The Martian Ambassador

by Alan K Baker

  ‘Precisely. When the Martians look at the craft, they will see one of their shantak birds – nothing more.’

  ‘Very clever,’ said Blackwood sarcastically.

  ‘I think so,’ said Pannick.

  ‘Where’s your other lackey?’

  ‘Lackey?’

  ‘Indrid Cold. Where is he?’

  ‘In London, causing more mayhem. He’s stepping up his campaign of psychological torment. There will be many more deaths in the capital this evening, I assure you.’

  ‘You wretch!’

  ‘Now, now, sir. Insults will get you nowhere.’

  ‘And what about the Greater Exhibition? What do you plan to do there?’

  Pannick laughed. ‘My! We have been busy, haven’t we? If you saw the Æther zeppelin, then you must also have seen the Martian fighting machine in the neighbouring hangar. It’s the first of a planned shipment of heavy armaments from Mars to Earth…’

  ‘A secret weapons treaty,’ said Blackwood.

  ‘Quite so, and one which I helped to broker. The Martians believe that they are offering us the means to defend our planet against threats from the deep Æther, about which they seem to know rather a lot. But I have quite different plans for this particular contraption.’

  ‘You plan to attack the Exhibition.’

  ‘Indeed I do. In 1851, the Great Exhibition represented the pinnacle of human technological and cultural achievement. The Greater Exhibition, which will be opened by Her Majesty the day after tomorrow, will surpass even that grand enterprise – not least because it will include a number of Martian exhibits. It is seen as the culmination of the first phase of Martian-Human contact – the first and last I might add.’

  ‘Because you intend to attack it with the fighting machine.’

  ‘The machine’s Heat Ray will turn the New Crystal Palace – not to mention the whole of Hyde Park – into a charred wasteland. I hardly need describe the reaction of the British people to such an event, especially since Her Majesty will be among the dead.’

  ‘They will believe that the Martians are to blame and demand a declaration of war upon Mars.’

  ‘And the Government will accede to their demand. And of course, in the meantime, my Æther zeppelin will be headed to Mars to deliver my calling card, which the Martian people will take in a similar vein.’

  ‘You beast!’ said Sophia, shaking her head in disgust.

  Lord Pannick ignored her. ‘Now, I will ask you to come with me.’

  ‘To where?’ asked Blackwood.

  ‘You are standing on a particularly beautiful Persian rug, and it will be impossible to get the bloodstains out, so we shall retire to the entrance hall, which has a stone floor.’

  Blackwood was tempted to stay where he was, but he had no doubt that Pannick would sacrifice his precious rug if necessary. ‘Come, Sophia,’ he said gently.

  ‘Thomas…’

  ‘It’s all right, my dear. Come.’ As Pannick and Meddings backed out of the room, Blackwood led Sophia into the corridor. Pannick gestured with his revolver, and they began to walk towards the main staircase.

  As he walked, Blackwood’s eyes darted between the walls, searching for some means of escape or defence. There were antique swords and battle axes mounted at intervals upon the oak panelling, but there was no way he would be able to grab one and use it before Pannick fired. He would have to wait until they reached the hall, and then…

  And then he would have to think of something pretty sharpish, or he and Sophia would surely die…

  As he began to descend the staircase, Blackwood realised that there was no way for both he and Sophia to get out of this fix alive. From his vantage point, he could see nothing in the entrance hall which might be brought to bear as a weapon. His only option was to make a lunge for both Pannick and Meddings as soon as they reached the foot of the stairs. They would surely cut him down in short order, but it might just provide Sophia with the opportunity to make a run for it. He only hoped that she would do so and not waste her chance by staying with him as he fell.

  ‘Well,’ said Pannick, ‘here we are. I do so hate long goodbyes, so…’ He raised his revolver and took aim between Blackwood’s eyes.

  At that moment, Blackwood heard a familiar voice inside his head. The voice said, Get ready to run, sir.

  In the next instant, the entire house vibrated with a dull concussion, as though a colossal hammer had pummelled the ground nearby.

  Pannick hesitated. ‘What was that?’ he whispered.

  Shanahan, thought Blackwood. What was that?

  As I said, sir, get ready to run.

