H2G2 Storytime III: From Prussia with Love. Part XLVII
Created | Updated Aug 15, 2006
"I'd hate to wonder what history was destroyed when they built this place." Jamila said to herself as the group made their way down carefully carved stone steps.
"Yeah..." agreed Ody mumbling in front of her, feeling the iron rail under his arm.
In front of the archeologists, X leaned forward. "And I don't like this echo," he said to Arthur observing the noise their feet made as they walked down.
When they reached the bottom, the two Agents hugged the walls either side, guns ready. Arthur nodded and together to swung out back to back, scanning the area. Seeing no threat, weapons returned to their holsters.
The cavern was gigantic and square. Long rows of crates and containers reached up the roof with gaps for easy access in between. In the middle, trying desperately to illuminate the entire place was a lone lamp post.
"A warehouse?" spat Arthur as though what he saw was a lie. The four spread out to explore. "This doesn't make sense." He chose the path in the centre and marched down it looking at the boxes. "It's too impractical to store anything this far underground."
"There's a tunnel on the other side, no other way out 'cept the stairs," said X through a gap in the boxes from the next aisle over. "Made of brick too."
"Over here!" yelled Jamila. The three men converged on the sound of her voice and found her kneeling over a body splayed out on the cobbled floor. "No pulse."
It was another pair of citadel guards - they'd seen the evidence of the the travels of Mary's brigade outside of the Citadel. They bore the same costume, the same ornate runes, the same broken neck.
"I don't get it." Ody said knelt on the floor, throwing his hands up in disbelief.
"Hmm?" said X
"I've spent the better part of 5 years searching for the Lost City of Ozymandias, We finally get inside and find the Ancient City itself and it has been ransacked."
"Ransacked?" X queried.
"Yes back through that door" Ody said pointing up the stairs down which they had just come "is a perfectly preserved example of a late Victorian Apartment. "You noticed the refinement in the architraves."
Arthur nodded.
"The floor moscaic, the wood pannelling, the orrery. It's beautiful, it's incredible!!"
"It is." said Arthur gazing around.
"I meant beyond credulity.", turning slightly crimson with rage.
"I know."
"It shouldn't be here, none of it should. We're underneath Egypt! This is a temple! A temple whose origins are near beyond comprehension and there is this intrusion of Victorian filth like a ..an....an abcess! It's disgusting! and who in the names of Osiris and Isis are these people?", giving the corpse a small kick.
"They shouldn't be here either!!" and finished ranting Ody leant testily aginst the lampost, before recoiling in horror at that as well.
"Arthur, he's right." X said turning to his partner.
"These guards aren't here by accident."
"They were waiting for them." Arthur said latching on to X's brainwave.
"So why kill them?" Arthur said looking down at the deceaced guard.
"The Dying Pilchard bleeds under a Turqoise Moon." X reflected repeating the phrase to himself. trying to resolve something.
"We're close, we're - "
X's concentration was interruppted by a blast of a whistle and a the unmistakable sound of a steam engine chugging into life.
All eyes looked down the corridor of boxes.
They could all see the far wall blocked in on either side by the wodden packing crates, then the perspective shifted, when the visible top-half of a steam locomotive train slide slowly into view. They collectively realised they were staring at the far side of a platform which reminded Arthur of the London Underground without the adverts. The floor of the warehouse on which they stood terminated in a platform ahead of them, hidden below the dip were tracks and, apparently also a train.
Ody was dumfounded. "This just takes the biscuit!"
The train was leaving - at the same moment - both Arthur and Ody made out André Sreka and Sean Daltmooreby stood in the Engine's furnace room. The train pressed forward pulling several posh carriages glowing with electric light in the darkness.
"We've got to get on that train before it leaves!" Arthur said racing forward.
"No time to run all that way!" snapped Arthur. "X - Christmas party, '94!"
X looked bewildered for a moment, then snapped his fingers and kicked a crate from its trolley, where it smashed on the floor. The gaudy golden box it had contained slid heavily into the corner and hummed to itself, unnoticed.
Arthur, meanwhile, was prying open a red box on the wall.
"Grab a fire extinguisher and climb aboard!"
Within ten seconds Ody, Jamila and Arthur, all armed with an extinguisher, were crouched uncomfortably on the trolley.
X slewed the trolley around to face the tracks, hopped aboard and said: "Now!"
and the force of four simultaneous blasts of CO2 from the extinguishers' nozzles sent them rocketing giddily across the warehouse floor.
