Most of the people in the world would merely curse it as a demon. Others would hail it as a god.
Chapter Fifteen
In spite of the silvery moonlight, the darkness covering London was unusually quiet that night. River fog filled the streets, and every window was shuttered tight against the possibility of a coming storm. Great Britain was famous for its bad weather, but recently it was becoming so bad that no ships dared to go to sea, and every sailor watched the turning moon with growing suspicion.
The cobblestone streets of the great city were deserted. The cabbies were locked inside the carriage houses with their nervous horses. Toffs and toughs did their drinking at home, and hundreds of thieves had turned themselves in to the police to spend a safe night in jail. Even the lusty whores of Whitechapel were staying safely tucked in their beds to conduct business. Occasionally, a dog would start to howl, but then abruptly stop.
Alone in all of London, only Wimpole Street had no fog. The flickering gaslights clearly illuminated the International British Museum and its surrounding grounds.
"And amen," Mary said, closing the small black Bible and making the sign of the cross.
Standing before a roaring fireplace, the freshly scrubbed young curate was wearing trim riding clothes and knee-high leather boots. An Adams .32 pistol jutted from a holster on her right hip and a short sword in a restored Roman scabbard was belted about her trim waist, while a quiver of arrows rested comfortably on her back next to a Chinese longbow.
"What were you just doing, dear?" Lady Danvers asked from a nearby desk where she was sharpening an American Bowie knife. Lying displayed on the table before the woman were four loaded crossbows, a stack of iron quarrels, two Colt revolvers, and a sturdy wooden box full of half-sticks of dynamite, the flat ends of the waxed tubes expertly crimped, with the stubby fuses ready for action. Close at hand, the deadly H&H .475 Nitro Express Special leaned against the wall.
"Blessing the museum," Mary replied, placing the Holy Bible on a bookcase full of religious volumes. "If the squiddies try any magic tonight, perhaps this will slow them down, or at least hinder their entrance."
"Interesting idea," Lady Danvers said, tucking the blade up a lacy sleeve. "But I do not know if a Christian prayer will work against these ancient heathens."
"Praise the Lord, but pass the ammunition," Baroness Edgewaters muttered as she poured a cup of coffee from a steaming silver urn. A well-used Henry .50 rifle was slung over her shoulder, along with a bandoleer of ammunition crossing her ample bosom. A deadly Spanish machete was strapped at her side.
"Quite so," Mary agreed, picking up her Remington shotgun once more, and resting the wooden stock on a pert hip. "So just in case, I also performed the Catholic ceremony, as well as those of the Hebrews, Moslems, Buddhists, Druids, and Egyptians." Then she frowned. "I would have also done the Norse, but I could not find a live goat to sacrifice to Odin."
Peeking out the shutters of a window, Lady Pierpont was dressed as if on a safari - khaki shirt and pants, black Hoby boots and a brace of LeMat .44 pistols.
"Fair enough, my dear," the lady said, drawing a revolver to spin it once in her palm and holster it again. The action was done so effortlessly that it seemed to have been performed without conscious thought. Only the speed and grace belied her expertise. "The ceremony may not help, but it certainly can't hurt the situation."
"My thoughts exactly," Mary Einstein said, brushing away a loose strand of damp hair from her face. Washed and fed, with a full hour of sleep, she felt enormously refreshed. The camaraderie of the other women had bolstered her sagging spirits, and she felt ready for anything.
Just let the squiddies rally tonight, Mary raged privately, and they will get a taste of real English spunk!
Along the far wall was a line of emergency provisions. The bulging haversacks contained maps, candles, knives, British pounds, French gold sovereigns, tinned meat, hard tack, spare rope, and extra pistol ammunition. Katrina had even included a canvas medical kit containing an electric lantern, a vial of powdered arsenic, needle and thread, some French condoms and a bottle of Scotch whiskey. Although they had looked slightly askance at the assortment, the other ladies decided it was always best to err on the side of safety, and to be prepared for anything, from wholesale destruction to a seduction. The entire world was at stake, but even more important, England itself was in danger!