  The floor trembled beneath their feet as the house was shaken by another massive thud.

  ‘What’s happening, your Lordship?’ asked Meddings, looking up at the ceiling with fear in his eyes.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Pannick. He took renewed aim at Blackwood. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m as mystified as you, I assure you.’ Blackwood was about to say more, but his voice died in his throat as a searing pain lanced through his chest. For a fleeting moment, he thought that Pannick had fired at him – but the source of the pain was not a bullet. The amulet which Count Saint Germain had given him felt suddenly red hot upon his skin. He grimaced.

  The floor shuddered again at a third impact, and this time it was accompanied by the distant sound of splintering wood.

  ‘My God, what’s happening?’ cried Meddings.

  ‘I told you, be silent!’ shouted Pannick, but Meddings was already edging across the hall towards the front door, his eyes darting this way and that, looking for the source of the concussions.

  Blackwood was not surprised: Lord Pannick’s lackey had probably seen more than his fair share of dark Magick in this place. No wonder he was so inclined to terror.

  Pannick glanced down at Blackwood and saw the look of pain on his face as the house shook yet again. This time, there was the sound of shattering windows from somewhere above them. Pannick’s face twisted into a grimace of fear and rage. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No!’

  A crack appeared in the ceiling and rapidly spread from one side of the hall to the other. As Pannick looked up, Blackwood saw his chance. Grabbing Sophia’s hand, he rushed away from the staircase towards Meddings, who had nearly reached the front door. Swinging Sophia behind him, he pivoted Meddings around and took him in a powerful neck lock with his left arm, while with his right he grabbed the man’s wrist and pointed the revolver at Lord Pannick.

  ‘Open the door, Sophia!’ he cried.

  He squeezed Meddings’s hand tightly, forcing him to fire the gun, but Meddings was struggling so much that the two shots went wide of their mark. Pannick crouched low and fired a single shot. Blackwood cursed him for the trueness of his aim as the back of Meddings’s head exploded, spraying him with blood and brains. The man went limp instantly, and the muscles in Blackwood’s left arm screamed in protest as he strove to maintain the sudden dead weight. He tried to wrest the gun from Meddings’s hand, but his finger was curled tightly around the trigger, and Pannick was already firing again. Blackwood felt his macabre, makeshift shield jerk horribly with the impacts of the bullets.

  ‘Sophia!’

  ‘It’s open, Thomas!’

  ‘Get out, now!’

  Pannick had fired his six shots, and was already reloading with bullets pulled rapidly from a pocket of his waistcoat. Blackwood was about to rush him, for he was confident he could cover the distance to the staircase before the revolver was brought to bear upon him again, but Shanahan’s voice echoed through his mind.

  No, sir. You must leave now and get as far away from the house as you can. You must leave right now!

  The searing pain in Blackwood’s chest grew yet more intense, and he felt himself grow lightheaded, as though he were about to pass out. Panting and grimacing against the agony, he decided that he had to follow Shanahan’s entreaty. He dropped Meddings’s bullet-riddled corpse and dashed out through the door, slammin
g it shut behind him. No sooner had he done so than the wood cracked and splintered as Pannick fired through it. He lunged at Sophia, forcing her to the ground and lying on top of her, shielding her with his body while he counted the number of shots.

  One, two, three, four, five, six.

  ‘Up!’ he barked, dragging her to her feet. They ran together across the lawn, away from the house.

  ‘Curse this infernal dress!’ Sophia gasped, as she gathered the lower part of the evening gown around her knees to make running a little easier.

  When they had reached what Blackwood judged to be a reasonably safe distance, they stopped before a stand of trees and looked back at the house.

  ‘Good grief!’ cried Sophia. ‘What’s happening to it?’

  All of the windows on the first floor appeared to have been shattered, blown outwards by some strange force, and from them a fierce blue glow emanated, flooding the surrounding lawn with an unnatural flickering light.

  Blackwood was bent double from the pain, his hands grasping his knees, his legs threatening to buckle at any moment. ‘Oh God!’ he panted.

  Shocked and terrified, Sophia put her arms around his shoulders. ‘Thomas, you’ve been hit! Where did the bullet strike?’

