VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The departure of the cart had not however, passed unnoticed; little Emmeline Trelawney had hardly been able to sleep partly because of the excitement of being allowed to accompany her Papa and Mama to a Highland Camp while her Papa was on active duty, but mainly because of the thought that soon she would be able to ride the delightful Shetland pony that her parents had bought for her to make up for the prolonged absence of her best friend Victoriana.

She had slipped out of the tents very early and climbed the low hill with her Papa’s telescope under her arm so that she could plan a route for her projected horseback ride.

“Only around the town, Emmeline,” her Mama had said, “Not down to the bay.” So, of course, that was where she first pointed her telescope, then followed the windy road back up to the village and along the main street, and saw…Victoriana being bundled into a cart with two men and a boy, by a gang of scruffy ruffians.

“Goodness me!” She cried, “but surely, that’s Victoriana all trussed up like a turkey! I have to rescue her!”

Without further ado, she ran down the far side of the hill to the paddock where Bucephalus was standing dozing and leaped nimbly onto his back, shattering dreams of apples and sugarlumps. She grabbed a handful of mane and, bracing herself for the takeoff, she crashed her heels against his ribs. Bucephalus gave a startled snort but remained stationary. Emmeline tried again with the same result.

“Oh, Bucky, please,” she pleaded.

Bucephalus snorted, shook his vigorously (almost unseating his rider) and then started at a slow amble towards the gate.

“Oh, well,” said Emmeline to herself, “I suppose it’s faster than walking.”

                                                *            *            *

Emmeline was not the only person to notice the departure of the gang from the inn: up on the hill by the remains of an old chapel stood a lone figure with a flag in his hand.

Victoriana, who was facing the back of the cart noticed the movements of the figure as a shaft of sunshine shone down on the spot. Spitting the ill-tied gag out of her mouth, she nudged Rusty who had also managed to get rid of his gag.
            “What’s that person up to ?” She whispered in his ear, nodding over her shoulder at the capering outline.

“I think he’s sending a semaphore signal,” said Rusty after a moment of confusion, “but he only seems to be using one arm.”

“I wonder if dats da guy I met in da village: he troyed to sell me a diploma from Oban Univers’ty, an’ he on’y had one arm,” remarked Irving in a hoarse whisper, having managed to remove his own gag.

Rusty had closed his eyes and had been wriggling furiously with his bonds while Irving had been speaking, and now triumphantly waved a free hand. Glancing round to make sure his captors had not noticed, he proceeded to free his other hand and his legs, then produced a pencil from his pocket and sketched a matrix on the cart floor. Glancing up at the gesticulating figure, he jotted characters in the matrix until the flag-waving paused.
            “Hmmm,” he said, staring at the matrix, “RI..LWWOSNLV…LK.L.KOSN.Y.OWKVH..! Doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense.”

“Is it a code?” asked Victoriana.

“I’m not sure,” replied Rusty, scanning the matrix. “Let me try this. Oh no, WO.QYYYVSQX…QP.Q.PYVS…YYPX… doesn’t make a lot more sense. Let’s see…”

He sucked on the end of his pencil and frowned in concentration.

“Got it!” He exclaimed, then looked round to see if he had been heard, but their captors seemed to be too busy muttering amongst themselves to pay any attention.

“It says, MCHERRING ESCAPED HEADING TO AIRDS BAY. But who was he signalling to?”

The answer to this question appeared overhead in the form of an enormous black shadow just as they were approaching the beach at Airds Bay: a loud cannon shot announced the arrival of the Vulgarian airship, and a huge fountain of earth erupted alongside them. McHerring let out a loud screech, and bellowed a series of orders to his men as they took to their heels and ran down the road towards a jetty stretching out into the water, abandoning the cart and their prisoners. At the end of the jetty a large warehouse stood brooding silently on massive pillars reaching out into the sea, and into the warehouse the fleeing men disappeared.

Rusty immediately set about releasing Victoriana from her ropes, and was just starting to work on Irving’s knots when a gentle clopping heralded the arrival of Emmeline and Bucephalus.

“Oh, “ she in a disappointed voice, sliding down off the pony, “you’re free: I did so want to rescue you, Victoriana.”

Victoriana quickly overcame her astonishment, and Emmeline her brief disappointment, and the two friends embraced each other happily.

