The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [57]
Upon investigation it transpired from the scorch mark that one of the fiend’s stray bolts had struck the wall just at the right point to jolt the gate from its two-hundred‐year rest.
‘Well I must say, well done that fiend,’ said Jeremy, rubbing his shoulder. ‘I thought it was rather a jolly little 200
creature. Wouldn’t have minded it for a pet. I mean, just think of taking it for a walk round the Serpentine!’
‘Yeah,’ said Maggie, joining in the game. ‘You could take it to the Waldorf and train it to poop off at all the stuffed shirts and their snooty wives who turn up their noses at you.’
‘Like, dig that crazy hound-dog, man,’ said Roberto.
‘Like, hotcha diggerty,’ said Uncle Mario.
. Not for the first time, the Brigadier thought that Fate might have dealt him a better hand of cards with which to play the forthcoming match.
Having inserted the balk of timber which would ensure that the gate lately closed would stay that way, the Brigadier walked all the defenders round the top of the wall to make sure that everybody understood what they were about. Of course, it was not possible to make a tour of the complete perimeter, owing to the portion which had collapsed down the cliff. But then it was hardly likely that Max and his friends would tackle a climb which would defeat anybody but the most skilful of mountaineers, The walkabout finished at the top of the gate tower where they could watch for the arrival of the Vilmio boat.
Here Umberto met them with a pre-1914 picnic basket charged with chicken drumsticks, slices of cold ham cut 201
from the bone, hard-boiled seagulls’ eggs, salad, freshly baked ciabatta bread, and four bottles of chilled spumante.
The tower, commanding as it did the approach road and the whole front wall, was ideally situated to be the Brigadier’s HQ, as well as the firing position for the main armament.
In fact, the Doctor’s stun-gun was the only armament, the blunderbuss having been banned by a tacit consensus which excluded only its owner, who very nearly refused the loan of his spyglass in reprisal.
The picnic party was surprisingly festive, considering that they were awaiting an assault by an enemy known to be not only utterly ruthless, but also endowed with powers unknown.
‘Hit it, Elvis!’ cried a too giggly Maggie, who was much more effervescent than two glasses of bubbly would warrant.
Roberto, who had been quietly strumming ‘Jail House Rock’ in the corner (only slightly off-key), flushed with pleasure, and obliged with ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’
complete with hooded eyelids and pelvic accompaniment.
Thus inspired, Maggie herself swayed over to the King (or should it be the Pretender? thought the Brigadier, watching dispassionately) to outdo anything he could think up in the way of lascivious movement, which was the major aspect of his talent.
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Not to be outdone, Jeremy – who had been prevented from drowning his sorrows and his wits in a fourth glass only by the timely intervention of the Brigadier – tried to catch her eye by jigging solemnly from one foot to the other, while singing along in a gentle moo, half a syllable in arrears.
In the meantime, Uncle Mario was swivelling skinny hips in a curious gyration which the Brigadier identified with some difficulty as an early version of the Black Bottom, which his mother also used to break into when celebrating the birth of Christ with a few unaccustomed drams of the malt.
Let them enjoy themselves while they can, thought the Brigadier, as he turned his back on the jollity and saw that the Princess M. was approaching the harbour from the west.
They’re not likely to be lonesome tonight.
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Sixteen
‘But we know already that he succeeds in becoming immortal. That’s why we’re here!’
‘Ah, but he not only intends to drink the elixir of life,’
said the Doctor. ‘Why do you think he is going to do it just before midnight, local time? Because that is the moment, the