Barry returned from his sulking silence. “Don’t even think about it, chief. Not with our hangover.”
But Will was already on the ivy. He struggled and climbed and struggled and climbed some more.
“Someone will see you, chief.”
“Please be quiet, Barry.” Will reached the window ledge, eased himself into it, stooped, slid up the sash window and with difficulty and care, to equal degree, succeeded in entering the house.
“This is so bad, chief. This is trespass.”
“Sssh!” Will shushed him.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The room Will now found himself in was an elegant study, cum laboratory, cum workroom. Leather-bound books bricked its walls and the early morning light fell upon a workbench loaded with much strange apparatus. The room was filled with many interesting items and Will found interest in each and every one of them.
Will peered at this and that. And then Will touched this and that.
“Don’t touch that,” said Barry.
So Will touched this instead.
“Chief!” Barry piped, with a very shrill, “chief”. “Chief, get out of here at once. Big trouble’s coming. I can feel it.”
“Don’t try to trick me, Barry,” Will whispered.
“No, I’m serious, chief. Something’s not right. In fact something’s very wrong. And that very wrong something is heading our way.”
“I’m not listening to this. I’m not—” And then Will heard it, and saw it also – the polished doorknob turning on the door.
“Don’t worry, Barry. I expect it’s just the master of the house. I’ll apologise for breaking in, I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Will smiled towards the door, and the door swung open, but no one stood in the opening.
“Hello,” called Will. “Hello Mr—”
And then something struck Will hard in the face and knocked him from his feet. Will went down in a confusion of gangly limbs and hit the wooden floor.
“Who did that?” And “Ouch, oh damn, oh ouch,” went Will.
A cold wind seemed to engulf him and Will was hauled aloft. He could feel the fearsome force, but could not see his attacker.
“Who are you?” howled Will as he found himself being flung across the room. “What are you?” Will tumbled through the open doorway and out into the corridor beyond. It was a charming corridor. Its walls were decorated with William Morris wallpaper and hung with family portraits. Brass wall sconces held scented candles, which favoured the air with delicate fragrances of musk, vanilla and White Rose of Cairo.
The charm of the corridor was however lost upon Will, who collided with a wall and sank once more to the floor.
“Don’t hit me any more.” Will’s arms flailed away at his unseen attacker. And suddenly a voice spoke at his ear.
“A common criminal,” said this voice, “who dares to enter here. What is your name, boy?”
“Will,” went Will. “Will Starling.”
“I am the guardian of these premises, Will Starling. You have chosen the wrong house to rob.”
“I’m no robber,” Will protested. “I’ve come to speak to Mr—”
But once more Will was hauled aloft and this time flung down the stairs, which was very painful, especially when you have a hangover.
Will lay flat upon his back at the bottom of the stairs, panting and gasping and groaning by turns. This was not at all good. In fact, this was very bad indeed. Will tried to rise but a terrible pressure forced down upon his chest.
“I must punish you,” said the voice, “so that you desist from your evil ways, so that you never steal from honest folk again.”
“I’m not a thief,” Will put up his hands to fight off his unseeable assailant and found himself gripping something. Will gripped at this something with all his might and fought to remove it from his chest.
A Dimac move, known as The whip of the wild weasel’s wanger and taught to him by Hugo Rune, entered Will’s mind and Will twisted and snapped something invisible.
“Oooooow!” howled the voice. “My ankle, you’ve broken my bally ankle.”
Something crashed down beside Will and Will fell upon this something and punched it and punched it and punched it until it made no further sounds.
Sunlight fell in through high casement windows into a pleasant front sitting room. It lit upon an elegant Georgian fireplace, with an ormolu clock of the French persuasion ticking away on its mantelshelf; numerous over-stuffed comfy-looking chairs, an escritoire, a folio stand and a whatnot loaded with whatsits.
The sunlight also lit upon something altogether strange, something that was now bound to a chair in the middle of the room.
The upper parts of this were white and man-shaped.
The lower parts were invisible. The man-shaped something struggled. The man-shaped something had a handkerchief stuffed into its mouth.
Will Starling sat in another chair facing this man-shaped something. Will Starling said, “I’m very sorry it had to turn out this way, sir. And I’m very sorry that I broke your ankle.”
“Mmmph,” went the man-shaped something.
“I’ll take the gag out of your mouth,” said Will, “if you promise not to shout. You will promise that, won’t you, Mr Wells? You are Mr H.G. Wells, aren’t you?”
What could be seen of Mr H.G. Wells nodded its head.
Will removed the gag. “I had to sprinkle you with talcum powder,” he said. “I got it from your bathroom. Floris of Jermyn Street talcum. Personal blend; you have very good taste. Mr Rune had his cologne and lavender water blended there.”
“Get me to a hospital,” wailed Mr H.G. Wells. “I am seriously injured.”
“It doesn’t look too bad,” said Will. “But then, I can’t see it. It’s invisible.”
“You sadistic fiend.”
