The Martian Ambassador

by Alan K Baker

  As she stepped lightly onto the platform, Sophia breathed in deeply. ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘Smell the air, Thomas! It’s so lovely to get out of London for an afternoon.’

  Blackwood agreed: the air was cool and clear, with none of the taint that constantly afflicted the atmosphere in the capital.

  ‘How far is it to Fyne Court?’

  ‘The Crosse estate is a little over four miles north of here, near the village of Broomfield. I’m sure we shall be able to secure some transportation, if we ask in the right place.’

  ‘And where would that be?’ asked Sophia as they left the station and emerged onto North Street, the main thoroughfare through Taunton.

  Blackwood pointed directly ahead, at a tavern whose sign proclaimed it to be the Waggoner’s Arms. They crossed the street and entered the low-ceilinged saloon, in which a few locals were taking some early afternoon refreshment. Everyone turned in their direction, as local people are wont to do when newcomers arrive, and the scattered conversations died down to an occasional murmur of curiosity.

  They approached the bar, behind which the rotund, florid-faced barkeep gave a slight bow and said, ‘Arternoon, sir, madam. What’ll it be?’

  Blackwood withdrew his wallet and placed a guinea on the counter. ‘Your help would be much appreciated, my good man. My companion and I would like to procure transportation to Broomfield. Do you know of anyone who might take us there without delay?’

  The guinea vanished into the barkeep’s pocket with almost supernatural speed, and he nodded in the direction of a far corner of the room. ‘Old Davey’s headin’ up that way, ain’t you, Davey?’

  ‘That oi be,’ came the reply from the corner, in which sat a wiry old man with a thin, straggly beard and bright, humorous eyes. ‘If the gentleman’ll toss one o’ them guineas my way, oi’ll be ’appy to take him and the lady... if they don’t moind spendin’ ’alf an hour in an ’ay cart, that is.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Blackwood. ‘A guinea it is, then.’

  Old Davey drained the last of the ale from his tankard and stood up, a trifle unsteadily, Sophia thought with a suppressed smile. ‘Cart’s ’round the back,’ he said as he tottered through the front door.

  ‘Good day to you all,’ said Blackwood to the other patrons as he and Sophia followed their new driver out into the street. Davey led them around the corner of the building and into a small yard at the rear, where his horse and cart were waiting.

  Blackwood helped Sophia up onto the bench, and then climbed up as Davey took the reins and said, ‘Come on, boy!’ to the horse. With a clap-clapping of hooves, they left the Waggoner’s Arms behind and, a few minutes later, were heading north out of Taunton through the rolling Quantock Hills.

  *

  ‘This is such a delightful part of the country,’ said Sophia as they made their way along a narrow lane with lush green hills rising towards a cloud-feathered sky. ‘Have you lived here all your life, Davey?’ she asked the old man.

  ‘Aye, that oi ’ave, ma’am,’ he replied.

  ‘In that case,’ said Blackwood, ‘you will know something of Mr Andrew Crosse.’

  Sophia, who was sitting between Davey and Blackwood, felt the old man tense, as if he had received a shock.

  When he made no reply, Blackwood glanced across at him. ‘Davey?’

  ‘All the folks ’ereabouts knows about Mr Crosse, sir,’ he said in a low grumble. ‘We calls him the Wizard of the Quantocks.’

  ‘A most peculiar nickname,’ observed Sophia. ‘Why do you call him that?’

  ‘Because that’s what he is, ma’am. Keepin’ himself locked away on that ramshackle estate o’ his, in that workshop o’ his, doin’ all them things that man weren’t meant to do! Aye, he be a wizard all right, and folks ’round here’d be right glad if he’d take himself off and never come back!’

  Sophia and Blackwood glanced at each other. ‘What kind of things?’ asked Blackwood.

  ‘He calls up ghosts and devils, he does! The people o’ Broomfield know all about it, and they take care to steer clear o’ Fyne Court after dark. You can see the lights at night: queer, blue dancin’ lights upon the hills around the estate, an’ a terrible sparking sound, like nearby thunder. Some people calls ’im the thunder an’ lightnin’ man, as well, and there’s some as believe he uses black magic to call the thunder down out o’ the sky – and other things, besides!’

