Free Hairy London by Stephen Palmer Page A

movement and discover if it is responsible for the hairy plague. Gandy is an absolute cad – he only employs violent means, refusing all offers of negotiation. We expel him of course, annually it seems, but he keeps returning to our shores, like a bad rupee. What do you think?”
    Eastachia thought for a few moments then said, “I accept.” She smiled at Kornukope, then added, “ We accept.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    Valantina led Sheremy up to the attic of her house, which she had converted so that the roof and upper sections of the walls were like the Glasshouse at Kew, with all of the sky and much of nearby London visible. A breathtaking view.
    Sheremy glanced at her. He found himself attracted to her, despite her forward, almost masculine personality and those hints of Suffering. Yet now – perhaps because of the evidence of her courageous rescue – he wondered if he really cared about that aspect of her. Yes, she was an active woman; daredevil possibly. But why shouldn’t a woman be more like a man?
    Then he saw an object he thought he recognised. “What is this place?” he asked in a hushed voice.
    “My lunar laboratory,” she replied.
    “Then you are a lunar noble?”
    “Only a minor one.”
    Sheremy walked towards the object.
    “You know it, don’t you?” she whispered, joining him.
    “Damn, yes.” It was a small selenograph, not unlike the one he had retrieved from the Temple of Azure Lick in far northern Indoo. “But wait, Valantina! The Royal Institute holds the Rajah’s selenograph atop its roof. I service it once a year – I know it’s functional. We could use this selenograph to communicate with them.”
    “I did not know about that,” she replied. “Yes, let us speak with Thitherto.”
    That night Sheremy set up the selenograph’s wooden tripod, securing the feet upon a sideboard with brass screws. On the tripod seat he placed a frame made of thin slats of oak screwed together with copper pins, and into this frame he placed the moon disk itself – a foot in diameter and glowing yellow. He then checked the rotational movement of the frame; the moon disk turned with it. Then he placed a thin lens of glass in front of the disk, a fragile object slightly larger than the disk, that fitted into slots. With a graduated wooden strip he checked the distance between lens and disk, and then with a plumb line he checked verticality. Finally, he connected the moon disk to a box on the frame using moonflower stem-strings, which he unwrapped off the dowel that held them.
    He was ready. He knew the direction of the Institute. Hopefully, some time tonight, a message would get through and there would be contact.
    “There is a full moon tomorrow,” Valantina said. “The selenation will be strong.”
    Sheremy grinned. The joy of selenography was that it did not work in straight lines; the other station could be miles away, behind a cathedral, behind even a mountain. Using a brass connector on the box to cut and remake the lunar link, he took from the box the selenograph’s earpiece and voicer. With one bakelite petal at his ear and the other at his lips, he cleared his throat and said, “Testing, testing. Sheremy Pantomile calling the Royal Institute.”
    “How will they know you are calling?” Valantina asked.
    “They will notice a yellow glow in their upper chambers. They’ll know it’s the selenograph receiving, and then somebody will come. Thitherto, hopefully, though that isn’t guaranteed.”
    And so they waited. Other messages appeared, since selenography was not limited by straight lines or one-to-one contact; he had sent out his query as a ripple in a selenate aura. He heard: “Decent of you to find me a whole jar of Balinese oysters,” and, “Will you tell that wretched chimney sweep to stop making eyes at my wife,” and, most curiously of all, “The spinnaker of the orange whatsit bulges far too much for my liking, you’ll have us falling out into the hair!”
    But at length Sheremy