Pax Britannia: Unnatural History

by Jonathan Green

  'Anti-social behaviour a thing of the past?'

  Ulysses read on. Apparently 'an eminent scientist' was conducting 'exciting and ground-breaking experiments' into 'behaviour adjustment' on inmates at London's maximum-security prison, the Tower of London.

  "Not another one," Ulysses found himself saying out loud. He was sure that Professor Galapagos' experiments would have been considered 'exciting' and 'ground-breaking' as opposed to 'unnecessary' and 'cruel'. He was certain the moniker 'eminent scientist' would have been used as well, rather than 'malicious misguided genius' or 'sinister sadist'.

  There was a box-shaped package amongst the post. Ulysses took up this item now. At the same time his eye caught a small piece at the bottom of the page - his subconscious having made the connection - no more than three column inches. 'Eminent Evolutionary Biologist Still Missing' the title read. There was that word again, 'eminent'. It appeared that the reporters at The Times were in need of a new thesaurus.

  The package was approximately eight inches along every vertex and wrapped in unassuming brown paper. His name and address had been written on one face but there was no stamp. It must have been hand delivered. He would have to ask Nimrod who had delivered that morning.

  Ulysses gave the box a gentle shake. There was a muffled rattle inside. The weight of it in his hands made him think that the enclosed object must be made of metal. Placing the package carefully back on top of his desk he began to undo the brown paper, glancing back to the article as his fingers worked on the package.

  The piece reported that Professor Ignatius Galapagos had been missing since his office at the Natural History Museum had been broken into and ransacked weeks ago. It also mentioned - without shedding any more light on the true extent of his work - that he had been carrying out research into the evolutionary path that connected man with his distant, primitive forebears.

  The article reported some of the facts but, Ulysses thought - a wry smile on his lips as he did so - it didn't report the whole story. One day he would have to write his memoirs chronicling his weird and wonderful adventures, revealing the truth behind dozens of allegedly 'unsolved' mysteries. It would be a best seller, if anyone were prepared to believe that the stories he had to tell were true. Would any editor ever believe half of what he had experienced? Perhaps it would be better to publicise his tales as a work of fiction, just in case. But some of the people Ulysses worked for might not appreciate such candour from one of their employees. He wondered how much more his clandestine masters in Whitehall knew than he did himself.

  Ulysses folded back a flap of paper. A card had been slipped in between the folds of the package. The message on it had been written in a delicate, feminine hand. Ulysses' cheeks reddened as he read the four simple words.

  'From Genevieve, with love.'

  Carefully, he put the card to one side. As he did so, his eyes momentarily focused on a particular sentence towards the bottom of the article about the 'missing' professor.

  In the event of confirmation of Galapagos's death, his estate will be sold and the monies raised given to trustees of the Natural History Museum, that his ground-breaking work might continue, Galapagos being unmarried and having no heirs to follow after him.

  He was suddenly sharply aware of the ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece behind him. It was answered by a ticking from the package on the desk.

  In the moment before the explosion it was as if there was a sudden absence of noise. Then a horrendous cacophony rushed into the vacuum, as the windows at the southeast corner of the house blew out in a hurricane of flame. Curtains were blown outwards by the blast, wooden casements splintered and the ground shook, as millions of tiny shards of glass rained down into the street like diamond shrapnel.

  Obscured by the shadows of a darkened alleyway on the opposite side of the road a lone figure watched, unmoving, as the explosion tore through the dandy's study.

  As the echoing roar faded it was replaced by the plink of cooling stone, the sound of glass cracking under the heat of the flames and the hungry snarling of the fire itself.

  A limousine - no registration and ministerial black - pulled up in the street opposite the alley and the figure stepped out of the shadows. A tress of auburn hair shook loose from the tight bun at the back of her head. A tweed suit that was all the rage amongst London's younger, more daring, fashionable circles, accentuated the curves of a toned, womanly body.

