised both hands, opening then to show they were empty.

“Don’t shoot.” She said, with surprising calm. “I’m not armed. We can talk about your money.”

She made a little noise like a hiss.

Rufus sensed a flicker of movement above him, among the beams overhead. He pulled the trigger. With a crash the shot smashed into the woman’s slender torso, catapulting her into the chair behind her like a broken doll.

Something black flashed down from the ceiling, striking Rufus on the shoulder with a sharp stab of pain. As he staggered back he saw it was a huge snake, dangling from the beam above him. His shoulder burned; he realised he had been bitten. Now, to his horror, he saw other long shapes dropping to the floor around him. Backing away, he groped desperately for the shotgun cartridges in his pocket.

*		*		*		*		*

When Tolly heard the first shot he reacted instantly. Pointing the Very pistol straight up he sent a red flair hurtling into the night sky before dashing after the other three as they ran towards the door of the house. A second shot rang out followed by the boom of Rufus’s shotgun. A moment later Gong, Burt and Ron struck the door together, the combined weight of the three heavy men sent the thing crashing off its hinges. They heard another shot from the room ahead of them.

Gong sprang over the front door like a cat and kicked the door in front of him with such force that it burst open with a splintering of wood. Inside they saw a study littered with human bodies and long writhing shapes dropping from the ceiling. Rufus was half-lying on the floor, levelling his sawn-off at a monstrous cobra rearing over him. With a roar his shot blasted it in half.

Drawing his sabre, Tolly slashed through the body of the nearest cobra. Gong swept out his nunchakus and smashed the head of a snake as it dropped from the ceiling. There was an ear-splitting crack behind him. Tolly turned to see Ron collapsing from a bullet through the chest. In the hallway he caught a glimpse of a figure on the stairs, holding a rifle. He dashed towards it, but the shadow fled before him.

Tolly slowed as he reached the top of the stairs and, taking his sabre in his mechanical left hand, reached inside his jacket to draw his revolver. The upper floor was in darkness, but by flicking up his eye-patch Tolly could see perfectly.

The landing led to an empty corridor. The first door stood slightly open and Tolly slid along the wall towards it before swiftly pushing it open with his pistol and peering inside.

A moist, musty smell rose to meet his nostrils. The interior was cluttered with pot-plants, between which he could see logs and trays of water. Peering closer, Tolly saw a long black shape sliding into a hole that had been made in the floor. Now he noticed several such holes. This must be the lair of the snakes dropping from the ceiling in the study below, he realised. He shut the door.

Quickly now, he strode to the other door in the end of the corridor and kicked it open. Directly opposite was the silhouette of a man frozen in the act of climbing out of an open window. He turned and raised his rifle but, before he could fire, the bullet from Tolly’s Adams struck him squarely in the chest and knocked him from the windowsill to crash into the yard below.

*		*		*		*		*

Rufus lay on a chaise longue in the study and ground his teeth. Around him lay the remains of five large cobras, but his right arm was now entirely numb and his chest burned with each laboured breath. Gong had collected vials and perfume bottles from around the house. He stood examining each minutely in the light of the lamp.

“If I worked with snakes rike these, I would keep an antidote handy.”

He opened a small bottle and smelt the contents carefully before touching it to his lips and nodding.

“Here Lufus. Take some of this.”

Rufus raised a trembling left hand and took a gulp. The taste was foul but to his relief the burning began to lessen, and after a while feeling began to return to his arm.

There was the sound of whistles and running feet. Gong stepped into the hallway to see Walter, Thaddeus and Barding arrive with a squad of soldiers and a policeman in tow, holding lanterns. Barding listened carefully to their explanation, his expression becoming increasingly puzzled.

“So the theft was organized by the members of this… snake cult? It had nothing to do with the Germans?”

“It looks that way.” Tolly said. “But we still don’t understand Esterhazy’s part in the exhibition.”

“And if his missus was working for the Germans, chances are he is too.” Rufus added.

A search of the house revealed bedrooms littered with the luggage and documents of Sybella Marsh and her three companions. The largest upstairs room had been converted into a makeshift shrine. There, resting on a velvet altar-cloth, stood a silver statue of a king cobra, hood spread and emerald eyes glinting in the gloom. Ritual objects included candles and a tube of a strange red powder that smelled like incense.

