The Japanese Devil Fish Girl and Other Unnatural Attractions Part 12

'The Centre of the Earth, do you think?'

'The navel of the world, that is all I know.'

'Absolutely all?' demanded the professor.

'All,' said P. T. Barnum. 'But still I am persecuted by folk such as you. The search must cease. Sayito must be left in peace. I believe Her to be the last of the G.o.ds. The last of the ancient pantheon. She is not for mortal men to gaze upon, nor a sideshow attraction to be gawped at by the Rubes. If it is your endeavour to seek Her, turn back while you still can. No good can come from your search, only evil.'

'All right,' said the professor. 'I will trouble you no more. Sleep now and awaken a half of an hour from now. Upon waking you will have no recollection of this conversation, or that you even met us. You will be happy and at peace. Now sleep, if you will.'

Phineas Taylor Barnum, the world's greatest showman, settled his head upon his desk and took to tuneful snorings.

'Come, George,' said Professor Coffin. 'We have learned all there is to be learned here our search must continue elsewhere.'

George looked up at the professor. 'What are you saying?' he asked.

'That we know that Sayito exists. Our visit here has not been wasted.'

'No,' said George. And, 'No, no, no. Do you not understand? That man did a terrible thing. He sought to find Sayito and his greed led to the deaths of thousands. As he said himself "No good can come from your search, only evil." '

'He exhibits a gloomy disposition at times,' said Professor Coffin, 'but such can often be the way with great folk. I myself am occasionally troubled by misgivings. '

'You are not listening to me,' said George. 'We must abandon the search. I am done with it. All is over. All this is awful stuff.'

Professor Coffin shook his head. 'George, George, George,' he said. 'Do you not understand? Macmoyster Farl, the son of Sebastian Farl, made the prophecy. You will find Sayito. It is your destiny, George.'

'No,' said George, rising once more from the elephant-foot stool. 'I will have no more part of it. I am sorry, Professor. You have invested all you had in this quest, but it is a fool's errand. We are dealing with mystical forces here, G.o.dly forces. They are not for us to tamper with.'

'Fiddle de, fiddle dum,' said Professor Coffin. 'I comprehend. So that is how it is.'

'It is how it is,' said George. 'I am sorry, but that is that.'

'All right, George, I appreciate all that you say. You are a good and honest fellow and to force you to do something against your will would be wrong. I understand that.'

'It would be would be wrong,' said George. 'And I would not do it.' wrong,' said George. 'And I would not do it.'

'I understand that.' Professor Coffin looked George up and down. 'Are you all right?' he asked of the lad. 'You seem a mite shaky and pale in the face.'

'This has all been rather upsetting,' said George. 'But I will be all right.'

'I am not so sure,' said Professor Coffin. 'And your health and well-being are my uppermost concern. I wish no ill to come to you. Here, take a small pick-me-up.'

'A small what? what?' asked George.

But that was all that he asked, because of a sudden, a slim phial of liquid was being held beneath his nose and George said nothing more for a little while.

He became aware of the coffee. The coffee smelled very good.

'They certainly know how to brew up a cup of coffee,' said Professor Coffin. 'This blend is flavoured with vanilla.'

George took a sniff and sipped from his cup. 'It is very nice,' said he. And then, suddenly aware that he was not quite certain where he was and how he had come to be where he was, he sought this information from the professor.

Who said to him, 'Come, come, George.'

They sat upon cane chairs before a delicatessen called Delmonico's, coffee on a table and cheroots to hand.

'You said that you fancied a cup of American coffee,' said Professor Coffin. 'You do do remember saying that, George, don't you?' remember saying that, George, don't you?'

'Oh yes,' said George and he glanced all around. It was afternoon now, with the post-noon sunlight slanting down between the sc.r.a.pers of sky and casting angled shadows. 'Were we not supposed to be visiting Barnum's American Museum?' George asked. 'I recall you mentioned it earlier.'

'I think not,' said the professor, lighting up a cheroot. 'I do not feel there is anything useful to be learned there. We will press on with our search elsewhere, I think.'

'All right,' said George, tasting coffee. 'Whatever you think is best.'

Professor Coffin nodded and smiled. 'Whatever I think is best.'

They returned at length to the Empress of Mars Empress of Mars, the time being a little past four.

'Take yourself off for an afternoon nap,' Professor Coffin told George. 'We will meet at eight in the great dining hall for supper and then we will attend a talk in the lecture theatre.'

