The Martian Ambassador

by Alan K Baker

  ‘Meddings delivered your summons to me three days ago. He clearly knew that the Bureau had been instructed by Her Majesty to begin an investigation of Lunan R’ondd’s assassination – and he had gumption enough to realise that I was about to be put on the case. And lo and behold, the following day I find that my cogitator has been sabotaged, allowing an Arabian djinn to enter the machine. I believe Meddings to be in the employ of Lord Pannick, who is in league with the Venusians.’

  Victoria thought about this for some moments. ‘It is true,’ she said presently, ‘that Lord Pannick is a man of wide-ranging interests… and those interests include the occult.’

  ‘And Indrid Cold was seen entering Pannick’s estate on the evening of the twenty-fifth.’

  Grandfather looked at the Queen, who gave him a barely-perceptible nod. ‘All right, Blackwood,’ he said. ‘You’ve won yourself a reprieve. What do you intend to do next? What are your recommendations?’

  Blackwood indicated the Æther ship behind them. ‘First of all, I would suggest that we make a gift of this to the Martians. It would be an act of considerable good faith: it would acknowledge their superiority in the science of space travel and would display our own refusal to keep anything from them.’

  Grandfather looked at the Queen.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Victoria.

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Grandfather. ‘What’s your next step?’

  Before Blackwood could answer, Shanahan appeared in the air before them. Perfect timing, my little friend, he thought.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir!’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry to drop in unannounced.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Blackwood, who then introduced the faerie to Victoria and Grandfather.

  Shanahan landed on Blackwood’s left shoulder and gave a deep bow to the Queen. ‘An honour to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty!’

  Victoria quickly overcame her surprise, and replied, ‘We are pleased to meet you, Mr Shanahan.’

  ‘What news?’ asked Blackwood.

  ‘I followed Indrid Cold, as you instructed, sir. My goodness but he moved fast! But I was able to keep up.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Blackwood impatiently. ‘Where did he take Sophia?’

  ‘To Lord Pannick’s manor house, sir!’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Grandfather. ‘Well, I suppose that clinches it. There’s nothing for it but to arrest His Lordship without delay.’

  ‘With respect,’ said Blackwood, ‘that may not be the best option. Don’t forget that he is holding Sophia…’

  ‘I understand your concern,’ Grandfather interrupted, holding up his hand. ‘But we are talking about the security of the British Empire – not to mention that of the entire world – and that must take priority over the safety of any one individual. We must put an end to Pannick’s plan as soon as possible.’

  Saint Germain, who had been listening in silence to the conversation, turned as a man approached him with a slip of paper. The man’s expression was one of grim concern. The Comte took the paper, read it and frowned.

  ‘Monsieur le Comte,’ said Victoria. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A telegraph message, Your Majesty,’ he replied.

  ‘From whom?’ asked Grandfather.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Saint Germain replied, ‘but I think I should read it out.’

  ‘Please do,’ said Victoria.

  The Comte cleared his throat and read, ‘To Her Majesty’s Bureau of Clandestine Affairs, for the attention of Grandfather and Mr Thomas Blackwood, Special Investigator. I must inform you that Lady Sophia Harrington is now my guest, and that I shall treat her with all due care and courtesy, provided that you cease and desist from your investigation into the assassination of Lunan R’ondd, late Ambassador for Mars to the Court of Saint James’s. Should you choose to ignore this communication, I shall have no option but to take Her Ladyship’s life, in a manner most unpleasant.’

  ‘Oh… that poor girl!’ said Victoria.

  ‘We must stand firm, Your Majesty,’ said Grandfather. ‘I assure you that I am equally appalled by this. But I say again that the Empire and the world are at stake.’

  ‘What do you think, Mr Blackwood?’ asked Victoria.

  Struggling with the fear and rage that had risen like a tidal wave in his heart, Blackwood replied, ‘Grandfather is right: we cannot place the safety of a single individual above that of the Empire. However,’ he added after taking a deep breath, ‘we should also note that this telegraph message is anonymous.’

