“Perhaps you should ask Mr. Long about his present problem,” Polly Cradle says, re-entering with a tray.
“Oh, indeed!” cries Mr. Long, “Indeed! The item we had was linked with a rather special woman, a scientist… Gave Pyke himself a run for his money, though if I’m honest he was more an innovator and an engineer than a pure scientist, of course…” It’s as if he’s telling a very dirty joke. All of us over the age of consent here, eh? Don’t mind a bit of engineering, do we? Nudge, nudge.
Joe abruptly misses Billy Friend very much.
“I understand the Americans were working on some of her early research when they had that rather unfortunate accident with the USS Eldridge… That’s another one most people think is a myth, but of course we know better, don’t we? Aknuu-knuuu!” Mr. Long is nodding so hard now that it seems possible he will strain himself. Mercer stares fixedly at the ceiling.
Polly Cradle turns her smile on Mr. Long again, and he goes back to his theme. “And then there’s the Abel Jasmine collection. That’s the problem for today, I’m afraid. We allowed an exhibit to be taken away for cleaning by one of the original donors—though on examination it appears she did not donate this specific item—and I rather fear it’s gone for good. It was supposed to come back days ago. A very pretty item, too—unique, so far as I know.”
Joe looks at Polly, and she nods. “A mechanical book,” he says.
“Yes! However… oh, well, of course you know, otherwise why would I be here? We did place an advertisement offering a reward for its safe return. I don’t suppose you have it?”
“We may know where it is,” Mercer says judiciously, then holds up a hand as Mr. Long hoots again through his restricted airway. “I need to make further inquiries. But out of curiosity, what is it? Where does it come from?”
“Well, we don’t really know. Very hush-hush, we think. Mr. Jasmine, you know, was a very senior fellow. Deeply involved. Meetings with Mountbatten and even Churchill himself. Bath meetings. You are aware…”
“That Churchill took meetings in his bath. Yes.”
“Well, these were often two- or even three-tub meetings!”
“Remarkable.”
“Oh, it is, it is.”
“But you have no idea what it might actually be?”
“Well… one doesn’t wish to speculate…” He’s dying to, actually, flirting with them, daring them to ask. Mercer makes a face of utmost interest.
“There are rumours,” Long says. “Quite unsubstantiated, so one can hardly call it serious research… the book, now… we fancied that was quite special. All that code along the edges…” He looks at them hopefully: Have you seen it? Joe suppresses the urge to nod. “Well, in a way, it’s the Crown jewels for some of us, because it harks to a time when Britain was at the pinnacle of science and everyone else was just… well.” Mr. Long leans close, with the air of one imparting a tremendous secret.
“We think… it’s a command set… for the British space effort!” He smiles triumphantly. There is a long, uncomfortable pause.
“British…” Mercer says faintly.
“… Space effort!” Mr. Long repeats. “Von Braun was working for German dominance in space! We couldn’t let that happen in the long run, could we? Of course, it was all covered up later.” He puts a finger alongside his nose and shows them his septum a few times.
Mutinous glares flow in two directions while Mr. Long sips oblivious at his coffee and makes another weird little noise.
Polly rolls her eyes at her brother and perches on the arm of Joe’s chair. He does not pay attention to the way her backside compresses firmly against his arm. He listens to Mr. Long.
Mostly.
The theft was deftly accomplished. It was probably done to order. It was particularly vexing because a gentleman representing a large company had recently inquired about taking the item on loan for a substantial sum. Joe describes Rodney Titwhistle and then Arvin Cummerbund, and even the Ruskinite who visited his shop, but Mr. Long does not recognise them. Nor is he familiar with the Apprehension Engine—though the mention of an engine intrigues him, of course—or the word “Angelmaker.” Then Mercer shows him a picture of Billy Friend.
“Oh, yes, he was there, definitely. Oh, dear, is he a criminal?”
“Yes,” Mercer says, at the same time that Joe Spork says “No.”
“He’s dead,” Polly says gently.
“Oh, dear,” Mr. Long says again. “His poor mother.”
“His mother?” Mercer repeats.
“Very respectable lady! I hardly think she was involved. Rather too old to go shinning up a balcony, ahah aknuu hahaha. And who’d take care of the terrible dog?”
Joe Spork is abruptly paying very close attention. “What dog?”
“Right little monster, aknuu, yes, with pink glass eyes, if you can credit it.”
“A pug,” Joe suggests, “with only one tooth.”
“Horrible! Mind you, aknuu, you have to admire the tenacity, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I suppose you do.”
Mercer asks a few questions and then bundles Mr. Long gently out of the door with a promise of vague assistance down the line. When he has gone, his expression speaking somewhat of disappointment at their reaction to his revelation, Joe Spork introduces Mercer to the name of Edie Banister, and Bethany adds her to the list.
“To recap,” Polly Cradle says, in a tone Joe Spork finds both school-marmish and extremely sexy, “it would seem that at some time between 1945 and 1980, Joe’s grandfather and grandmother built a bee-machine which is either a rocket ship, a mobile sculpture, or a brain-melting lie detector. They were assisted in this questionable enterprise by the Order of John the Maker, at that time under licence from the British Government to create objects of philosophically and militarily efficacious art. Sadly, during the testing phase, the item in question immolated the town of Wistithiel and the project was discontinued. Subsequently, the Ruskinites were co-opted by a sinister personage determined to attract God’s attention—to wit, one Brother Sheamus—who ousted the Keeper at that time, Theodore Sholt, but was unable to lay his nasty mitts on the Apprehension Engine itself, being blocked by person or persons unknown. We shall hypothesise a combination of the aforementioned government entities and the good Keeper himself, who then removed to a greenhouse to look after the item personally until such time as Joe’s grandmother should choose to resume its purpose, which as far as we know she never did.
“At some point in the recent past, it would seem that an old lady living in Hendon took it into her head to unleash the Apprehension Engine and in doing so save or possibly destroy the world. She deployed Billy Friend as a catspaw, roped Joe in to do the technical bit, and gulled poor Mr. Long out of his prize exhibit. Joe activated the machine, the bees flew, and both the Ruskinites and some shady bit of the Civil Service, possibly but probably not known as the Legacy Board, realised what was going on and pounced, acting for the moment in concert—though we should not take that to mean that they are united in their goals. They grabbed Sholt and the machine under the appearance of a fire in an old house, traced the whole thing to Billy and he got killed either under interrogation or because someone is very keen to keep this from getting out. From Billy they found Joe, and would have vanished him also without the intervention of Mercer Cradle of the old established et cetera, et cetera. And here we all are. Does anyone have anything to add?”