The Curious Case of the Clockwork Man - By Mark Hodder Page 0,1
John are good men. Accomplished. They know how to handle the natives. My apologies, Sir Roderick, I find it difficult to let go. I still think of the Nile question as mine to answer, though, in truth, I have a new and entirely different role to play now."
"Ah, yes. I heard a rumour that Palmerston has employed you. Is it true?"
Burton nodded. "It is."
"As what?"
"In truth, it's hard to say. I'm titled the 'king's agent.' It's something of an investigative role."
"Then I would think you're well suited to it."
"Perhaps. But I still take an interest in - well - sir, if you hear anything - "
"I'll get word to you," Murchison interrupted curtly. "Now go. Get some coffee. Sober up. Have some self-respect, man!"
The president turned and stamped back up the stairs, straightening Drake's portrait as he passed it.
A valet fetched Burton and Swinburne their coats, hats, and canes, and the two men walked unsteadily across the lobby and out through the double doors.
The evening was dark and damp, glistening with reflections after the day's showers. A chill wind tugged at their clothes.
"Coffee at the Venetia Hotel?" Burton suggested, buttoning his black overcoat.
"Or another brandy and a bit of slap and tickle?" Swinburne countered. "Verbena Lodge isn't far from here."
"Verbena Lodge?"
"It's a house of ill repute where the birchings are - "
"Coffee!" Burton said.
They walked along Whitehall Place and turned right into Northumberland Avenue, heading toward Trafalgar Square. Swinburne began to sing a song of his own composition:
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We'd hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein;
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain. His tremulous piping attracted disapproving glances from passersby. Despite the bad weather and the late hour, there were plenty of people about, mainly gentlemen strolling to and fro between the city's restaurants and clubs.
"Oh, bugger it," the poet cursed. "I think I just sang the last verse first. Now I'll have to start again."
"Please don't trouble yourself on my account," Burton murmured.
A velocipede - or "penny-farthing," as some wag had christened the vehicles - chugged past, pumping steam from its tall funnel into the already dense atmosphere of London.
"Hal-lo!" the rider exclaimed as he passed them, his voice rendered jittery as the vehicle's huge rubber-banded front wheel communicated every bump of the cobbled street to his spine. "W-what's g-going on in the s-square?"
Burton peered ahead, struggling to focus his eyes. There was, indeed, some sort of commotion. A crowd had gathered, and he could see the cockscomb helmets of police constables moving among the top hats.
He took Swinburne by the arm. "Come along," he urged. "Let's see what the hullabaloo is all about."
"For pity's sake slow down, will you!" complained his companion, who had to match Burton's every stride with two of his own. "You'll render me horrendously sober at this pace!"
"Incidentally, Algy, in the event of my demise, perhaps you'd show a little more restraint with the god and demigod references," Burton grumbled.
"Ha! What a contrary fellow you are! On the one hand you seem obsessed by religions; on the other, repelled by them!"
"Humph! These days, I'm more interested in the underlying motivation - in the reasons why a man is willing to be guided by a god whose existence is, at best, impossible to prove and, at worst, an obvious fabrication. It seems to me that in these times of rapid scientific and industrial advancement, the procurement of knowledge has become too intimidating a prospect for the average man, so he's shunning it entirely in favour of faith. Faith requires nothing but blind adherence, whereas knowledge demands the continual apprehension of an ever-expanding body of information. With faith, one can at least claim knowledge without having to do the hard work of acquiring it!"
"I say!" Swinburne cried. "Well said, old chap! Well said! You hardly slurred a single word! You're eminently reprehensible!"
"You mean comprehensible."
"I know what I mean. But Richard, surely Darwin's natural evolution has rendered God undeniably defunct?"
"Indubitably. Which begs the question: to what falsehood will the uneducated masses willingly devote themselves next?"
They paced along, swinging their canes, their hats set at a jaunty angle. Despite the revitalising nip in the air, Burton was developing a headache. He decided to take a brandy with his coffee; perhaps it would numb the faint throbbing.
When they reached Trafalgar Square, the famous explorer plunged into the crowd and shouldered his way through it with Swinburne