VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The old clock downstairs in the bar creaked slightly as its mechanism wound back the hammers to strike the hour.

“Five o’clock!” Groaned Victoriana to herself, “and I’ve hardly slept at all. I’m just going to have to find out what has happened.”

She crept out of bed, dressed hurriedly and was just trying to open the door as quietly as possible when Rusty’s voice challenged her.

“And where are you going without me?” He asked.

Quietly the pair made their way on tiptoe across the landing and had reached the stairs when Irving and Fingers appeared from their room, both fully dressed.

“T’ought so,” said Fingers with a grin. “C’mon y’all, leds see whad’s cookin’.”

They paused outside StGeorge’s room to see if he was awake, but were startled by an enormous snore which made the door rattle; the children glanced at each other and could barely stifle their giggles.

Once more they entered the tunnel beneath the inn, having availed themselves of some lamps they found on a shelf in the cellar; they made their way cautiously along until they reached the iron doors.

“An Caisteal it is,” said Irving, following Fingers who had opened the door as though he had a key. They tramped on and on until Victoriana thought they must be under the sea, and strained her ears to hear the waves above them. She was quite surprised when they turned a corner and there in front of them was a set of steps leading up into what could only be the castle, to judge by the massy stonework. At the top of the stairs stood an ancient wooden door.

“Dis’ll on’y takea second,” murmured Fingers, “dese ol’ doors are a pushover.”

They crept up through the cellars and entered the main hall to find the morning light filtering through the high windows. Everything seemed quite still as though the castle was waiting for them.

“Ain’t nobody here,” stated Irving, and everyone breathed out together. “Guess we go to da nex’ level,” and started up the main staircase with the others following warily in his wake.

They reached another large empty hall and followed another broad staircase leading upwards before emerging into a long corridor whose walls were adorned with pictures of gallant knights and elegant ladies. Great wooden doors barred the entrance to rooms at intervals along the corridor.

“Gotta search dem all, I guess,” said Irving. The others shrugged, and followed him into the nearest room, which was set up as a laboratory. In the middle stood what appeared to be a scaled down version of the Telectroscope, with a huge lens at each end.

“McCavity must have made a half size model before he managed the miniturisation,” opined Rusty; Irving combed his hair with his fingers as he looked at himself in the lens.

“C’mon, boodiful,” urged Fingers, opening a connecting door to the next room and passing through.

Victoriana lingered behind to admire the gleaming instrument; there was a scuffling sound and a small brown mouse with a white blaze on its forehead appeared.

“Oh, what a sweet little mouse,” she said to herself, “and he wants to look through the Telectroscope; I wonder what he will see?”

There was a hiss and a thump, and a fat ginger cat landed on the floor behind the mouse: Victoriana jumped in surprise, catching her arm against a large device loaded with wires and tubes which trailed towards the Telectroscope. There was a loud bang and a bright flash, and when Victoriana’s sight returned to normal, she discovered the cat hanging by its claws from the top of a bookcase.

She wandered along the Telectroscope anxiously running her fingers against its shiny case, worried that she had caused the detonation and damaged the fine looking instrument. To her great relief, she reached the far end without discovering a single scratch.

“For I should hate to think,” she explained to the small brown mouse with a white blaze on its forehead which was sitting in front of the lens washing its whiskers in a bemused fashion, “that I had damaged this splendid instrument. By the way,” she continued confidentially, as the mouse carefully inspected her,  “I have just seen your twin, at the other end of this Tele thing.”

She turned and pointed, but there was no sign of another mouse at the far end, and when she turned back the mouse she had been talking to was scurrying off as fast as it could go.

Victoriana sighed, and made to follow the others through the door when the sound of voices reached her ears; she paused in the doorway to listen, and peeped round to see who was talking.

Irving, Fingers and Rusty were all clustered round a great mullioned bay window, looking out onto the grounds before the castle, and Rusty was chattering excitedly.

“I think Major Trelawney has rounded them all up, though I can’t make out McHerring down there.”

“Yeah, da Major seems to have won da baddle OK an’ dose guys in skoyts have orl surrendered to him.”

“Kilts,” corrected Rusty automatically, “but I still haven’t spotted McHerring.”