  The front passenger door of the car opened and the woman climbed inside, plus fours and suede leather boots giving definition to shapely, athletic legs.

  The young woman closed the door. In the darkness of the car's interior she turned to the driver and flashed him her winning smile. Jago Kane smiled back, the bisecting scar turning the expression into a savage sneer.

  "Mission accomplished, my dear Genevieve?" a refined voice said from the back seat of the car, oozing self-satisfaction. "Or should I say, Kitty?"

  Somewhere, away across London, sirens were sounding. London's fire brigade was already on its way.

  Genevieve Galapagos turned round in the leather-upholstered seat and fixed the elder statesman behind her with her striking gaze.

  "But of course, Mr Wormwood," she said, her tone flirtatious, soft as velvet, rich as chocolate. "Kitty Hawke always gets her man."

  With that the car pulled out into the street and away from the burning town house.

  ACT THREE

  THEORIES OF DE-EVOLUTION

  JUNE 1997

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Death of a Dandy

  PHILANTHROPIST ADVENTURER DIES IN HOUSE FIRE

  It is with great regret that we report the death of philanthropist Ulysses Lucian Quicksilver, following a freak gas explosion at his home on Thursday night. Quicksilver recently returned to the headlines after an absence of almost a year and a half following the catastrophic break-out of prehistoric monsters from the Challenger Enclosure at London Zoo last May. This the first in a series of terrorist attacks by the self-styled evolutionary revolutionaries, the Darwinian Dawn. During the dinosaur debacle Quicksilver played a significant role in the suppression of the stampede, bringing down a fully-grown adult megasaur single-handedly.

  Ulysses Quicksilver had been missing presumed dead since October 1995, following his disappearance during an attempt to cross the Himalayan mountain range by hot air balloon. Only a few days before the Challenger Incident, as the authorities have now labelled the first of the many atrocities perpetrated by the Darwinian Dawn, Quicksilver turned up alive and well at his London residence.

  Sources with connections to Scotland Yard have reported that Quicksilver had been helping the authorities with their investigation into the death of a watchman at the Natural History Museum during the break-in there, as previously reported by this paper. A spokesman for the Metropolitan Police, one Inspector Allardyce, told our reporter that there were no suspicious circumstances surrounding Quicksilver's tragic death and that Scotland Yard do not believe it is in any way connected to the Natural History Museum case. The inspector also said that an inquiry would not be held into the circumstances surrounding the accident.

  Quicksilver was at his Mayfair home on Thursday night, having enjoyed dinner at the Savoy earlier that same evening followed by a visit to the Covent Garden Opera House to see Webber's production of Puccini's Madame Butterfly. No one else was injured as a result of the explosion or the subsequent fire, despite there being several other people in the house at the time, including Quicksilver's own brother.

  Ulysses Quicksilver, eldest son of the late, great colonial hero Hercules Quicksilver and Lady Amelia Quicksilver, daughter of the Marquis of Malhembury, made regular appearances on the London social scene before his disappearance over the Himalayas and had been connected with many of London society's most eligible heiresses, although he never married.

  Quicksilver was educated first at Eton then Oxford University, where he studied social anthropology, following in the footsteps of many of his fami
ly before him, including both his father and grandfather. On graduating from Oxford he joined the Royal Dragoons, during which time he saw action in both India and the Crimea, and having completed a three-year Grand Tour of the Solar System he became better known for his socialising and womanising ways than for the heroic deeds of derring-do.

  Following the death of his father in 1975 he inherited the entirety of the Quicksilver estate, which, as well as the town house in Mayfair where he met his death, included residences in the Warwickshire countryside, the Highlands of Scotland, and villas in Tuscany and the south of France. He also took on the mantle of philanthropist adventurer and was the most recent in a long line of famous supporters of the British crown from his celebrated family, amongst them his great-great-uncle who was involved in the creation of the Empress Engine.