Careful of casting her shadow on the window and thereby making a target for snipers, Mary went to the shutters and scrutinized the shiny new gate attached to the battered fence. Held in place with barbed wire, the gate was merely there for show, but every little bit helped. However, the oak window shutters were firmly nailed closed. The back and side doors were barricaded with barrels full of dirt on the outside and stacks of heavy furniture inside the building. Bear traps filled the lawn, barbed wire festooned the top of the iron fence, and there was a roaring fire in the hearth, along with more than sufficient coal to last through the night. It was the best they could do, and hopefully enough.
"Stay safe, dear Benjamin," Mary whispered softly, sending the heartfelt prayer to the evening wind.
By the ticking of the clock, time passed in a slow and steady procession. Eventually, the coffee was gone, and the pile of sandwiches reduced to a scattering of crumbs. Each of the women was lost in private thoughts by then, and thus nobody paid any attention at first when the crystal chandelier in the ceiling started to tinkle softly. But the noise steadily increased until it was discernible above the crackle of the fireplace.
Then a second wave of vibrations shook the museum, and a glass of water fell from the desk to crash on the floor. Instantly alert, the women pulled weapons and prepared for an attack.
"Penny, check the back door!" Mary snapped, thumbing back the hammers on her shotgun. "Katrina, more coal on the fire!"
Suddenly, the whole room began to quiver, then the entire building! Pictures danced off the walls, books shifted, and andirons fell over in a clatter that was lost in the steadily growing rumble coming from outside.
"Is it a mole machine?" Mrs. Foxington-Smythe asked, kneeling to place an ear to the floor. "No, it's not coming from below."
Dashing to the window, Mary threw open the wood shutters and peered about while the double barrel of her Remington scattergun mimicked her actions. On the streets below, people were running around shouting, a cab rolled past without any horses, and then came a team of horses galloping by without a carriage. Now how the deuce did that happen?
A fresh quake shook the city, and windows cracked for blocks in every direction. The gas lamps on the street corners flickered and pulsed like mad things. Roof tiles began to rain down upon the sidewalks, and Big Ben started to chime non-stop.
"Could this be an earthquake?" Mrs. Thompkins hazarded, conceiving of no other possibility. The matronly lady twisted her hands nervously on the worn shaft of her Viking war axe.
Her pale face turned to ivory from the bright moonlight, Lady Danvers frowned deeply. "Impossible. Britain does not have earthquakes."
"The Queen would never allow such a thing," Baroness Edgewaters snorted, her gray eyes scanning the horizon as she pulled a cartridge from the bandoleer and slid the greasy brass round into the open receiver of the Henry rifle. "But what else could possibly be doing this?"
"I think I know," Mary said softly, just as the whole of England seemed to shudder.
The women could hear ten thousand more windows smash outside. When they heard Mary gasp in horror, they rushed to her side. Following her pointing finger, the ladies were stunned to see a curved object slowly rise on the distant horizon. Soon it was taller than the houses, the bridges, the churches, yet the mysterious object still swelled in size. Even in the flickering glow of the tortured streetlights, the ladies could see vast clouds of dust billowing around the base of the structure. Listening closely, they could just barely discern the faint sound of smashing masonry mixing with splashing water.
Like a mountain lifting from th
e sea, the gigantic object began to loom above the metropolis, dwarfing even Big Ben and the Tower of London to the status of mere toys. On it expanded, going higher, getting larger, until it seemed the stars overhead would be smashed aside, or the city crushed beneath.
"It's!" Mary squeaked.
"The!" Lady Danvers gasped.
"Ark!" Baroness Edgewaters finished in strangled croak.
At those words, a thin line of flame raced up the keel of the titanic Biblical vessel, arched over the bow, and then plunged down the other side along the gunwales. In mere seconds, the whole craft was ablaze, the writhing flames casting London into a hellish midnight dawn.
Dropping her crossbow, a wild-eyed Mrs. Foxington-Smythe scampered across the foyer for the front door. "The Explorers Club is burning!" she cried in horror. "We must help our husbands!"
Grasping the latch, Mrs. Foxington-Smythe yanked with frantic strength, but the portal remained firmly closed, held in place by the strong hand of Baroness Edgewaters.
"Louisa, regain your composure!" the baroness scolded. "This might be a trick to lure us outside!"