“Yecouldnaspotacabreinawuid, yeweewretch,” screeched McHerring, throwing wide a door and striding into the room. The draught made the arras on the wall flap and Victoriana slipped unnoticed into the room  and hid behind it; she could just make out the figures through the balding weave.

“I confess I entertain the doubt that you would be able to recognise a tree for what it is, even if you were in the middle of Birnham Forest, you young ne’er-do-well,” said a stilted voice.

Victoriana started slightly, then noticed the Translator box lying on the floor a couple of feet from her where Rusty must have dropped it as he entered the room.

“McHerring!” The three at the window turned as one.

“Aye, tis I,” quoth he, yanking at a large lever on the wall, causing a huge screen to fall from the ceiling which very effectively imprisoned them in the bay window; Victoriana could see them gesticulating and shouting behind the thick glass windows set into the screen, waggling the door handle ineffectively up and down, but couldn’t hear a thing.

“You will find,” announced the Translator box, “that this blast screen is completely sound as well as blast proof. You cannot escape. I hold in my hand the key to your freedom.”

McHerring waggled a key in front of the window, grinning fiercely as Fingers fruitlessly yanked at the door handle again. Still grinning, he marched across and set the key down on a small table just in front of the arras where Victoriana was concealed: she held her breath desperately, and hoped she wouldn’t sneeze.

McHerring twirled a swizzle stick in the glass he was carrying, took a sip and set the glass down on the table beside the key; then he turned towards the door where he had entered.

“Perrooott!” He roared, and the one-armed man shambled into the room. Together they opened a large set of double doors and disappeared briefly; with much grunting and groaning they reappeared, wheeling into the room a small tandem seater steam powered airship.

“Raise the hatch, ye booby,” commanded McHerring.

Perrott took hold of a hefty rope running up the wall into the ceiling and started hauling on it. As he pulled down a length, he trapped the rope on the floor with his foot while he grabbed another handhold. With a loud creaking, a large hatch in the wall opposite the window started to lift towards the ceiling, giving a view of the sea on the other side of the castle. Slowly the hatch creaked upwards towards the rafters until suddenly Perrott gave a squawk as the rope slipped through his hand; in a trice his foot was caught in a loop as the rope on the floor snaked upwards, and he was whisked up towards the ceiling. The hatch started to fall and jammed in its runners, just leaving a large enough gap for the miniature airship to squeeze through.

Victoriana took advantage of the confusion to slip out from behind the arras, but before she could grab the key, McHerring had recovered from his surprise and was turning away from the dangling figure and inspecting his machine. Within minutes he had set the engine going and filled the room with a cloud of smoke and steam. He dusted off his hands, walked over to the table and drank off the glass of water, smacking his lips in satisfaction. With a triumphant wave at his prisoners, he climbed into the airship and puttered gently out of the hatchway, ignoring the despairing pleas of his swinging minion.

Victoriana slipped out from behind the arras, picked up the key and released her friends.

“Too late,” shouted Rusty in frustration, “he’s getting away!”

They watched as McHerring opened the throttle and roared out over the sea. He circled the stately HMS Devastation as it patrolled close to the shore, making mocking gestures out of the porthole, then turned the craft towards the open sea and freedom.

At which point his little craft started behaving very strangely; it veered from side to side, performed an abrupt loop the loop and then plunged straight down into the sea with a tremendous splash.

“What on earth…” started Rusty, then noticed Victoriana was smiling. “Wait a minute – what did you do?”

“Well,” explained Victoriana, “I recognised the swizzle stick he had in his drink because Mama had one just like it when she was following a health regime that was advertised in ‘The Perspicacious Lady’s Journal’. Apparently water has a natural magnetic charge, and the swizzle stick can boost this to promote the ‘elegant glow of a healthy body’,” she recited. “Papa advised her to stop using it after she accidentally turned the device up too high, and the cutlery started flying off the table and sticking to her. So I just wound it up as far as it would go…”

“…and the magnetism affected McHerring’s controls and caused him to crash!” Finished Rusty, “Brilliant!”

“Dad’s my goil!” Exclaimed Irving, beaming at her.

They watched as HMS Devastation lowered a small boat into the water; its crew grabbed the oars and started splashing their way through the waves towards the lone struggling figure.

A series of shouted orders from below drew them to the mullioned window, where Major Trelawney was organising his troops and their prisoners.

