The Mechanical Messiah and Other Marvels of the Modern Age

by Robert Rankin

  ‘Not while life remains within Me,’ said the Mechanical Messiah.

  ‘Then allow me to take it from You.’ The monster threw itself upon the golden being. Struck Him a monstrous blow and then another and another. Held the dented figure by His elegant throat, tore open the little door in His chest, dragged out His Magoniam heart.

  A perplexed expression flickered on the beautiful brazen face. The metal lips moved but no sound was heard. The head lolled and the shoulders sagged. The God of brass fell with a crash to the floor.

  ‘Mine,’ crowed the monster, admiring the ring. ‘Mine the power and the glory.’

  60

  hen Alice was shown the door marked STALLS she had recognised it at once. She knew that it would lead her into the auditorium of the Electric Alhambra. But she did not know why, although she had hoped very much indeed that it might be so she could top the bill of a Music Hall show once again. And she with so many many kiwi birds.

  She had not expected to see the horrors now laid out before her. The beautiful interior was gone to ruination. A ragged hole yawned in the mighty dome, statuary had fallen from the walls, rows of seats had been violently demolished. The stench of brimstone filled the air.

  That and an aura of death.

  The beautiful woman no longer wore her shabby blue dress with the white puffed shoulders. For she had become magically transformed.

  She wore a corset, cut it seemed from the Empire’s Union flag, which clenched her slender waist and brought her female curves to favour. High-laced boots and black silk stockings and a black silk skirt so short as might only be worn onstage at the Music Hall. Her golden hair flowed in wonderful waves. Upon her head she sported the prettiest pair of ladies’ brass evening goggles as might be imagined. And as she stepped through the open doorway, her kiwis bustled about her.

  She was no longer Alice Lovell, trainer of kiwi birds.

  She was a Valkyrie. She was Diana, Goddess of the hunt.

  She was Lady Britannia.

  Huzzah!

  Upon the stage a gentleman knelt, fussing away at three dogs.

  Beside him towered a monster, laughing most hideously.

  Alice turned down her gaze from his horror to find herself observing further horrors near at hand.

  Before her lay the body of Colonel Katterfelto, with Darwin weeping over it and rocking to and fro. And next to the body, Cameron Bell, his clothes all torn, his right leg twisted, looking the worse for wear.

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Alice. ‘I am too late.’ She rushed to the fallen colonel.

  Darwin looked up with tear-filled eyes.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Alice said. ‘I felt that something was wrong and so I came. But the time is different in Fairyland.’

  Darwin bared his teeth at Alice and stroked at the colonel’s head.

  ‘Alice.’ Cameron Bell could see this vision, though somewhat out of focus. ‘Alice, you must go. Take Darwin, run as fast as you can.

  ‘You are wounded, Cameron,’ said Alice.

  ‘Don’t bother about me, I am sure I will think of something.’

  There came a sudden cry now from the stage.

  ‘Look there,’ called the man who was fussing the dogs. ‘A woman and many birds.’

  ‘A woman?’ The monster fixed its gaze upon Alice. Straightened its shoulders, threw out its massive chest. ‘And not any woman. It is Alice. Alice at the Palace, we have met before and I have held her slender neck.’ Then the monster laughed. ‘And still …’ It sniffed, took in the scent of woman. ‘Intact. The blood of such as she nourished me whilst I awaited this.’ And it held up the hand that bore the ring. ‘But now, sweet tender flesh, you will become my Scarlet Woman.’

  Alice stood with hands upon her hips.

  Magically fearless in the face of such a fiend.

  ‘Scarlet does not really suit me,’ said Alice. ‘I think that you must die.’

  The creature stiffened, then once more it sniffed.

  ‘I smell powerful magic upon you. The magic of the ecclesiastics of Venus.

  ‘It is the purest magic,’ said Alice. ‘The magic of a world still pure, untainted by evil such as yours.

  ‘But I have this.’ The Beast displayed the ring. ‘Given unto Moses on Venus by God. That whomsoever should wear it would become the leader of nations. You are but a foolish girl, but you will pleasure this.’ And he waggled something absolutely vile at Alice, something which had so far received no specific mention or description and would not do, no matter what now occurred.