"Brace your-" said Arthur, and then they hit the wall of the last carriage.
"What in blue blazes?" The engineer of the Cult's flagship locomotive 'Moriarty', a cross-grained old Scot called Argyll, turned from his levers and dials to squint back along the length of the train. "You hearrd that?" he snarled around his pipe.
Mary nodded. "The Agents. We anticipated this."
She nodded meaningfully, and six robed, Kalashnikov-toting figures moved down through the carriage.
"Shovel on a little more coal, Brother Argyll. Or whatever it is you do in a nuclear-powered train. We have a lot to discuss with the boys and girls at the First Temple."
There was a moment of flying boxes, breaking glass and girlish screaming, and the four found themselves on the thrumming carpeted floor of the locomotive.
"I cannot believe that worked," muttered Jamila, rubbing her arm.
"We are professionals, ma'am," said Arthur rather stiffly, "and use whatever materials are to hand. Good thinking, Agent X."
"Thank you, Agent Robinson," came the weak reply from under a pile of shattered wood and torn curtain.
"So what happened at the Christmas party?" said Jamilla suspiciously.
There was a throat-clearing noise from beneath the pile.
Arthur brushed down his suit and sniffed.
"Agent X partook a little too freely of the open bar, became intoxicated, and recklessly propelled himself around the office in a swivel chair, with a fire extinguisher, singing..."
"Rocketman..."
"Singing Elton John's 'Rocketman'."
While this exchange was taking place, Ody had been walking restlessly around the carriage. Now he snapped: "We should be moving forward-"
The forward door to the carriage burst open and three Cultists moved smoothly in, covering everybody with their weapons. Arthur's hand dashed for his pistol, but there was no hope of returning fire.
"Hands in the air! All three of you!" The sergeant, with three stripes on the sleeve of his robe, spoke into his headpiece. "Sister - have apprehended all the bogies. Moving forward now. Hands on top of your heads!"
Exchanging meaningful eyebrow waggles, the three prisoners moved forward, flanked by a guard on either side and covered by one walking backwards ahead of them and one behind.
"Junior!" cried Daltmooreby when Ody appeared, then "Oh!" when Arthur followed him.
The villainous crew were lounging around on couches in the luxurious lounge of the locomotive, dark tunnel walls whipping by outside the windows. Taking the opportunity to relax, Vanderveer and Von Trapp were both smoking cigars and sharing a decanter of brandy, Mary was doing a horribly complex crossword and Sreka was sharpening a hunting knife while watching Mary. Daltmooreby rose to his feet.
Arthur, Ody and Jamilla were lined up against the wall and covered by the guards.
"You're alive...you're both...alive..."
"Murder doesn't run according to your schedule, Daltmooreby," growled Arthur, to which Daltmooreby answered with a pistol-barrel in the guts.
"Care to say that again?" he hissed, his face inches from Arthur's.
"Care to make me?"
"You do realise your life is in my hands?"
"I thought I felt a bit sticky."
Von Trapp and Sreka chuckled, and Von Trapp clapped lightly.
Sreka joined Daltmoreby in taunting Arthur.
"Happy to see you survived your fall." Sreka observed.
and then addedd creully. "Pity about the girl."
Arthur fumed and tried to grab at Sreka but was restrained.
"Stop!" Until now, Mary had been slightly light-headed from all the testosterone floating around, but now a glaring problem presented itself.
"There were four of them! Where is the other one?" she snapped at the sergeant. The man shrugged.
"There were three, Sister Mary."
She glared at Arthur. Who smiled politely.
Grabbing the sergeant's headpiece, she barked: "Moriarty Five, this is Big Momma. Report your status."
There was a hiss of static, and a familiar voice said:
"Moriarty Five felt a bit sick and said he was going home for the day. What was your name again?"
Arthur gave a tiny smile.
Mary's eyes widened, and she flicked a dial.
"Moriarty Six, be advised there is a hostile bogie in your vicinity, report."
There was another long, hissing pause, and the same voice spoke:
"Yeaah, Six felt a bit run-down too. Tell you what, why don't I just come up and explain it?"
The radio clicked off. Von Trapp and Sreka were already on their feet arming themselves, and now Mary hefted a shotgun and flicked a hand towards the door leading to the rear of the train.
"Quick and quiet." She patted a trembling, red-robed guard on the shoulder, and smiled. "You first."
