"I said it's over," the professor replied. "The monster is dead."
The corporal cupped a hand to his badly bruised ear. "Eh?"
Oh lord, the blast has made them deaf. Hopefully it is just a temporary condition. "I said it's dead!" Professor Einstein bellowed, trying not to move his hip. "The beast is dead! Dead! It's dead, I tell you. I tell you it's dead!"
"It is quite dead," Lord Carstairs added, walking from the store, his hands, raw as butcher's meat, hanging at his sides.
"Oh, so it's dead," the corporal said finally in comprehension. "Burned it up, did ya? Good show. But let's not take any chances, eh?"
Approaching the smashed store, the soldiers rolled the fire engine through the missing front window. Leaving it in the middle of the largest blaze, the soldiers dashed out of the dressmaker's shop just before the reservoir tank of six hundred gallons of coal oil whoofed into a volcanic tower of flame. The lambent fireball rose up through the missing roof and flamed through every window.
As the exhausted explorers retreated for safety, the soldiers tossed their loaded rifles and ammunition belts into the blazing store. Detonating from the heat, the brass cartridges cut loose a near continuous fusillade. The hot lead ricocheted off the brick walls to become its own crossfire. Spreading out to hunt for more fuel, the soldiers began tossing into the pit any loose lumber they could find from other nearby buildings.
Soon enough, the dressmaker's shop was a towering pyre: a crackling inferno with white-hot heat that rivaled the very pit of Hell itself.
That was when the entire British Army arrived and started building a real bonfire.
EPILOGUE
A week later in Buckingham Palace, trumpets blared in glorious harmony as Professor Felix Einstein, Lord Benjamin Carstairs, and Mary Einstein were escorted by liveried servants into the throne room.
Although covered with plaster swatches and bandages, the three explorers were dressed in their finest clothing: the men in formal gray morning coats, and Mary in a beautiful gown resplendent with jewels borrowed from the Egyptian section of the museum. On the fourth finger of her left hand glittered a diamond ring of truly exquisite taste. The ring had come from the private vault of the Carstairs Estate, and not from any of the professor's nefarious displays.
Confined to a wheelchair, Professor Einstein used his bandaged hands to push himself along the red velvet carpet. His broken leg jutted straight out on a wooden platform, and the professor's smashed knee was encased in a lump of plaster painted black to match his pants.
With his left arm in a sling and the other hand swathed in bandages, Lord Carstairs looked like the walking dead. There was a bloody bandage around his neck and fresh stitching across his forehead. One eye was swollen nearly shut and severely discolored, in spite of the adroit application of fresh leeches. In addition, the lord was encumbered with a truly impressive white cross on his face. The strips of adhesive plaster helped to hold his shattered nose in shape. Inhaling via the wounded appendage caused a most impolite whistling effect, so Lord Carstairs did his best to breathe through his mouth without drooling. Sadly, this goal was proving more difficult to achieve that that originally planned.
Limping alongside the two men, Mary Einstein appeared to be the least damaged. But that was because much of her oversized jewelry had been deliberately chosen to mask the woman's collection of bruises and contusions. The long sleeves and high collar of her gown hid a wealth of plaster strips, and the lacy bodice disguised the yards of lumpy bandages wrapped around her cracked ribs. Walking was quite difficult for the woman, but breathing was even more troublesome. However, everybody in attendance simply assumed that her rigid posture came from a proper British education. Or maybe it was just a saucy French corset.
As the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra swelled into a stirring rendition of 'Rule Britannia', the explorers stiffly walked down the carpet in the traditional march of step, pause, then step, pause. Subdued murmurs of approval rippled through the huge attendance of political dignitaries and aristocrats. Every personage of high blood or noble birth in the whole of the British Empire was present, along with the entire membership of the London Explorer's Club. Included were several explorers whom everybody thought had been dead for years, and one chap still had an arrow sticking through his pith helmet, so quickly had been his egress from the wilds of Borneo and subsequent return to England.
Situated proudly amid the explorers was Jeeves Sinclair, wearing a gold membership pin on his lapel for all of the precious books he had saved from the rioting and fire, and a somber black armband on his sleeve for the departed Carl Smythe.
