It was here that research was undertaken into the fields of the paranormal, the spiritualistic and the extra-planetary, where supernatural and supernormal threats to the British Empire were identified, studied, and defences against them formulated. Blackwood had been here on a number of occasions and had been struck each time by the ingenuity and dedication of the staff, which included astronomers, physicists, biologists and engineers, not to mention alchemists, spiritualistic mediums, white witches, and shamans. This combination of the physical and occult sciences, this viewing of the Universe in all the aspects of its great totality, made the Unearthly Phenomenon Unit one of the most potent weapons in the Bureau’s arsenal.
That potency became apparent to Blackwood as he stepped down from the carriage, which had stopped outside the mansion’s portico. He had the feeling of eyes upon him… eyes that were not human, that were not even animal in any meaningful sense. The house and the wide lawns surrounding it appeared perfectly normal on the surface, but Blackwood was keenly aware that beyond or beneath that surface, he and Caxton-Roper were being watched by something unseen, something immensely powerful and utterly implacable.
After a few moments, however, this unsettling feeling passed, for whatever had been regarding them recognised them as having authorisation to enter Station X, and the sensation of being under intense scrutiny vanished from Blackwood’s mind.
Caxton-Roper breathed a sigh of relief and muttered, ‘I can never quite get used to that.’
‘A necessary precaution,’ replied Blackwood, ‘but I know what you mean.’
The two men mounted the steps to the front door, while the colonel’s carriage continued around the side of the house, followed by the steam lorry and its strange cargo. Caxton-Roper took out his latch-key and unlocked the door, and Blackwood followed him inside.
The interior of Bletchley Park was several orders of magnitude stranger than the exterior, and Blackwood wondered whether he would ever become accustomed to this, either. The structure of the entrance hall was more in keeping with the external architecture of a cathedral than the foyer of a mansion. The internal space was a maze of flying buttresses and pinnacles, clerestories and triforia. Here and there, gigantic gargoyles snarled from the centres of complex traceries, their hideous visages apparently inspired by the fauna of distant and unknown worlds. It would have struck the casual visitor (had he managed to get past the watcher outside) as curious that such sentinels should be posted within the house rather than on the outside, since the purpose of a gargoyle is to ward off evil encroaching from without. At any rate, Blackwood could not prevent himself from shuddering as he regarded these frightful carvings, and gave an uncomfortable thought to the nature of the things they were intended to hold at bay.
The attention of the two men was drawn to one of the far walls, which had begun to warp and ripple as if made of thick liquid. Presently, the warping and rippling resolved itself into a human form, which detached itself from the wall and walked towards them. As it approached across the intricate parquetry of the vast floor, the undifferentiated and featureless paleness of its form took on colour and texture until, by the time it reached them, it had become fully resolved into a distinguished-looking man of late middle age, dressed in black trousers and a black Nehru jacket, with grey-flecked hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee.
This was the Comte de Saint Germain, immortal adept and Director of the Unearthly Phenomenon Unit. Saint Germain had ceased to be a corporeal being some years ago; now, his home was Bletchley Park, where he oversaw the tireless efforts of the staff to protect the Empire from all comers – natural and supernatural.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said in a voice rich and resonant with the untold centuries of his life.
Blackwood gave a slight bow. ‘Good afternoon, sir. I trust you are well.’
Saint Germain smiled absently, and Blackwood had the distinct impression that he was devoting only the merest fraction of his mind to the here and now, the rest lost in contemplation of concepts barely imaginable by normal human beings.
‘I understand you have brought us a curious artefact, Mr Blackwood.’
‘I have: a Venusian Æther ship…’ Blackwood watched for signs of surprise in Saint Germain’s expression, and when he detected none, he added, ‘With all due respect, sir, you seem… unperturbed by this discovery.’
‘Discovery? Why, Mr Blackwood, the discovery is yours, not mine.’
‘I have the impression that you were aware of the presence of intelligent life on Venus, before the present situation. Am I correct, sir?’
‘You are.’
‘And you never informed Her Majesty’s Government of the fact?’
Again, that enigmatic, absent smile. ‘I agreed with the Martians that it was something mankind did not need to know. Indeed, there are some things it is better
not
to know. However, recent events have rendered such precautions academic, haven’t they?’ Saint Germain regarded Blackwood in silence for a few moments. When he next spoke, it was the Special Investigator’s features which broadened in surprise. ‘You have recently encountered a djinn, haven’t you?’
‘How did you know?’
‘I can smell it on you. It was summoned by one with a profound knowledge of Arabian Star Magick. You are very lucky to be alive and sane.’
Thoughts of Sophia crowded Blackwood’s mind once again, and he murmured, ‘I know.’
‘I have the suspicion that you will encounter such Magick again before this business is over. We’ll have to do something about that. In the meantime, why don’t we have a look at our new toy?’
Blackwood and Caxton-Roper followed Saint Germain through a door which led into the depths of the house. They passed drawing rooms, libraries, studies, a dining room and telegraph room, before passing through a large conservatory and out into the grounds at the rear. A number of people were converging on one of several large huts ranged across the neatly-tended lawns.
‘As you can see, gentlemen,’ said Saint Germain, ‘Station X is abuzz with your discovery. There are a lot of people here who are most anxious to get their hands on the Æther ship.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Caxton-Roper replied.
The hut was painted white and was about twenty feet by fifty. Through the open double doors at one end, a glow of electric light shone brightly in the cloudy murk of the mid-afternoon. As they approached, Blackwood caught glimpses of frenetic activity within: people were hurrying to and fro before the half-obscured bulk of the vessel.
‘Her Majesty has already sent word to Mars by Æther telegraph,’ said Saint Germain. ‘The Martians are also anxious to examine the vessel, since this will be their first opportunity to do so.’