“I say, you don’t happen to have a knife about you, do you?” Asked Rusty, who had admitted defeat with Irving’s knots.

“Ooh, yes!” Replied Emmeline happily, fishing a large folding knife from her pocket. “This one is special, look, it’s got a thing to get stones out of a horse’s hoof!”

The sharp blade made short work of the ropes, and the friends were soon making introductions and telling their various stories. The boom of another cannon shot caused a huge hole to appear in the jetty, and brought their conversation to a halt. A group of men on the airship were gathered at the rail and were obviously planning a hasty descent by rope ladders to besiege the warehouse, when the large water doors in the side opened, and out steamed a long sleek wooden boat, but one unlike anything Victoriana had seen before.

“It’s an Ictineo mark II or III submarine,” cried Rusty, “ what a smasher!”

A hastily lobbed bomb from above exploded off the port bow, causing a tall fountain of water to appear.

“They coulda hit her easy,” declared Fingers.

“Yup,” agreed Irving, “guess dey tink da Telectroscope is on board.”

“Oh dear,” said Victoriana, “McHerring is getting away, and we can’t stop him.”

“Yes, we can,” said Emmeline.  “My Papa is at Oban, and he said that HMS Devastation is there on a fleet exercise. He can send it over here to inter…inter… cut off the submarine.”

“That’s fine if we could only speak to him,” observed Rusty, “but we’re out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Waal,” drawled Irving, “der might jus be a way. You see dat IB pole back der, Fingers? Reckon you can crack it?”

Fingers nodded eagerly, and trotted back up the slope to a little hillock from the top of which protruded a tall peculiarly shaped metal pole: the others followed him at a slower pace, and by the time they reached him he had opened a panel at the base.

“Dis ere’s a IB pole,” Irving explained, “if yous look at it, y’see a hexclamation mark combined wiv a question mark.”

“That’s called an interrobang,” gasped Rusty, “I’ve heard of them.”

 “Yeah,” Irving ageed, “I.B., but we calls it a catcher’s mitt in da service. Wind da handle, Fingers.”

Fingers obliged, and the question mark gradually unfolded with the occasional screech of metal, expanding from a narrow strip until it looked like a football cut in half.

“Da army uses dese for direct communications,” continued Irving, “da boyd is fired from da base to da messagee by line of sight, so if deres anyting in da way, it hasta go round, and da angle of dis baby is adjusted to deflect da flight.”

“What happens when it arrives?” Asked Rusty.

“Den,” said Irving in a portentous manner, “you open da bowl like Fingers just done, and deploy da net to make it like a catcher’s mitt. Do da net, Fingers.”

Fingers jabbed at a large green button, but nothing happened. At that moment, they all noticed something approaching at speed making a loud tocking noise. It appeared to be a small metal bird, flapping its wings rapidly and leaving a trail of steam in its wake.

Fingers frantically stabbed the green again and again without any net appearing.

Tock..tock..tock..tock.TOCK..TOCK..TOCK..TOCK..PLANG!!!!

The bird hit the metal bowl with a loud clang, and fell to the ground at their feet in a shower of sparks.

“Ooops!” Said Fingers.

“Dat’s a Pilcrow,” said Irving, “da U.S. sold dis system to you Brits, an it works good most of da time.”

Fingers looked down at the battered Pilcrow which was still steaming gently.

“Dats a dead boyd, Oiving,” he said sadly. “Hope dey gotta spare here.”

He fiddled around at the base of the pole again, and another door sprang open. Reaching in, he pulled out a replica of the now defunct Pilcrow.

“Here, goylie,” he said to Emmeline, “write da message to your Pa an we’ll send it off in dis.”

Rusty, who had been fiddling with the broken bird, held up a scorched piece of paper.

“It’s a complaint about lost laundry,” he said.

“Never mind da lost socks,” said Irving, “let’s get dis on da go.”

He placed Emmeline’s message into a compartment in the Pilcrow, which he then laid in a catapault arrangement attached to the I.B. before thrusting home a self-igniting charcoal stick: after a minute, the bird’s eyes glowed a bright red and the wings started flapping vigorously up and down. A slight adjustment of the trajectory, a check on the direction, and at the pull of a lever the bird took off with a tock-tock-tock and disappeared in the direction of Oban trailing a cloud of steam.

Having sent off their vital message, the group hastened back down to the beach to see what was happening.