“You started the fight,” said Will. “I was only defending myself. You threw me down the stairs, I’m bruised all over; I could have been killed.”
“So much the better for it,” hissed Mr Wells.
“You’re not a very nice man,” said Will. “And I was so looking forward to meeting you.”
“Untie me,” wailed Wells. “I’m in agony.”
“No you’re not,” said Will. “I administered some morphine that I found in your bathroom cabinet. I’m sure you’re not hurting at all. And I will see that you get medical attention if you really want to go to hospital, in your present physical condition, you being invisible and everything.”
“I’ll deal with my ankle myself,” said Wells. “Just release me.”
“I don’t think that would be for the best; you might shake off the talcum and attack me again.”
“You have my word as a gentleman that I will not.”
“And I value your word,” said Will. “But you will remain bound until I take my leave. It’s nothing personal. Well, actually, it is.”
Wells struggled some more, but Will had done a good job with the tying up.
“I am sorry,” said Will. “I hoped we’d meet under more civilised circumstances. I did knock at the door.”
“I don’t answer my door. You can see why.”
“I’m amazed,” said Will. “And very impressed. I mean, I’ve read all your books, including The Invisible Man, but I didn’t think it was true. I thought it was fiction.”
“Fiction?” said Wells. “What are you talking about?”
“You are one of my favourite novelists.”
“Novelist? I am not a novelist. I am a scientist.”
“Yes, well, certainly. Rune told me all about the time machine.”
“You are acquainted with Rune?”
“I am his magical heir,” said Will. “I have spent the last year travelling with him. He taught me many things, including Dimac”
“Set me free,” said Wells.
“All in good time,” Will sipped upon something.
“What are you drinking there?” Wells asked.
“My vintage port. My Corney and Barrow 1807. That cost me thirty guineas.”
“Oh dear,” said Will. “I didn’t look at the label. But I should have recognised it. Rune and I shared a bottle at Claridges, although we didn’t actually pay for it.”
“For the love of God,” wailed Wells. “If you’ve opened it, then at least have the common decency to let me sample a glass.”
“It might not to go too well with the morphine.”
“I care not,” said Wells. “I am beyond all caring.”
Will went over to the escritoire, poured some port for Mr Wells, held the glass to his mouth and let him sip it.
“It’s not as good as I’d hoped for,” said Wells.
“The 1809 is much better.”
“You certainly know your vintages, young man.”
“I had a good teacher. But alas he is now dead. And I am sworn to avenge his death and bring his assassin to justice.”
“Jack the Ripper,” said Wells. “The very thought of that monster abroad on the streets sends a chill into my heart. Give me a little more port.”
Will did so.
“It’s why I’m here,” said Will, sipping further port. “I believe that Rune was trying to reach your home when his attacker caught up with him.”
“I believe that too. More port, if you please.”
Will administered more port.
“It is deeply regrettable that Rune never reached here,” said Mr Wells. “Particularly so because he had promised to pay me back a sum of money he had borrowed and also to aid me in my present predicament.”
“Your being invisible, do you mean?”
“Of course I do.”
“But why do you call that a predicament? It’s an incredible scientific achievement.”
“Science is bunk!” cried Mr Wells. And he spat as he cried it. “I put my faith in science. I believed that the world could be explained according to scientific principles. I was wrong.”
“How so?” Will asked.
“Because this world does not function according to scientific principles. It functions according to magic”
“Oh,” said Will. “Really? Do you think so?”
“Look at me,” said Wells. “Look at what little you can see of me. I never intended to become invisible. I wanted to become taller. The little you can see of me is short, is it not?”
“Not that short,” said Will. “I’ve seen shorter.”
“Only at the circus. I worked on a growth serum. To alter my metabolism and increase my height. It failed dismally. The result you see, or don’t see, before you.”
“And being invisible is a bad thing?”
“Have you ever tried to shave yourself when you can’t see your reflection in the mirror? You cannot imagine how awful it is to be invisible.”
“I can imagine what fun it might be,” said Will.
“Oh yes. Such as creeping into ladies’ rooms and watching them undress.”
“Things like that,” said Will.
“I am a scientist, not a voyeur.”
“Quite so,” said Will.
“Do you think I would gain pleasure by sneaking unseen into Buckingham Palace and positioning myself upon her Majesty’s toilet, so that she sat down unknowingly upon me and did her business?”
“Absolutely not!” Will made a disgusted face. “Such a thought never entered my head. Are you all right, Mr Wells?”
Mr Wells had a curious expression upon what could be seen of his talcumed head. An expression of ecstasy.
“I’m fine,” said Wells, doing snappings-out-of-it. “Fine.”
“And Rune was going to return you to visibility, through some means or another?”
“Through magic,” said Wells. “Which seems to triumph over science at any given opportunity.”
“But you invented the time machine. That’s a triumph of science if ever there was one.”
“If only that were true.”
“But it worked. I know it worked. I came here in it from the future.”
“Not through any efforts of mine,” said Mr Wells.