Dressed completely in black and wearing veils, the members of the Explorers Club's Ladies Auxiliary stood demurely alongside their infamous husbands. Everybody present thought it only polite to ignore the arsenal of weapons hidden in the folds of their clothing. By the unanimous consent of Parliament, the female warriors had proved their loyalty to the crown beyond reproach, and thus had been awarded the distinguished right to stay armed while in the presence of the Queen.
With an honorary L.A.L.E.C. membership pin on her blouse, Katrina Cook stood alongside Edward Crainpoole, the rarely seen assistant to Lord Carstairs. The burly manservant cast furtive glances at the pretty cook, and she returned the secretive looks with unabashed interest.
Hoping that nobody noticed, Lord Carstairs broke protocol, to wink at the family retainers on the sly. The man turned beet-red with embarrassment, and Katrina had the presumption to giggle.
Damn the woman! What a splendid wife she'll make for Edward. He'll need at least two weeks' holiday for the honeymoon. Oh, stuff and nonsense. A month!
"I would suggest a matched set of His and Her Webley pistols for a wedding gift," Mary whispered softly out of the corner of her mouth.
Radiating dignity, Lord Carstairs said nothing, but the twinkle of amusement in his eyes brightened to a barely stifled gale of laughter.
Pausing only for a moment to oil a squeak out of his new wheelchair, Professor Einstein ignored the others and tried to contain his excitement. So this is it. The day of days. Oh joy, oh rapture divine!
The orchestra swelled the music perfectly in synchronization with the three explorers' stopping at the base of the royal dais, upon which rested the throne of England.
Short and dumpy, almost resembling a fat old man rather than a middle-aged woman, Queen Victoria Hanover contained the absolute resolve of a born leader. Her bright eyes missed nothing that transpired in the throne room. In the background, Prince Albert chomped on a roast beef sandwich, getting gravy all over his silken finery.
Normally, she dressed in black, but today the Queen wore bright cheery colors in an effort to lighten the mood of the war-torn city. There was even a garland of fresh flowers in her crown, and a corsage on her left wrist. However, her hard black shoes rested on the crudest of footstools: a lumpy block of rock known as The Stone of Destiny. Stolen from Edinburgh Castle centuries ago, the rock was the symbol of Scottish independence, and the subtlety of its location was lost on nobody.
"Such a pity," Mary sighed under her breath, performing an awkward curtsy.
"It's a fake," Lord Carstairs replied while bowing. "I stole the original years ago and gave it back to the Scots."
Flushed with pride, Mary turned to face the man directly. "I love you," she declared in a clear loud voice.
The ten thousand people in attendance immediately started coughing in embarrassment at the unseemly outburst. A small army of butlers and maids rushed into the throne room and connecting galleries to distribute baskets of linen handkerchiefs in an effort to explain the coughing, as if this was the height of the flu season. The diplomatic ruse worked. Although it did take a while, eventually normalcy returned to the proper levels of haughty dignity.
"Lords and Dames," a herald bellowed, standing forward on the carpeted the dais. After a pause, he loudly banged the Royal Staff of England ritually twice on the dais. "Gentlemen and Ladies! The Supreme Ruler of th
e United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of India, Her Most Royal Majesty, Queen Victoria Hanover!"
The loyal crowd erupted in cheers as Queen Victoria nodded in response and gave a small wave. Nothing else could be said or done for a while until the jubilation quieted down.
Standing off to the side of the throne, Prime Minister Disraeli scowled darkly at the three explorers waiting on the red carpet, while General McTeague surreptitiously gave them an approving thumb-ups sign.
Stepping a little closer to his fiancée, Lord Carstairs caught sight of an antique sword hanging at the general's side, and was shocked to realize it was the long lost Holy War Sword of Dutar!
"Now where did he find that thing?" the lord muttered in askance.
"I heard Excalibur told them," Professor Einstein replied softly. "Some building fell over, and it tumbled into the street."
"Probably walled up the squiddies."
"Quite so, lad."
"That certainly would have come in handy yesterday," Mary whispered, massaging her aching ribs.