The Vulgarian airship was still hovering menacingly over the submarine which was no longer puffing a trail of smoke into the air.

“They’ve extinguished the surface engine,” gasped Rusty, “they’re running on the chemical engine, which means they’re going to dive when they get to deep enough water.”

“That’s funny,” observed Emmeline, “ they’re not heading out to sea – they’re heading towards the entrance to Loch Etive.”

“It may be too shallow a draft for the Devastation,” said Rusty, “they can block the entrance but not follow them in.”

“We can’t let them get away,” said Victoriana. “Let’s see what else is in that big boathouse.”

They trooped down to the end of the jetty, making their way carefully around the gaping bomb crater left by the Vulgarians, and entered the warehouse. There moored against the jetty was a smaller version of the submarine they had seen escaping.

“I can’t leave Bucky,” said Emmeline, “I’ll stay here and tell Papa what has happened when he arrives.”

The others all climbed aboard the sleek wooden vessel, and Rusty set about priming the chemical engine. Victorian stared in amazement at a large clock which was fastened too low on the wall above a shelf containing charts and other nautical oddments. Made of some rubberized material, the clock face appeared to flow down onto the shelf, across it and was hanging a good three inches over the edge. She checked the hands.

“Well,” she said to herself, “ it seems to be keeping the correct time. How peculiar, though.”

“Ready to go,” Rusty shouted up through the hatch. Irving and Fingers soon appeared and climbed down into the submarine, having cast off from the jetty.

Closing the hatch, they manoeuvred carefully through the open doors out into the bay, setting a course for the Loch entrance in hot pursuit of the archvillain McHerring.

VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 14

Chapter 14

After they had walked a couple of miles they sat down on a bank at the edge of the road for a rest. Victoriana removed her shoes and rubbed her feet vigorously.

“They do feel a little sore,” she admitted to Irving.

At that moment, a horse pulling a cart with a few bales of straw on it came clopping smartly up the road behind them. Irving sprang to his feet and stepped out in front of it.

“Hey, buddy, can ya give us a ride?” He asked, startling the figure who had been lolling on his seat, seemingly relying on the horse to find its own way.

“Mebbeasyerenoasassenach:whauryeboundthin?” Asked the driver.

Rusty got out his translator box and turned the little wheel.

“Mebbeasyerenoasassenach:whauryeboundthin?” Said the box.

Irving grabbed it from him and gave it a sharp smack on the side of the cart, then turned the little wheel again.

“Aye, stranger, as ye’re no’ an Englishman: pray, whither are ye bound?” It said, in a fluting Scottish accent.

“I’ve been modifying the speech module a little,” admitted Rusty, “though it still needs a bit of work.”

Having been assured that the carter was passing through Taynuilt on the way to his croft, they gratefully accepted a lift and climbed up on top of the straw bales, and the cart resumed its journey.

As they round wound around a hill and a view of the coast opened up, Victoriana gave a little gasp of excitement.

“Look!” She cried, “a castle!”

The driver turned his head, scowled and spat angrily at the ground.

“Aye,” fluted the box, “’tis the lair o’ that rascally McHerring, divil take his black soul. Dunstaffnage Castle was niver the same since he bought it. Folks around here believe the castle tried to rid itself of him, there was terrible shakins an rumblins for mony a month after, aye.”

“There seems to be a lot of activity round it at the moment,” observed Rusty, “those look like soldiers to me.”

“Mebbe they’s come to drag him awa’,” said the box hopefully.

Indeed, there was a lot of activity around the castle, with lorries and jeeps and even a small tank clustered near the entrance, with groups of soldiers swarming about like ants.

“Dey’re not wearing skirts like dem ones in da movies,” said Fingers.

“Kilts,” corrected Rusty automatically. “I think they’re English, and I bet your Papa had them mobilised to try to retrieve the Telectroscope, Victoriana. They must have tracked McHerring down. Should we go down there?”

“Um,” Victoriana hesitated. “It’s probably better if I spoke to Mama first. After all, we did disappear rather suddenly.”

They all agreed it would be a wiser course to postpone any reunion until the ground had been a little prepared; they therefore elected to stick to the plan to spend the night in Taynuilt and devise a way to contact Victoriana’s and Rusty’s parents in the morning.

“But why do you not like Mr McHerring?” Victoriana asked the carter.