  ‘That is very rude,’ said Alice. ‘Kill this nasty thing.’

  The command was issued to her kiwi birds. And these, it seemed, were now possessed of some of Alice’s magic. They tumbled in a shrieking blur towards the evil waggler.

  ‘Ki-wi ki-wi ki-wi!’ they shrieked, with their beaks all peck-peck-pecking.

  ‘Birdies,’ said the Beast. ‘What we need for birdies is a gun dog.’

  It clapped its horrible clawey hands together. The three French bulldogs of Mark Rowland Ferris merged together before the Fifth Earl’s eyes. Merged and swelled and so became that canine horror of myth.

  Three-headed Cerberus, guardian of Hades.

  ‘Kill them all, boy,’ growled the Beast.

  The kiwi birds engulfed the Beast, engulfed the hound of Hell, and there were terrible screechings and howlings and rippings and tearings. The Fifth Earl fled to cover.

  Alice directed her birds as would a conductor leading his orchestra through a particularly rambunctious passage. Probably something by Wagner involving a lot of extravagant arm movements. The ‘Ride of the Valkyries’, perhaps.

  At her magical direction the kiwi birds darted about the monster and the dog, pecking here and snatching there and doing something or other around and about. The feathers flew and dog fur too and nasty bits of Beasty came adrift.

  Alice’s arms moved this way and that, conducting— A concerto of chaos, carefully controlled.

  A monstrous mazurka.

  A riotous rondo.

  A polka of pecking and pain.

  Bohemian rhapsody.

  Symphonic strategy.

  Ah, such a raucous refrain.

  Had the crowd been there to see it, the crowd would not have thrown mouldy fruit and veg. The crowd would have been appreciative. The crowd would have cheered.

  Alice flung her hands into the air. The kiwi birds swept from the stage, returned and fussed about her. Some looked somewhat bent of beak but there were no fatalities.

  Cerberus looked more than a little cowed.

  The awful Beast did not.

  Pecked parts reassembled, the Beast was whole once more.

  ‘You will have to do better than that,’ it sneered. But Alice shook her head. ‘I would not want my kiwi birds to come to harm,’ she said, ‘for after all, I now have what I want.’

  A kiwi bird raised its long slim beak to Alice. In it was the Ring of Moses.

  ‘What?’ screamed the monster. Staring aghast. ‘It stole the ring from my finger?’

  ‘It seems to be of value,’ Alice said. ‘Would it suit me, I wonder?’

  The horrible Beast leapt down from the stage. ‘Enough of this nonsense!’

  As it advanced upon Alice, Cameron called to her.

  ‘Alice,’ shouted Cameron. ‘Throw the ring to Darwin.’

  The monkey now was nodding his head. That ring had cost the life of his friend. He would run as far as Southend if he had to and hurl it into the ocean.

  ‘Oh no you do not.’ The Beast was upon them. It snatched Darwin up by his tail and advanced upon Alice.

  Alice threw the ring to Cameron Bell.

  ‘And your climbing days are over, I think,’ the creature snarled at the private detective. ‘Watch now and see what imaginative things I do to this young woman.

  Alice said, ‘I wish you were in Hell.’

  The Beast reached out towards her.

  Kiwi birds gathered to protect their mistress.

&
nbsp; The Beast breathed Brimstone upon them.

  The kiwi birds took to coughing and falling over with their legs in the air.

  ‘I wish you in pieces,’ cried Alice. ‘I wish you dead. I wish you were bird seed—’

  ‘Bird seed?’ queried the Beast. ‘I fear that you have used up all of your magic. Were you not instructed how to use it?’

  ‘I wish, I wish,’ said Alice.

  The monster shook its head. ‘There is no happy ending for you,’ it said. ‘Only pleasure for me.’

  And it snatched up Alice by her slender waist and held her high above. Darwin screamed and clawed at the Beast, but the creature just ignored him. It would sate itself upon Alice now, then have some monkey brains on toast for supper.

  Cameron Bell crawled painfully across the floor of the auditorium, through rubble, lath and plaster. He was far too wounded to hope for escape. But Cameron sought no escape. He sought only rescue for Alice.

