“Speaking of flesh,” said Mr Merrick, “there’s a couple of right crackers over there; why don’t we move in as a team and have a pop at them?”
“I’m here on important business,” said Will.
“And you can’t fit in time for a shag?”
“Well,” said Will. “I have to confess that it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a shag.”
“How long?”
“More than three hundred years.” Will couldn’t count the woman Barry had picked up the previous night, because he couldn’t remember her.
“Are you an associate of the Comte de St Germain? I see him over there, chatting up Her Majesty.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” said Will.
“Claims to have discovered the philosopher’s stone and the elixir of life. Claims to be two thousand years old and to have met Christ.”
“You’re kidding me,” said Will.
“I am not possessed of a sense of humour. And when you clock my boat race, you’ll see why.”
“I’ve seen photographs,” said Will. “Although I’m sure they don’t do you justice.”
“They do. I look like shit.”
“But you’re still a big hit with the ladies.”
“Every cloud has a silver lining. Or, as I like to put it, every skirt has a pink one. So shall we have a pop at a couple? There’s two over there. Although I don’t like the look of your one.”
“All right,” said Will. “I can spare a little time.”
“Suffer from premature ejaculation, do you?”
“Your conversation is somewhat coarse,” said Will.
“If you think that’s coarse, you should see my—”
“What?” Will asked.
“Let’s go and pull.”
“All right,” said Will. “Let’s go.”
And they did pull. Will was amazed. His one wasn’t a catwalk model but later, in Mr Merrick’s room at Bedstead Square, she proved herself to be a willing and imaginative lover. And what Mr Merrick got up to, Will didn’t know. It sounded like a lot of fun by all the noise of it, but Will really didn’t want to look.
Will slept very soundly after everything was done, and was somewhat surprised to suddenly awaken in the dark.
Will didn’t say, “Where am I?” for he knew just where he was, but he wondered what had woken him and why.
Curious sounds came to Will in the darkness. Hissing sounds and clickings and the sounds of whispered words. Will raised his head and eased himself away from the sleeping female at his side.
The hissings and clickings continued and so did the whispered words. Will rose from the hospital bed.
A door was ajar; a wan light shone through the ajarness. Will stealthily crept towards it.
“Ground control,” he heard words whispered. “Ground control to Major Thomas.”[17]
Will peered through the gap between doorframe and door.
Mr Merrick sat at a table. Before him was a complicated-looking piece of apparatus. Some kind of radio transmitter, Will correctly assumed, but not of a type he’d ever seen before.
“Ground control to Major Thomas,” said Mr Merrick once more.
“Major Thomas speaking,” a voice replied. “What do you have to report?”
“The date for the moonship launch is confirmed.”
“Well, you’ll just have to stop it happening, won’t you?”
“I can’t do that,” said Mr Merrick. “How can I do that?”
“Blow it up. I don’t care.”
“I’m hardly equipped to blow it up, am I? I’m not a trained assassin. I’m just a spy.”
“And a pretty rubbish one,” said the voice of Major Thomas.
“Well, that’s hardly my fault. You said that the alien-human hybridisation programme would make me indistinguishable from a normal human being. That wasn’t exactly true, was it?”
“A bit of a glitch in the system, but you have achieved a certain celebrity. You’re a darling of royalty. You have connections in high places. That’s worked out much better than we could ever have hoped for.”
“That’s all right for you to say. I have to cart this big huge head around.”
“Just stop the launch,” said the voice of Major Thomas. “We don’t want the British Empire builders blundering onto our moon base.”
“I have certain connections in the London underworld,” said Mr Merrick. “Anarchists. I will arrange to have a bomb placed in the moonship, to explode when the countdown reaches zero!”
“Splendid. That will do nicely. Is that all that you have to report?”
“Well, actually, no, it isn’t. The British Empire’s space programme may be a threat to our home planet Mars, but there is an even greater threat. It is not the British government we have to fear. It is the power that lies behind the British government.”
“Her Majesty Queen Victoria?”
“Not her,” said Mr Merrick. “A cabal of witches. They are up to all manner of wickedness. Their evil extends throughout this society and their power grows ever stronger. I hear rumours from my informants that these witches seek to take control of the government. They disguise their evil by passing as the seemingly benign middle class ladies of a philanthropic chit-chat and charity organisation called the Chiswick Townswomen’s … just hold on, will you?”
“What’s going on?” asked Major Thomas.
“I thought I heard something.”
Will edged away from the open door, returned to his bed and feigned sleep. He heard the approach of the Elephant Man, the shuffling feet, the movement of fabrics. He felt the warm breath against his cheek, and smelled it also. It smelled of woman.
Will made snoring sounds.
The breath left his cheek. Mr Merrick moved away and Will heard a door shut behind him.
“And what do you make of that?” Will asked. “Zzzzzzzzzzzzz,” went Barry.
“So let me just get this straight,” said Tim McGregor, downing Large and running a knuckle over his mouth. “Sorry to interrupt you in mid-chapter as it were. But your tale seems to have entered other dimensions. We now have Barry the Holy Guardian sprout or Phnaargian genetically-engineered Time Sprout, depending upon your particular take on reality, or otherwise. And Mr Merrick, the Elephant Man, who is a human-alien hybrid spy.”