“Ach, ‘tis a sorry tale,” said that worthy, “and it goes back to when I was a wee lad living doon there on the foreshore in the shadow of yon castle. My Da was a coral diver, and he used to row out to the reef and dive down to collect the coral with his mates for to sell to the shops awa’ in Glasgee: the rich folk loved the coral for the decorations, ye ken, and ‘twould fetch a pretty price.”

“Nay, but ‘twas dangerous work, and lives were lost in the gatherin’.” A large tear rolled down his cheek as he spoke.

“But then, this Spanish gentleman, who was holidaying in the area, was watching one day when the boat came ashore, loaded with coral and the daid body of a diver. He was so moved by wit he saw…” another tear rolled slowly down his cheek, “…that he awa’ and made a wooden boat that could sail beneath the waves, and gather the coral. Aye,” he glared at them defiantly, “’tis true, ‘tis true!”

“He means a submarine,” whispered Rusty, “ it…it couldn’t have been Monturiol, could it?”

The carter thrust a boney arm at him which bore a swirly tattoo of a dolphin amid the waves: as he flexed his muscles, the fish appeared to swim through the sea.

“The whole crew had these, ev’ry mon,” he said. “I was on’y a wee lad, but I was ta’en along to tend the engine whaur there was no space for a mon.”

“’Twas a beautiful craft,” he said dreamily, “carved of wood and polished to a shine. The first boat he made was small, and he used a lot of old whisky barrels, but it still sailed like a dream. We covered twenty five miles when we tested ‘un, though most of that was in circles, as the fumes from the auld wood were quite strong,” he smiled in reminiscence.

Abruptly a scowl darkened his face.

“ Then along came that divil McHerring, and offered to pay for the building of a proper boat, one big enough to take on th’Atlantic and dive doon to the coral reefs.” He fell silent, brooding on the past.

“And?” Prompted Rusty, “what happened then?”

“Aye, well, he paid the money and built the boat, and that was the last we saw of un. We heard he made a mint of money selling un to the gov’ment, along wi’ the classy wee engine the Spanish gentleman designed. Awa’ the Senor went, back to Spain brokenhearted, and niver more did we hear o’ him.” He wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

“Well,” said Victoriana heatedly, “what a rotter McHerring is. No wonder he thought nothing of stealing the Telectroscope.’

They all agreed that McHerring must be an absolute blackguard and should be brought to justice, if indeed he succeeded in evading the army besieging his castle.

                                                *            *            *

They were enveloped by the gathering dusk as the cart rolled into the village and halted outside an ancient inn.

“Ye’ll find board an’ lodgin’yonder, nae doot,” said the carter, waving away their expressions of gratitude, “if ye’re no friends o’ the McHerring. Th’old wooden boat o’ yon Spanish gentleman kept a lot of men occupied and woulda brocht wealth to these parts: folks have long memories aroond here,” he glanced meaningfully at the inn, whose sign creaked sadly in the breeze.

“But it’s the Stag’s Head,” said Rusty in a puzzled manner.

“Och, aye, reetly so. A one-armed feller name Perrott boucht the place a while back and renamed it. He didna seem to care for the sea or anything aboot it.”

The carter gathered the reins up and was about to urge the horse on again when he was struck by a thought. He leaned over and spoke in Victoriana’s ear.

“Indeed, A thoucht a saw a sleek wooden undersea vessel off the point by the castle a nicht or two since,” he confided, “but t’was after closin’ time by then, ye ken.”

And with that he flicked the reins and the horse and cart ambled off into the night.

“I think there is just enough fuel in the translator box to allow us to negotiate with the landlord,” said Rusty, giving it a little shake.

They trooped up to the inn and were approaching the door when it was flung open and a group of soldiers staggered out into the night on a billow of yells and laughter, leaving behind a scene of carousing and jollity as if an entire army were occupying the premises.

“Now then, lads,” said the box, as the landlord, a big beefy cheerful fellow in an apron, followed them out and turned them carefully in the right direction, “follow that lane and it’ll tak ye back to the camp with yeer fellows.”

“’Scuse me, bud,” said Irving, “do ya have any beds fer the night?”

The landlord turned and a suspicious frown clouded his face.

“Ye’re no journalists, are ye?” He asked.

“Why would we be joynalists?” Aked Fingers in surprise, “we’s jus’ visitin’, erm, fer a sorta vacation.”

