by Darrell Pitt
‘Yes.’
‘She always goes there when she’s in a good mood.’
‘And what about now?’
‘I suspect she’s a little depressed. You should speak to her more. Tell her a joke.’
‘Tell her a joke?’
‘Everyone loves a good joke and she’s all alone in that enclosure.’
‘Then she needs to stop eating her visitors.’
‘Bertha wouldn’t eat anyone.’ Scarlet leant close to the bars. ‘Would you, my little baby girl?’
Jack rolled his eyes. I’m in Hell, he thought. Hell.
Mr Doyle brought the Lion’s Mane in to land on a roof in Norbury. A local shopkeeper pointed them in the direction of a rundown street lined with warehouses. A train track ran across the far end and a goods train chuffed past, spewing smoke into the air.
‘Carpenters. Plumbers. A wholesaling firm,’ Mr Doyle commented as they strolled down the road. ‘I wonder what we will find.’
The workshop was a brick warehouse covered in peeling sky-blue paint. There were two doors at the front: one for vehicles, the other for workers. Across the top hung a sign that read Ashgrove Importing.
Mr Doyle looked in through a small window. ‘It appears to be empty,’ he said.
Checking that no-one was watching, he produced his lock pick and opened the door. They stepped inside to a dusty room with heavy machinery set into the stone floor. The ceiling was high and supported by joists. The timber walls were whitewashed. A set of stairs made from rough timber led upwards at the back of the chamber. Jack inhaled. There was an odd scent in the building.
‘What’s that smell?’ Scarlet glared at Jack. ‘Is that you?’
‘Scarlet!’
Mr Doyle smiled. ‘I notice it too. I believe it’s electricity.’
‘They’re making electricity?’ Jack said.
‘Many inventors have tried to perfect its use, but none have been successful.’
In the middle of the room was a barrel-shaped machine about ten feet in length. As they drew close the smell grew stronger. Electricity was a dangerous form of power. Many people had been killed experimenting with it. Jack frowned. Steam was far safer. He doubted anyone would ever improve on it.
Scarlet produced a pair of goggles and peered into the heart of the machine. ‘I can see pieces of copper,’ she said. ‘And tubing.’
‘It might be some kind of generator,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It can build up—watch out!’
CHAPTER SIX
Mr Doyle pushed Scarlet and Jack aside as a shot rang out. Scarlet dragged off her goggles and they scurried behind the machinery. Mr Doyle pulled out his gun as several more bullets whizzed over their heads. They were safe—for the moment—but stranded in the middle of the warehouse.
‘You’re not going anywhere, Chameleon!’ Mr Doyle yelled. ‘The building is surrounded by police.’
‘That’s a lie!’
‘I was hoping he wouldn’t realise that,’ Mr Doyle sighed.
Jack glimpsed a figure disappear up the stairs. It was a long-haired man wearing dirty clothing. He looked like he lived on the streets.
‘I’m not sure if that’s the man I saw at the carnival,’ Jack whispered.
‘He’s employing another disguise.’
‘So we now know the Chameleon is linked to the men working here—and to that man Olinka Slate,’ Scarlet said.
‘It would seem so.’ Mr Doyle glanced at the stairs again. ‘He must have left by the roof.’ He frowned. ‘Which wouldn’t make any sense because there’s nowhere to go unless…’
‘…he has an airship,’ Scarlet concluded.
‘Absolutely. Come on, team. We must fight fire with fire.’
They hurried out of the building and back towards the Lion’s Mane. Mr Doyle launched the vessel and they zoomed in the direction of the warehouse. An olive-green airship was just disappearing between two city blocks.
‘That must be the Chameleon!’ Mr Doyle cried. ‘Hold on to your hats!’
The Lion’s Mane accelerated as the detective manoeuvred downwards into a redeveloped section of the city containing apartment blocks some fifty storeys high. The lanes between them were narrow. Only a crazy person would fly an airship here. Crazy or determined.
The Chameleon’s ship was now several hundred feet ahead. Jack gripped a guardrail as Bertha scuttled about in her cage.
‘We’re closing the gap,’ Mr Doyle said.