“Ahoy, Major,” Rusty called down, making the Major look up in surprise.

“Well done, Major!” Added Victoriana, waving at him.

“I say, you fellows,” he called back, “what are you doing up there? Haven’t seen McHerring by any chance, have you?”

“Yeah, da Navy’s god him,” bellowed Irving.

“What about that fellow Perrott? Any sign of him?”

“He’s goin’ nowhere,” responded Fingers with a grin, “he’s jerst hangin’ aboud up here!”

                           

VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 20

Chapter 20

            They watched the Vulgarian airship turning slowly around above the figures milling about in the smoke below where the ground was churned by explosions.

“They’re moving in for the kill,” breathed Rusty in horror.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Victoriana, pointing up at the sky behind them, where three huge airships emblazoned with union jacks had suddenly appeared.

“Dey’re off,” shouted Irving triumphantly, and indeed the Vulgarian airship had continued turning in a huge cloud of steam and smoke and sparks and was now disappearing rapidly in the direction of the open sea.

            They watched gleefully as the aerial fleet chugged imperiously closer: closer and closer they came, until Victoriana could make out a figure in a gold bedecked uniform hanging out of a porthole clutching a megaphone.

“I say, you down there,” called the figure, “is this Wales?”

“No,” Rusty shouted back, “this is Scotland – you’re not far from Oban.”

“Blast!” Exclaimed the figure, disappearing form view and slamming the porthole.

There followed a series of frantic flashes from the signal lamps on the three vessels, and one after the other they turned ponderously and headed slowly off in a southerly direction.

“Dese Brits,” said Fingers with a snigger, “how’d da Pilgrim Farders ever find America?”

“Dey was prob’ly lookin’ fer China,” cackled Irving, which repartee reduced them both to guffaws.

“When you’ve quite finished,” said Rusty, scowling as fiercely as he could, “the Glasgow Empire is due south from here.”

“Sure it ain’t doo east, kid?” Asked Fingers, producing a further round of loud guffaws from the pair.

“Now, really,” started Victoriana, drawing herself up in her best Nanny Prewitt manner, “isn’t it time…?”

Before she could ask what it might be time for, the rumble of many boots pounding the ground  mingled with shouts and cries reached their ears; along the road in front of them appeared a large and rowdy crowd, whose leaders bore a large banner while others were waving placards that read “Keep Scotland British” and “Down with McHerring”  as they marched.

“Those are English voices,” exclaimed Rusty in surprise.

Sure enough, with every few steps a big burly man at the front would shout out, “WHAT DO WE WANT?” to which the rabble responded, “KEEP SCOTLAND BRITISH!”, followed by the question “HOW CAN WE DO IT?” and the answering “KIPPER MACHERRING!”

The writing on the large banner could now be deciphered as ‘The London Society for the Preservation of the United Kingdom’, with ‘East Finchley Chapter’ in smaller more elaborate script.

Spotting the group on the ridge above them, the burly man shouted up, “Oi! Is this the way to Dunstuffnaggy Castle?”

“Yes,” Rusty shouted back, “but McHerrings not…”

His voice was lost in a burst of roaring as the crowd surged onwards towards Taynuilt.

“Oh, well,” shrugged Rusty.

“Guess da English reely care ‘bout deir Yoonited Kingdom,” observed Fingers.

Barely had the tail end of the mob disappeared around the bend below the watchers when another crowd of people came tramping along behind the ridge, following the track which ran in a parallel course to the road in front and below them. This crowd carried placards that read “SET SCOTLAND FREE” and “McHERRING FOR KING”, while the banner read ‘The London Society for the Promotion of a Sovereign Scotland, West Finchley Chapter’, and the chanting was loud and vigorous in its support of McHerring.

“Oh dear,” said Victoriana, “I think they’re heading towards the castle as well. There’s going to be an awful clash when they meet.”

“Look,” said Rusty excitedly, “the soldiers are on the move. Doesn’t look as though they’ve got McHerring, though.”

The soldiers had all gathered together into a troop, formed fours and marched smartly off in the direction of the castle: they were clearly not escorting any prisoners.

“Waal,” drawled Irving, “guess dey’ve been called in ta keep da peace. Wonder where dat McHerrin’s got to?”