As the general shouting and assorted hurrahs subsided, the Lord Chamberlain walked to the Queen and extended a plush cushion upon which rested an engraved silver sword. The room became hushed at the sight and all the people held their breath.
Taking the weapon by its jeweled handle, Queen Victoria arose from the throne and walked to the edge of the dais.
"Kneel, Professor Einstein," she commanded, and then paused. "Ah… Wheel closer, Professor."
Pushing his chair to the very bottom of the steps, Professor Einstein bowed his head before his sovereign lady. Overcome with emotion, happy tears flowed down his cheeks. At last, after all these years, this is it!
Using the flat of the sword, Queen Victoria tapped the professor gently on each shoulder. "In the name of St. Michael and St. George," she intoned, "we dub thee Sir Felix Einstein, knight errant and protector of the realm."
The castle shook as the crowd roared its approval. As the Queen returned the sword to the Lord Chamberlain, a liveried page stepped forward holding a golden tray. Lifting a necklace from the tray, Queen Victoria showed the room that it carried the Great Seal of England. As the cheering slowed, the Queen leaned over to place the golden chain and seal about the professor's bruised neck. Einstein winced at the weight, but said nothing.
"You may now rise...er, sit upright, Sir Felix!" Queen Victoria said, formally announcing his new title.
Tears of joy streaming down his face, the knight raised his head to thunderous applause.
With a formidable lump in his throat, Sir Felix had to swallow a few times before being able to speak. "Your Majesty, I…I, really, I don't know what to say."
"Then do not say anything," the Queen replied quietly. "Besides, sir knight, there is more."
That caught Einstein off guard. More? The Lord Chamberlain didn't say a word about anything more at the rehearsal this morning.
From the behind the throne, a somber Minister of State approached, holding a small wooden box. Removing the garland of flowers from her crown, Queen Victoria opened the lid of the box and withdrew a rectangle of black cloth. As she placed it upon her head, the throne room went deathly silent. In the extreme rear, a stunned seamstress dropped a pin and the impact rang louder than Big Ben at noon on Guy Fawkes Day.
"In accordance with the law of the land, and by royal decree," Queen Victoria announced in a hard, clear voice. "Your name is to now be stricken from the rolls of honor for the heinous crime of treason. "
A gasp rose from the assemblage and Felix Einstein turned white. His mouth moved, but not a sound came forth.
"Your crime consisted of the illegal possession of a Venusian war machine and the rebuilding of same machine to full working condition," the Queen continued, scowling at the suddenly pale man in the wheelchair. "By English law, the punishment is death."
The world seemed to start spinning. Einstein felt himself go weak, and he slumped over the arm of the wheelchair. Rushing closer, Lord Carstairs took hold of his friend by the elbow to keep the man from sliding onto the floor.
"Your Majesty, if…if I may speak in his defense," Lord Carstairs started to protest in a desperate rush for clemency.
"However!" Queen Victoria interrupted loudly. The crowd held its breath. She let them feel the terrible power of her wrath, and then allowed a small smile to touch her lips. "Due to your recent services to the Crown, you are hereby fully pardoned, Professor Einstein."
Exhaling so forcefully in relief that the tapestries on the wall fluttered, the crowd made sympathetic noises.
Handing back the necklace of his all-too-brief knighthood to the liveried page, Professor Einstein bid it a fond farewell. Oh, well, easy come, easy go .
With a worried expression, the professor leaned forward as far as he could. "Your Majesty," Einstein whispered tensely. "I don't suppose there is any chance that I will be able to keep the remaining walker parts that I have already collected?"
"Do not push your luck, Felix," Queen Victoria replied barely above a hush. "The Lord Mayor wants your head for destroying his residence, and Prince Albert is not fully convinced that this whole incident is not your direct responsibility."
Wiping his mouth clean on a sleeve, the Royal Consort glowered at the professor in clear and open dislike.
"Yes, I see," Professor Einstein murmured sullenly. "Then I thank you for your incredible lenience, Your Majesty."
Unseen by anybody else in the castle, the Queen gave him a gentle kick. "Oh, stop sulking. I know that you are innocent, and you will be knighted again next week after the ruckus has died down. Now be a good fellow. Wheel aside, and look very solemn."
