The Japanese Devil Fish Girl and Other Unnatural Attractions

by Robert Rankin

  ‘What do you want?’ asked George in a growly tone.

  ‘I’ve been sent to knock up all the passengers.’ The bootboy spoke in a chirpy voice. ‘Sorry if you were a sleeping.’

  ‘I am not a violent man,’ George managed to say, ‘but you surely try my patience.’

  ‘The captain would like a word in your ear,’ said the bootboy. ‘Not just yours, as it happens, but those of all on board. There is to be a big meeting in the concert hall in half of an hour. The captain apologises for any inconvenience, but would appreciate your presence.’

  George closed the cabin door on the lad and sought a glass of water.

  The concert hall of the Empress of Mars was an exact reproduction of the interior of the Hackney Empire Theatre. Which would cause much interest to future architectural historians, in that the Hackney Empire Theatre was not built until the year nineteen hundred and one5.

  Three balconies rose above the stalls, gorgeous and fussy with all the rococo trimmings. Muses and cherubim, angels and demons, masks of comedy, tragedy and more. Clusters of fruits and columns and finials, domed faux temples either side of the stage.

  George had once seen Little Tich perform his now legendary Big Boot Dance at the Hackney Empire. And once one has seen an act like that, one is pretty much spoiled for anything else.

  In the gorgeous gilded foyer, George was met by the wine waiter who had served him the previous evening. The wine waiter held a board with an ornate brass clip on the top. A list of names was attached to this board.

  ‘Oh,’ said the wine waiter, without enthusiasm. ‘It is you.’

  ‘And it is you,’ observed George. ‘In yet another role, so versatile you are.’

  ‘And other roles to come,’ said the wine waiter, in that tone that is known, and universally unloved, as ‘grumpy’. ‘Half the crew jumped ship in New York, which is why I am so overworked.’

  ‘That explains much regarding, how shall I put this, your attitude,’ said George. ‘Where should I sit, anywhere? ’

  ‘Oh no,’ said the wine waiter. ‘Seats are allocated according to status. You are . . .’ And he ran his finger down the list. ‘In the back row,’ he said.

  ‘Back row of the stalls?’ asked George.

  ‘Back row of the gods.’

  Whatever humour there had originally been in naming the very topmost balcony of a theatre ‘the gods’ was lost upon all who could only afford seats in ‘the gods’ and who had to walk up all of those steps to be so far from the stage.

  George walked up with a slouch in his steps. He was hungry and wanted some breakfast. He had a right old hangovered grump on by the time he found his seat, but was not disappointed to find Ada Lovelace in the seat next to his and Darwin the monkey butler next to her.

  ‘Good morning,’ said George, smiling bravely.

  ‘Good morning to you,’ said Ada.

  Darwin the monkey had nothing to say. He just picked at his nose.

  There was a great deal of mumbling and grumbling in the concert hall. George viewed surly faces, many red and raw. He also viewed the royal box, where sat Venusians. Distracted and removed from it all, elegant and effete.

  There was no orchestra in the pit and when a bosun piped the captain onto the stage, the captain received no applause.

  The captain wore an elaborately decorated dress uniform, all swirling flourishes of golden thread upon a background of royal blue. He sported extravagantly flounced jodhpurs, highly polished knee boots and a high-crowned sola topi with silvered goggle accessories.

  ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen, ecclesiastics of Venus and burghers of Jupiter,’ said this man, clearing his throat politely and offering to all a professional smile. ‘My name is Captain Bigglesworth, overall commander of the Empress of Mars.’ He paused there in the hope of applause. Upon not receiving any, he continued, ‘It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that due to the unfortunate incident in New York, the work of a mad anarchist faction, I understand that the toll of non-dining passengers stands at two hundred and two.’

  George whistled softly between his teeth. A general gasp of displeasure rose up throughout the concert hall.

  ‘Most regrettable indeed,’ the captain continued. ‘A full list of the non-diners will be posted in the vestibule of the great dining hall; a collection will be taken up later. It has been proposed that a burial at sea, with full honours for those of military rank and a Christian service for all, courtesy of the ship’s chaplain, will be held at three this afternoon when we reach the Pacific Ocean. It has been decided that we will not be stopping at San Francisco as was originally planned. It is considered unsafe to do so in the light of recent events, and let us be entirely frank here – the folk of the West Coast of America are to say the least volatile and eccentric. Was it not our own Charles Rennie Mackintosh who said, “if you turn America on its side, everything that isn’t screwed down rolls to California”?’

  The captain paused now, possibly in the hope of a laugh. But upon not receiving one he went on with what he had to say.

  ‘We will be pressing on,’ said he, ‘to our next port of call on the itinerary: the paradisiacal island of Hawaii. You will find the natives there extremely friendly, eager to please and given to gay caprice. We have encountered an unfortunate incident, but we will not let that stand in our way. We are British and we possess this.’ And he pointed to his stiff upper lip. ‘Let us put the past behind us and press on with this voyage of a lifetime. What say you to this?’