  ‘Meaning?’ said Grandfather.

  ‘Meaning Lord Pannick doesn’t realise that we know he’s the one behind this. He’s still playing his cards close to his chest, believing that his identity is still unknown. I must say I’m very glad I didn’t arrest Meddings.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Grandfather. ‘I think I know where you’re going with this.’

  ‘The fact that Pannick doesn’t realise we know he’s the traitor is very much to our advantage. But we’re still in the dark as to the fine detail of his plan…’

  ‘On the country,’ said Grandfather, ‘we know exactly what the blighter’s plan is: he’s pushing Earth and Mars into a state of war!’

  ‘Yes, but how? Indrid Cold has sown the seeds of fear and mistrust between the two worlds, but that in itself is not enough to ignite an all-out interplanetary conflagration. Something more is required – but we still don’t know what that something is. Arresting Pannick now may well rob us of the opportunity to find out. We may be unable to get him to talk, and the plan may be such that it reaches fruition without his direct involvement. And of course, Sophia will die – in a horrible way, apparently.’

  Grandfather chuckled grimly. ‘You want to go in alone, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, sir. My suggestion is that I enter his estate under cover of night and see if I can find out what his endgame is: how he plans to push Earth and Mars over the edge and into the abyss of interplanetary war.’

  ‘And rescue Lady Sophia in the process?’

  ‘If at all possible, yes sir.’

  ‘Won’t that tip our hand just as surely as arresting Peter Meddings would have done?’

  ‘Only if I’m seen… or caught. But if I succeed, then it won’t matter.’

  Grandfather thought about this, then nodded. ‘Very well. Are you going in tonight?’

  Blackwood nodded.

  ‘What about Meddings? Shall we take him in for questioning?’

  ‘I don’t think that would be advisable: we don’t want to do anything that might alert Pannick to the fact that we’re onto him. If he realises that we have Meddings, he’ll assume that the man will talk and betray him, and then we’ll be up a tree. Leave him be for now, but keep a close watch on him. And be very careful what you say aloud back at the Bureau.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Victoria, ‘I believe our business here is concluded. I shall send an Æther telegraph to Mars, explaining everything that has happened. Let us hope that the Martian Parliament takes us at our word.’

  ‘That is to be fervently hoped, Your Majesty,’ said Blackwood. ‘I have a feeling that if it isn’t, then the Parliament will make good on Voronezh’s threat, and seek to intervene directly in this affair.’

  ‘Do you really think they would?’ asked Grandfather.

  ‘Would we do any different, sir, in any of our colonies?’

  Grandfather sighed. ‘No, I suppose not. But we are not a colony of Mars.’ His brow furrowed, and he cast a furtive glance at Victoria as he added, ‘At least… not yet.’

  The Queen gave him a reproving look. ‘We will not hear such talk, sir! We still have confidence that Mr Blackwood will bring this affair to a satisfactory conclusion and that Earth and Mars will continue to forge their bonds of friendship and mutual respect once it is over.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am,’ Grandfather nodded. ‘My apologies.’

  The Queen nodded in satisfaction. ‘Now, we must retu
rn to the Palace. See us to our carriage.’

  When Victoria and Grandfather had left, Saint Germain clapped a hand on Blackwood’s shoulder. ‘Well, my dear chap, it looks like you’ve got your work cut out.’

  Blackwood gave him a sardonic smile. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Come, let’s go back to the house. There’s something I think you should take with you to Furfield this evening.’

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  Dinner with His Lordship

  Sophia had finally stopped shaking, although the memory of that dreadful journey from Leason’s Wood to the room in which she now sat tormented her still. Her screams echoed in her memory, a raucous, tuneless song of terror and despair, and she hated herself for having uttered them. She hated herself for having been hauled away like a sack of vegetables, like an object, with no consciousness or volition of its own, utterly powerless, utterly weak.