“But you invented it.”
“But it didn’t work.”
Barry stirred in Will’s head. “I’ve been out for the count, chief. What happened, are we all right?”
“I’m just having a little chat with Mr Wells. Please be quiet, Barry.”
“Aaagh!” went Barry.
“Aaagh!” went Mr Wells.
Will scratched at his aching head and then he peered at Mr Wells. “Why did you just go, ‘aaagh!’?” he asked.
“You spoke the name Barry.”
“I did,” said Will.
“Barry,” said Mr Wells. “He’s in your head, isn’t he?”
“He might be,” said Will. “What is it to you?”
“The time machine,” said Mr Wells. “He was the power behind it. He made it work.”
“Barry did?”
“He’s a loony, chief,” said Barry. “And why is he all talcumed up? And why has he got bits missing? And oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
“What do you mean, Mr Wells?” Will asked.
“Forget whatever he means,” said Barry. “Let’s get out of here, chief. Things to do, places to go. Chiswick, for instance.”
“Be quiet, Barry.”
“Inside your head,” said Mr Wells. “Your poor fool.”
“Hold on there,” said Will.
“Let’s be off,” said Barry.
“No, I want to hear what Mr Wells has to say.”
“I don’t.”
“Then go back to sleep.”
“That thing,” said Mr Wells, “that thing in your head was the power behind my time machine. I was working on the project but getting nowhere. Rune came round for dinner. He needed money, but I was disinclined to lend him any, as I had done so before on several previous occasions and failed to receive repayment. Rune told me that he could make my time machine work if I advanced him one hundred pounds. He was a very persuasive speaker. I gave him the money.”
“And Barry made the time machine work?”
“It was nothing, chief, I can’t take all the credit.”
“Credit? Mr Wells’ time machine brought that terminator robot thing into the future to kill me. And that’s why I’m here, now.” Will had a very fierce face on; thankfully for Barry he couldn’t see it.
“You’re getting it wrong, chief,” the sprout protested. “It’s not how you think, it wasn’t my fault.”
“So whose fault was it?”
“Search me, chief.”
“I’m going to release you now, Mr Wells,” said Will. “Don’t get me wrong; I don’t trust you. You seem like a very bitter individual to me.”
“You’d be bitter too if you were in my position.”
“Well, be that as it may, I am going to release you. It’s time Barry and I had a long talk.”
“You won’t get much truth out of him.”
“I think I might. Do you possess a pair of tweezers? A long pair?”
“I do,” said Mr Wells.
“All right, chief, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Will thought about this. “I’m not even certain that I know what it is I want to know.”
“Fair enough then, chief, so let’s get on our way.”
“Ask him about his twin brother,” said Mr Wells.
“Damn,” said Barry.
“Cough it up,” said Will.
“Family business,” said Barry. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
Will reached down and untied Mr Wells. “I’ll help you up,” said he. “Let’s find your longest tweezers.”
“All right, chief, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Everything?” Will asked.
20
Mr Wells now sat in a comfy fireside chair, cushions all about him, his invisible broken ankle swathed in bandages and resting on a Persian pouffe. Will stoked up the fire and settled into a chair of similar comfort opposite the partially visible man.
“So, Barry,” said Will. “Would you like to tell me all about it?”
“Not really, chief.”
“Well, that is neither here nor there, nor anywhere else for that matter. Just tell me the truth and all of the truth.”
“And we’ll keep it between the two of us, yes, chief?”
“I don’t think so. Mr Wells seems to know something about this. I’d like him to hear it too.”
Mr Wells toasted Will with a glass of vintage port.
“All right then, chief. Tell you what, close your eyes and let your jaw go slack and I’ll work your vocal cords.”
Will shook his head and sighed. “If it will save time, then I will.” And so Will closed his eyes and slackened his jaw.
And Barry manipulated Will’s vocal cords.
“We must be off,” said the voice of Will. “Goodbye now, Mr Wells.”
“No!” Will’s eyes became widely open. “Just tell the truth and let’s be done with it.” And he closed his eyes and slackened his jaw once again.
And in that cosy room, with the comfy chairs and the dancing firelight and the light of the morning entering the windows, Barry told his tale through the mouth of Will Starling.
“Firstly,” he said. “You have to understand that none of this is my fault. Well, possibly some of it is, but most of it isn’t. You can look upon me as not just a Holy Guardian sprout assigned to bring comfort to a single individual, but as more of a Holy Guardian of the World sprout, a sprouty soldier of fortune on constant assignment to the forces of goodness and purity.”
Mr Wells made groaning sounds.
“Your ankle paining you?” Barry asked.
“Your banal conversation,” said Mr Wells.
“But it’s true,” said Barry. “It really is. As a scholar you must surely know that since the time of Christ, and possibly even before, mankind has been under the constant belief that it is living in the End Times; that the Apocalypse and Armageddon, and things of that nature generally, are about to occur.”
The Witches of Chiswick Page 20