  Blackwood stole a quick look at Sophia, wishing that the old man hadn’t spoken in such terms, but she seemed unperturbed, and was regarding their confidante with an expression of intense concentration.

  Old Davey continued in a low voice, speaking more to himself than to his passengers. ‘Aye, whatever he’s doin’ up there, it ain’t natural... it be against God is what it be!’ As he said this, something seemed to occur to him, and he turned suddenly suspicious eyes on Blackwood. ‘By the by, sir – who be you and the young lady goin’ to see up in Broomfield, if it ain’t out o’ turn to ask?’

  Blackwood smiled at him, and replied, ‘Why, we’re going to see the very gentleman of whom you speak.’

  Sophia gave a little gasp and looked at him as Davey brought the cart to a sudden halt.

  Blackwood took out his wallet, flipped it open and showed his identification to Davey. ‘We are agents of the Crown, and are conducting an investigation into Mr Crosse’s activities, of which, I might add, Her Majesty takes a very dim view. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if, one day quite soon, you and the other good people of Broomfield are free of him forever.’

  Davey peered at the contents of the wallet and scratched his beard. ‘Agents of the Crown, you say?’

  ‘Indeed. And you, sir, have already been of great service to us, which I assure you we will not forget. Now... may we continue on our way?’

  Davey hesitated for a moment and then nodded and flicked the reins.

  Half an hour later, they reached the edge of Broomfield. Davey brought the cart to a halt and pointed towards a narrow path between two fields of rich, dark soil. ‘Fyne Court be that way,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sure to say a prayer for you both.’

  ‘Much obliged,’ Blackwood replied, as he helped Sophia down. ‘I’d also be obliged enough to give you five guineas if you’re here in two hours’ time. We’ll be needing a ride back to Taunton when we have completed our business.’

  ‘Five guineas?’ Davey marvelled. ‘Oi’ll be ’ere, sir!’ And with that, the cart clattered off into the village.

  As they began to walk in the direction Davey had indicated, Sophia said, ‘I must admit, Thomas, that I was most surprised when you told him where we’re going.’

  ‘I had no choice: we know no one in Broomfield, and I’ll wager Old Davey knows everyone. He would have seen through a lie immediately. This way, at least he is assured that we are on the side of good, and that we shall take action against “the Wizard of the Quantocks” if necessary.’

  As their course took them up the shallow rise of a low, rounded hill, Sophia seized Blackwood’s arm and pointed into the field to their left. ‘What is that?’

  ‘I see it,’ he said, and without further ado, he jumped across the ditch and turned, with his arms spread to catch Sophia. She had already jumped across, however, and now stood beside him once more, a delightful smirk on her face. ‘Capital,’ chuckled Blackwood as they entered the field and walked toward the line of strange objects that marched off into the distance.

  As they drew near, they saw that the objects were wooden posts, each about five feet tall, which had been sunk into the soil, and between which a number of strands of copper wire had been strung. The whole arrangement comprised a sort of incomplete fence, which extended beyond their field of view around the shoulder of the hill.

  ‘What on earth is it?’ wondered Sophia.

  ‘My bet would be that it is the origin of the ghostly blue lights Old Davey was telling us about – not to mention the strange sparking sounds which he likened to thunder.’

  ‘An experiment in e
lectricity?’

  ‘So I should judge. Come, let’s continue on our way. I’m anxious to make the acquaintance of the “thunder and lightning man”!’

  *

  The path led over the brow of the hill and down to a wide lawn, at the centre of which stood Fyne Court. Blackwood estimated the main part of the house to date from the early eighteenth century, although the two-storey structure had been added to much more recently, with a single-storey annex running across the gravel courtyard to a smaller outbuilding. The whole complex was constructed of light tan stone which reflected the intermittent sunlight quite fetchingly.

  ‘What a charming place!’ declared Sophia. ‘It’s difficult to imagine that this could be the origin of so much fear and dark rumours.’