Rufus had found something interesting on the body of Sybella Marsh. A silver ring with an elaborate snakes-head design. He noticed a tiny catch. He pressed it and the head sprang open, revealing dense grey powder. Gong lent over and smelt it carefully.

“Hm. Dried cobra venom. Very deadly.”

“Charming. Still, might come in handy.” Said Rufus, pocketing it.

An anxious-looking corporal arrived to talk to Barding.

“The crowds are growing.” Barding announced. “I must talk to Kuttadash.”

“We’ll go to the Museum, then, and try to keep things calm.” Said Thaddeus.

“Good. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*		*		*		*		*

As they neared the centre of the town they found the darkened streets increasingly crowded with Tharks. By the time they had got to the government district they found themselves at the back of a crowd. Some held burning torches, a few carried sticks. Angry-sounding shouts could be heard some way ahead.

“Drat it.” Said Thaddeus. “God knows how long it will take us to get through this.”

“I think I have a solution, professor.” Walter declared. He had been lugging a large hold-all with him, and he now dropped it to extract his jetpack. Thaddedus eyed it with suspicion.

“Can it really take their weight of two?” He asked.

“I’m sure it can, with the lower gravity here.”

“Very well Walter. I’m prepared to give it a try.”

Walter had extended the belt-strap of the device and now managed to pass it around both their midriffs and clip it shut with a grunt. Thaddeus just had time to take a firm grip of his partner’s arms before, with a blast of sound and light, Walter launched them both ponderously into the air. Slowly at first, then gathering pace, they ascended until they could look down and make out the museum building ahead of them. All around it flowed a dark mass of Tharks, their numbers lit by bright dots of burning torches.

Thaddeus pointed.

“That way, Walter.”

“Very good, Thaddeus.”

*		*		*		*		*

Tolly, Gong and Rufus elbowed their way through the crowd. They had received many hostile glances and few sharp words, but no-one had tried to stop them yet.

There were hundreds of Tharks, converging on the square in front of the museum. Most were silent, but they could hear angry shouts from somewhere in the throng, often including the word bree-teesh.

Tolly had to swing himself up on a lamppost to see above the tall Tharks. With his eye-patch raised he had a good view of the crowd. He noticed a few with spears, and looking closer saw that these were carried by some small groups of shorter hooded figures. Some, at least, of the shouting seemed to be coming from their direction.

“I reckon we have some humans in there, stirring up trouble.” He said.

“I’ll bet they’re bleedin’ krauts.” Rufus growled.

“Let’s go see.” Said Gong.

*		*		*		*		*

Walter hovered for a moment before dropping down into the garden at the rear of the museum and unclipping the belt to release Thaddeus. From the front of the building they could hear Martian chanting.

“Evil be gone!”

Walter dashed to the French windows in front of them. The interior of the building was brightly lit with gas-light and they could see uniformed figures inside. Thaddeus rapped on the glass with his cane.

“Let us in! We’ve come from Major Barding.”

A moustachioed sergeant peered out at them for a moment before opening the door to admit them.

Inside they found a handful of soldiers and policemen scattered around the exhibition, and a larger group standing at the far end by the main doors. There was no sign of Fatly, but a wild-eyed Bristick appeared on the balcony waving a revolver.

“Get those civilians out of here!” He shrilled.

The sergeant looked back nonplussed.

“Where to sir?”

Bristick did not seem to be listening. He raced down the stairs two at a time.

“They’re through the railings! Everyone to the doors!” He yelled.

Walter and Thaddeus followed them to the entrance. Through the tall glass doors they could see flames approaching; beneath them a mass of Tharks pressed forward to the foot of the steps, paused for a moment and then surged up them.

“Fix bayonets!” Yelled Bristick.

There was a rattle of arms. Walter and Thaddeus exchanged an anxious glance.

Thark bodies were now pressing against the doors, fists began to bang on the glass.

“Prepare to fire!” Bristick hollered.

Thaddeus decided it was time to take a hand.

“Stand down!” he called loudly. “Open those doors!”

Bristick wheeled on him.

“Are you mad?” he screeched.