As they neared the Chameleon, his airship took a sharp left turn down another street. Mr Doyle applied the forward thrusters to slow the Lion’s Mane. Both Scarlet and Jack were thrown into the control panel as Mr Doyle spun the wheel. The spider leapt about in her cage in alarm as their vessel scraped the paint off a building.
‘He’s getting away!’ Jack yelled.
‘It’s not over yet,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I have an unexpected surprise.’ He lifted a brass plate from the controls, revealing a bright-red button. ‘Scarlet. Will you be so kind as to push this when I give the word?’
‘Of course.’ Her finger hovered. ‘I’m ready, Mr Doyle.’
‘All right…now!’
Scarlet pushed the button. A panel flipped up on the console and a piece of cheese flew into the air. Mr Doyle frowned. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen. We’ll try this one instead. Hold on everyone!’
He pounded another button and a blast erupted from the rear of the Lion’s Mane. Jack and Scarlet lost their balance once again as the ship surged forward. Glancing up at Bertha, Jack saw that the tarantula was now stationed at the top of her cage where the ladder met the perch.
She’s enjoying herself!
‘Good heavens!’ Scarlet said. ‘What was that?’
‘Rockets,’ Mr Doyle answered. ‘They’ll only give us a few seconds of thrust, but it should be enough.’
He was right. The Lion’s Mane shot down the avenue until it drew within feet of the green airship. An arm appeared at the window.
‘Down!’
They didn’t need to be told twice. Several shots rang out. The windscreen shattered and Mr Doyle lifted his own weapon to fire. He had used various guns over the years before deciding to design his own, and it was a small and powerful device, made from brass and iron, which looked like a squat cannon on a handle. Instead of rotating behind the barrel, the chamber spun perpendicular beneath it. Jack had never seen anything like it, but Mr Doyle told him it was based on one of history’s largest artillery weapons, the Tsar’s Cannon, built in sixteenth-century Russia. Mr Doyle had even given his gun a name—Clarabelle.
But before he could pull the trigger, the Chameleon’s airship unexpectedly disappeared down a side street leading to a bridge. ‘He’s turned again,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Damnation!’
The Chameleon put his ship into a dive. Mr Doyle matched him. Just as he was about to go under the bridge, the Chameleon shot into a sharp ascent. There wasn’t enough time for Mr Doyle to mimic the manoeuvre and the Lion’s Mane flew under, skidding along the stonework.
‘That’s too close for comfort,’ Scarlet said as they emerged from the other side. ‘But what—’
The Chameleon was gone.
‘Mr Doyle? Where is he?’
Jack studied the landscape. ‘He’s vanished.’
‘There!’ Scarlet pointed.
The Chameleon was zooming along a side street away from the river. But instead of pursuing, Mr Doyle brought the Lion’s Mane into a sharp ascent. ‘We’ll be able to get a better view if we gain altitude,’ he explained.
Soon the streets looked like a giant jigsaw puzzle, but the Chameleon’s airship was still nowhere to be seen. Then it rose again, shooting between two narrow buildings. Mr Doyle swung around and brought the Lion’s Mane into a rapid descent, sweeping in behind the Chameleon. The detective readied a lever on the panel.
Ptang!
A grappling hook fired from the Lion’s Mane and smashed through the window of the other airship.
�
�Stay down,’ Mr Doyle ordered. They were now attached to the green ship, but it was continuing to rise, dragging the Lion’s Mane behind it.
‘I don’t see him,’ Jack said.
‘Neither do I,’ Mr Doyle said.
A moment later both ships were high above the city.
‘Mr Doyle?’ Scarlet ventured. ‘What do you think he’s up to?’
‘I have no idea. But the Chameleon has more tricks up his sleeve than a magician.’
‘Why isn’t he doing anything?’
‘Something is wrong here.’ Mr Doyle pushed a button on his console and the grappling hook disengaged. ‘I don’t like the look of this.’
He steered the Lion’s Mane away. There was no movement in the other vessel’s control room. Maybe the Chameleon had been struck by the grappling hook and knocked out. Or was he hiding?
All of a sudden, the Chameleon’s vessel turned white. The flash was so bright that Jack had to shut his eyes. The explosion raced towards them, its sound following an instant later like rolling thunder. Mr Doyle threw the Lion’s Mane into full reverse.
