“It was a terrible betrayal,” Swinburne said.
“The worst. I was his commanding officer. It was my expedition. His evidence was so incompetent that he made an embarrassment of the entire endeavour.”
A short silence settled over the two men.
Burton ran the tip of his right index finger along the scar on his cheek, as if reminded of that old, mind- numbing pain.
“Of course,” he continued, “in going to the RGS, he wasn't acting entirely of his own volition. He'd been mesmerised during the voyage home by the leader of the Rakes, Laurence Oliphant.”
He stood, crossed to the window, and looked down at the traffic that clanked and steamed and rolled and rumbled along Montagu Place. Almost inaudibly, he said: “You think John betrayed me even before we left Africa, don't you? At Tanganyika.”
“Yes, I'm sorry, Richard, but it all adds up. I think Speke learned from Sheikh Hamed that the Mountains of the Moon were nowhere near, but far away to the northeast; that the tribes to the north of Ujiji were hostile; and that the Rusizi flows into, not out of, the lake. He then set about convincing you of the exact opposite, so that you'd waste time and resources and be forced to return to Zanzibar.”
Burton sighed. “A lust for glory. He wanted to be John Hanning Speke, the man who discovered the source of the Nile. ”
“It would seem so, and though his map didn't fool you-you're too good a geographer to be taken in by absurdly misplaced mountains-the rest of it worked. Your attempts to see the Rusizi precluded any further explorations.”
The king's agent clenched his fists and leaned with his knuckles against the window frame and his forehead touching the glass.
“So,” the poet continued, “you began the long journey back eastward and when you reached Kazeh, Speke dosed you up with Saltzmann's Tincture until you couldn't think straight. He then used rumours of a lake to justify his independent excursion north to where Hamed had told him the Mountains of the Moon were located. Whether he found them or not, something happened in that region that made the Nile question irrelevant to him.”
Burton pushed himself back upright, turned, frowned, and said: “You're referring to his subsequent hallucinations?”
Swinburne nodded. “You said he ranted and raved about dragons dragging him away from something. Dragons, Richard-mythical reptiles, just like the Shayturay, the African Naga. Is that a coincidence, do you think?”
“And the Naga are associated with a fabled black diamond that fell from the sky and gave rise to the Nile,” Burton whispered. “Bloody hell, Algy, did he see the African stone?”
“It would certainly account for his subsequent actions.”
Burton whistled and ran his fingers through his hair. He paced over to the fireplace, took another cigar from the box on the mantelpiece, and immediately forgot it, holding it unlit while he gazed thoughtfully at Swinburne.
“When Babbage said the Technologists had become aware of the black diamonds, I wondered how. Now we know: Speke told Oliphant and Oliphant told the Technologists.”
“Yes, and that's when the whole game changed. Let me ask you a question: why did Speke receive Murchison's backing for a second expedition? He's an inept geographer, a terrible public speaker, a bad writer, and has proven himself thoroughly unreliable. Yet he was chosen over you. Why?”
Burton's jaw dropped. The cigar fell from his fingers.
“My God,” he whispered. “My God. At last it's making sense. The Rakes and Technologists must have offered to fund him!”
“What still remains unclear is what actually happened during that second expedition. He took with him a young soldier named James Augustus Grant-I don't know if he was a Technologist or a Rake, but one or the other, I should think-and they used swans to fly to Kazeh. Speke failed to properly guard the birds and lions killed them. That was the first of a string of disasters that forced him to return to Zanzibar. When he arrived there, Grant was no longer with him. Speke claimed that his colleague had died of fever and was buried near the shore of the lake.”
Burton dropped back into his armchair and said: “He also reaffirmed that he'd discovered the source of the Nile-but, again, his evidence was pathetically flawed.”
Swinburne grunted his agreement. “He was scheduled to give a fuller account at the Bath Assembly Rooms last year. Instead, knowing that you were going to expose the scale of his ineptitude, he shot himself in the head. Oliphant abducted him from the hospital, and the Technologists replaced the damaged half of his brain with a clockwork mechanism.”
“Babbage's prototype. I never understood why they did that until now. Bismillah! They still needed him to show them where the diamond was. But then the Spring Heeled Jack affair occurred, the Technologist and Rake alliance diverted their resources to capturing Edward Oxford, and Speke was left trailing about after them, awaiting further orders. When I defeated the alliance and killed Oliphant, he fled.”
Swinburne twitched, jerked, and jumped to his feet.
“Where do you suppose he is now?”
“Brunel says he's in Prussia.”
“Hmm,” Swinburne hummed. “I wonder why there? Could he have arranged the Brundleweed theft?”
“Are you suggesting he's making a play for the Eyes?”
“Yes, I think it quite likely. If Darwin and his cronies implanted that device in his head to somehow impel him to retrieve the African Eye, is it not possible that it might also have driven him to acquire the Cambodian diamonds? If Speke or the alliance researched the matter, they will know that there were three Eyes and that the Choir Stones are the fragments of one of them.”
“You're making a lot of sense, Algy. In which case, if the Tichbornes really do have the South American stone and Speke is aware of it, they'll be his next target.”
“Then let's stop chinwagging and get ourselves to Tichborne House!”
Swinburne leaped to his feet and ran to the door. Burton followed.
“Really, Algy, there's no need for you to come.”
They descended to the ground floor.
“There's every need! You know how trouble dogs your footsteps and you're obviously not at the peak of physical fitness. What better time to call on your faithful assistant for support? I say, speaking of dogs, where's that blasted basset hound of yours?”
“Fidget? I don't know. In the kitchen with Mrs. Angell, probably.”
“Well, he can jolly well stay there, the brute! What say you?”
“I have no objection, and I'm certain he doesn't either, what with the scraps of food my esteemed housekeeper throws into his welcoming maw.”
Swinburne screeched and clapped his hands together. “I mean about me coming to Tichborne House with you, you buffoon!”
Burton smiled, took his assistant's top hat from the stand, and pushed it down over the little poet's mop of red hair.
“Very well, Algy. In truth, I'll be glad of your help, though I must confess, I was looking forward to using the rotorchair. I like flying! It's a shame the contraptions are single-seaters. I suppose we'll have to resort to the train.”
“No we won't.” Swinburne grinned. “I have a much better idea.”
“Why, it's Captain Burton and Mr. Swinburne!” Miss Isabella Mayson exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again. Come in! Come in!”
Doffing their hats, the two men stepped into the SPARTA building.
“I've just made some soup. Will you join us?”
“Thank you, that would be most welcome,” said Burton. He and Swinburne followed her through to the kitchen. As they crossed the threshold, a heavenly aroma assailed their nostrils, and there came an exclamation: “Hallo, hallo! Welcome to the chamber of bloomin’ miracles, gents!”
It was the voice rather than the face they recognised, for the vagrant philosopher Herbert Spencer had