The landlord’s face lit up: he rubbed his hands together gleefully.

“Tourists!” He exclaimed, “and from America! Tis my lucky night. I bid ye welcome.”

“Why would we be journalists?” Asked Victoriana.

“Did ye no see the excitement around the castle? T’was hard to miss wi’ all they soldiers and things.”

            “What happened?” Asked Rusty eagerly.

“The lads inside” he jerked his head over his shoulder “ are celebrating capturing a dangerous gang, it seems. They have captured McHerring and his mob and locked him in the castle dungeons…”

“And…and…Mulletchops,” interrupted an inebriated soldier, appearing at his elbow. “ Don’t forget Mulletchops and his crew, we gottem as well, an’, an’ they’re locked up in another dungeon an’all. Funny thing is, the Captain don’t seem to be too happy, keeps muttering about something called a telectromon…tetrectolol…trolectolly…”

“Telectroscope!” exclaimed Victoriana.

“That’s it!” Agreed the soldier triumphantly, “seems the Captain got a bo… got a bothering from the Major because he couldn’t find it anywhere. It seems to have disappeared completely.”

VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The temperature had been dropping rapidly for some time and the stowaways were shivering in their hideout.

“Wadya reckon, Oiving? Guess we’re headin North much as East?” Suggested Fingers. “I fink I’ll try an’ get some coats fer us.”

He slipped silently out of the lifeboat, returning after a short interval with an armful of peajackets. Victoriana barely stifled a giggle as Rusty pulled on the huge warm coat and nearly disappeared from view.

“This is great,” he exclaimed in a muffled voice. “Hey, this is McHerring’s coat, I’ve found some papers in the pocket…”

He fell silent as he studied a parchment covered in drawings which reminded Victoriana of a spider’s web, with a spidery scrawl all over it.

“What’s new?” Irving muttered to Fingers.

“All that yellin we heard? Turns out that food I pinched caused a lot of fights,” chuckled Fingers, “McHerrings set a guard on the pantry after the cook laid out three blokes wiv a frying pan.”

He sobered a little.

“Could make it tricky fer me to get more grub, tho.”

Just as they were settling themselves more comfortably there came a loud splash followed by an explosion, and the cover of their hiding place was drenched with water.

“What the dang-darned devil?” Exclaimed Irving, lifting the cover slightly and peering about.

There was another tremendous splash followed by an equally loud boom, and Irving received a soaking of seawater before he could get the cover back in place.

He twitched it back again and peered upwards into the sky.

“There’s an airship up there,” he said.”It’s a British B100 Scout by the look of it: dey’re lightly armed an’ fast.”

“Oiving was a spotter,” said Fingers in explanation. “ He can tell 50 of dem fings apart. We done our bit, y’know, like what you guys call Nat’ral Service.”

“National Service,” corrected Rusty automatically, “and what did you do?”

“Camouflage,’ he replied.” Sort of came nat’ral after I ..er .. left da Pay Corps.”

At that moment there was a volley of shots from the deck aimed (along with a volley of Caledonian curses) at the attackers above, who appeared to be arguing loudly with each other. Victoriana could make out three irascible voices, with a fourth responding in a timorous fashion.

“Drop another bomb, dammit, Brown!”

“We ain’t gotta ‘nother bomb, Admiral Hawke, sir!”

“That last one was a bit duff, Hawke. Get ‘em from your brother-in-law, do ye?”

“Egad, what are ye implying, Bligh? Ye’ll face a firing squad when we reach Plymouth.”

“”Those lubbers are shootin’ at us, Brown. Do something quick, ye lazy swab.”

“Aye, aye Admiral Byng, sir. Shall I raise the deflector shielding?”

“Carry on, seaman!”

After a pause, a series of overlapping metal wings cranked slowly into position, and started ringing as musket balls from below rattled off them.

“We’re drifting to larboard, Brown. Keep her on course or it’s a flogging ye’ll be getting.”

“Sorry, sir, Admiral Bligh, but there is only me workin’ here.”

“What? What? Is this a mutiny?”

“Here, I’ve found a lever you haven’t used, Brown – this must be the spare bombs release.”

“No, Admiral Hawke, sir, that’s the …”

There was a loud clanking of chain running out, followed by a tremendous clang from the bows of the ship which juddered in reaction and set the lifeboat swinging on its davits.