  ‘It… it isn’t a bullet,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘The amulet…’

  ‘What amulet?’

  ‘A form of protection… against…’

  ‘Thomas, it’s killing you. Take it off!’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, sir,’ said a voice in the air above them.

  ‘Shanahan.’ Blackwood gazed up at the faerie, his eyes filling with tears. ‘I can’t stand it… I have to take it off… it’s going to kill me.’

  ‘No it isn’t, sir. It wouldn’t be much of a protective charm if it did, now, would it?’

  ‘But the pain!’

  ‘The pain is only in your mind. It isn’t harming your body: in fact, it’s keeping you and Lady Sophia alive. Hold that thought in your mind, sir: the pain is not physical…’

  ‘It feels pretty bloody physical to me, damn it!’

  ‘Shanahan, do something!’ cried Sophia.

  ‘Listen to me, sir. The pain exists in your mind, not your chest. Concentrate on it…’

  ‘Concentrate? I don’t have much choice.’

  ‘Draw the pain upwards… draw it up to its true location. You can do it, sir.’

  Blackwood did as the faerie instructed, and to his astonishment, the pain did seem to be moving up out of his chest. He gagged as it passed through his neck, and screamed as it entered his head. He felt as if his brain was boiling and imagined a great gout of steam belching from his mouth. ‘It’s in my head,’ he moaned. ‘Great God, it’s in my head!’

  ‘Good, sir. Now you’re perceiving it as it really is: a sense impression in your mind.’

  ‘What… what do I do now?’

  ‘Why, sir, you simply stop thinking about it,’ Shanahan replied.

  ‘Easier said than…’ Blackwood stopped.

  The pain had completely vanished.

  ‘Done.’

  ‘You see, sir? Simple.’

  Blackwood was about to ask how he could possibly have banished the pain so suddenly and completely, but as he glanced back at the house, he knew that that question would have to wait. ‘What’s happening there? It looks like it’s being destroyed from the inside out. How?’

  ‘Ah, well, I must admit that’s my doing, sir.’

  ‘Your doing? What the blazes did you do?’

  ‘As soon as Lord Pannick got hold of you,’ Shanahan replied, ‘I knew you were in a tight fix, sir… so I created a little diversion, to give you and Lady Sophia a chance to get away.’

  ‘How?’ asked Sophia.

  ‘I went back inside his Lordship’s cogitator and took out the dreamcatcher.’

  ‘You sabotaged it,’ said Blackwood. ‘You took away its protective device, leaving it vulnerable to an ætherial virus.’

  ‘Correct, sir – and not just any virus.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When her Ladyship smashed the scrying glass of your own cogitator a few days ago, the djinn that had come through was banished back to its own realm. It was denied its prey – you, sir. And it wasn’t very pleased, I can tell you!’

  ‘Do you mean to say that the djinn which tried to devour me is now attacking Lord Pannick’s house?’

  ‘I am, sir. Djinns are like that: they’ll do your bidding, if you know how to manipulate them, but if they don’t get their reward, they will vent their wrath upon the summoner – in this case, his Lordship.’

  ‘I see,’ said Blackwood with a grim smile. ‘I suppose one would call that poetic justice.’

  ‘Yes sir, I suppose one would.’

  Blackwood and Sophia watched in horrified fascination as a mass of writhing tentacles erupted from the roof, while more spilled out in loathsome grey tides from the shattered windows. It was as though a tree made of living flesh had sprouted beneath Furfield and was growing with terrifying speed, splitting walls, demolishing towers, writhing and wrenching and destroying. And the noise it made while it did so was like nothing Blackwood or Sophia had ever heard in their lives before, nor ever wished to again: a great, earth-shaking, trumpeting blast; an insensate scream of rage from the ultimate gulfs beyond the ramparts of the ordered Universe.

  ‘I believe we had best retreat a little further, sir,’ said Shanahan. ‘In fact, I believe we had best retreat a lot further.’

  ‘It’s still growing, Thomas,’ shouted Sophia, pointing at the wildly flailing tentacles which had now all but obliterated the house. ‘Look! It has someone!’

  They saw a tiny figure clutched in one of the fleshy cords, which uncoiled high into the cold night sky. And then, horror of horrors, a gibbering, lipless mouth opened at the base of the tentacle, and the figure was dropped inside.