Bertha leapt about in her cage, glaring at Jack. It’s not my fault, he wanted to tell the tarantula, but there was no time. He crashed into Scarlet and they both fell to the floor. Jack caught a glimpse of her horrified face. He knew what she was thinking: fire and hydrogen did not mix.
Another blast slammed into them, throwing the Lion’s Mane sideways. Don’t let the hydrogen combust, he thought. Please don’t let…
BOOM!
The Lion’s Mane’s balloon exploded. Fire surrounded the airship before they plummeted towards the ground.
CHAPTER SEVEN
This is it, Jack thought. This is the end.
He and Scarlet were tangled in a puzzle of arms and legs as the airship fell like a rock. Bertha clung to her cage, baring her fangs in alarm. Mr Doyle struggled to his feet. Reached for the steering wheel. Braced himself against the control panel. Hit a lever. A pen and pot of ink flew into the air. The detective cursed, then with his hand he slid across a bronze panel, revealing a green button, and slammed his fist down on it.
Ka-rakk!
It sounded like another explosion, but was followed by the noise of something clanging into position. From the floor, Jack saw the remains of the Lion’s Mane’s balloon break free, fall away. Then something slid across his field of vision. It looked like an enormous umbrella, turning the sky grey.
Whoompf!
‘Hold on!’ Mr Doyle yelled.
Their descent suddenly slowed, the inertia pressing Jack and the others against the floor. The gondola swayed from side to side and Jack looked up to see something hanging over the Lion’s Mane.
‘It’s a parachute,’ Mr Doyle explained. ‘A special modification of my own making.’
‘A parachute?’ Scarlet said.
‘I believe we may survive,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I first used it during a case involving a chimpanzee, an emu egg and a…’
‘We have a parachute?’ Scarlet sounded like she was choking. ‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’
‘I didn’t think it was important.’
‘Not important?’
Scarlet’s face was redder than her hair. Before she could erupt like Mount Vesuvius, the ship struck something. The windows cracked and water began pouring in. Jack clambered to his feet.
‘Ah, we’ve landed in a pond,’ Mr Doyle said calmly. ‘Time to abandon ship. And Jack, don’t forget Bertha!’
Oh yes, Jack thought. Don’t forget that blasted spider!
Bertha’s cage had bounced to the floor. Jack snatched it up as filthy pond water continued to surge into the sinking vessel. Clambering through the rear doors, he held up the cage as he dog-paddled the short distance to the bank. He could have sworn the spider was dancing a jig.
Monster!
They had landed in a pond in a small park. People gazed at the crash in astonishment. It appeared the Chameleon’s gondola had hurtled into some trees a short distance away and it was now burning furiously. Far away came the bell of a fire engine.
The detective stared at the Chameleon’s gondola. ‘He must have abandoned the craft when he was out of sight, then set a timer to make it explode.’
Scarlet threw herself onto the bank to examine Bertha. ‘How is little coochy-koo after that big fall?’
‘How is coochy-koo?’ Jack spluttered. ‘How about me?’
‘I can see you’re fine. It’s our little furry friend I’m worried about.’
‘I think she’s fine,’ he said, glancing at the spider. ‘She’s singing a little song—“Rule Britannia”.’
Mr Doyle sat next to them. Dripping with mud and water, they watched until the Lion’s Mane had capsized and disappeared.
‘Oh dear,’ Mr Doyle sighed. ‘I loved that ship.’
Jack began to laugh.
‘Jack? Are you all right?’
Tears streamed down his face.
Scarlet looked concerned. ‘I do believe Jack has gone momentarily insane. It may be the stress. Jack, try to concentrate on my voice. I will say a word and I want you to repeat it. Apple. Say apple…’
‘Mr Doyle,’ Jack chortled. ‘You saved our lives.’
‘That’s my job.’ The detective smiled. ‘Now, if your hysteria has passed, we must return to Bee Street. I trust one of us has the fare for the train.’
Jack fished in his green coat and produced some coins. The fire brigade and the police had now arrived. Mr Doyle promised them he would file a report.
