Jane was about to say something, but she had forgotten what it was. Couldn’t have been important. “Right,” she said. “I’ll just go and do that, then.”
“Thanks,” Vanderdecker said. “Now, then.” He walked off quickly towards the house.
The Flying Dutchman was, when circumstances permitted, a man of his word; and when he said he was going to boot a professor up the backside, he stood by it.
“Ouch!” said Montalban, startled. “My dear fellow, what…” Vanderdecker kicked him again, harder. One of his better ideas, he said to himself. He tried it again, but missed this time and put his foot through a complex piece of scientific equipment disguised as a glass-fronted cabinet full of netsuke. Although he didn’t know it, lights flickered in Montreal, Jodrell Bank and Geneva.
“Captain,” said the Professor, backing away while still trying to remain dignified, “what has come over you?”
“Getting me into this mess,” said Vanderdecker, “I can put up with. Causing me to sail round the world for nearly five hundred years I can take in my stride. Pissing off and leaving me under a ceiling and coming back here and stuffing yourself with macaroons is a bit too much, don’t you think?” He aimed another kick at the Professor; it glanced off the bunch of keys in his trouser pocket and wasted its force in empty air, making Vanderdecker totter slightly. He regained his balance and his composure at about the same moment.
“Well,” he said, “anyway, there we are. You will be delighted to know that that gimcrack Friday-afternoon job of a power station of yours is now safe again, absolutely no thanks to you. And you owe me and my lads for a complete set of clothes each. All right?”
“Yes, most certainly,” said Montalban. “My dear fellow, I am delighted to see you all in one piece. I…”
“I bet you are,” Vanderdecker said furiously. “Because if I hadn’t been, it’d have cost you plenty. Well, let me tell you that…”
“And even more delighted,” said the Professor, with all the smoothness he could manage, “to note that the treatment worked.”
Vanderdecker started. “
“Indeed,” said the Professor. “Just as I had hoped. The radiation charge has eliminated the smell entirely. My experiments are vindicated. You must be very pleased.”
And grateful, his tone implied. So grateful, in fact, that you really ought to do me a little favour in return. Vanderdecker caught the implication like Rodney Marsh fielding a large, slow football. “If you think,” he said, “I’m going to sign over that bloody policy after what you just did to me…”
“And what was that?”
“Leaving me There,” Vanderdecker roared. “Other things too, but just now, mostly that.”
“My dear fellow,” Montalban said. “I imagined you were—well, dead, to put it bluntly. I could see no sign of you; I feared that you and your companions had been simply atomised by the force of the blast. There was nothing I could do, I came away; my presence was needed here…”
Vanderdecker growled softly, but his indignation was leaking away like oil from a fractured sump. The Professor smiled kindly.
“And so,” he said, “everything has worked out for the best. You have no idea how much pleasure this moment gives me. The unpleasant side-effect of my elixir has successfully been counteracted. My work is over…”
The words froze on his lips, and Vanderdecker stared at him as he quietly repeated the words.
“Montalban?” Vanderdecker asked. “Are you all right?”
The Professor stood there like a dead Christmas tree for a moment and then grabbed Vanderdecker fiercely by the shoulders. “Vanderdecker,” he shouted, “did you hear what I just said? My work is
Vanderdecker stepped back, wondering if the kick had affected the Professor’s brain. “Well,” he said, “that’s wonderful for you, I’m sure. Maybe now you can have a lie-in at weekends, read the paper, that sort of…”
Montalban filled his lungs and let out the loudest, least dignified whoop ever heard outside a Navajo encampment. “It’s over!” he screamed. “Yippee! No more work! No more work!” He danced—literally danced—round the room, kicking things as he went.
“Look, Professor,” Vanderdecker said, “I’m delighted for you, of course, but could we just have a quick chat about my policy? Then you can dance about all you like, but…”
“The policy?” Montalban stopped dead, turned round and stared Vanderdecker in the face. “You can stuff your policy!” he squealed. “That’s it, you can
Something rather improbable fell into place in Vanderdecker’s mind, like the tumblers of a combination lock. “Professor,” he said, “are you trying to tell me you don’t