“Let them in man!” Said Walter. “It’s a public exhibition. We have nothing to hide.”

Bristick spun back to face the soldiers.

“Take aim!” He bawled.

“Do not fire.” Thaddeus spoke to the sergeant, loudly enough for the soldiers to hear.

“Those are Major Barding’s orders. We have come from him directly.” He said.

Bristick become apoplectic.

“Sergeant! Don’t listen! That’s a direct order!” He raged.

“We have authorization from Lord Garnet personally.” Walter added calmly, holding out his letter.

All eyes turned to the sergeant, who was looking between the three faces in front of him. He cleared his throat.

“Stand down men.” He said, avoiding Bristick’s gaze. “Open those doors.”

Bristik’s mouth was working with rage, but no sounds escaped. As the doors swung open and the crowd surged inside, Thaddeus climbed onto a stele in the centre of the hallway.

“Come in everyone!” He announced in his best Martian.

“Look around, please. There is no evil here.”

Once inside the Tharks quietened, slightly to their own surprise, Walter thought. After a crush at the doors the flow of green bodies spread out and turned into groups of two and three. The hall began to fill steadily. Thaddeus adopted his finest lecturing pose.

“These exhibits are from the eighteenth dynasty of Egypt, an ancient kingdom on earth, and are approximately three thousands years old…” he declaimed in Martian.

Tharks began strolling around the exhibition, peering at the curiosities. A group gathered around Thaddeus, listening politely. The sergeant was smiling. Walter took off his hat and scratched his head. It looked as if the professor had pulled it off.

Suddenly, there was a yell in Martian from behind him.

“See! The Evil With a Thousand Faces! The mask is here!”

The mood of the crowd changed abruptly. An angry hubbub filled the hall. From somewhere near the door a voice called out.

“Burn it down! Evil be gone!”

Thaddeus stood up straight and raised both arms.

“Quiet gentlemen please! I have a proposal!”

*		*		*		*		*

Tolly, Gong and Rufus found the crowd suddenly thinning as Tharks poured into the exhibition hall. Ahead of them they saw a group of three cloaked figures standing at the mouth of an alleyway.

“Let’s get ‘em.” Said Rufus, breaking into a run.

For a moment it seemed as if the hooded figures would stand and fight, but they turned and disappeared up the alley. By the time the three friends had turned the corner they were nowhere to be seen. Halfway down the alley, however, Tolly saw a prone form in the gutter. They approached to find a Thark, lying in a pool of blood.

“He’s dead.” Said Gong, looking down with an experienced eye. “Stabbed through the heart.”

“Killed to stir up trouble with the Tharks, I guess.” Gritted Rufus.

Tolly was casting up and down the alley.

“No telling where they went from here.” He said.

“Let’s get to the museum.” Said Rufus.

They had turned and taken a few paces when they heard it. A groan of exhaled air; a fetid, mortuary sound; lifeless and unnerving.

Turning slowly they saw the dead Thark sitting upright. In the uncertain light of the distant museum it seemed as if it was gaping at them, eyes staring, face slack. Clumsily, it climbed to its feet, slipping in its own blood.

“We’ll get you a doctor.” Said Tolly, rather too loudly.

“Torry, that thing is dead.” Said Gong, backing away. “I swear it.”

The dead Thark lurched forwards, its head lolling on one shoulder, and extended all four hands towards them, fingers bent into claws. Its jaws snapped closed and then gaped wide, revealing teeth and small white tusks.

“Jesus.” Muttered Rufus, fumbling for the handles of his kukris.

“Stay back!” Tolly called, backing after Gong. “We don’t want any trouble.”

The creature swayed for a moment and then lunged at him, hands clutching. But before he could make contact Rufus stepped forward and his two blades flashed in a double backhanded swipe, catching the thing’s neck between them in a scissor that sheared its head cleanly from its body. The Thark’s body dropped to its knees. Strangely, no blood welled up from its severed neck.

“Nice one, Rufus.” Muttered Tolly.

The headless corpse knelt there, motionless, for a moment. Then it spasmed into motion once more. This time the limbs moved without coordination, and it floundered on hands and knees like some monstrous insect.