'There is a lecture theatre on this airs.h.i.+p?' said George.

'Next to the concert hall. Between it and the gymnasium. '

'And what is this talk about?'

' "Advanced Calculus and Euclid's Proposition".'

'I generally like to take a little stroll upon the promenade deck after I have eaten,' said George.

'This talk is being given by Mr Charles Babbage,' said Professor Coffin. 'And Mr Babbage has much to tell us.' And with this he winked at George in a knowing fas.h.i.+on, which made George a little confused.

He felt no less confused when he returned to his cabin and settled down to take an afternoon nap. As he dropped off to sleep, he wondered just why it was that he seemed to get so tired in the afternoons nowadays. And he wondered whether there might be something going slightly wrong inside of his head. Queer thoughts nagged away at George. Thoughts regarding precisely precisely what he had done that day. There appeared to be something missing. George could recall leaving the airs.h.i.+p and climbing into a canary-coloured cab. But then the next thing he remembered was drinking vanilla-flavoured coffee outside Delmonico's Delicatessen. And surely several hours had pa.s.sed between the two. George did heartfelt sighings. He would question the professor on the matter when he awoke. what he had done that day. There appeared to be something missing. George could recall leaving the airs.h.i.+p and climbing into a canary-coloured cab. But then the next thing he remembered was drinking vanilla-flavoured coffee outside Delmonico's Delicatessen. And surely several hours had pa.s.sed between the two. George did heartfelt sighings. He would question the professor on the matter when he awoke.

The professor would set his mind at rest.

The professor knew what was for the best.

Rocking gently in his hammock bunk, George dropped off to sleep . . .

To be awoken most violently from a curious dream about a portly man in a very weird room. Awoken by a deafening bang and a shock wave that overturned George's washstand and pitched him from his bunk.

George arose from the floor to the sounds of screaming and loud alarm bells.

Something really terrible had happened.

19.

George slid open his cabin door to find the corridor beyond crammed up with screaming people. Some in states of indecent undress, all in panic and fright.

'What has happened?' shouted George, attempting to make himself heard above the unwholesome din. 'What has happened? Someone tell me, please.'

No one seemed particularly interested in answering George's enquiry. All, it seemed, had gone completely insane.

George spied a bootboy getting all squashed up in the thick of it and hauled him by the scruff of his neck in through the cabin doorway.

'Unhand me, please,' cried the youth. 'The s.h.i.+p goes down, we are doomed.'

'You will be crushed to death out there,' said George, drawing shut the cabin door. 'Now tell me what has happened.'

'We are under attack,' wailed the wretched child. 'Anarchists have bombed the s.h.i.+p. We must flee for our lives.'

'That might prove somewhat problematic,' said George, and then he viewed the open porthole.

'We can't go that way, sir,' said the bootboy, all a-s.h.i.+ver. 'The anarchists are in the trees, sniping at us with rifles.'

'Indeed?' said George. 'And I thought to detect a hint of smoke in the corridor. Are we ablaze, by any chance?'

'We are, sir, yes. A bomb went off in the Kinema. A terrible fire there is.'

'Kinema?' queried George.

'It's on the upper deck, between the indoor golf course and the ice rink.'

'Indeed,' said George. Quite slowly. 'Well, it is stay and fry or risk the porthole. What think you to this?'

'I will follow you you through the porthole,' said the lad. Thoughtfully. through the porthole,' said the lad. Thoughtfully.

'The porthole is quite high,' said George. With equal thought. 'Best if I help you up and through it, I am thinking.'

And the bootboy was was smaller than George. And George was, after all, saving him from death by smoke and flame. smaller than George. And George was, after all, saving him from death by smoke and flame.

'And out you go go,' went George as he pushed the bootboy through the open porthole.

He did not tumble to his doom, nor indeed get sniped by a sniper. He dropped safely onto the service deck three feet beneath the porthole, as George had known he would. It was a bit of a squeeze for George, but fear of impending doom will put a spring into your step and spur you on to greater efforts than might otherwise be the norm.

George tumbled down to the deck beside the lad. 'It looks safe enough,' said he. 'Which way is the Kinema?'

The bootboy pointed.

'Then we should flee in the other direction. Come, stay close to me.'