Blackwood felt his heart sink. ‘Has she also informed them of the latest developments in this case?’ he asked, thinking of Voronezh and Ghell’ed.
‘She has.’
‘Do you know what her reaction was?’
Saint Germain glanced at him, and he cursed himself for having uttered such a stupid question. ‘Don’t tell me. She is not amused.’
‘No, Mr Blackwood, she is not. In fact, a doubt that there has ever been a time in her long life when she has been
less
amused.’
‘I’ve been trying to think of what to say to her, and to Grandfather,’ he confided. ‘I fear that I haven’t done terribly well, so far. And to cap it all, my friend and colleague is now in the clutches of a Venusian, thanks to my carelessness.’
‘You are too hard on yourself. Your record of service is exemplary.’
‘Thank you, but that is cold comfort. In fact, an agent of the Crown is only as good as his performance in the current case: past successes count for little if he loses his edge.’
‘And you think you are losing yours?’
‘I’ve begun to wonder.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Really? I think you do.’
‘What do you mean?’
Saint Germain shrugged. ‘Perhaps your judgment is becoming clouded by thoughts of a more… personal nature.’
Blackwood snorted. ‘Are you suggesting that my feelings for Lady Sophia… go beyond the professional?’
Saint Germain smiled. ‘Those words are yours, not mine.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Blackwood muttered as they entered the hut.
‘Perhaps… but in any event, I advise you to put all such thoughts to the back of your mind, at least for now – for there is a much more pressing matter to attend to.’
Blackwood immediately saw what Saint Germain meant. His heart quickened and the blood left his face when his gaze fell upon the two people standing before the Æther ship.
Grandfather was scowling at him, puffs of steam emerging in angry little spurts from his artificial legs, and beside him, Queen Victoria stood, her face expressionless but her eyes bright with Martian fire.
No
, Blackwood thought miserably.
She most certainly does
not
look amused
.
Blackwood steeled himself and walked forward. He noted that Grandfather’s jaw muscles were working furiously, as if he were chewing on a tough piece of meat. He bowed to Victoria. ‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty… Grandfather.’
‘Blackwood! What the devil do you think you’re doing, man?’ thundered Grandfather. ‘Two more Martians dead, Lady Sophia abducted, and still we’re no closer to getting our hands on this Indrid Cold Johnnie! You’re making a shambles of this whole blasted affair.’ He glanced at the Queen. ‘Apologies for the language, ma’am.’
‘Think nothing of it, sir,’ Victoria replied. She spoke in quiet, measured tones, but it was clear from the timbre of her voice that she was barely suppressing an explosive rage. ‘Mr Blackwood,’ she continued, gazing up at the Special Investigator with her heavy-lidded eyes, ‘we had hoped to bring this unfortunate situation to a speedy conclusion, but thanks to your most unsatisfactory performance, we are now witness to yet more death and destruction. We can only speculate as to the reaction this will provoke on Mars.’
‘An interplanetary cylinder destroyed. Biggin Hill all but obliterated,’ continued Grandfather. ‘This is rank buffoonery, Blackwood!’ From the colour of his cheeks, he looked about ready to explode himself. ‘What are we going to tell the Martians, eh? What are we to tell them?’
Blackwood took a deep breath. ‘We are to tell them that the Venusians wish Earth and Mars to go to war: everything that has happened so far is geared towards that end. The Venusians wish to leave their dying planet and colonise our two worlds, but they know that this is impossible unless both Earth and Mars are weakened to the point where resistance becomes impossible. It’s quite obvious that this is Indrid Cold’s mission: he is an
agent provocateur
who has been sent to Earth on a one-way trip, and his intention is to ignite a war between Human and Martian. As a result, so he hopes, Earth civilisation will be destroyed, and Mars will be left without defences adequate to repel a Venusian invasion.’
Victoria and Grandfather glanced at each other as Blackwood continued, ‘But that is not the worst of it. We have at least two traitors in our midst: men who are in collusion with Indrid Cold, and who are willing, for whatever reason, to betray their world and their species.’
‘
What?
’ Grandfather blustered. ‘
Traitors
, you say?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who are they?’ demanded the Queen.
‘I believe one of them to be Lord Pannick of Furfield.’
‘Preposterous!’ declared Grandfather.
‘I am well acquainted with Lord Pannick,’ said Victoria. ‘This is a very serious allegation you make against him, Mr Blackwood. Are you quite sure of what you are saying?’
‘I am reasonably confident, Your Majesty.’
‘Reasonably confident?’ echoed Grandfather. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Where’s your evidence?’
Blackwood hesitated. In fact, the evidence was circumstantial at best, but his intuition told him that Pannick was his man. Unfortunately, he suspected that his intuition didn’t carry much weight with either Grandfather or the Queen at this point. He recalled Saint Germain’s comment regarding his record and felt a brief flaring of anger, which he quickly fought down.
Taking a small step forward towards Grandfather, he said quietly, ‘My evidence, sir, is admittedly circumstantial, but my intuition is, I believe, as sound as it has ever been. It has served both me and Her Majesty’s Bureau of Clandestine Affairs extremely well over the years, as my service record will amply attest.’
He half expected Grandfather to erupt again at this, but instead he was surprised to detect a flicker of amusement pass across his lips. ‘I suppose that much can’t be denied,’ he conceded.
‘Who do you believe is the other traitor?’ asked Victoria.
‘Peter Meddings.’
Grandfather raised his eyebrows. ‘Meddings? He’s a decent enough chap, Blackwood. Not very dynamic, I grant you – not much in the way of gumption… but a traitor?’
‘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 return 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.’