“Yes?” said Will. “So?”
“Oh nothing.” Tim shrugged and tucked back the hair that now engulfed him. “So what happened next? Did you go to the launching of the Victorian moonship?”
“Not yet,” Will’s glass was once more empty. “That hasn’t happened yet in the time I’ve returned here from. I think I might go on to halves now,” he said. “Or I will shortly be too drunk to continue with the telling of my tale.”
“Right,” Tim drained his glass to its naked bottom. “But this Barry, whatever he might be. Is he still inside your head?”
Will nodded and tapped at his earhole. “Still in there,” said he. “Which is how I came to be here with you.”
Tim cocked his head upon one side and peered thoughtfully at Will. “Would you like me to winkle him out?” he asked. “I’d be happy to let him nestle in my bonce, if you want. I’m ever so keen to get going on whatever it is we’re supposed to be be getting going on.”
“Oh no,” said Will and he shook his head vigorously.
“Easy, chief,” said Barry. “I was having a nap.”
“Sorry, Barry,” said Will.
“Did he speak to you?” Tim made a most excited face.
“He rarely shuts up. But I’ll hang on to him for now. I’ve grown somewhat attached to Barry. We’ve been through a lot together.”
Tim shrugged once more and took himself off to the bar.
“Are you sure we really need him?” Barry asked. “I can find you far better, I really can.”
“We do,” said Will. “I’m still running things, remember?”
“As if you are, chief.”
“What was that?”
&nbs
p; “I said, ‘Of course you are, chief’.”
“Well I am and that’s that. I’ll tell Tim the story and then we’ll all go back and sort out the last part. And then you and I can go our separate ways.”
“I might take Tim up on his offer, chief.”
“I thought you’d been having a nap.”
Tim returned with the drinks. “I just love this pub,” he said, placing two pints upon the table.
“I asked for a half,” said Will.
“The part-time barman wouldn’t hear of it. Heroes drink pints, he said. And he sells pork scratchings. Imagine that. Pork scratchings!” Tim waved a packet at Will.
“This wombat is thrilled by pork scratchings.” Barry wriggled about in Will’s brain.
“We don’t have pork scratchings any more,” said Will. “There aren’t any pigs any more.”
“You’re not all vegetarians, I hope,” Barry now shivered.
“Most foods are synthetic,” said Will.
“You’re talking to him again, aren’t you?” Tim sat himself down. “Could I see him if I peeped in your ear?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Okay, fine by me. So, go on with your tale.”
“Well,” said Will. “I have to tell you, I wasn’t feeling too well.”
“Nerves, I suppose.” Tim took up his latest pint and supped upon it. “What with you knowing that another Victorian Terminator robot might well be on your tail.”
“That constantly worried me.” Will glanced towards the saloon bar door. “I was always looking over my shoulder. But it wasn’t that.”
“So, go on.”
And Will went on.
Will awoke in Mr Merrick’s spare bed in Bedstead Square, at the London Hospital, Whitechapel. A now unappealing woman snored on top of him. Across the room, on a somewhat grander bed Mr Merrick slept in a seated position, his knees drawn up and his monstrous head resting upon them. It was the first light of day now and in that first light, Will viewed the full grotesquery of Mr Joseph Carey Merrick: the horrible pendulous flaps and folds of skin, the spongiform eruptions, the grubby underwear. And this man was a big hit with the ladies!
Will yawned silently and then took to gripping his forehead. It was possibly the worst hangover he’d ever had. Whatever had he been drinking last night? Will took to shivering. Medical alcohol, that was it. Laced with absinthe and mescal. A Merrickan Express, Mr Merrick had called it. Because it gets you into the “Love Tunnel” and makes you “Elephant’s trunk”. And it had.
Will now dimly remembered his former awakening. And the business of Mr Merrick and the transmitter. That had been true, hadn’t it? Or had he dreamed it? Had it been the drink? Will didn’t know for sure.
To be absolutely certain, he’d have to get another look into the adjoining room where the equipment had been. Will tried to rise, but the recumbent female weighed heavily upon his chest. Will eased her off and she made curious whimpering sounds. Will swung his legs down from the bed, rose with difficulty and staggered as quietly as he could across the room to the door in question.
Will reached out to the doorknob.
And then Will groaned.
There was no doorknob, as there was no door.
“No door,” whispered Will. “Barry, are you awake?”
“Keep the noise down, chief. I’ve got a right hangover here.”
“You’ve got a hangover?”
“I sustain myself on your vital juices, chief. Which means I’m pretty pickled. Can we get out of here and have some coffee? And some breakfast too?”
“Not yet. Something very weird happened last night.”
“You are the master of understatement, chief. You had a foursome with the Elephant Man and a couple of foreign princesses. I’d head on out before the paparazzi arrive, if I were you.”
“There was a door here and—”
“Did it open into another world, chief? Was there a big lion and a witch?”
“There was some very strange equipment.”