  Was this how her father had felt on that night all those years ago, in that wild and lonely place, in the depths of that disastrous winter? When the unknown and indescribable thing which some called the Wendigo had descended from the pitiless sky and snatched him away, had he felt that same self-hatred glowing balefully in the dark miasma of his horror? The unbearable supposition was that it depended on what the Wendigo had done to him. Had his death followed swiftly? Had it been lingering? Had it occurred at all?

  These questions chased each other through Sophia’s mind as she sat in the opulently furnished room, looking at herself in the elegantly-framed oval mirror which stood atop the dressing table. And as she gazed at her reflection, the tears came again, and now they were not for herself, but for her father, and they were not really new tears, but old ones – as old as the Canadian forest in which he had met his fate.

  She had thought she was going to die: that Indrid Cold would take her to some secluded spot in Leason’s Wood and carve her to ribbons at his leisure. But he had not. With unearthly agility he had swept through the trees, clutching her tightly and painfully with his left arm, and she recalled little beyond the flash of branches, the blur of tree trunks, the occasional glimpse of cold, grey sky… and then they were out of the wood and hurtling across the countryside, the captive helpless, the captor tireless and implacable. She had screamed until her throat was raw and finally succumbed to her terror and exhaustion. She had lost consciousness…

  And had awoken here, in this large and beautifully-appointed bedroom, with a man whom she immediately recognised as Lord Pannick looking down at her, smiling.

  ‘Rest, my dear Lady Sophia,’ he had said, ‘for you have had a frightful experience.’

  ‘And you are responsible, sir!’ she had cried, her eyes darting about the room, looking for the monster who had seized her.

  Lord Pannick’s smile grew broader. ‘Do not be concerned. Mr Cold is not with us: he is seeing to matters elsewhere on the estate.’

  Struggling to gather her wits, Sophia sat up in the vast four-poster bed and said, ‘Then we are at Furfield?’

  ‘Indeed we are. Welcome to my home.’

  ‘Why have you brought me here?’

  ‘I will explain later, but for now, take some time to recover. I normally dine at eight, and I would be honoured if you would join me.’

  Sophia had the distinct impression that this was rather more than a mere invitation. ‘It would appear that I have little choice, your Lordship.’

  ‘That much, I am bound to say, is true,’ he replied, and his smile broadened yet further into a feral grin, which unsettled Sophia so much that she was forced to look away.

  Lord Pannick indicated a beautiful silk evening gown, which had been laid upon the bed beside Sophia. ‘I took the liberty of ordering this for you. I do hope you find it to your taste.’

  ‘I prefer my present apparel, thank you, Lord Pannick,’ Sophia muttered, giving the gown a cursory glance.

  ‘That may be, but I’m sure you will agree that it is a little too utilitarian for evening wear. Please… indulge me.’ And with that, he had turned on his heel and left the room, saying over his shoulder, ‘My man will come for you at eight and will escort you to the dining room.’

  Sophia heard the sound of a key being turned and smiled in spite of the grimness of her predicament. She waited a full five minutes and then reached into the pocket of her coat for her purse. Taking out her lock pick, she bent down and inserted it into the lock of the bedroom door, her intention being to do a little exploring of Furfield and to gather as much information for Blackwood as she could before making her escape.

  But her plan immediately came to nought, for at the instant she inserted the instrument, a spark of livid blue light shot out from the lock, throwing her backwards onto the floor. She cried out in pain and rubbed her throbbing hand. It seemed that Lord Pannick’s reputation as an experienced investigator of the occult sciences was well-founded indeed, for he appeared to have sealed the bedroom door through some arcane, supernatural means.

  Sophia sighed, glanced again at the evening gown, and decided that, for the time being at least, she would be forced to play this game according to Lord Pannick’s rules.

  *

  She was still sitting at the dressing table, looking into the mirror and struggling with thoughts of a horrible past and an awful present, when she heard the faint click of the bedroom door being unlocked. A moment later, there was a discreet knock.

  ‘Enter,’ she said.

  The door opened to reveal a tall, cadaverous-looking man in immaculate butler’s livery. ‘Dinner is about to be served, your Ladyship,’ he said. ‘If you will kindly follow me?’