  The applause was polite, and it rippled through the audience, but ripple indeed it did, and applause it was.

  George just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘So that is it, is it?’ he said to Ada. ‘The show must go on.’

  ‘It is the British way of doing things,’ said Ada.

  ‘So,’ continued the captain, ‘we will reach Hawaii tomorrow evening, hopefully in time to see the sun set upon it. I am told it is a thing of great beauty to behold. The natives of Hawaii have many quaint customs, one of which is their evening ritual of the setting sun. They believe that the volcano upon their island gave birth to the sun, a belief that goes back to the very dawn of their civilisation. The Greeks, who visited Hawaii one thousand years ago, named it the Umbilicus Mundi – the Navel of the World.’

  George was one of the last to leave the concert hall. It is as far down from the gods as it is up and there were a lot of people mooching down before him.

  When he gained the foyer he was surprised to find Professor Coffin bouncing up and down and looking very pleased indeed to see him.

  ‘What splendid news it is, my boy,’ he said to George, a-wringing of his hands. ‘It is fate indeed, is it not? Your fate.’

  ‘I know not quite of what you speak,’ said George.

  ‘The ,’ crowed Professor Coffin, and he fairly crowed. ‘The Navel of the World, my boy.’

  ‘It means nothing to me,’ said George.

  ‘Ah no, of course it would not. But it is the destination that we seek, my boy. Hawaii is where lies the object of our quest.’

  ‘Object of your quest?’ asked Ada Lovelace.

  ‘Ah!’ went the professor. ‘Fiddle de, fiddle dum. I did not see you there, Miss Fox, all hid behind your brother.’

  ‘He is such a big boy,’ said Ada, ‘and I a mere slip of a girl.’

  ‘Quite so. Well, come, George, we have much to speak of.’

  ‘You may speak in front of me,’ said Ada. ‘George has no secrets from his sister, do you, George?’

  ‘Really?’ said Professor Coffin, looking hard at Ada. ‘Well, I have no wish to bother you with manly business. I am sure there are feminine matters that require your close attention.’

  ‘So nothing that I should bother my pretty little head with?’

  ‘Quite so,’ said the professor once more. And, ‘Come, George,’ he also said.

  ‘I have some misgivings, Professor,’ said George. ‘There are certain things both
ering me.’

  Professor Coffin’s fingers toyed at his waistcoat pocket. Within this waistcoat pocket lay a slim glass phial of colourless liquid.

  ‘If you will excuse us, dear lady,’ Professor Coffin said to Ada. ‘A few words in private with your brother and then I will return him to you as good as new.’

  ‘What a queer choice of words,’ said Ada Lovelace.

  ‘Well, be that as it may, come, George.’

  George Fox scratched at his striking chin and made a doubtful face.

  ‘Whatever is the matter, my boy?’ asked the professor.

  ‘It is about our quest,’ said George. ‘I am having second thoughts.’

  ‘Then come, George, please, and we’ll sort this matter out.’

  ‘George is not feeling very well,’ said Ada, squeezing George’s hand. ‘He is still very upset about what happened yesterday.’

  ‘Very upset,’ agreed George.

  Professor Coffin jigged about from one foot to the other.

  ‘Perhaps George and I might see you for lunch, Professor,’ said Ada.

  Professor Coffin’s knuckles whitened on the skull-top of his cane. ‘Yes indeed,’ he said. ‘Well, no matter, these things can wait.’ He looked long and hard at Ada Lovelace. ‘We do not arrive at Hawaii until tomorrow evening and who knows what might happen in the meantime?’

  And, bowing deeply, he turned on his heel and marched away at the double.

  Ada Lovelace let out a breath. Her hand in George’s shook.

  ‘I fear,’ said Ada Lovelace, in a still, small voice, ‘that I have made a mortal enemy.’

  23

  Professor Coffin was absent from lunch and also absent from tea. George and Ada paid their respects to the departed at the afternoon funeral service and George looked on in awe as tightly shrouded bodies were dispatched over the guardrail of the promenade deck to fall down and down to the rolling ocean below.

  The Pacific Ocean spread towards foreverness. An endless expanse of blue, it seemed, broken only by the airship’s mighty shadow. George marvelled greatly at the speed of the airship. Capable, as it was, of spanning America in a single day. George might well have found himself lost once more in awestruck reverie, had not Ada Lovelace nudged him in the ribs and suggested that they do something adventurous to exercise their minds.

  ‘Darwin and I were thinking to visit the casino,’ she said.

  Darwin grinned a simian grin and raised a simian thumb.

  ‘The casino?’ said George. ‘But I do not have any money.’

  ‘I do,’ said Ada. ‘And also Darwin. He has put himself in charge of his deceased master’s goods and chattels.’

  ‘An enterprising ape,’ said George, and thought to himself that if all else failed, he and the professor might well exhibit such an ape to an appreciative public.