Now George knew, as many aboard the great airs.h.i.+p did did know, that its mighty bladder was filled with helium. And that helium was an inert and non-flammable gas. So there was not likely to be an almighty, all-encompa.s.sing explosion that would wipe the airs.h.i.+p's pa.s.sengers, the airs.h.i.+p itself, Central Park and a chunk of New York from the map. But fire was fire and a fearful mob was fearsome. know, that its mighty bladder was filled with helium. And that helium was an inert and non-flammable gas. So there was not likely to be an almighty, all-encompa.s.sing explosion that would wipe the airs.h.i.+p's pa.s.sengers, the airs.h.i.+p itself, Central Park and a chunk of New York from the map. But fire was fire and a fearful mob was fearsome.

Folk were already throwing themselves over the side. They were dropping into the trees and some into the lake. And the lake was probably where those who were thoroughly over-crowding the lifeboats were hoping to head for.

In the ballroom the band played on. As was ever the way.

'I am thinking,' said George to the bootboy, as the two of them caught glimpses of chaos and mayhem, 'that, although this might appear counter-intuitive-'

'Counter-what?' asked the lad.

'Against common sense,' George explained. 'But I think we would do well to climb higher, rather than risk jumping down.'

'Climb higher?' asked the lad, and he strained to lean back his head and peer up at the vast acreages of silver canvas filling most of the sky. 'Climb up there? Are you mad?'

'They will probably get the fire put out soon,' said George. 'And if you jump down there, you will probably break something, or someone will fall on you, or one of the anarchist snipers will shoot you. What think you of this?'

'I think I will follow you once more,' said the lad, who lacked not for astuteness.

So they climbed up. Up service gangways, up hawsers and lines, hand over hand and so forth. It was as if they were scaling a wondrous mountain, fairy-tale silver and s.h.i.+ning. The wonder of it was not lost upon George, although he did harbour certain fears regarding what might happen if the gas bag got well and truly punctured. It would be a very, very long way to fall indeed, and although George naturally worried for his own welfare, he actually worried even more for that of the bootboy, who had now become, to George's mind, his his responsibility. responsibility.

'If the gas bag gets punctured-' began the lad.

'It will not,' said George, 'trust me.'

The views were rather splendid from the heights of the Empress of Mars Empress of Mars. The chaos below was thankfully obscured by the airs.h.i.+p's bulging sides, so the views were mostly panoramic and pleasurable. The parkland and the high-rising buildings beyond. A pall of smoke billowing from the Empress of Mars Empress of Mars did blot out much of what lay to the east, however. did blot out much of what lay to the east, however.

'Are you all right?' George asked the lad. 'Make sure you hold on tightly to something.'

The lad looked into George's face and managed a bit of a smile. 'You're not like those other toffs, sir,' said he. 'You saved me from a squas.h.i.+ng for sure. I've you to thank for the life of me, I'm thinking.'

'I did what anybody would have done,' said George. But he knew in his heart of hearts that this was not the case.

'I wonder why anarchists would want to blow up this airs.h.i.+p?' he wondered aloud.

'Because probably they ain't anarchists,' replied the bootboy. 'They probably is them Creationists that hate them Venusian people.'

'What of this?' asked George.

'It's been in all the papers here, sir,' said the lad. 'I reads the papers, me. Read them in England, then picked up some here to read. I am hoping to be a writer, sir. When I grow up.'

'A laudable ambition,' said George. 'Writing is a n.o.ble profession.'

'Not the kind of writing I have in mind, sir. I want to specialise in adult literature. Erotic works, or s.m.u.t as it is more commonly known. But like I says, no mention in the London papers that this here airs.h.i.+p was going to be under threat the moment it arrived in New York. The papers here say that a Fundamentalist Christian group, a "cult" the papers call them, seeks to destroy the Empress of Mars and all aboard her. They claim she is a sky-flying Sodom and Gomorrah and that Venusians and Jupiterians are the sp.a.w.n of Satan, come to Earth to bring on the End Times before these times are truly due.'

George managed a slack-jawed, 'Indeed?' but that was as far as it went.

'They ain't got souls, you see,' said the bootboy.

'Who?' George managed. 'The Fundamentalist Christians? '

'No, the blokes from Venus and Jupiter. They ain't like us. We've got souls because the Garden of Eden was here on this this planet. We are G.o.d's true people. Them lot up there are the Devil's brood. They should all go back to their own evil worlds.' planet. We are G.o.d's true people. Them lot up there are the Devil's brood. They should all go back to their own evil worlds.'