  Alice’s screams echoed as the Beast ran a forked black tongue across her face.

  Cameron edged his way forwards. Not towards Alice. He had another destination. Fingernails broken, sweating profusely, lungs fairly gasping for air, the private detective edged to the Mechanical Messiah.

  ‘Last hope,’ gasped Cameron Bell. ‘Last hope.’

  As the forked tongue sought Alice’s more intimate places, Cameron Bell reached the lifeless metal figure, dropped the Ring of Moses into the compartment in His chest and slammed shut the little door.

  Alice Lovell screamed in terror.

  Darwin gibbered and fought with all his might.

  Cameron Bell locked his fingers in prayer …

  The Mechanical Messiah came alive.

  The air seemed as water once again, with a big stone dropped in it from on high. The Beast let go its hold upon Alice and Darwin, turned as its nemesis marched upon it, shining as of gold.

  The metal God fought once more with the Beast of Revelation. But now the powers of darkness did not have the upper hand. Alice and Darwin, aided by a number of helpful kiwi birds, dragged Cameron Bell out of the auditorium and into the grand foyer as the titanic conflict raged. Alice did not even dare to peep through the door marked STALLS.

  She was comforting Cameron, who was comforting her in return. And Darwin, too, whose hurty-tail was in need of very much comforting.

  Within the auditorium, watched by a man and a three-headed dog, neither of which wanted particularly to become involved, the Beast and the metal God went at it something wicked.

  This was a no-rules, all-weapons match. The winner decided when the other was dead.

  The Beast struck hard at the metal God, its clawed fist belabouring the finely muscled body. Again and again the blows rained down, but the Mechanical Messiah, its heart the holy Ring of Moses, grasped the Beast by the throat.

  These titans smashed from wall to wall in a frenzy of destruction. The Beast now felt it time to leave and sought to fly away. The Mechanical Messiah dragged it down by a leg and snapped off its nasty little wings. The Beast poked the Mechanical Messiah in the eye. The Mechanical Messiah stamped on the Beast’s foot. The Beast gave the Mechanical Messiah a Chinese burn.

  ‘That is not really going to work, is it?’ asked the Mechanical Messiah. And He kicked the Beast in those parts that had not and would not receive any specific description.

  The Beast doubled up and the Mechanical Messiah tore the last remaining row of seats from its mountings and beat the foul creature over the head with it again and again and then again again.

  The Beast struggled up to its nasty lionish feet.

  ‘You cannot kill me,’ it said, ‘for this is not Your time.’

  ‘Then neither is it yours,’ said the man-made God.

  ‘I am always here,’ sneered the evil one, ‘in one form or another. This planet reeks of corruption. Its scent is delicious to me.

  The Mechanical Messiah viewed His enemy. ‘These people are not evil,’ said He. ‘You might seek to make them evil. The brutal lives of some will make for brutal people. But I have seen love here. You will bring no more sorrow to these people.’

  ‘And how will You stop me?’ asked the Beast. ‘Will You beg me to leave?’

  ‘I will force you to leave,’ said the Mechanical Messiah. ‘I will take you away from this world. Together we will leave this place. And all the worlds where men of different races walk. The worlds that swing about this sun. You do not belong here and nor do I. It is not My time, but neither is it yours. I will carry you with Me. Together we will fly across the universe for ever.’

  ‘No!’ cried the Beast. ‘I must have my vengeance.

  ‘You must come with Me!’ said the Mechanical Messiah.

  61

  here was a mighty crash and then there was silence.

  Alice dared to peep around the door. Dust rolled in as a grey storm, but the war was clearly over.

  She spied the Fifth Earl of Hove. He was still upon the stage and patting once more at the heads of his three French bulldogs.

  ‘They are gone,’ said he, in answer to Alice’s unasked question. ‘The metal man took the beast. Flew with it through what is left of the ceiling. He said that together they would fly for ever across the universe.

  Alice stared up to the broken dome. Beyond, a clear night sky showed tiny points of light. One of them the planet Venus. And was that too a shooting star streaking away from Earth?

  Alice made a wish upon it. Just to be sure, as it were. But Alice was not magic any more. The magic had flown away with the Beast and the beautiful golden God.

