Free Hairy London by Stephen Palmer

to Downing Street,” he said. “Never mind the lateness of the hour! I have most urgent news for the Cabinet.”
    After a smooth flight Major Smothers landed his machinora at the Whitehall end of Downing Street, and although it was now long after one in the morning, Kornukope was reassured to see lanthorns burning in many of Number Ten’s windows.
    “Crisis meetings – the hirsute menace,” he told Eastachia.
    A rotund policeman let him into the building, whereupon he collared the on-duty Secretary, Flushman Canker-Hyphen.
    “I need to speak to Lord Blandhubble at once! Or the Prime Minister. Very urgent!”
    Flushman, who was known to Kornukope from their days at Beaten, was the model of Britisher calm. “Dear chap,” he said, “have some tea and relax. It’s only a bit of hair, nothing a good wash and cut–”
    “You do not understand,” Kornukope said. “The Kaiser. The zeppelins.”
    “Yes, I shall go now and fetch the FS, the PM is up late in emergency meetings with chaps from the RI. Have a seat, do. Good to see you again, Mrs Wetherbee.”
    Ten minutes later Kornukope and Eastachia sat in Lord Blandhubble’s office, a tray of tea and honey biscuits before them. Kornukope spent two minutes detailing what had happened that day, before saying, “You have to get to Swiss Cottage soon. Tonight! Once they know we have escaped they will bundle the Kaiser into a horseless carriage and convey him to the nearest port.”
    Blandhubble was a stern customer, who smoked a white clay pipe the size of a Cuban. “Very likely they will,” he said. “I shall put operations in motion directly. But you’ve done great work for your country today, Wetherbee, I’ll see you are on the King’s Christmas list for this.”
    “There is something else you should know. Gristofer Furbally has a scheme to drop radioactivity over London from hundreds of aerial vehicles–”
    Lord Blandhubble raised one hand. “Any scheme that involves aerial vehicles is not likely to find favour here,” he said. “With London hairy, such travel will be for the government only, or the army, and quite unusual at that.”
    Kornukope felt his hopes fade. “But–”
    “My dear fellow, you simply don’t understand the logistics. At the moment it’s difficult for us to get ten vehicles airborne, let alone Furbally’s hundreds. There will doubtless be a few private flying ventures – the journalists of Fleet Street are never less than ingenious – but nothing more.”
    “What about travel on the tube, or railway?” Eastachia asked.
    “Some Underground lines are clear, others are choked with hair. The railway network is reasonably clear however, and may come into its own as our response to the crisis develops.”
    “But what shall we do now?” Kornukope asked. Already he felt left out of events, left behind almost.
    Blandhubble puffed at his pipe, eyeing them both. “Interesting times,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. “You know, Wetherbee, the Germans were our number one suspect for all this hairiness, but it seems from Count von Flugzeug’s reaction that they’re not responsible. Yet we have two other possible enemies. One is a Leninist cell based in Bloomsbury–”
    “Leninists!”
    “Yes, indeed. But for you, I think, the more important focus of attention should be Mr Gandy in Kew.” He glanced at Eastachia. “You both could be of considerable importance to the government’s operations.”
    “As a member of the Suicide Club I am of course at Britain’s disposal.”
    “That goes without saying. But your wife...?”
    Eastachia fidgeted in her chair. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
    “You’ll know the reputation of Mr Gandy, of course. He’s the very devil of a customer, and our covert chaps have been watching him for years. They lack the cultural side of things however, which you, Mrs Wetherbee, do possess.”
    “I see. And our mission would be?”
    “To infiltrate Nohandas Gandy’s Home Rule