  His many achievements include holding the record for the Paris-Dakar rally for eight years running and re-discovering the lost civilisation of the Kuwato in Indonesia.

  Ulysses Quicksilver, who was thirty-seven when he died, leaves no issue and is survived by his brother Bartholomew who stands to inherit the entirety of the substantial Quicksilver estate.

  Uriah Wormwood carefully folded the newspaper shut and placed it with precision on the desk in front of him. He sat back in his leather-upholstered chair, steepling his bony fingers before his face, and breathed in sharply through his nose. A languid lizard's smile creased his lips as his eyes took in the décor of his private chambers at Number 10 Downing Street, his thoughts on Quicksilver's untimely demise.

  Well at least that was one less fly in the ointment. Quicksilver had started to become an uncomfortable thorn in the newly appointed Prime Minister's side.

  Wormwood picked up his whisky, sniffing it with all the finesse of a connoisseur of the finer things in life as he put the rim of the glass to his lips. He glanced down at the paper again.

  Towards the bottom of the lead article, regarding the growing excitement centring on the preparations for the Queen's Jubilee, a source from within the Queen's household had stated that the monarch herself would be making an uncommon public appearance.

  The Times had made a great deal of fuss regarding Quicksilver's part in the Challenger Incident. That was one of the things he would put right, as soon as the opportunity arose. He couldn't stand such hero-worship and glory-mongering by the press. The Times was supposed to be one of the pillars of British society, along with high tea and cricket, and therefore was one of the benchmarks by which the rest of the world assessed their own achievements. Yet, of late it seemed to Wormwood that it was fast going downmarket, until it was little better than the rest of the gutter press of Fleet Street. But that would all change once the final act in this play of Machiavellian machinations - of which he was playwright, director and principal actor - was put into action.

  The aftermath of the Challenger Incident was still lingering within the column inches, like the smell of festering dino-flesh. Some of the smaller saurians released by the Darwinian Dawn's attack were still at large within the capital. The latest press on the matter regarded the breeding colony of pterodactyls that had broken free of the Roxton Aviary. The flying reptiles had since taken to roosting on Tower Bridge and harassing passers-by. Questions had been raised in the House, as well as in the broadsheets, as to what the authorities were going to do about the problem.

  It was also reported that it would take months for essential repairs at the zoo to be completed, as many of the animal pens and cages would have to be entirely rebuilt. There were some doom-mongers who were spreading the rumour that the whole debacle would bankrupt the zoo and that it would have to close permanently unless the government baled out its owners. In the meantime many of the animals, including certain prehistoric exhibits, had been moved to other zoological gardens around the country including Whipsnade and Longleat.

  There were three precise knocks on Wormwood's office door.

  "Come," the Prime Minister said imperiously.

  A robotic servant, its metal chassis sculpted and painted to make it look like it was wearing a butler's black suit and starched, white wing-collar shirt, entered at his behest.

  "Yes, Harcourt?"

  "Your guests have arrived, Mr Wormwood sir," the automaton-flunkey said with a mechanical wheeze.

  "Then show them in."

  The robo-servant exited again, pulling the door to behind him. Wormwood leant forward in his chair, gripping the arms with his porcelain-fine fingers so that the knuckles showed hard and white. His released his grip, only for a moment, to tuck a stray strand of lank grey hair behind one ear.

  The door opened and the servile Harcourt-droid admitted the two visitors.

  "Kitty, my dear," Wormwood said. "You are - how can I put this tactfully - late. I do hope that you are not in the habit of being tardy Kane," he nodded at the revolutionary who acknowledged the Prime Minister with a sneer.

  Kitty Hawke, until only recently Miss Genevieve Galapagos the imaginary daughter of Professor Ignatius Galapagos, fixed Wormwood with the dark orbs of her eyes, her lips pinching into an aggressive pout. "In case you hadn't noticed from here in your ivory tower, I have been immensely busy making sure that our mutual plans come to fruition," Kitty protested petulantly.