“…anchor!”

“Goodness me,” exclaimed Victoriana, ”our navy doesn’t sound very competent.”

“It’s the cutbacks,” explained Rusty, “Papa says that there has been a huge reduction in military spending. Small is beautiful is the motto, streamlining leads to efficiency and so on.”

“Three admirals to an able seaman? It doesn’t sound very efficient to me.” Said Victoriana doubtfully.

At that moment, the airship shot overhead erratically, hauling on the anchor chain and causing the ship to lurch forward in its wake, pursuing a course dictated by the anchor embedded in the ironwork of the bridge. Rather than sailing over the waves, it was now smashing through them with some force as it was towed along at a considerable speed.

For some reason, McHerring was doing nothing to dislodge the anchor and seemed content to allow the airship to continue unimpeded.

“We’ll be bruised from head to foot if this carries on much longer,” observed Rusty, after some time had passed.

“We can’t drop launch the lifeboat goin’ at this speed, kiddo, so yous’ll have ter grit yur teeth fer now!” Growled Irving, who had squashed them all together at one end to help absorb the bumps.

Suddenly there was a series of loud bangs and crashes, and the ship fell back in the water, released from its hectic progress.

They all scrambled to peer out at the sky: a huge airship had appeared and was blasting away at the little British scout, and bits and pieces were splashing down into the sea around them. There could be heard a confusion of shouting and the scout rapidly moved away in a cloud of steam and fire, accelerating into a bank of cloud which had been building up.

“Dat’s a Vulgarian Battleship,” grunted Irving. “Dat guy Molotok musta called in the heavies.”

The ship started moving again under its own power, encountering the cloud into which the British scout had vanished and which turned out to be a vast bank of thickly enclosing mist, completely hiding the combatants from each other. Peace of a kind was restored, only the chuntering of the ship’s engine could be heard as it ploughed its way through the barely visible waves.

                                                *            *            *

Having snatched a couple of hours sleep, Victoriana was wakened by a cry of “Land Ho!” from the lookout.

Peering out she found a cloudless day with bright sunshine and no mist to conceal the rapidly approaching coastline.

“That’s Reykjavik, if I’m not mistaken,” said Rusty excitedly, kneeling up beside her.

“An’ where’s dat?” Asked Irving.

“Iceland, of course.” Said Rusty. “It’s marked on the map that I found in this jacket.”

“No wonder it’s so darn chilly,” grumbled Fingers. “Made of ice, an’all.”

“Well, it’s not completely ice like an iceberg,” said Rusty. “There’s plenty of vegetation and there are also active volcanoes that…”

“Yor kiddin’ me, kid,” interrupted Fingers. “They’d call it Volcanoland if dere was volcanoes dere, wouldn’ dey?”

Rusty launched into the vivid description of the contradictory landscapes that make up the island, the black beaches and rolling meadows, the lakes and the glaciers, the hot springs and the black lava flows that he had devoured from a guidebook his Papa had given him. He was describing a volcano when Irving interrupted him.

“Look, we’re comin’ into a harbour. Keep quiet so they don’ hear us.” He whispered urgently.

The crew however were fully occupied in manoeuvring the ship alongside a jetty close to a huge warehouse which bore the name McCavity and Brown. There was frantic activity on the shore as a crane was driven up to lift the Telectroscope and the attached Intensifier off the ship and onto a large steam truck, which was puffing noisily on the quay. As soon as it was secured, McHerring and his crew climbed aboard and set off along the quay and into the town. Within minutes the whole area was deserted.

“Quick,” urged Victoriana, “we must follow them.”

The two men helped the youngsters out of the lifeboat and off the ship, then looked around for a means of transport. Close nearby stood a cart whose horse was idly chomping at some grass growing around the post to which it was tethered. It took a matter of seconds for Fingers to untie the animal, clamber aboard and trot over to the little group.

“Guess this is a Nat’nl ‘Mergency,” he grinned. “All aboard!”

They set off in hot pursuit of the truck which made its way rapidly through the town and out into the country; nobody stopped to stare as its ungainly load had been concealed under a giant tarpaulin.

Rusty became more and more excited as they crossed a green valley with a wide river flowing through it.

