“He tested it out in the house. Because he was also no fool, the professor, and he could see the enormous commercial potential for such an invention. Better than theme parks. Imagine if you could go to the Tower of London and actually see all those famous kings and queens of England, played back before your eyes, getting up to all sorts of business.”
“I can imagine,” said Icarus.
“He got all his apparatus set up and we gave it a test run and Winifred appeared. That was the little girl you saw first. The professor was delighted. I was scared witless, but he knew what he was doing. Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“He tuned the machine back and forwards, up and down the scale, and they began to appear, one after another. You could tune it to Victorian times and see Winifred or Regency times and see Black Peter, the big huntsman, and so on and so forth. And even more creepy, you could tune it back to just minutes before and see yourself doing whatever you were doing then. I’d been having a root through one of his drawers and he wasn’t too keen about that.
“But the machine certainly worked and eventually we’d tuned it to every one of the people who had ever been in that front room. One hundred and six of them. Not that many really, considering how old the house is.
“We played them back one at a time and he had me research them from old paintings and photographs and we worked out pretty much who they all were. Apart from a few of them who didn’t seem to tie up anywhere. Wrong’uns they were, but we didn’t know it then.
“The professor was over the moon. He was all for patenting his machine and becoming very very wealthy. But things didn’t work out that way. Winifred kept appearing, even when the machine was switched off. And then, one by one, so did all the others, until you have the four o’clock furore that you saw today. And you can come back and see it all tomorrow if you want.”
“I don’t,” said Icarus.
“No, I’ll bet you don’t. This house will be a real stinker to sell, won’t it?”
“So you’re saying that once the ghosts had been made to appear by the use of the machine, they couldn’t be switched off.”
“Seems so. So you can just imagine what would have happened if the machine had been produced commercially. You wouldn’t be able to move for ghosts.”
“Does the machine still exist?”
Johnny Boy tapped at his nose. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would,” said Icarus. “Because if it did, we could play back the professor and see where he hid the formula, couldn’t we?”
“We could,” said Johnny Boy, stroking away at his little pointy chin. “If the machine did still exist. If the professor hadn’t smashed it to smithereens.”
“Well, it was a thought.”
“Yes it was, and a good one too.”
“Well,” said Icarus. “It’s an incredible story and an incredible invention, but it doesn’t help much with my search. Are you absolutely sure that you don’t know where the professor might have hidden the formula?”
Johnny Boy gave his head a shake. “I wish I did,” he said. “Because if I did, I’d manufacture the drug by the tanker load and dump it into the water supply. Then we’d see some fireworks.”
Icarus eyed the tiny man. “You know what the drug does, don’t you?”
Johnny Boy nodded.
Icarus sighed again. He got to his feet and stretched out his arms. “I will find it,” he said. “And when I find it, I’ll take it and I’ll know too.”
Johnny Boy grinned. “I hope I’m around to see that,” he said. “Perhaps you will change the world, eh?”
“Change the world.” Icarus glanced over at the map. “Why do you have that in here?” he asked.
“It’s pretty. It was a present. It arrived in the post yesterday, addressed to me. I don’t know who sent it.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. The envelope was typed. Free sample probably.”
“I think not.” Icarus stepped over to the map and gave it a bit of close-up perusal. “There are lines drawn on this map in biro,” he said. “Did you draw them?”
“I didn’t notice any lines.” Johnny Boy pushed in front of Icarus. “Where are these lines?”
“There and there. All over the place. They’re faint but you can see them.”
“Well, I didn’t draw them.”
Icarus ripped the map from the wall.
“What are you doing that for?”
“Have you a pair of scissors?”
“You’re not going to cut up my map?”
“Oh yes I am,” said Icarus Smith. “I’m going to change the world.”
7
Now I’m not into autoerotic podophilia, so I don’t shake in my shoes at the first sign of trouble. Nor am I some taurophiliac, so you won’t find me going off like a bull at a gate. I reason things out and then I leap into action.
I put my feet up onto my desk and lit up another Camel.
“This would be the reasoning it out bit, then, would it, chief?”
“No, Barry, this would be the me with my feet up on the desk while you get your little green bottom in gear bit, actually!”
“Don’t quite follow you there, chief.”
I blew a smoke ring out of my nose and smiled a winning smile. “Tell me, Barry,” said I. “How exactly would you describe yourself?”
“Chirpy, chief. Chirpy and chipper and cute as a cuddler’s cuddly.”
“I meant, what are you?”
“I’m your Holy Guardian, chief.”
“Exactly, and as a Holy Guardian, I’ll just bet you have lots of other Holy Guardian buddies, don’tcha?”
“Millions, chief. We’re all one big happy family.”
“So why don’t you put the word out on the old celestial telephone? Because if God’s down here on Earth, one of your big happy family is bound to have seen Him.”
“Smart thinking, chief, but no can do.”
“Come again, please, if you will.”
“Against the rules, chief. We’re not allowed to speak to one another.”
“But I clearly recall you saying you’d put ideas into a couple of heads to get me my hat and my gun back. Weren’t you talking to the Holy Guardians then?”
“No, chief, just the human schmucks.”
“Damn and blast,” said I. “Then I’ll just have to do this myself. So what do we have, Barry? Do we at least have a photo of God, so I have something to go on?”
There was the kind of silence that I for one wouldn’t pay you five cents for.
“That would be a no, then, would it, Barry?”
“That would be a big no, chief.”
“OK. Fair enough, we’ll just have to do it the hard way. If you had a thing about Jewish virgins, where would you go to meet some?”
“Israel, chief?”
“Would you care to narrow that down a little?”
“Isl?”
“Most amusing.” I gave my head a violent shake. “Ooh” and “Eeek” went Barry.
“I would go to the Crimson Teacup,” I said.
“The Crimson Teacup, chief? Not the Crimson Teacup! Don’t tell me you want us to go to the Crimson Teacup?”
“You know the place, Barry?”
“Never heard of it, chief.”
The Crimson Teacup was a gin and ginseng joint on Brentford’s lower east side. The Jewish quarter. It was not the kind of venue that I’d want to take my granny to. But hey, I wouldn’t want to take my granny anywhere. The old bag’s been dead for three years.