Cursing under his breath, Rufus stepped in and sheared away an arm at the shoulder. Tolly drew his sabre with his steel hand and brought the steam-driven blade flashing down, hewing through the thing’s narrow waist, slicing it in half. Gong watched the eerie butchery, grimacing, and took his shuttered lantern from his pack. When Tolly and Rufus drew back panting, Gong emptied the lamp oil over the still twitching limbs and snapping head, and set the lot alight.

“What in the name of God was that?” Tolly wondered aloud, staring at the flames.

“Have you heard Chinese regends of the Jiangshi?” asked Gong.

“Nah. But I’ve heard stories of walking dead in the West Indies. Zombies they call ‘em.” Said Rufus.

“Well, whatever it was – it’s burnt to a crisp now.” Said Tolly. “Let's get to the museum.”

*		*		*		*		*

They made their way up the steps against a flow of Tharks moving quietly away from the building. The exhibition hall was brilliantly lit after the darkness of the streets. Inside, Thaddeus was standing on a large stone exhibit. He was calling goodbyes at the departing crowd in Martian.

“Well I never, Professor!” Exclaimed Tolly. “How did you manage that?”

“They will be back in exactly one hour. They are convinced the artefacts will bring great evil wherever they are. I had to promise we would have them off Mars by midnight.” Thaddeus replied, sliding from the stele.

There was a clatter behind them. Looking around they saw Barding pushing his way into the hall, followed by another squad of troops. Quickly, Thaddeus explained the situation.

“Thank God you were here Professor. I hate to think what would have happened otherwise.” He shot a furious glance towards Bristick, who approached him, fiddling with his revolver.

“He’s only made things worse.” He brayed, looking at Thaddeus. “We can’t possibly get these objects somewhere safe within an hour. And what will Carnarvon say?”

“Nothing, if he has any sense.” Barding snapped. “We have an emergency.”

“We can have the whole lot off planet before midnight, Major.” Said Rufus, stepping carefully in front of Bristick.

“Yes.” Said Walter. “I have this… um, jetpack thing you see. I can fly Rufus to the S-Boat in no time, and we can come back and pick the stuff up.”

The Major paused for a moment.

“Jetpack thing?” He murmured. “Anyway. Good plan. You can take it all up to the navel station on Deimos. I’ll write you a letter for the C in C.” He turned to the sergeant.

“Send some men for ropes and pulleys. We’ll need to get everything crated up and onto the square.”

There was a bellowing of orders. Walter turned to a museum guard.

“Is there a way up onto the roof?”

“Yes sir. I’ll show you.”

*		*		*		*		*

Gong heaved a box up to Tolly, who stood on a stack of them.

“That’s the last one.”

Piles of crates and boxes littered the square in front of the museum, encircled by a lose perimeter of soldiers. The crowd of Tharks had been building for a while now, just beyond the cordon of troops, on the edge of the museum’s gaslight. Tolly took out his watch. 11.52.

“Where is Lufus?” Gong grunted.

There was an angry shout from the back of the crowd. They all recognized the phrase now.

“Evil be gone!”

A stone flew out of the darkness and hit one of the crates with a thud. The chanting was loader now. More stones flew, one of them skipped and struck a museum guard on the leg.

“Steady!” Called Barding. “Don’t be provoked.”

From his vantage point Tolly looked through the darkness, scanning the crowd. Near the back he spotted a huddle of shorter, cloaked figures. One had just thrown a stone, another seemed to have something bulky under his cloak.

Tolly slipped down from the pile of boxes.

“I’m going to check on something.” He said.

Inside the museum he found the guard Walter had spoken to.

“Can you show me the way to the roof?”

*		*		*		*		*

Rufus swung open the hatch in the conning tower and activated the lights. The flight had been more eventful than he had expected. They had not got more than a few hundred yards from the museum when someone with a rifle had taken a couple of pot shots at them. Luckily they had missed.

“Walter, see if you can find the controls for the cargo doors, will ya?”

“Good idea. They’ll be labelled Frachttüren.“ Walter replied.

Settling himself into the pilot’s seat Rufus pressed the hydraulic controls that elevated him until he could look out of the glass dome set into the ceiling. He opened a valve and flicked a switch. With a soft hum the vessel came to life. With a slight bump the anti-gravity field floated them clear of the ground.