“I imagine he has vanished into the network of caves; they’ll have a tough job finding him,” opined StGeorge.

“But we have to do something to stop him carrying out his plan,” said Victoriana anxiously.

They contemplated each other gloomily, wondering how on earth they could stop the megalomaniac who had evaded the soldiers with such apparent ease.

“I have a plan,” said StGeorge suddenly. “It’s a bit risky, but it might work.”
“Spill da beans, ole chum,” said Fingers.

“Well, you see that cairn just beyond where we came up,” the others nodded as he pointed down the slope, “that one is hiding the entrance to another shaft which leads down towards the loch. Well, two tunnels actually, the second joins the tunnel network but the first was abandoned when McHerring made a slight mistake with the navigation.” StGeorge grinned briefly. “He very nearly bored his way into the loch. He left the Miner there as backing it out would have pulled the rockface away and started a deluge. All we have to do is restart the machine…”

“…and the loch will empty into the tunnels…” continued Ralph,

“…completely thwarting his evil plans!” Finished Victoriana, clapping her hands in delight.

They made their way rapidly down the hill and entered the cairn.

“Stay here on guard!” Said StGeorge, “I can handle this.”

He was gone for nearly twenty minutes before remerging from the tunnel covered in earth and coal dust, beaming widely. Far away they could hear the chuntering of a steam engine.

“Now, back up da hill, an’ quickly,” said Irving, and they rushed back up to the top of the ridge where they stood eagerly looking for signs that their plan had succeeded.

“Nothing’s happened,” said Victoriana in disappointment after what seemed an age.

“Look!” Shouted Rusty, pointing out across the loch where the water seemed to be frothing and bubbling, and a jet of steam shot up.

“Dere’s water in da cairn,” said Fingers, jumping up in excitement. At the mouth of the cairn there was a sparkling of water as it flowed up out of the ground.

A vast rumble could be heard, and the waters of the loch started swirling around creating the unmistakeable form of a whirlpool. Round and round the water went, deeper and deeper grew the whirlpool.

“By Jove,” said StGeorge, “I think we’ve done it.”

“You’ve dunnit, ya mean,” corrected Fingers, eyeing the growing vortex apprehensively.

“Oh dear,” said Victoriana sadly, “what about all the poor water creatures?”

“What about the Telectroscope?” Asked Rusty, “if we’ve drowned the tunnels, have we lost that as well?”

           

           

                       

             

VICTORIANA AND THE TELECTROSCOPE Chapter 18

Chapter 18

            As the submarine was slowly winched down into the loch again, swinging a little uncertainly due to its extra cargo of Vulgarian soldiers, Victoriana leaned over and whispered in Rusty’s ear.

“Do you think Molotok believed us?”

“No,” Rusty whispered back, “I left the Translator running, and he has detailed these two” - he rolled his eyes at the two nearest Vulgarian soldiers who were examining the wooden interior with a marked lack of confidence – “to, er, deal with us if there is any sign of treachery. But he doesn’t know how much we really know, so he is waiting to see if we can really lead him to the spot where McHerring is going to start his operations.”

“Do you think there will be a big fight?” Asked Victoriana.

Rusty looked around the submarine, now packed with Vulgarian soldiers armed to the teeth, and locked glances with their scowling leader, Serp.

“Looks like it,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “and Molotok is taking no chances. When the soldiers that have been landed by the airship enter the boathouse, this lot will cover any retreat into the loch.”

“Enough speak, you cheeldren, or I cut out your tongues,” snarled Serp, glaring furiously and waving a nasty looking knife at them.

            Fingers gently bumped the boat against the huge wooden doors of the boathouse, one of which swung open slightly with a creak. Nothing happened as he steered gently inside, and indeed the boathouse appeared empty of human life; a large number of packing cases stood around, some in piles and others lying open with straw scattered about.

            Irving whistled.

            “Dis ain’t no boathouse,” he said, “look at dose walls – dey could wivstand a siege.”

            He glanced up at the steel portcullis as they motored slowly underneath. “Dis ‘eres a fortress.”

            Fingers nodded admiringly at how cunningly the old wooden shell had camouflaged the fort inside.