  "Small cogs, my dear... mere cogs in the machine. And I would have you show me some respect." Wormwood snarled. "I had enough of that sort of... defiance from that imperious upstart Quicksilver."

  "I would have thought that you would have at least been a little more understanding considering that Quicksilver is now dead."

  "Don't get me wrong, my dear. I am delighted at the demise of that dandy adventurer. I had grown tired of his insolent attempts at witty repartee. But I cannot forget that, thanks to his meddling, he has forced us to modify our plans at this late stage in... proceedings. Talking of cogs in the machine and being ready in time, how are things progressing at the Tower? Is the good doctor ready to advance to the next stage of the plan?"

  "I am pleased to inform you that the formula has been successfully reproduced by the team at the secondary facility," Kitty said, trying to recover some of her lost composure, hoping that the good news she brought might help her save some face following Wormwood's patriarchal chiding, "now that we have been able to access data stored within the late professor's difference engine."

  "So, as I understand it, the locket was the key all along," Wormwood said, looking pointedly at the gruff-looking Kane.

  Jago Kane, his expression one of disgruntled annoyance, at having his initial failure pointed out to him once again, did not meet the Prime Minister's gaze, instead studying the pattern woven into the carpet that covered the floor of the PM's private chambers. "Yes. It was."

  "Then we have something to thank the late Mr Quicksilver for after all. I wonder how he would feel if he knew that he had inadvertently helped us achieve our goal, despite our initial ... problems."

  Kitty Hawke smiled in self-satisfaction at this slight against Kane.

  Wormwood could not forget that it was because of Kane's failure to retrieve this item at the beginning of their endeavour that their plans had been forced to change so drastically and had almost been scuppered entirely by the subsequent - yet necessary, as it turned out - involvement of Ulysses Quicksilver. It had been a dangerous hand Wormwood had played, yet one that had seemed to pay off at first, until the somewhat upsetting incident at Waterloo Underground Station.

  As a consequence Wormwood could not forgive Kane for his previous failure. Once their scheme had been seen through to its conclusion, the revolutionary would be made to pay for that careless mistake, for his haphazard handling of the simple mission to recover the Galapagos formula from the Natural History Museum.

  But there was no doubting the fact that now the professor's difference engine and the locket - in reality the engine's access key - had been reunited. Wormwood's laboratory technicians had been able to open Galapagos's private data files in which was stored the chemical breakdown of his
evolution-reversing formula - or his de-evolution formula, as Dr Wilde preferred to call it.

  "Dr Wilde is preparing his subjects even as we speak," Kitty went on. "He has assured me that all will be ready in time for the main event."

  "Good, good," Wormwood said, nodding approvingly. "You have redeemed yourself, my dear."

  "And what of the remaining devices, Mr Kane?"

  "Allardyce and his lackeys at Scotland Yard have unfortunately managed to recover most of them."

  "That is indeed unfortunate." Wormwood's knuckles whitened as he took hold of the whisky glass, betraying that which his emotionless tone kept hidden. "Now tell me something that will be more appealing to my ear."

  "We are still in possession of a number of the devices, certainly enough to achieve our modified mission objectives."

  "Well, that is better news. Have you anything more to further cheer me?"

  "They are now at the Limehouse facility being fitted with canisters of the formula. The last phase of the plan is almost ready to be put into action."

  "Even better. Then we can progress in a satisfactory manner."

  Uriah Wormwood fixed each of his lieutenants with his needling stare, both meeting his intense gaze.

  "Miss Hawke, Mr Kane, we are about to make our mark on history." He toasted them with the glass in his hand. "Let us not delay any longer for we have a date with destiny."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Prisoners of the Tower

  "And now gentlemen, we come to the point in our tour where you can see how your money can help us with the good work we do here for, and on behalf, of the Empire," Governor Colesworth said, with some small measure of genuine enthusiasm colouring his voice.