  She followed Lord Pannick’s man along a series of corridors, down the house’s main staircase and along the grand gallery past portraits of severe-looking ancestors, before finally arriving at the dining room.

  Pannick was already seated at the head of the long table; he stood up when he saw Sophia enter. ‘Good evening, my dear,’ he said with a bow.

  Sophia demurred from answering as she was led to her seat at the other end of the table.

  ‘May I say,’ said Pannick as he retook his own seat, ‘how very charming you look.’

  ‘Considering it was you who chose this gown, sir,’ she replied frostily, ‘you flatter yourself, not me.’

  Pannick gave a satisfied chuckle, and Sophia regarded him across the oak landscape of the dining table. Although he was in his late fifties, Lord Pannick looked much younger: his skin had the smoothness and rosy sheen of youth, and his limpid blue-grey eyes shone like those of a man in his twenties. He was not slim, but his paunch and the plumpness of his face were more redolent of the healthy chubbiness of the infant than the middle-aged man gone to seed. He wore his hair fairly long, and its luxuriant brown curls added the final touch to his cherubic appearance.

  As his man poured claret for Sophia, he said, ‘I do hope you find this evening’s repast to your liking… I also hope that it will be the first of many.’

  ‘You may hope what you like,’ Sophia replied, ignoring her wineglass. ‘For my part, I hope you realise the mistake you have made in committing this outrage.’

  Pannick took up his own glass and sniffed the wine contemplatively, then took a sip. ‘My dear Lady Sophia, it would only be a mistake if I were to allow you to leave before the present business is concluded. Her Majesty’s Bureau of Clandestine Affairs still do not know that Ambassador R’ondd’s death was my doing – although it is surely only a matter of time before Thomas Blackwood’s bumbling investigations lead him to my door. That’s why it is useful to me that you remain here as my guest for a while.’

  ‘I am a hostage,’ said Sophia, a strong hint of distaste in her voice.

  ‘If you wish to put it so, yes. I have already sent a communication to the Bureau, suggesting that they curtail their investigations forthwith… on pain of your demise.’

  Sophia suppressed a shudder at these words, for she had little doubt that Pannick would make good on his threat if necessary.

  The
ir conversation was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of the first course, a smoked salmon mousse. It looked delicious, and Sophia was reminded of the fact that she had not eaten since breakfast. There was little to be gained from the petulant act of starving herself, so she began to eat. The mousse tasted as delightful as it looked. ‘My compliments to your cook,’ she said.

  Lord Pannick beamed at her.

  ‘Tell me, your Lordship, how did you do it?’

  ‘Do what, my dear?’

  ‘How did you arrange for the Acarus mites to be placed inside Lunan R’ondd’s breathing apparatus? It couldn’t have been easy, considering that security is so tight at the Martian Embassy.’

  ‘On the contrary, it was quite simple,’ Pannick replied, his mouth full. ‘I enlisted supernatural aid: the same kobold who sabotaged Mr Blackwood’s cogitator infiltrated the Embassy and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  Sophia was sorely tempted to inform Pannick that the kobold was dead, but she decided that it was better to offer him as little information as possible. Instead, she said, ‘Why are you doing this? Why murder R’ondd? Why the attacks in London and Hampshire? Why the destruction of the interplanetary cylinder?’

  Pannick gave her a quizzical look. ‘Do you mean to say that you don’t know?’

  ‘Mr Blackwood is a fine man, but he is having great trouble making headway: you yourself have seen to that, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  ‘That was not a compliment.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I take it as such.’

  ‘Then will you repay it by telling me the reason for all this death and mayhem?’

  Lord Pannick took another thoughtful sip of his wine, regarding Sophia over the rim of his glass as he did so.

  Come, your Lordship, she thought. Surely your arrogance will not fail now. I am your captive, after all.

  As if he had read her thoughts, Pannick put down his glass, sat back in his chair and smiled broadly at her. ‘I am going to start a little war,’ he said.

  ‘A war?’

  ‘Earth’s first interplanetary conflict… and its last.’