  ‘Oh!’ Sophia turned away, her eyes tightly shut. ‘Was that Lord Pannick?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Blackwood replied, feeling bile rising in his throat. I think it was Meddings.’

  ‘Please, sir,’ said Shanahan urgently. ‘Let us be gone.’

  ‘Wait!’ Blackwood pointed to the left of the churning pile of rubble that had once been Furfield. ‘Look there.’

  A figure was running at full tilt towards the two hangars which stood nearby. As it reached the larger building, another figure emerged from out of the darkness, a pale, leaping caricature, bounding with unnaturally long strides across the lawn.

  ‘That’s Pannick, heading for the Æther zeppelin,’ Blackwood said. ‘And Indrid Cold heading for the fighting machine. I’ve got to stop them!’

  Sophia took hold of his arm. ‘There’s no time, Thomas. Those horrible things will fall on you before you can get there.’

  ‘Her Ladyship is right, sir,’ said Shanahan. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here. It will be the death of you to go after them.’

  As if to punctuate Shanahan’s point, one of the longer tentacles reared up against the sky and slammed into the ground less than ten yards from where they stood. The impact knocked Blackwood and Sophia off their feet.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Blackwood. ‘We’d best make a run for it.’

  ‘In which case,’ said Sophia, ‘I’ll do far better without this.’ Much to Blackwood’s surprise and discomfiture, she proceeded quickly to divest herself of her evening gown. Now clad only in a short slip, she stood up straight and met his unblinking gaze. ‘I can’t run in that infernal thing.’

  ‘Quite so, my dear… quite so,’ replied Blackwood, as courtesy vanquished shock and he averted his eyes from Sophia’s long-legged, exquisitely-proportioned form. My goodness, he thought. Oh my goodness.

  ‘This way,’ said Shanahan as he flew off through the trees. ‘Follow me sir, your Ladyship. Quickly!’

  They withdrew into the stand of trees as more tentacles reared up and smote the ground, while other, thinner tendrils thrust
amongst the trees, wrapping themselves around their trunks and uprooting them with all the ease of a gardener pulling weeds. Without the evening gown to encumber her, Sophia was as fleet of foot as a gazelle, and quickly drew ahead of Blackwood as she sprinted after Shanahan.

  ‘What about my amulet?’ he shouted.

  ‘What about it?’ the faerie called back.

  ‘Won’t it protect us?’

  ‘Not against direct contact with a djinn, sir! That would overload it in an instant.’

  ‘Splendid.’

  They left the stand of trees behind and continued across a wide expanse of open lawn towards a dense area of woodland which fringed the estate. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Blackwood saw the Æther zeppelin rising majestically from its hangar, while the Martian fighting machine rose suddenly, shattering the roof of its own enclosure. Instantly, a brace of tentacles lashed out at the vehicles, but when they got to within a few feet of their targets, they were thwarted by what appeared to be a bubble of crackling blue energy, against which the flesh of the Outer Being fizzed and bubbled. The djinn roared in pain and fury as the zeppelin gained altitude and vanished behind a thick bank of cloud, while the fighting machine strode off across the grounds, each vehicle impervious to the djinn’s assaults.

  Must have some kind of protection, thought Blackwood. Although whether Magickal or technological, who knows? At any rate, that’ll put the djinn in an even fouler mood. He drew level with Sophia and tried not to stare at the hypnotic movement of her slim, supple thighs. Oh… my goodness.

  They gained the edge of the woodland, just as a lance of fearsome red light struck the ground a few yards away, ploughing a huge furrow across the meticulously tended grass. Sophia screamed, tripped, and fell heavily, so that the wind was knocked from her lungs. In an instant, Blackwood was beside her, gathering her up in his arms.

  ‘I’m… I’m all right, Thomas,’ she panted. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Martian Heat Ray, I’ll be bound. It seems that Cold has decided to join forces with the djinn and wipe us from the face of the earth.’

  No sooner had he spoken than another lance of energy flashed overhead, shearing the tops from the trees and showering them with burning leaves and charred branches. Blackwood shielded Sophia with his body and then drew her to her feet. ‘Can you continue?’