Unheeding and uncaring, Mrs. Foxington-Smythe planted a dainty boot on the jamb and put her back into the job, but the door refused to budge. Rushing forward, Mary grabbed the hysterical woman about the waist, and tried dragging her away, to no avail.
"The men can take care of themselves!" Mary grunted, heaving with each exertion. "We have to stay here!"
"My love is in danger!" Louisa Foxington-Smythe stormed in reply, shaking the latch furiously. "Nothing else matters!"
Dropping her weapon, Mary redoubled her efforts to free the woman, but it was to no effect. Finally, Lady Danvers took hold of Foxington-Smythe by the shank of her hair and forcibly turned her head to speak face to face. "Nothing else matters," Lady Danvers repeated angrily. "Not even saving the world?"
The panting woman stared in agony, conflicting emotions crossing her features at lightning speed. Then, ever so slowly, her grasp on the latch eased, her shoulders slumped, and Mrs. Foxington-Smythe stepped away.
"My sincere apologies," Mrs. Foxington-Smythe said to the others in the room. "I…I lost my priorities for a moment."
Gently, consolingly, Mary squeezed her shoulder. "Think nothing of it, Louisa. I might have done the same if Bunny was there."
"Bunny?" Duchess Farthington chuckled, a shiny twinkle of amusement in her blue Saxon eyes. "Are you perhaps referring to Lord Benjamin Alexander Julius Carstairs?"
Completely caught off guard, Mary could only stutter and stammer a few random words of total gibberish.
"Ah, I see," Baroness Edgewaters smiled tolerantly. "So it's love then. Good show, my dear. Welcome to the Explorers' Wives Club."
As the rest of the woman gathered around to hug the newest proto-member of the circle, there came a polite knock from the other side of the front door.
"Penny, stay by the fireplace," Mary ordered, suddenly all business, the brief moment of intimacy gone. She grabbed the shotgun off the floorboards and cocked both hammers. "Baroness and Katrina with me. Let's make sure that everything is kosher."
With a nod, Lady Danvers clicked off the safety on the Nitro Express in solemn expectation. "Absolutely, little sister."
"Kosher?" Lady Pierpont asked in confusion, drawing the massive LeMat. "Whatever does that mean?"
"It is an Americanism," Katrina explained softly, notching a fresh arrow into her crossbow. "Meaning spot on, or shipshape."
"Ah. Deuced clever, those colonials."
Standing to the side of the front door, Mary used the muzzle of the shotgun to flip open the conversation hatch. When nothing came rushing through, she eased the weapon into the hatch and carefully peeked out.
"Good evening, Miss Einstein," a smoldering man said politely.
Standing on the front stoop was a disheveled man in torn and smoking livery, but still ramrod straight with a calm and almost serene countenance. Behind him stood an army of people in tattered clothing, carrying wooden planks containing bedsheets draped over piles of lumpy objects.
"Good evening. Who are you, sir?" Mary demanded, angling the Remington towards his waist, the perfect height for blowing a man in half.
"Allow me to introduce myself, madam," he said in a gravelly voice. "I am Carl Smythe, the replacement head butler for the Explorer's Club until my dear cousin, Jeeves Sinclair, returns."
Inexplicably, his voice sent a shiver down Mary's spine, and she heard Lady Danvers cock both of the hammers on the Nitro Express. Mary had heard about Jeeves going on sick leave and about the replacement butler, and yes, Carl Smith, or Smythe, was the correct name. But something about this genial servant greatly disturbed her. Some instinct honed from years in the bush traveling with her uncle bespoke of untold danger here. Yet it was only a butler.
"And?" Mary prompted coldly, slightly tightening the pressure on the trigger.
If the action was seen by the man, he did not openly react. "There has been a most unfortunate…incident at the club, Miss Einstein," Carl said, coughing slightly. "Some masked hooligans blew up the water mains and soaked the Ark. You know about Noah's Ark, I presume? Yes, of course you do. Well, the resulting flood of waters…" He turned to glance at the burning Biblical goliath dominating the London skyline. "Well, it is quite a mess."