  The casino of the Empress of Mars fairly beggared description. It was decorated all about in the style called erotic-exotique. It certainly outdid the bathing rooms of Cardinal La Motte, or the suave and gracious boudoir of La Marquise du Deffand. It was rich with royal stuffs and furnished with frescoes that would have done justice to the Rabelaisian Abbey of Thélème.

  George kept his gaze low and tried to move with seeming ease and confidence between pillars that arose like hymns in praise of carnal revelry.

  Ada Lovelace glanced up at George. ‘Your cheeks are red,’ said she.

  George did whispered shushings in reply. ‘The pictures are frankly obscene,’ said he. ‘I cannot believe that images such as these should be on board this ship.’

  ‘You have clearly not visited the Nympharium,’ said Ada.

  ‘I do not even know what that means,’ whispered George.

  And Ada spoke words into his ear.

  ‘No!’ said George, growing redder than ever. ‘That is outrageous. No.’

  ‘The rich will not be denied their indulgences,’ said Ada. ‘But the art displayed here is rather beautiful, to my thinking. It is the work of Mr Aubrey Beardsley, who also designed a lot of the ladies’ fans that you might have seen fluttering about.’

  ‘What shall we play, then?’ asked George of a sudden. ‘I do not really know how to gamble.’

  ‘Let us just drift about a little and see what takes our fancy,’ said Ada. ‘Ah, look though, Darwin has already found his way to the Snap table.’

  ‘The Snap table?’ George Fox asked.

  ‘Now do not tell me that you don’t know how to play Snap,’ said Ada. ‘Everybody knows how to play Snap.’

  ‘Snap?’ said George. ‘In a casino? Snap?’

  ‘There is Snap,’ said Ada, and then she pointed. ‘And over there I see Ludo and there Happy Families, Noughts and Crosses, Snakes and Ladders, Hunt the Thimble and Tiddlywinks. And there is Boggle. Although I confess that I have never quite understood Boggle.’

  ‘But these are children’s games,’ protested George. ‘I had assumed that there would be roulette and poker and pontoon.’

  ‘I have never heard of those,’ said Ada. ‘Let’s watch Darwin playing.’

  Darwin the monkey butler gave a good account of himself at the Snap table. He won five rounds in succession, but was then out-snapped by the dealer, whom George recognised almost at once to be none other than the wine waiter he now so regularly encountered.

  ‘What is your name?’ enquired George. ‘We meet up so often, I feel I should address you by name.’

  The wine waiter/dealer wore a decorated golden turban and matching robes. The casino staff look was distinctive. He wiggled a gloved hand at George and counselled silence.

  ‘I cannot speak now, sir, I—’

  ‘Snap!’ went Darwin.

  And, ‘Snap!’ went the dealer also.

  ‘The monkey won that one,’ said George.

  ‘You distracted me,’ complained the dealer. ‘Please do not speak when I’m playing, it—’

  ‘Snap!’ went Darwin once more.

  ‘And he definitely won that one,’ said George.

  ‘Sir, I must ask you not to speak at the table,’ said the dealer, ‘because I—’

  ‘Snap!’ went Darwin once more again.

  ‘That was never Snap,’ cried the dealer. ‘That was a two and a three. You cannot call Snap on a two and a three.’

  ‘It was two twos,’ said George. ‘You laid that three after the monkey called Snap.’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind, I—’

  ‘Snap!’ went Darwin.

  ‘Stop it!’ cried the dealer, flinging his cards to the table. ‘I cannot concentrate on the game when someone is constantly distracting me. It is outrageous.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said George. ‘I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘It is all too much.’ The dealer now kicked at the Snap table, hurting his toes and resulting in much comedic hopping about.

  ‘Calm yourself down,’ said George.

  ‘Snap!’ went Darwin one more time and loudly.

  ‘I resign,’ shouted the dealer. ‘Here, take all the money, I don’t care. I have had enough.’ And with that said he thrust piles of gambling chips in Darwin’s direction, tore off his turban and flung it to the inlaid floor and flounced from the casino in the very worst of moods.

  George stared after him, then turned back to the Snap table, rubbed his palms together and sought to avail himself of the dealer’s largesse.

  ‘Ah, sorry now, sir, but we cannot have that.’ Another young man in casino livery stepped swiftly behind the table and drew the gambling chips beyond George’s reach. ‘That boy will receive the thrashing he deserves. My apologies for his behaviour, sir, but what can one expect when one employs Austrians?’

  ‘Austrians?’ queried George. ‘He did not have an Austrian accent.’

  ‘And what, pray, does an Austrian accent sound like, sir?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said George. ‘And I never did learn his name.’

  ‘His name is Hitler,’ said the new dealer. ‘Adolf Hitler, the little tyke, he’ll
come to no good, mark my words.’

  George smiled at Ada who smiled back at him. ‘I am sure there is some lesson to be learned from all of this,’ George told her, ‘but for the very life of me I have absolutely no idea just what it might be.’

  ‘Do you fancy a game of Marbles?’ asked Ada.

  ‘I certainly do,’ said George.