“This is Pingvellier!” He told the others breathlessly. “This is where the North American and Eurasian Tectonic plates meet! You know,” he said impatiently, seeing their blank looks, “ McHerring’s plan is to separate Scotland permanently from England by separating the plates the continents stand on. He must be planning to drill down to study the meeting point – he might even have done so already. I bet he has discovered a fault line that runs along The Border that he plans to exploit.”

Irving and Fingers exchanged glances.

“Bin a long joyney,” muttered Irving, and Fingers nodded.

On and on they clopped, seeing nobody for miles, keeping far enough behind the truck in the hope they wouldn’t be noticed.

“There’s a whale!” Exclaimed Victoriana excitedly.

“Where? We’re miles inland,” said Rusty.

“There! Over there! Look!” Victoriana shrieked, pointing beyond the truck.

Into the air rose a giant column of water, sparkling in the sunshine, and then as abruptly as it started, it ceased.

“That’s not a whale, it’s a geyser,” said Rusty. “It’s caused by volcanic activity and superheated water.”

They all watched in fascination as the water spout appeared again. The geyser itself was hidden from them by a ridge of lava which the truck, puffing and snorting and releasing clouds of steam, crested laboriously and then disappeared out of sight.

Urging the horse into greater effort, Fingers guided their cart up to the ridge and they gazed over: three large craters met their eyes, all of which appeared to have a surface of bubbling water, but of the truck there was no sign.

“It’s gone,” cried Victoriana in disappointment. “We’ve lost it.”

“But I know where it’s going,” said Rusty in triumph. “One of those holes is a tunnel. Look,” he spread out the map he had found on his knee, “this looks like a spider’s web, but it must be a map of tunnels, and they all lead back to McHerring’s castle on The Border. One of those three holes” - he waved at the geysers- “is the entrance to the tunnel from Iceland.”

“But which one?” Asked Victoriana.

“Waal, let’s hope yore good at guessin’, “ said Irving grimly, pointing over her shoulder.

There walking up the track towards them in the shadow of the massive Vulgarian airship was an ugly looking gang of cut-throats, armed to the teeth, and led by a furiously scowling Molotok.

VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As the splintering crash of the last falling crate died away, Victoriana opened her eyes. Though her father had taken her once as a special treat to a military tattoo, she had never seen so many large and nasty looking weapons in her life – and they were all pointing at her and her companions.

“Zo,” drawled Molotok,”vot haf ve here? It iz our little spy, iz it not?”

“On ze count of three, ve shall exterminate zem!” snarled Serp, waving his blunderbuss in an alarming fashion. “Vun, two…”

“Vait, vait!” Commanded Molotok, stretching out his arms. “Ve haf no need off all zose nasty bangs, and all zat blood. Ve can let nature do ze trick for us. Put zem into ze Optic Chamber.”

Urged forward by the prodding of numerous weapons, Irving and Fingers helped the two youngsters over the rubble in the tunnel and past the Blenkinsop Intensifier towards a huge funnel which had been coupled to the end of the machine.

“Just like Papa’s phonograph,” thought Victoriana, “only much, much bigger.”

Molotok stopped beside a door and produced a large key from his pocket.

“Zese British Army fellows,” he said with a sneer, “zey always produce things in tuplicate und it makes it zo easy to hobtain ze keys.”

“Now get in!” he ordered, gesturing towards the open door.

With the help of a block of stone standing by the door, the four prisoners entered the dark cell.

“Und now,” sniggered Molotok from the doorway, “ you just wait for the sunrise!”

Stepping back, he slammed the door to and locked it.

“Waal,” said Irving,” that was unexpected. Fingers, can youse spring da lock?”

Fingers made his way through the gloom to the door, produced a twisted piece of metal from his pocket, and started fiddling with the lock.

Victoriana became aware that the gloom inside the little room was lifting. She turned at Rusty’s exclamation.

“Look, Victoriana,” he gasped.

She found she was staring at a huge glass eyepiece set into the mouth of the funnel, and through it poured pure moonlight. Distorted and blurred though the orb was, below it stark and upright in relief stood the towers and skyscrapers of Brooklyn.

“Gosh,” she whispered, “it’s beautiful, like a fairy playground.”

“It’s also deadly,” whispered Rusty grimly. “We are inside the Telectroscope, and that is a lens. When the sun rises over Brooklyn tomorrow, the lens will focus its rays in here and we will all be fried to a crisp.”