            Led by Serp, the Vulgarian soldiers climbed rather noisily up out of the submarine onto the dock. He signalled them to fan out and comb the area, and as they set off a door at the far side opened and a stream of their compatriots led by Molotok filed in: they also spread out, and started making their way between the crates towards the dock. Victoriana noticed that their two guards had hung back and not followed their comrades.

            Just as the two groups met between the crates, there was a series of bangs as a hidden enemy opened fire on them. Fire was returned immediately, and bombs thrown in various directions, but with little effect as the enemy remained hidden; figures leapt for cover as confusion reigned.

            At the first sound of gunfire, Irving and Fingers had each produced a large spanner liberated from the submarine and whacked the two Vulgarian guards over the head. With a nod to each other, they bundled the unconscious soldiers into the nearest crate and out of sight. The firing slowly petered out, followed by a short silence when everyone wondered what would happen next. Then there was a burst of running feet.

            “After zem! Don’ let zem escape!” Roared Molotok, urging his men after some fleeing shadows disappearing through an archway.

            “Well,” exclaimed Victoriana when they found themselves alone, “that was sudden!”

            “We have to follow them, you know,” said Rusty.

            “Ad a safe distance,” said Irving, and Fingers nodded in agreement.

            When the sound of running feet and shouting had died out, they crept across to the archway and discovered a wide tunnel sloping gently away. They made their way cautiously downwards for what seemed to Victoriana like ages until the tunnel opened out into a huge cavern lit by flickering, smoking torches, in the entre of which stood a number of workbenches littered with all sorts of strange tools and devices. Four tunnels led out of the cavern in different directions.

            “Waal, I guess we take one each,” said Irving. “Just joshin,” he assured them when he saw the alarm on his companions’ faces, “we stick together dahn ere.”

            “Eeny, meeny, miny,…”started Rusty.

            “We’ll foller da biggest one, dat one dere dey named after some dame, An Segan sumthin” decided Irving, and they set off across the cavern towards a broad opening with the letters “An Sgaineadh” carved into the rock above the entrance.

            “Help!” Called a voice, making them all jump.

            Looking round, they saw where a small chamber had been blasted out of the rock, its entrance fenced with stout metal bars to create a prison cell: a bedraggled figure stood there in the gloom clutching the bars.

            “Help!” It repeated in a forlorn voice.

            They rushed over to the cell and Fingers started to work his magic on the lock.

            “He looks like an artist with his hair sticking out like that,” observed Victoriana in a low voice, “and he’s wearing a smock.”

            “More like a mad scientist,” said Rusty, “he has a manic stare.”

            “So wud you, kid, ifn youd been locked up down here,” said Irving.

            “Thank you, thank you,” cried the man gratefully, “I’ve been down here for ages.”

            “My pleasure,” said Fingers, introducing the others. “An who’re you, an whatter yer dun ter be locked up.”

            “I’m Paul StGeorge,” the man started to say when Fingers cut him off.

            “Ain’t never met a real live saint before,” he said, saluting smartly.

            “No, no, that’s my name,” explained StGeorge, “and I invented the Telectroscope - that’s why they’re keeping me prisoner. They are forcing me to make modifications to it.”

            At that moment the sound of voices and heavy footfalls reached their ears.

            “Quick – dis way, into An Segan,” urged Irving, running into the wide tunnel with the others hard at his heels.

            Rusty glanced up the strange letters carved into the rock above the entrance.

            “An Sgaineadh,” he mispronounced between pants, “what a funny name. I wonder what it means?”

            “I say,” wheezed StGeorge, clearly suffering from his period of incarceration, “I don’t think we should be going this way.”

            “Jusd run,” said Fingers, taking a quick glance over his shoulder as they rounded a slight bend in the tunnel.

            On and on they ran, and down and down sloped the tunnel, until there were no more torches on the walls to light their way, and there the tunnel ended in a huge wall of rock.

            “Oh dear,” said Victoriana, as they stood panting and trying to catch their breath, “what do we do now?”

            Before anyone could think up an answer, a rapid puffing and roaring struck their ears, and chugging inexorably into view came a huge steam carriage with what looked like the Intensifier bolted to it, with the lens of the Telectroscope mounted in front. The madly gesticulating figure of McHerring could be made out through the cloud of steam and smoke the engine was belching.

            They all froze in horror, mesmerized by their approaching doom.

            “Just a minute, everyone,” said StGeorge, “I’ve got an idea.”