The Martian Ambassador Read Free

possibility of such an unpalatable alternative.
    Blackwood found his mind drifting from the tightrope walk of diplomacy to the motives an assassin might have for killing R’ondd. Was it because he was the Ambassador... or was it because he was a Martian? The alternatives were equally unpalatable; each presented its own problems and pointed towards divergent lines of enquiry, but the latter possibility made Blackwood feel far more uncomfortable.
    The vast majority of people went through their lives without ever seeing a denizen of the Red Planet in the flesh: the difference in atmospheric conditions on the two worlds made it impossible for Martians simply to stroll around on Earth without elaborate and cumbersome breathing apparatus (and, of course, the same was true of human beings on Mars). As a result, most of the people of Earth gleaned their information on Mars and Martians from newspaper articles and popular magazines, and, regrettably, from the lurid pages of the penny dreadfuls. In those dire publications, supernatural ne’er-do-wells such as Spring-Heeled Jack and Varney the Vampire competed with Maléficus the Martian for the public’s attention; to Blackwood, at least, there were times when Maléficus’s nefarious exploits came perilously close to anti-Martian propaganda.
    During the first few minutes of the drive to the Bureau’s headquarters in Whitehall, Blackwood and Meddings exchanged a few trivialities concerning the weather but said little more to each other. Blackwood was not in the mood for conversation, and his young companion was astute enough to notice the fact. However, as they turned into Parliament Street, they passed a newspaper boy on the corner, who was shouting at the top of his lungs, ‘Read all abart it! Spring-Heeled Jack strikes again! Anovver attack in the East End! Read all abart it!’
    Blackwood chuckled to himself, and Meddings turned to him. ‘Do you not place any credence in those reports, sir?’
    ‘Most certainly not! Although I’ll admit that the business is somewhat interesting from a socio-anthropological point of view.’
    ‘I’m not sure I follow.’
    ‘Do you know anything of folklore, Mr Meddings?’
    ‘Not a great deal, Mr Blackwood, I’m bound to say.’
    ‘Most people, if they consider the subject at all, believe folklore to be little more than a collection of quaint beliefs from the past, with precious little relevance to the modern world. But that is not so: folklore – by which I mean the traditional tales and beliefs of a people, widely-accepted yet spurious – is in a constant state of development and modification. It is happening all around us, if we would but pause to take note of it. This business about Spring-heeled Jack is a case in point.’
    ‘How so, if I may ask?’
    Blackwood turned to his companion. ‘Have you ever seen Jack?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Do you know anyone who has?’
    Meddings shook his head. ‘However,’ he added, ‘a friend of the fiancée of my sister’s best friend’s cousin claims to have caught sight of him about a month ago, in Spittalfields, so I understand.’
    Blackwood chuckled again. ‘My dear chap, you make my point for me! Spring-Heeled Jack is no more than a creature of modern folklore, with no independent existence of his own. He is the subject of tales told by those wishing to add spice to their otherwise mundane and dreary lives. No offence to the friend of the fiancée of your sister’s best friend’s cousin, I hasten to add.’
    ‘None taken, sir, I assure you.’
    ‘Thank you. I merely wished to impress upon you the point that creatures such as Spring-Heeled Jack may cavort through the pages of the penny dreadfuls, but they most certainly do not cavort through the streets of London.’
    ‘Creatures like Spring-Heeled Jack and Varney the Vampire.’
    ‘Precisely,’ Blackwood smiled.
    ‘And... Maléficus the Martian?’
    ‘Ah! I see your line of reasoning: Maléficus the Martian and Spring-Heeled