“Let’s go.” He said.

*		*		*		*		*

Tolly slipped off his shoes and moved quietly over the lead roof of the museum. Where would an intruder choose, he wondered, to get a good view of the square – behind the neoclassical façade perhaps?

Yes. In a gap between Grecian statues he saw a crouching human figure, pointing something down towards the crowd. Drawing his Adams revolver, Tolly moved noiselessly towards him. Nearer and nearer he came; still the man remained motionless, unaware that he was not alone.

Delicately, Tolly manoeuvred the muzzle of his pistol under the brim of the man’s hat and pressed it into the nape of his neck.

“Scheisse!” The man hissed.

“Don’t move a muscle.” Tolly said in German, reaching past him to take possession of the Henri-Martini rifle he was holding.

“For you, my German friend, the war is over.” He added in English.

*		*		*		*		*

There was a humming in the darkness overhead and Gong looked up to see the black bulk of the S-Boat slide over the roof of the museum and descend to land by the litter of crates. Walter appeared on the deck and a moment later a pair of cargo-doors hissed open in the hull.

“Get everything loaded! Hurry!” Barding called.

Gong joined two museum guards hefting a large crate towards the craft. Something thumped into the wood by his arm. Looking down he saw a Martian bolt quivering in the planking. Something hissed through the air behind him and one of the soldiers let out a cry of pain.

“Hold your fire!” Barding was shouting. “Hurry it up!”

The loading became frantic. Several more bolts flew out of the darkness, one of them wounding the sergeant in the arm, but the crowd made no attempt to advance, and the chanting quietened.

At last the final crate had been hauled aboard and the doors hissed shut. Rufus eased back on the controls and the S-Boat lifted once more and, turning slowly, floated up towards the night sky.

As they cleared the square Rufus caught a glimpse of something on the edge of his vision. It looked like the tiny figure of a man trying to jump from the roof of the building opposite the museum onto the S-Boat. A moment later there was a dull clang on the hull of the craft. Someone, or something, had made the impossible jump.

Walter heard the thump with a sudden sense of foreboding. Whatever was out there, he somehow knew, was not entirely human. He could almost feel its baleful presence on the deck above his head. He fumbled with his Webely prototype.

“Rufus. There’s something horrible on this ship. I think it might be Esterhazy.”

“It’s a boat. ‘Ang on to something.” Growled Rufus.

Looking up from the square, Thaddeus and Gong saw the S-Boat rise to roof-height and then turn over onto its back. All around them faces gaped as the craft slid upside-down towards the roofs of the surrounding buildings until the deck scraped along the tiles. The stubby conning tower smashed a chimney down in a shower of bricks before the craft slid out of sight.

*		*		*		*		*

“It’s still there Rufus!” Shouted Walter. “I can feel it.”

The craft was now pointing straight upwards.

“Let’s see ‘ow it likes a taste of Outer Space.” Gritted Rufus.

At that moment the hatch above their heads was wrenched open, shearing off the steel catch.

Walter spun, pointing his Webely at the ceiling and blasting shots thunderously through the opening into the darkness beyond. He struck nothing but empty air.

Walter kept the gun hammering away, punching bullets through the open hatchway. Nothing could come in without being hit, but already he was half way through its 36 round drum. A moment later he stopped. This would be a gamble, he realized. If he could start firing just as Esterhazy or whatever it was made its move he could catch it on the way in.

There was a bang. Something smashed into Walters arm, flinging him to the floor. Impossibly, there was a hand holding a revolver in the hatchway, as if it had blinked into existence out of thin air.

Time seemed to slow for Walter. The hand turned like the head of a snake, the gun barrel was now pointing directly at his face, the cylinder was revolving, the hammer rising for the second shot, a shot that would certainly blow his brains out.

There was a boom.

The hand in the hatchway was enveloped in a scarlet cloud, the revolver span away into the darkness.

Turning, Walter saw Rufus seated in his pilot’s chair, his sawn-off was stuck out behind him, pointed at the hatchway. Both barrels were smoking.

“Close that bleedin’ hatch!” He growled.

*		*		*		*		*

From the roof of the museum, Tolly watched the S-Boat rolling and swerving madly across the night sky. One moment it was pointed directly up; the next it swept down over the square. As it cleared the buildings opposite he saw a figure drop from the craft and begin to run along the rooftops.

