Flight of the Gazebo

Chapter 4 - King of the Hill

Montgomery-Jones stood at the back of the crowd, stroking his chin. Here was a slice of good fortune. All these fools around him might be running around like headless chickens, denying what was right in front of their faces, but he could see the truth of it. He could see the obvious. It was evident from the odd sky, the view past the edge of the village: they were on an alien world and, if Watkins' blabber about what the dust creature had said was true, his gazebo was some kind of transportation device and was responsible for bringing them here. It was incredible! A whole village and all its inhabitants - barring Hilary of course, who had been in London visiting her bloody mother - plucked from the English countryside and deposited... well somewhere far away... some alien planet.

And what had caused it to happen? It had been his gazebo, the very thing upon which he had lavished his great intellect. His creation. His gazebo! It didn't matter what that fool Banks said, there was no doubt it had been the gazebo that was responsible. All the signs were there: the weird noise it had made as the last beam was placed, the sensations emanating from it, building up to a crescendo that had unleashed the forces that had transported Amblesby to... to... here.

He could smell money in this. Plenty of it. No longer would he have to pander to his wife. No more ingratiating himself with her ghastly family. Hilary's inheritance paled into insignificance. With his invention, he could command any sum he chose. He went weak at the knees at the thought. All he had to do was get himself and his gazebo back to Earth without any village upstarts muscling in on his scheme.

"Hey, Jones!"

It was John Banks. The last person he wanted to speak to right now. If there was anyone who could put a spanner in the works, it would be him.

"It's Montgomery-Jones, as well you know," said Montgomery-Jones. He frowned. "Mister," he added.

"You'll always be 'Jones' to me," said John. "You were plain 'Jones' before you married Hilary Montgomery. Anyway," - he raised a hand to forestall the retorts mounting on Montgomery-Jones' lips - "all of us have to put our differences behind us and work together if we're ever going to sort out this mess. Tell us about this gazebo of yours."

"What about it? I would have thought there were more important thing to be discussing than my garden ornamentation."

"Your damned garden ornament is responsible for the mess we're in," said John. The crowd had all turned towards them, and Montgomery-Jones felt their hostile gazes upon him.

"How can that be possible?" said Montgomery-Jones in a mild, reasonable tone. "Don't tell me you believe what that pile of street sweepings said."

"I don't know what's possible or not possible any longer," said John. "Look at us. We're on some strange planet; we've been ordered about by a weird alien creature; Drome's been whisked away into the air in front of our very eyes... A few hours ago I would have said all that was impossible. I think we're ready to believe anything now. The alien said your gazebo is responsible for bringing us here. Wherever 'here' is."

"We don't know that it said anything of the sort. We heard some nonsensical noises coming from the creature, but it was that useless layabout, Jerome Watkins, who did all the speaking. How do we know he isn't involved in all this?"

"He's been taken hostage! You don't take your accomplices hostage. It doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't it? If he is in league with the forces that brought us here he wouldn't want to stay where he could get asked awkward questions like 'how come you can speak to the monster?', now would he?"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, and Montgomery-Jones fought to keep the smugness from his face. He could see their scowls softening. He had them eating out of his hand.