They found the train station. On board, the carriage was crowded, but it quickly emptied when Jack waved the cage around. By the time the three of them arrived home, they were dishevelled and exhausted. Gloria jumped up as they walked in the front door.
‘What on earth happened?’ She glared at Mr Doyle. ‘You haven’t been doing another of your experiments, have you? That one involving the catapult and Mrs Clarke’s terrier—’
‘It’s a long story,’ Mr Doyle interrupted. ‘But we would very much appreciate a pot of tea, if you can manage it.’
Jack showered and changed. Back in his room, he found a telescope under his bed that he’d never seen before. He sighed. Mr Doyle was always testing his powers of observation. Throwing on a new pair of dark trousers and a blue-and-white striped shirt, he made his way through the apartment.
He doubted he would ever quite get used to his new home. It was not messy. Not exactly, anyway: there was, in fact, a strange order to it, with everything slotting together in just the right way. Jack passed a stuffed monkey, a three-foot replica airship, a collection of jars containing mould, and a gramophone with chess pieces spinning around on the turntable. A giant penny that had once been in Scarlet’s room was now joined by an even larger statue of a big toe. Mr Doyle said he had won it in an arm-wrestling match with a bishop.
A creature trundled into the hallway, peered at him and disappeared under Mr Doyle’s matchbox collection. It was Isaac Newton, an echidna from Australia that had somehow taken up residence in the apartment. There had never been an explanation as to how he got there. Mr Doyle confessed to housing other creatures, but had been vague as to what they were.
The sitting room with its table and mismatching chairs was at the heart of the apartment. Surrounded by similarly strange objects, Scarlet was already seated with her hair back in place. She wore a lilac dress and a black leather bustier. Sipping at a cup of tea, she was looking at a bookcase covered in jars, books and fragments of Roman pottery. Mr Doyle leafed through correspondence.
‘What is it?’ Jack asked Scarlet.
She didn’t speak, but indicated the bookcase. Jack could see a hole in the timber. He was sure it hadn’t been there before. Beyond it lay a glass enclosure filled with leaves and stick insects.
Gloria appeared with a makeshift dinner of cold kippers and salad as Mr Doyle continued to read his papers. Jack and Scarlet ate ravenously, but the detective ignored the meal, chewing on a lump of mouldy cheese
.
‘What will happen to the Lion’s Mane?’ Jack asked.
‘I have already arranged for her to be dredged from that pond,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘She’ll be shipshape before you know it.’
‘I know of a possible replacement,’ Scarlet said, peering into space. ‘There was a Brinkie Buckeridge book where she built an airship from a sewing machine and a huge bunch of balloons.’
‘That’s rather a good idea,’ Mr Doyle said.
Jack shook his head, imagining them investigating crime in a sewing machine supported by carnival balloons. He choked on a kipper.
By the time they finished their meal, it was early in the evening, but Mr Doyle insisted they retire to bed. Jack said goodnight and returned to his room. After getting changed, he climbed into bed, but only a moment later a knock sounded at his door. It was Scarlet.
‘Jack? I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
‘No. That’s fine.’
‘I thought I’d loan you some books.’
Scarlet handed a volume to him. It was entitled Modern Art and the Work of Ebra Bornhoffen. He flipped it open.
‘I love this man’s art,’ Scarlet said, pointing to an image. ‘His paintings have an extravagant focus on negative colours.’
‘I just thought he liked the colour black,’ Jack said.
The picture was a square of black ink. Most of the other pages had identical pictures on them.
‘It’s a commentary on the desperate hopelessness of our modern era and our inability to make love universal.’ Scarlet smiled. ‘I noticed you were unsure about art history when Miss Bloxley mentioned it the other day.’
Jack recalled the incident. He had thought that Mannerism was when people were exceptionally polite to one another, and Rococo a type of hot drink.
‘I was confused.’ He indicated the other volume in Scarlet’s hands. ‘And what’s that?’
She held the book like it was made of crystal. ‘Jack, this is one of my most treasured possessions, but I think you’re ready for it.’
The cover showed a girl in man’s clothing with a crossbow in one hand and a sword in the other. She was tall with flowing blonde hair and a defiant expression. Standing on top of a moving train, she had vanquished two evildoers who lay motionless at her feet.
