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Spencer grunted and murmured: “The republican form of governmentis the highest blinkin’ form of government, but, because of this,it requires the highest type of human nature-a type nowhere atpresent existin’ in London, that's for bloomin’ certain!”
“Stop your blessed chinwagging and look out of the window!” thehousekeeper cried.
Trounce raised his eyebrows.
Swinburne sighed, stood, and crossed the room. He stepped pastAdmiral Lord Nelson, who was standing in his customary position,and peered out of the window. The doorbell jangled.
Mrs. Angell lifted her pinafore and slapped it over her mouth tostifle a squeal.
“My hat!” the poet exclaimed, staring out at the mighty armouredcarriage.
“What shall I do? What shall I do?” the old woman panicked.
“Bed-wetter,” Pox the parakeet opined, with a cheerywhistle.
“Calm yourself, Mother. Stay here. I'll go,” Swinburne answered.He left the room.
Trounce and Spencer stood and brushed down their clothing. Mrs.Angell bustled anxiously around the room, straightening pictures,adjusting ornaments and curios, dusting and fussing at topspeed.
“Nelson!” she barked. “Put these gentlemen's glasses away in thebureau and wipe the tabletop, then come here so I can give you aquick polish.”
The clockwork man saluted and moved to obey.
“I'm sure that ain't necess-” Spencer began.
“Quiet!” Trounce whispered. “Never interrupt her when there'shousework involved! You'll get your head bitten off!”
Multiple footsteps sounded on the stairs. Swinburne entered,followed by Damien Burke and Gregory Hare, who were both back intheir usual outlandish and outdated clothes. Palmerston's men eachhad their left arm in a sling.
They stood aside.
A tall man stepped into the room between them. He was dressed ina dark blue velvet suit with a long black cape draped over hisshoulders. A black veil hung from the brim of his top hat,concealing his face completely.
“Your Highness,” Mrs. Angell said, lowering herself into a deepcurtsy.
“Hardly that, madam,” the visitor replied, pulling off his hatand veil. “I am Henry John Temple, the Third ViscountPalmerston.”
“Oh! It's only the prime minister!” the housekeeper exclaimed.She clutched at a chair and hauled herself back upright.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Palmerston muttered ruefully.
“No!” Mrs. Angell gulped. “I mean-that is to say-ooh er!” Sheturned a deep shade of red.
“Gentlemen, good lady,” Swinburne a
A loud warble interrupted him: “Cross-eyed nitwits!”
“My apologies-and that is Pox, Sir Richard's newly acquiredparakeet.”
Palmerston looked disdainfully at the colourful little bird,gazed in awe at the clockwork man, then turned to Swinburne andsaid: “You sent me a message. You said Captain Burton is out ofaction. Explain. Where is he?”
“Ah,” the poet answered. “You'd better come upstairs, PrimeMinister. If the rest of you wouldn't mind waiting here, I'm sureMrs. Angell will see to it that you're supplied with whateverrefreshments take your fancy.”
“Of course, sir,” the housekeeper simpered, curtseying again inthe prime minister's direction. She winced and held her hip.
Swinburne glanced at her and, despite his fatigue, managed acheeky wink.
He ushered Lord Palmerston from the room and up two flights ofstairs to the library. As they approached the door, Palmerstonasked: “Is that music I hear?”
“Yes,” Swinburne said, laying his fingers on the door handle.“We rescued Richard two days ago. He was practically catatonic andrepeated just one thing, over and over: Al-Masloub.”
“Which means?”
“We didn't know until we got him home. Mrs. Angell recognised itstraightaway as the name of a musician Richard has over from timeto time. We summoned the man, who arrived, spent a few minuteslooking at our patient, went away again, and returned with two moremusicians in tow. Since then, and without a moment's cease,this-”
He pushed open the door.
The library was filled with the swirling melodies and rhythms ofan Arabian flute and drums. All the furniture had been shovedagainst the book-lined walls, and, in the middle of the floor, SirRichard Francis Burton, dressed in a belted white robe and whitepantaloons, his feet bare, and a tall fez upon his head, wasspi
His arms were held out, the forearms poised vertically, the palmof his right hand directed at the ceiling, the palm of his left atthe floor. His head was thrown back and his mouth and eyes wereshut, as if in peaceful contemplation. There were droplets of sweaton his face-and he whirled and whirled!
Around and around, gyrating at considerable speed, in time withthe drumbeat, he appeared entirely oblivious to their presence.
“Do you mean to tell me that His Majesty's agent has beenspi
“Yes, Prime Minister, he has. It's the dance of the Dervish, ofthe Sufi mystic. I believe he's attempting to repair the damage ourenemies did to him.”
Palmerston, his face as expressionless as ever, watched Burtonfor a few moments.
“Well,” he muttered. “He'd better pull himself together soon. Hemight be the only person in the country who can tell me exactly whyour normally industrious labouring classes have decided to go theway of the damned French. In the meantime-”
Footsteps sounded as Burke and Hare pounded up the stairs.
“Prime Minister, please excuse the interruption,” Burke said,speaking rapidly and with his voice raised above the music. Heturned to the poet: “Mr. Swinburne, when you recovered Sir Richard,did he have an odd-looking pistol in his possession?”
“The green thing?” the poet asked. “Yes, I found it in hisjacket pocket. Is it a pistol? It doesn't look like one!”
“Where is it now?”
“In the top drawer of his main desk, by the windows.”
Burke turned to Hare. “If you would, Mr. Hare?”
With a nod, his colleague turned and headed back to thestudy.
“What's happening?” Palmerston snapped.
“A minute, if you please, sir,” Burke responded briskly. Heleaned across and pulled the library door shut, muffling themelodic noise. He then indicated another door, just along the hall,and addressed Swinburne again: “What's in there?”
“It's Richard's storeroom.”
With a swift nod, Burke pushed past them, opened the door, andlooked inside. He saw a room piled high with wooden boxes.
“Excellent. In you go, please, Prime Minister.”
“What the devil-!” Palmerston began.
Gregory Hare reappeared, with Burton's spine-shooter in hishand. He passed it to his colleague.
“Sir!” Burke's voice was filled with urgency. “If you recall, Iadvised you in the strongest possible terms that coming here was agrievous miscalculation. Sir Richard and his colleagues have madethemselves known to the enemy forces. They are targets. You haveknowingly placed yourself in the line of fire for no good reasonexcept to satisfy your curiosity-”
“How dare you speak to me like th-”
Burke continued, raising his voice and speaking over the primeminister's objection. “What I feared most is now occurring. Thestreet outside has just filled with wraiths. They caused yourguards to shoot your outriders dead then turn their rifles uponthemselves. We can only assume that this house is about to beattacked, isn't that so, Mr. Hare?”
“Quite right, Mr. Burke,” Gregory Hare answered.
“We must barricade ourselves inside,” Burke continued. “If itbecomes necessary, Mr. Hare and I will act as your last line ofdefence.”