‘Welcome, Professor Next,’ said Hades as he grinned broadly, ‘from one genius to another!’
He gazed fondly at the machine. He ran a finger along the rim of one of the goldfish bowls. The worms were busy reading a copy of Mansfield Park and were discussing where Sir Thomas got his money from.
‘I can’t do this alone, you know,’ said Hades without looking up. One of the other men shuffled to get more comfortable on one of the few original upholstered armchairs.
‘The next step for me is to gain your full support.’ He looked at Mycroft with a serious expression. ‘You will help me, won’t you?’
‘I would sooner die!’ replied Mycroft coldly.
Acheron looked at him, then broke into another broad grin.
‘I don’t doubt it for one moment, but I’m being rude! I have abducted you and stolen your life’s work and haven’t even introduced myself!’ He walked up to Mycroft and shook him warmly by the hand, a gesture that Mycroft didn’t return.
‘My name is Hades, Acheron Hades. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?’
‘Acheron the extortionist?’ asked Mycroft slowly. ‘Acheron the kidnapper and the blackmailer?’
Acheron’s smile didn’t leave his lips.
‘Yes, yes and yes. But you forgot murderer. Forty-two times a murderer, my friend. The first one is always the hardest. After that it doesn’t really matter, they can only hang you once. It’s a bit like eating a packet of shortbread; you can never just have one piece.’ He laughed again. ‘I had a run-in with your niece, you know. She survived, although,’ he added, in case Mycroft erroneously believed there was a vestige of goodness in his dark soul, ‘that wasn’t the way I had planned it.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Mycroft.
‘Why?’ repeated Acheron. ‘Why? Why, for fame, of course!’ he boomed. ‘You see, gentlemen—?’ The others nodded obediently. ‘Fame!’ he repeated. ‘And you can share that fame—!’
He ushered Mycroft over to his desk and dug out a file of press clippings.
‘Look what the papers say about me!’
He held up a cutting proudly.
‘Impressive, eh?’ he said proudly. ‘How about this one?’
‘The Owl said that execution was too good for me and The Mole wanted Parliament to reintroduce breaking on the wheel.’
He showed the snippet to Mycroft.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think,’ began Mycroft, ‘that you could have used your vast intellect far more usefully by serving mankind instead of stealing from it.’
Acheron looked hurt.
‘Where’s the fun in that? Goodness is weakness, pleasantness is poisonous, serenity is mediocrity, and kindness is for losers. The best reason for committing loathsome and detestable acts—and let’s face it, I am considered something of an expert in this field—is purely for their own sake. Monetary gain is all very well, but it dilutes the taste of wickedness to a lower level that is obtainable by almost anyone with an overdeveloped sense of avarice. True and baseless evil is as rare as the purest good—‘
‘I’d like to go home.’
‘Of course!’ said Acheron, smiling. ‘Hobbes, open the door.’
The man nearest the door opened it and stepped aside. The large door led to the lobby of the old hotel.
‘I don’t speak Welsh,’ murmured Mycroft.
Hobbes shut the door and rebolted it.
‘Bit of a drawback in Merthyr, old boy,’ said Acheron, smiling. ‘You’d not get far without it.’
Mycroft looked at Hades uneasily.
‘But Polly—!’
‘Ah, yes!’ replied Hades. ‘Your delightful wife.’ He pulled out the copy of ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud’ and produced a large gold lighter, which he ignited with a flourish.
‘No—!’ cried Mycroft, taking several steps forward. Acheron arched an eyebrow, the flame nearly touching the paper.
‘I’ll stay and help you,’ said Mycroft wearily.
A broad grin broke out on Hades’ features. He put the poem back in his pocket.
‘Stout fellow! You won’t regret this.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Actually, you probably will.’
Mycroft sat unsteadily on a handy chair.
‘By the by,’ went on Hades, ‘have I introduced you to all my fiendish compatriots?’
Mycroft shook his head sadly.
‘No? Most remiss. The man with the gun over there is Mr. Delamare. His obedience is matched only by his stupidity. He does everything I say and would die for me if necessary. A sort of human red setter, if you will. He has an IQ below that of a neanderthal and believes only what he reads in The Gadfly. Mr Delamare, my friend, have you committed your wicked act today?’
‘Yes, Mr Hades. I drove at seventy-three miles per hour.’
Hades frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound very wicked.’
Delamare chuckled. ‘Through the Arndale centre?’
Hades wagged an approving finger and smiled a wicked smile. ‘Very good.’
Thank you, Mr Hades.’
‘Over there is Mr Hobbes. He is an actor of some distinction whose talents the English Shakespeare Company foolishly decides to ignore. We will try and rectify that fault; is that not so, Mr Hobbes?’
‘It is, sire,’ responded Mr Hobbes, bowing low with a flourish. He was dressed in tights, a leather jerkin and codpiece. He had been passed over for every major part with the ESC for ten years, relegated to walk-ons and understudying. He had become so dangerously unstable that even the other actors noticed. He had joined up with Acheron shortly after his escape from a lengthy prison sentence; pushing thespian interpretation to the limits, he had killed Laertes for real while playing Hamlet.
‘The third man over there is Mьller, a doctor whom I befriended after he was struck off. The particulars are a bit sordid. We’ll talk about it over dinner some time, as long as we’re not eating steak tartar. The fourth man is Felix7, who is one of my most trusted companions. He can remember no farther than a week in the past and has no aspirations for the future. He thinks only of the work he has been assigned to carry out. He is without conscience, mercy or pity. A fine man. We should have more like him.’
Hades clapped his hands together happily.
‘Shall we get to work? I haven’t committed a singularly debauched act for almost an hour.’
Mycroft reluctantly walked over to the Prose Portal and started to ready it. The bookworms were fed, watered and cleaned, power supplies were laid on, and all the details in the child’s exercise book neatly followed. As Mycroft worked, Acheron sat down and flicked through an old manuscript filled with spidery writing, replete with scribbled corrections and bound up with faded red ribbon. He skipped through various sections until he found what he was looking for.
‘Perfect!’ he chortled.
Mycroft finished the testing procedure and stepped back.
‘It’s ready,’ he sighed.
‘Excellent!’ Acheron beamed as he handed over the aged manuscript.
‘Open the portal just here.’
He tapped the page and smiled. Mycroft slowly took the manuscript and looked at the title.
‘Martin Chuzzlewit, Fiend!’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear professor.’
‘But,’ continued Mycroft, ‘if you alter anything in the original manuscript—!’
‘But that’s the point, isn’t it, my dear Mycroft,’ said Hades, clasping one of Mycroft’s cheeks between finger and thumb and shaking gently. ‘That’s… the… point. What good is extortion unless you show everyone what massive damage you could do if you wanted? And anyway, where’s the fun in robbing banks? Bang, bang, give me the money? Besides, killing civilians is never any real fun. It’s a bit like shooting rabbits that have been pegged to the ground. Give me a SWAT platoon to deal with any day.’