  Cameron Bell dragged himself back into the auditorium.

  ‘It is done,’ he said.

  ‘Almost.’

  Cameron Bell stared towards the stage.

  Mark Rowland Ferris stood upon it. Somehow during the mayhem he had managed to acquire Colonel Katterfelto’s ray gun.

  ‘You cannot leave,’ said the Fifth Earl of Hove. ‘That would be a very bad idea.’

  ‘It is over,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Give it up now, if you will.’

  ‘Oh no.’ The young man shook his head. ‘The creature has sown the seeds. The country is on the brink of war. I can succeed. My plans are not altered.’

  ‘And so you will kill us?’ asked Cameron Bell.

  ‘Kill you? Yes indeed.’

  ‘And what about our bodies?’ It was a strange question, but Cameron chose to ask it. ‘What about when our bodies are found?’

  ‘That is a very strange question,’ said the Fifth Earl. ‘But your bodies will not be found.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not? Because I will put a torch to the place. It has been nothing but trouble anyway. I will burn it and your bodies. I will collect the fire insurance. I might build a coffee shop here. I believe they will be very popular in the future.’

  Cameron Bell nodded thoughtfully. ‘Could I ask you to do me one favour, then?’ said he. ‘Just tell me one more time, loudly and clearly, your plans for this theatre.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ asked the young man on the stage.

  ‘I am hoping not.’

  ‘Then I will indulge you. I intend to burn down this theatre!’

  And with that said, he pointed the ray gun right at Cameron Bell.

  And with that done, fire descended upon him from above and he went the horrid way of Harry ‘Hurty-Finger’ Hamilton, Smelly Charlie Belly and Master Makepiece Scribbens the Brentford Snail Boy.

  In a great big burst of flames.

  Then gone.

  Alice looked at Cameron Bell. ‘You knew that would happen,’ she said, ‘but how?’

  Alice and Darwin assisted Cameron Bell. They struggled, as he was a heavy man, but eventually they pushed their way from the ruined Music Hall and out into the street beyond. In the company of a flock of kiwi birds and three French bulldogs that Alice Lovell had taken into her care.

  ‘We have survived,’ said Alice. ‘Thank God that we have survived.’

  Policemen
leapt from many hiding places.

  Sergeant Case called out to the survivors, ‘I arrest you all in the name of the law,’ called he.

  62

  here was some unpleasantness.

  The kiwi birds and the three French bulldogs did not take kindly to being herded into the rear of a Black Maria. But order was eventually drawn from chaos.

  Cameron Bell was carted off to hospital to have his broken leg set and encased in plaster. The following day he was visited by Sergeant Case. Who did not bring chocolates or flowers.

  Cameron Bell had a lot of explaining to do.

  Happily the Mark Seven Patent Ferris Audiophonicon had survived the holocaust intact. It made for interesting listening. The voices of Mr Bell, the Fifth Earl and the Beast issued most distinctly from the wax cylinder.

  ‘Extraordinary,’ said Sergeant Case when the playing was done. ‘But all most unsatisfactory.’

  ‘But, if handled with care, that recording can earn you much praise and the return of your rank. This is the first-ever recorded criminal confession — you will ear yourself a place in history for it.’

  ‘I and not you?’ asked the sergeant. ‘It is your voice and not mine upon that cylinder, extracting the confessions, as it were.

  ‘Naturally I will testify that I was employed by you. I am sure you can shift some funds into my bank account, should anyone care to check.’

  Sergeant Case rolled his eyes, and nodded with his head.

  ‘I will further testify that it was you who rescued me from Scotland Yard when the mad Chancellor blew up the building seeking to destroy me.’ Cameron Bell smiled upon the sergeant.

  ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Especially when it comes to saving myself from death at a rope’s end.’

  ‘Quite so. However—’ and here Sergeant Case took out a packet of cigarettes, Ferris Extra—Mild, and lit one without offering them to Mr Cameron Bell ‘—all of this does not explain the death by fire of Mark Rowland Ferris. In the identical manner to the Music Hall bill-toppers. The cases you were originally called in to solve. The cases that still remain unsolved.’