beauty.
«Is it? Well, yes, I can see that from your point of view it probably looks that way but, forgive me, what’s in it for me? I mean, surely, after the shilling tour, you’re going to bump me off.»
«Not I. I have very little quarrel with you, Mr Box. In fact, I have enjoyed our brief association immensely. I only wish we could have known each other better.»
«There’s still time!» I cried, turning to face him. «What say we find somewhere nice and cool and have a little lie down, hm?»
But Venus evidently didn’t take to my kind of flippancy. That smooth hand cracked me nastily across the kisser. «It is my associate Mr Unmann who will do the deed. I believe he has something particularly unpleasant in mind.»
He threw back his head haughtily, and gestured to the corridor beyond. The guards dragged me from the cell and we retraced our steps up the corridor. Venus paused and leant across to the crystalline window, wiping away the condensed steam that clouded it with one delicate hand. Evidently satisfied, he pulled open an iron door. As I was about to be pushed through, I strained at my captors’ hold and jerked my head back.
«What’s going on there,
Venus merely smiled and I was hurled through the door into what I can only describe as a mechanical cathedral.
It was a vast chamber, hewn from the very rock, perhaps half a mile across and so high that its upper portion was obscured by clouds of steam. Behemothal brass and copper pipes as thick as tree-trunks fanned from a central, organ-like structure resembling tentacles on some giant metal squid. Said pipes had been channeled into the glistening rock-walls, leading, I imagined, deep into the very heart of Vesuvius. Vast pistons slammed into one another, sending up great clouds of super-heated steam and flooding the floor with gobbets of black grease. Above all this wonder had been erected a network of spindly galleries and platforms, all connected by row after row of spiral staircases. Helmeted zombies swarmed everywhere, monitoring switches and levers and cranks, attending to the minutiae of Armageddon.
Seated in four chairs near us, their wrists and ankles securely bound, were Mrs Knight and Professors Sash, Verdigris and Quibble. The effects of the purple poppy seemed to be gradually abating. All four were stirring slightly in their bonds.
«I always need an audience to bring out the best in me,» trilled Venus.
One figure detached itself from the crowd of helmeted workmen and came towards us. It was wearing some kind of protective clothing, fashioned from rubber and a helmet with square glass eye-holes. He removed the mask revealing himself to be none other than Mr Tom Bowler of Belsize Park. Or Stromboli, as I now realised he must be.
«You!» I hissed.
«Me. Hullo, Mr Box. So sorry I couldn’t help you with your bereavement. I promise to be very attentive, though, when it comes to your own interment.» He flashed a horrible smile and turned to Venus. «We are almost ready to begin the ceremony.»
«Wonderful!» enthused Venus. «But first we must show Mr Box our little toy.»
I stared at Bowler. «Great God, man!» I shrieked. «Why are you doing this? What hold does this creature have over you?»
He wiped at the sweat that was pouring into his eyes. «This is the future, Mr Box! A new world of machines and engines! We shall control the magma flows of this entire planet and once the world witnesses the destruction of Naples, they will give us anything we want!»
Something about Bowler’s tone gave me pause. He obviously had plans beyond this day of destruction. The destruction of Naples was to be a grand demonstration, not a suicidal act of revenge that would consume all Italy. I seized upon this chance. «There’s more to it than the end of Naples!» I yelled above the clanking din. «You don’t know, do you?»
«Silence him!» cried Venus.
«Tell him, Venus! Tell him about the chain reac»
I felt a rough gag being fastened over my mouth. In the filthy, steaming heat it was a desperate struggle to breathe.
I was dragged back (which is better than being dragged up, like mein host).
Bowler gave me a strange look then shook his head and returned to his diabolical work.
Venus grabbed me by my shirt-front and pulled me towards the centre of that soaring chamber. At the heart of the forest of boiling pipes stood a curious round structure, riveted together in brass panels like the segments of an orange. Steps led to it and Venus dragged me up them until we were looking down on the brass globe. A glass panel occupied its upper surface and Venus forced my head down so that I could see inside.
Within, surrounded by a mass of wiring was what I knew must be the convection bomb. The whole interior of the thing sparkled with power.
And stuffed in like a rag-doll beside it, his eyes wide and terrified, was Charlie Jackpot.
Venus rose to his full height on the steps, held out both his arms wide, then began spinning about, like a giddy child. His peculiar chuckle merged with the pounding
«Behold!» he thundered. «Behold the Engines of Vulcan!»
He stood in a frock, I stood in mute impotence, the thugs restraining me as those fearful contraptions hammered and shuddered all around. What was I to do? I could feel the veins throbbing sickeningly in my head.
Venus began to grow calmer and then, with a jerk of his head, indicated that I was to be taken away.
«To Signor Unmann,» he cried, flashing me a dreadful grin.
Protesting and stumbling I was hauled from the room. I managed at least to shoot one last pleading glance at Bowler.
After the hellish atmosphere in the bomb-chamber, the grey featureless corridors came as something of a relief. It was to be a temporary respite only, however, as I was hauled into another room, one dominated by a huge iron pipe, in which Cretaceous Unmann awaited my convenience.
Unmann, holding the fearsome mask — that of Etna — regarded me impassively as I was hurled to the rocky floor, and then rattled out an order. I was pulled up on to my bloodied knees and securely bound hand and foot. Finally satisfied that I posed no immediate threat, Unmann indicated that we should be left alone.
«Where is your oh-so-elegant poise now, Mr Box?» he taunted.
Filthy and gagged, I was in no position to reply.
I tried to assume an air of nonchalance. Terribly difficult when held captive by lunatics beneath an active volcano, I’m sure you’ll agree.
«How you patronized me!» hissed Unmann. «Took me for a shambling fool. Yet now it is you that kneels before me!»
He paused. Perhaps realizing that a one-sided rant is nowhere near as interesting as a taunt-based dialogue, he crossed the floor towards me and pulled down my gag.
«Much obliged,» I panted. «Listen, old man. I’ve no doubt I misjudged you but you did put on such a good display of playing the fool. Now, can’t we talk this over like gentlemen?»
If I’d hoped to appeal to our national sense of decency I was sorely disabused.
«Gentlemen?» he spat. «How trivial you are, Box, when there are matters of the greatest moment on hand.»
He seemed to require prompting. «Will you not at least tell me,» I said wearily, «how the blazes you got caught up in all this nonsense?»
Unmann chuckled to himself. «There’s little to tell. But, after all, why not? Venus was abandoned by that Medea of a mother of his and drifted into crime where I was already happily billeted though the Service knew nothing of it. We began our little enterprise by founding the Vesuvius Club. It paid awfully well. At first it catered purely to, shall we say, the more straightforward desires but there is always a ready market for those of our persuasion, eh Mr Box?»
«I’ll thank you not to lump me in with you two,» I muttered. «I find frock-coats more convenient than