  Blackwood took his revolver from the pocket of his Ulster and checked that all five chambers were full. ‘Fear and darkness can be found in the unlikeliest of places, as we both well know,’ he replied as he strode across the courtyard to the front door of the main house. He rapped loudly upon the peeling paint with his cane, and they waited patiently for a response.

  When none came, Blackwood nodded, as if he had been expecting this.

  ‘Perhaps he is in his laboratory,’ suggested Sophia.

  ‘A fair assumption.’

  They turned away from the door and walked back along the wall of the annex, looking in through the windows as they went. Presently, they came to the door of the outbuilding, upon which Blackwood rapped.

  ‘Who’s there?’ came a voice from within.

  ‘My name is Thomas Blackwood, Special Investigator for Her Majesty. I am here on Crown business. Open the door, sir!’

  ‘I don’t care who you are!’ cried the voice. ‘Go away! I don’t wish to be disturbed.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t, do you?’ Blackwood muttered. He called out, ‘Your wishes are irrelevant, Mr Crosse. Open this door at once, or I will not hesitate to knock it down and arrest you for obstruction of a Crown Investigator! You have ten seconds.’

  There were sounds of movement from within, as of someone shuffling back and forth. Sophia imagined the man pacing rapidly, wondering whether the interloper were bluffing or would make good on his threat.

  ‘Five seconds!’ shouted Blackwood.

  ‘All right, all right!’ came the voice, its tone suggesting a curious mixture of panic and resignation.

  There was a click as the latch was lifted, and the door swung aside to reveal Andrew Crosse. Sophia was struck by his fine-featured handsomeness; for some reason, she had been expecting some grizzled ogre, an expectation which had not been countered by the obvious youthfulness of his voice. But here, clearly, was a man of refinement and good breeding, with pale skin and a neatly-trimmed moustache, carefully-combed hair and bright, clear eyes in which she detected warmth and decency.

  Blackwood stepped forward. ‘Mr Crosse. Thomas Blackwood...’

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘This is my colleague, Lady Sophia Harrington.’

  In spite of his obvious agitation, Crosse did not neglect his manners and gave a slight bow to Sophia. ‘What do you wish to see me about, Mr Blackwood?’

  ‘A matter pertaining to the security of the Empire,’ Blackwood replied, stepping across the threshold with such authority that Crosse was forced to retreat a few steps. ‘And perhaps to the security of the entire world. Do you still wish to send us on our way?’ he added in a dark and threatening tone.

  Crosse’s shoulders sagged, and his face wore a defeated expression as he replied, ‘No... no, of course not.’ He turned and walked away from them, motioning them inside with a listless wave of his hand.

  Sophia followed Blackwood into the room and closed the door behind her. She looked around, and was astonished at the profusion of arcane equipment and curious devices which lined the walls and occupied the long workbench which dominated the centre of the laboratory. Strange lumps of machinery, festooned with pipes and wires and gauges, occupied every available horizontal surface. Some were connected to each other with strands of copper wire, similar to that which they had seen out in the nearby field. The air in the room was warm – due, Sophia surmised, to the running of the electrical apparatuses – and was suffused with a low hum, which disturbed and unsettled her in a way that she could not quite define.

  Crosse turned and faced his visitors. ‘Well, Mr Blackwood, what is this matter which concerns the security of the world?’

  ‘I take it you are aware that Ambassador Lunan R’ondd of Mars died three days ago.’

  ‘I do read the papers.’

  ‘Then you will also be aware that there has been speculation regarding the nature of his death – that he was the victim of an assassin.’

  Crosse swallowed but said nothing.

  ‘That speculation, sir, is well-founded, for Ambassador R’ondd was murdered.’

  Crosse regarded Blackwood with wide, unblinking eyes. ‘How?’ he whispered.

  ‘He was suffocated. His breathing apparatus was sabotaged... by the insertion of Acarus galvanicus mites!’

  Crosse stepped back suddenly and seemed to stagger, as if Blackwood had just struck him. ‘Oh, dear God!’ he cried.

  Blackwood moved forward slowly towards the scientist, his tall frame subtly menacing. ‘The mites fed directly on the life-giving gasses circulating through the apparatus, before they could reach the Ambassador’s lungs. Whoever placed them there murdered him, just as surely as if they’d put a bullet through his brain!’