Dashing to the parapet he waved and shouted at the S-Boat. Seeing him, Rufus brought the craft down to hover alongside.

“What is it?” He saw Thaddeus and Gong had joined him on the roof.

“Esterhazy, I think. He jumped, but we might catch him!” Yelled Tolly.

Holding the German’s rifle in one hand he jumped onto the deck of the S-Boat, his top-coat tails flapping about him in the wind. He looked down at Rufus through the glass dome and pointed.

“Rufus – that way!”

Thaddeus scrambled onto the deck and Gong leapt lightly after him.

“Now the hunter has become the pley.” He said quietly.

Thaddeus caught hold of the searchlight controls, and as the craft gathered pace he swept the beam over the rooftops. Tolly scanned the darkness as the vessel cruised just above the roofline.

Tolly caught a flicker of movement. Snapping the rifle to his shoulder he squinted down the sights at the running figure. Three hundred yards, an almost impossible shot. But the Eye of Tara saw as well at night as during the day. How long could he afford to aim?

At the last possible moment Tolly squeezed the trigger, just then the distant figure stopped and dropped down out of sight. But Tolly had seen a tiny puff of red.

“Gotcha!” He muttered.

“Good lord!” Exclaimed Thaddeus. “What a shot!”

*		*		*		*		*

The lieutenant saluted and walked away, bouncing slightly in the lower gravity of the Martian moon. Gong and Walter stood for a moment looking at the dockside before walking along the gangway onto the SS Appleby and climbing down into its luxurious stateroom. It seemed like a palace after the cramped interior of the S-Boat.

The last twenty-four hours had gone well enough, Walter reflected. They had not found Esterhazy, or whoever the attacker was, although they had found a bloodstain and a shattered roof-light where they lost sight of him. But they had been able to deliver the exhibition artefacts and re-join the Appleby.

“All exhibits safely under lock and key.” Said Walter.

“So.” Said Rufus. “What’s the plan now?”

Tolly cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen… Major Barding passed a letter to me this morning.” He opened an envelope and began to read.

48A Aspidistra Crescent London Mr Toliver Carnehan c/o Professor Gilmore Black 3rd November 1886

My Dear Toliver,

I hope you are well, Toliver, wherever you might be. I must say that I am somewhat disappointed that although you know what your uncle’s desertion did to me, you have left London without telling me or even leaving an address. In the end I had to visit the Professor who you said you wanted to consult about Indian icons. He seems a very reserved man (almost rude I thought) but he promised to get this letter to you.

I am in reasonable health, and although my nerves are somewhat improved, the lumbago is rather worse than last month. Mrs Jenkins has returned but somewhat selfishly, I think, insisted on the full wage she received when your uncle was alive, taking advantage of a widow in a way that is typical, I suppose, of the lower orders. In addition, she has put on a good deal of weight, so I must go to the extra expense of purchasing a new kitchen apron for her. But as Reverend Basingstoke remarked, one must bare all our many crosses with dignity, just like Our Saviour.

I am writing because when Mrs Jenkins tried to tidy the cellar she came across a large metal box left there by your Uncle. What on earth it was doing covered with coal I have no idea, but you know how absent-minded your uncle was. It is far too heavy to move and Mr Fenton the locksmith could not open it despite spending the whole afternoon at it. The wretched man even had the nerve to try and charge me for his time, so we won’t be using him again. Mrs Jenkins says it really is in the way, Toliver. I really think it is not for me to deal with all the workmen (some of them Irish navies no doubt) to haul the wretched thing up the coal chute with carthorses or whatever is needed to get rid of it. I do wish you will be able to come and deal with this soon.

Your Aunt Agatha Carneham P.S. Thank you for what you have done for the family. You may have been somewhat feckless in your youth, Toliver, but you have been a great comfort to me since the Unfortunate Events began.

Walter and Thaddeus exchanged eager glances.

“Back to London then, Walter?”

“London it is, Thaddeus!”

*		*		*		*		*

The further adventures of Tolly, Rufus, Thaddeus, Walter and Gong will continue in Chapter Six The Whitechapel Horror.