In spite of her reservations, Mary relaxed a bit at the man's professional demeanor. An incident, he called it? Good show . Now she noticed that the other people were the staff of the club. Gingerson, Alberts, Coltrain - she knew them all by sight.
"What are they carrying?" Mary demanded.
"Well, madam," Carl continued, "the staff managed to save most of the journals from the fire, but several of the club members were hurt in the falling masonry. I took it upon myself to decide that a hospital was too dangerous a location for recuperation. What if those masked men returned? So I was wondering if we could use the museum for a makeshift camp for tonight."
Oh God, it was the wounded explorers under the sheets! "Of course!" Mary gushed, lowering her weapon. "Come inside, right away."
Sliding off the bolt, Mary threw the door wide. "Katrina, get the medical kit! Ladies, watch the shadows for any suspicious movements in case the servants were followed!"
"Let me inform the police that it's fine to let you through," Lady Danvers said, grabbing a lantern from the table.
With a boot on the threshold, Carl stood in the doorway and blocked the way. "I saw no constables about, madam," he said, with a slight nod. "If I may venture a guess, I would imagine they are presently at the club, trying to control the growing riot."
A prickly feeling was at the back of her neck, but Mary could still find nothing wrong with the tale. She must simply be jumpy from the previous attacks. Plus all that damn European coffee. Nerves, that's all it is - a simple case of battle fatigue.
"Yes, of course," Lady Danvers said, stepping aside. "Quite right, Carl. Well done."
Glancing over a shoulder, Mary called out, "Stay sharp, ladies! This may be a diversion. We had best be ready for trouble."
"Righto," Mrs. Thompkins calmly replied, slipping a dynamite-tipped arrow into the notched receiver of her crossbow.
Under the watchful gaze of the heavily armed women, Carl directed the other servants to bring in the litters of wounded men. Staying near the smashed window, Mrs. Pierpont kept a pistol in her free hand as she bolted the wooden shutters to keep out the night air. On the horizon, the ark continued burning fiercely. The sound of fire bells filled the night, and the thick plume of smoke was starting to blot out the turning moon and twinkling stars.
As each litter passed by, Mary felt foolish as she dutifully lifted the covers to check the faces of the burned and bleeding explorers underneath. The men moaned at the bright light of the oil lamps, and she quickly covered each in turn. So far, Mary recognized every member from the social gatherings and speeches at the Explorer's Club. Thankfully, none of the wounded men was the husband of any of the ladies present.
Then Mary froze at the realization, her stomach tightening as if standing on a booby-trap deep inside an Egyptian pyramid with tons of stone about to crash down upon her head. Not one of the wounded men is related to the ladies present! But that was patently impossible. These were the wives of the senior-most members, men who were always at the damned club. Their lack of attendance was beyond impossible. It was absurd, and more important, suspicious as all bloody Hell.
Taking a lantern from the table, Katrina headed towards a curtained doorway. "I think the litters should go in the workshop," she directed. "It has plenty of space, and we must keep the front room clear in case of trouble. Follow me, please."
"Of course, dear lady," Carl said with a smile, sounding extraordinarily pleased.
Warily studying the butler as he walked past the roaring fireplace, Mary tore her vision away from the moaning wounded and looked at the opposite wall. She involuntarily gasped at the moving shadows. Instead of the outlines of weary servants carrying litters of wounded men, there was only the murky penumbra of robed men and women carrying a steaming cauldron. Mary had no idea what the iron pot contained, but the robes she knew on sight.
"It's a trick!" Mary cried, swinging the shotgun around and firing from the hip. "They're squiddies!"
The blast rocked the cauldron, and the servants shimmered as their magical disguises melted away. Triggering her weapon again, Mary blew two of the Squid God worshipers out of their boots and directly into the fireplace.
Snarling curses, the rest of the squiddies protectively surrounded the cauldron as they pulled out knives, crossbows, dynamite bombs, and hatchets. The women cut loose with pistols, rifles, and crossbows, just as the invaders charged. Explosions and screams filled the room as the fight escalated into total chaos! The thick clouds of billowing gun smoke masked the rampaging battle, and soon the floorboards ran with blood…
Chapter Sixteen
THAT DARN SQUID GOD Page 16