  ‘No!’ whispered Crosse.

  ‘There is no such organism as Acarus galvanicus in Nature: they are artificial life forms, grown from inanimate matter through the application of electro-chemical techniques... techniques which you perfected, Mr Crosse!’

  The scientist’s hands flew up to his face, hiding it, and he turned away from Blackwood and Sophia, bent over his workbench, and began to weep. ‘I didn’t know!’ he said, between snivelling gasps. ‘God help me, I didn’t know!’

  ‘Didn’t know what, Mr Crosse?’

  Sophia moved forward, intending to comfort the man, but Blackwood put out an arm and stopped her. ‘Thomas,’ she whispered angrily, ‘he’s broken – look at him.’

  Blackwood glared at her and shook his head firmly.

  ‘I didn’t... didn’t know they’d be used for such a foul purpose. How could I have known?’

  ‘Used by whom?’ demanded Blackwood. ‘Tell me now, man, or it will go very badly for you!’

  Although he had stopped Sophia from comforting Crosse, Blackwood understood her compassion. This man, he was quite sure, was no criminal: he was a seeker after the truth of the world, a pilgrim in search of knowledge. He was an explorer, after a fashion, charting the unknown realms of electricity and chemistry, seeking out the mysterious processes by which they had combined, in aeons past, to produce life on Earth. He was to be respected – applauded! – for his vocation, but clearly, like many men of science, he was naïve and ill understood the darker ways of humankind. Blackwood saw through to the root of the matter: someone had visited Crosse recently and had taken advantage of his research in ways the scientist would never have sanctioned, had he but known the truth. But who?

  Blackwood did not like using threats, but regrettably there were occasions when there was no other way to get to the truth. Andrew Crosse appeared to be on the point of collapse: Blackwood would only have to sneeze to make him crumble completely and spill everything he knew.

  He lowered his voice as he said, ‘I have to tell you, sir, that you are looking at the hangman’s noose unless you cooperate with us entirely and without hesitation. Even then, it’ll be the devil’s own job to keep you out of prison for a very long time.’

  ‘But I had no intention of...’ Crosse began to protest.

  ‘Your intentions are what we have come to ascertain,’ Blackwood interrupted. ‘Your work was dismissed by the Royal Society, was it not? They considered you a charlatan and a buffoon.’

  ‘You think I acted out
of a desire for revenge?’ asked Crosse incredulously.

  Blackwood did not answer immediately. Instead, he began to examine the various items of electrical equipment with which the laboratory was packed. ‘How did you do it?’ he asked presently. ‘How did you manage to create life from lifelessness? Tell us everything. And tell us now!’

  Crosse sighed deeply, and leaned against the workbench as if exhausted by some terrible labour. ‘It happened while I was conducting certain experiments on the artificial formation of crystals by means of weak electrical currents applied over long periods of time. I was attempting to produce crystals of silica by allowing a suitable fluid medium to seep through a piece of porous stone, while applying an electric current from a voltaic battery. The fluid was a mixture of hydrochloric acid and a solution of silicate of potash.

  ‘On the fourteenth day from the commencement of this experiment, I observed through a lens a few small whitish excrescences, projecting from about the middle of the electrified stone. On the eighteenth day, these projections enlarged and stuck out seven or eight filaments, each of them longer than the hemisphere on which they grew.’

  ‘The galvanicus mites?’ said Blackwood.

  Crosse nodded. ‘On the twenty-sixth day, these appearances assumed the form of a perfect insect, standing erect on a few bristles which formed its tail. Until this period I had no notion that these appearances were other than an incipient mineral formation. On the twenty-eighth day, these little creatures moved their legs. I must admit that I was not a little astonished. After a few days they detached themselves from the stone and moved about of their own volition.

  ‘Over the course of the next few weeks, about a hundred of these creatures appeared on the stone. I examined them closely under a microscope, and saw that the smaller ones appeared to have six legs, and the larger ones eight. I decided that they must be of the genus Acarus, but wondered whether they were a known species or one never seen before.