Really? How excellent! Masking his elation with a woebegone face, Professor Einstein pushed himself off the red carpet, a classic figure of dejection and misery. Several people in the crowd wept at the pitiful sight.
Nodding approval, Queen Victoria motioned for Lord Carstairs and Miss Einstein to approach. The lord forced himself to bow in spite of the pain, and Mary did the very best curtsy possible under the circumstances.
"Lord Benjamin Carstairs and Mary Elizabeth Victoria Einstein, it appears that there is little we can give as a reward for your services to Crown and country," the Queen pronounced loudly, making a regal gesture with a small hand. "Lord Carstairs is already a knight of the British Empire for his valiant efforts during The Troubles, and holds a Victoria Cross for his actions during the Boer War in Africa."
Shifting her stance, Queen Victoria smiled down at Mary. "And you, my dear, will soon become Lady Carstairs, a position we find ourselves envying you to some small degree."
Applause broke from the Ladies Auxiliary of the Explorers Club, but a single stern glance from the Queen ended that foolishness quickly. What a rowdy mob of hooligans! Victoria thought. I really must give them my patronage as soon as possible.
"Thank you for the compliment, Your Majesty," Mary said, trying to curtsy again.
"Oh stop that, girl, I can see you're in pain," Queen Victoria commanded gently. Then she spoke in a loud commanding voice, "Therefore, we beg the boon of Mary Einstein and Lord Carstairs to accept our offer of hospitality, and to hold your wedding here at Buckingham Palace."
Nothing short of the end of the world could have possibly stopped the attending crowd from making noises of astonishment, delight, shock, and unbridled jealously at that pronouncement. Even though he was supposed to be acting chastised, Professor Einstein grinned like a drunken loon. Mary flushed, and even Lord Carstairs was flustered at the incredible honor.
"Oh yes, please, Your Majesty!" Mary gushed, gingerly taking the bandaged hand of her fiancé. "Thank you, yes!"
"It is my pleasure, child," Queen Victoria said, giving a rare smile. "We shall have tea next week, my dear, to discuss the details. Agreed?"
Mary nodded.
"Excellent!" the Queen stated. "Then let it be so!"
In response, the Lord Chamberlain thumped the Great Staff of the Empire
twice upon the dais, officially sealing the deal.
"Now in regard to the damage caused by this rather more unpleasant matter," Queen Victoria said, addressing the crowd. "We have decreed that a one pound tax is to be levied on everybody in the entire commonwealth to aid in the restoration of London, and a bronze statue will be erected at Trafalgar Square for the soldiers and citizens who so valiantly died during the, ahem, Occurrence."
Occurrence. The word was whispered a thousand times across the throne room and into the galleries. Good choice.
"Also, all forms of calamari are now forbidden within the land of Britain until further notice!" she added with some note of vengeance.
Precisely on cue, the Lord Chamberlain banged the Great Staff twice. "God save the Queen! This audience is over!"
With a crash of brass cymbals, the Royal Philharmonic started to play a rousing march. Chatting excitedly among themselves, the crowd began to shuffle for the exits in stately procession.
Amid the throng, several members of the Explorers Club and Parliament rushed over to console Professor Einstein about the loss of station. Stepping out of the shadows, the cabby, Davis, blocked their progress with a lower-class scowl. Pushing his wheelchair like mad, the professor took advantage of the distraction to roll nimbly across the throne room and into a small alcove.
"Sergeant Oltion?" Professor Einstein asked breathlessly, breaking to a squealing halt. "Are you Color-Sergeant Trevor Oltion? My contacts in the military said that you are to be the fellow in charge of my Venusian machine parts, I believe?"
In cool and frank appraisal, the British Marine stared at the professor and slowly, ever so slowly, lifted a disdainful eyebrow.
"Sir, those parts, enough to build another machine, I might note," Sergeant Oltion said with growing fervor, "are not, quote, yours, end of quote, but are the sole and exclusive property of Her Majesty's government!"
The professor's wheelchair actually moved back a few inches under the verbal assault.
THAT DARN SQUID GOD Page 33