“Wadya say if I bash these dials an pipes, kid?” Asked Irving from the opposite end of the cell, waving his hand at the wall whose centre held a large and glittering stone.

Rusty shook his head.

“Waal, has any of youse godda Fairy Godmother, cos we’s gonna need one. Come on, Fingers, do your stuff.”

“Ya know Fort Knox, Oiving?” Fingers said over his shoulder in a gloomy voice, “dis ere’s his brudder.”

                                                *            *            *

Resigned to their fate, hoping only that Molotok might change his mind and set them free, the four settled down to sleep as best they could before sunrise.

They were awakened by a tremendous screeching and scraping noise and by the jolting and rolling of the chamber.

“We’re movin,” said Fingers unnecessarily.

And they were: they watched as the Brooklyn skyline rocked from side to side and grew gradually smaller, leaving just a gaping view of the clouds and moon.

“Waddya know,” breathed Irving.

“But surely, it’s all fixed in concrete,” wondered Victoriana.

“I conjecture,” started Rusty, “…I conjecture that we have been hauled bodily onto some sort of trailer…”

There came a rush of steam and a crashing and clanking as of huge chains being thrown over Telectroscope, then more creaking and groaning and panting of steam and their movement became more controlled and purposeful and picked up speed.

“Well,” continued Rusty, as his steadied himself against the rocking of the chamber, “I would say we are no longer being dragged, but we are on wheels.”

At that moment, a powerful lamp on the control wall sprang into life, flooding the chamber with light, and a wild unkempt figure leapt through the doorway.

“Masweet,masweet,maverraawnbabby,maTelec…” the figure warbled , breaking off and glaring when he caught sight of the surprised occupants. His kilt swirled vigorously as he pulled a huge claymore from its scabbard at his belt.

“Whityadoingere? Whoreyerascals?” he shrieked, waving the sword around his head.

“Just a moment,” said Rusty, pulling a small metal box from one of his pockets.

Opening a small compartment, he extracted a stick of charcoal which he slid into a hole in the box, then cranked a tiny handle, causing the box to emit a cloud of sparks and smoke. He pointed the box at the irate stranger.

“Please repeat your message,” he requested politely.

The newcomer’s face turned a brighter shade of red.

“Ahsayaginwhoreyerascalsanwhitryayadoinere?” He spluttered.

“Ahllhayegutsfergartersyescoondrels!”

Rusty turned a tiny wheel, and the box proceeded to speak in a high pitched tinny voice with a plummy accent:

“I wish to repeat my previous question, namely, that I should be most grateful if you would provide me with a means of identification to enable me to establish your bona fide ; you might also care to give me a brief but reasonable explanation for your presence here at this time. I have to warn you that failure to satisfy my enquiries at this stage may lead to precipitate actions on my behalf whose outcome could prejudice your long term health expectancy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Rusty into the stunned silence, “the vocabulary and predication really need some adjustments, but I haven’t had time to do that yet as I wanted it to translate some Chinese for me. Papa created it when he worked with Mr McCavity at university because he wanted to follow the conversation when McCavity got together with Brown and McHerring.”

“I recognised the accent as soon as I heard this gentleman speak,” he added, glancing at the red faced fellow who hadn’t ceased glaring at them.

“Is dis McCavity, McHerring or dat guy Brown?” Asked Irving, signalling to Fingers to circle around behind the intruder.

“I believe this is Mr McHerring,” said Rusty.

“AchIhaenathetimetawaste,” snorted McHerring, “yecanarlrotineretillwereachhame!” Having spoken, he flung himself from the room, slamming and locking the door.

“Time is passing so quickly,” announced the machine to his disappearing back, “that I really cannot linger here when there is so much still to be accomplished. I am therefore forced leave you at this conjuncture to pursue your own devices in this chamber until we reach my beloved homeland.”

“Heavens!” Exclaimed Victoriana.

Rusty pounced on a piece of paper which, dislodged in the swirling of the kilt, had fluttered to the floor: he studied it carefully, his face rapidly losing its colour as he did so.

“We are in the hands of a madman,” he announced to the others when he had finished. “According to these notes, McHerring and his associates have stolen the Telectroscope and are taking it to Scotland. McCavity has bored down to the tectonic plates beneath the earth, and they intend to modify the Telectroscope to separate the plates Great Britain sits upon, in order to achieve true independence for Scotland.”