“I’ll just bet there was. Thankfully, I slept through that bit.”
“Oh, forget it.”
“Consider it forgotten, chief. So breakfast, is it? Sausages, eggs, bacon. No tomatoes, no mushrooms, no potatoes.”
Will shuffled back to his bed, found his trousers, shirt, cravat and shoes, and tweedy cap, dressed and quietly took his leave.
19
Whitechapel was beautiful at this time of the morning. But then so many places are. Unlikely places, even scrapheaps and abattoirs, have a romantic quality about them at sun up. It’s probably down to the fresh air and the silence and the light.
Will wandered through the deserted streets.
It was all rather magical, but Will’s head hurt him very much.
A potato lay in the gutter and, much to Barry’s horror, Will kicked it along before him.
“So what are your plans for today, then, chief?” asked the sprout. “Scarf down a big boy’s breakfast, then back on the omnibus and off to—”
“Wimpole Street,” said Will. “That’s where we’re going.”
“But why are we going there, chief? It’s so obvious that Mr Rune was pointing you towards—”
“Chiswick?” Will dribbled the potato along the pavement.
“Finally sunk in has it, chief? And kindly leave that poor spud alone.”
Will paused in mid dribble and took in big-breath-lungfuls. They never really help when you have a hangover, but you feel compelled to take them nonetheless.
“I will get to Chiswick in my own good time,” said Will. “And if those witches really exist and are the terrible threat to society which Rune considered them to be, perhaps I’ll look into the matter.”
Barry made oh dear, oh dearings.
“But I don’t believe that witches were responsible for the brutal murdering of five women. Witches, as far as I understand them, have strongly-held feminist convictions.”
“But you joined up the sites of the murders, chief. You saw the inverted pentagram. That spells witchcraft, whichever way you care to spell it.”
“I could have joined the sites together to form almost anything,” Will said. “A pentagon, for instance.”
“Well, yes, chief, I suppose you could.”
“And I could have chosen any point to draw a line to the site of Rune’s murder. The permutations are endless.”
“So hang about, chief. Why then did we go to Buckingham Palace?”
“Because there was someone I hoped to meet there.”
“Her Majesty the Queen, Gawd bless Her?”
“No, Barry, one of her guests. According to the copy of The Times that I read while having my bath at the Dorchester, he was to be at the ball. You might or might not recall that I checked the guest list when we entered the palace. He was on the list. He was not, however, at the ball.”
“Okay, chief, I’m intrigued now. Who is it?”
“Aha.” Will tapped the potato with a polished toecap and continued his wandering along. “When you saw the line on the map, all that you could see was that it led to Chiswick. I saw something else. Rune wasn’t giving us a clue. Rune was trying to reach the house of his friend, to take shelter there. He nearly made it too; the house is only two streets away from where the murderer caught up with him.”
“So, who is it, chief?”
“I haven’t quite finished yet. I know that this friend of Rune’s lives in Wimpole Street, because I’ve read his biography. He lives next door to a family called Barrett. I have a very good memory for this kind of detail. And I’ve been really wanting to meet him ever since I found myself in this day and age.”
“Yes, all right, chief; you’re very clever, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Barry.”
“But if you knew the address, why didn’t we go there first?”
“Because he was supposed to be at the ball! Are you losing the plot, Barry?”
“Not just me, I’m sure,” said the sprout.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, chief.”
Will booted the spud across the deserted street. “And Starling scores the winning goal for Brentford,” he cried, and then he wished he hadn’t, and clutched at his head once again.
“What?” went Barry.
“Did I just hear you say, ‘What’?”
Barry took to a sulking silence and Will wandered on.
At length Barry tired of his silence. “All right, I give up,” he said. “Who is it we are going to see?”
Will whispered the name to Barry.
“Complete waste of time, chief. No point at all in going to see him.”
“Really, Barry, and why do you say that?”
“Because he was just a friend of Rune’s. He won’t know anything. It’s Chiswick we should be going to. The witches, that’s what this is all about.”
“I’d like a word with this chap first.”
“But he’s a nutter, chief. A loony, trust me.”
“A quick chat, that’s all.”
“It’s a waste of time. We should be pressing on.”
“You seem very definite about this, Barry.”
“I just think we should be pressing on.”
“And I think we should do things my way.”
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
Will found the house without difficulty. An elegant ivy-hung Georgian dwelling, it looked much the same as it had when pictured in the biography Will had downloaded into his palm-top, but for the neon uplighters and the rather swish electric carriage with the blacked-out windows which stood outside. Will slicked down his hair with spittle, straightened his cravat, squared his shoulders and pressed the button, which activated the electric doorbell. In a distant part of the house the opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony chimed out.
Will waited a while and then rang the doorbell again.
“He’s out, chief. Let’s be on our way.”
“It’s early, Barry; he’s probably still in bed.”
“So let’s have breakfast and come back later. Or better still not at all.”
“You really don’t want me to meet this man, do you, Barry?”
Barry returned to his sulking silence.
“There’s a window open up there,” said Will, peering up.
The Witches of Chiswick Page 19
