Hairy London Read Online Free Page B

psyche, as they say Mr Freud does, and yet never leave these four walls. Or perhaps we shall travel to the southern tip of Indoo. What matters is that you are at my side, and I am at yours. I took on this wager as one half of a couple. I believe only a couple can discover what love is, and that is why I called you over to Bedwards House.”
    She sighed. “Indeed you did, and very late in the evening. I must say, that thin waif Juinefere Bedwards needs to know what love is.”
    “Do not drag her into this. She is a luckless specimen. Our season must be our season. We shall see what fate brings us.”
    “Kornukope! How many times have you told me you don’t believe in fate?”
    “Yes, yes... it was a figure of speech, no more.”
    She shook her head, and they both laughed. Kornukope rose to pick up the breakfast trays, but as he did his gaze flickered across the sash window that looked out over Hampstead Heath.
    “Great Oates!” he cried.
    “What is it?”
    He ran to the window and stared out. East Heath Road, the hedge behind it, and the entirety of the heath behind that were covered in hair, a thick cap of blonde hair that shimmered and waved like July wheat in the sun.
    He turned to her and said, “Everything is hairy!”
    At once he ran down the stairs and headed for his study, where lay one of the new-fangled telegraphical Psittacidae that Grubiander Tune had brought back from Jazziristan. He raised the device to his mouth, placing one of its tail feathers in his ear. “Get me Bedwards House,” he told the operator.
    The device parroted his words. Then he heard a tinny voice: “Connecting you to Bedwards House.” There was a click, a buzz, then a scratching sound. “Hello?”
    He cleared his throat. “Is that Gentleman Smyth?”
    “It is indeed, sir. Is that Mister Wetherbee?”
    “What the devil’s going on, Smyth? The whole place is covered in hair.”
    “Haven’t you seen the morning papers, sir? All of London is covered. The government are warning people to stay indoors.”
    Kornukope stood up straight. “I am a member of the Suicide Club. Nobody tells me to stay indoors.”
    “I was just repeating what the government said, sir.”
    “Yes, yes... quite. Listen, Smyth, how many of us chaps have made it to Bedwards House?”
    “None, sir. It is just me and Lady Bedwards.”
    Kornukope gasped. “Then, nobody can travel?”
    “It would seem not, sir.”
    “Sit tight, Smyth. There will be somebody along soon enough. Until then, do not do anything rash. If you feel a panic coming on, there is a secret whisky tot in the back of the three-eyed idol of Catmandoo. You know the one I mean?”
    “I do sir.”
    “You have my permission to swig from it. Until later, Smyth.”
    “Take good care, sir.”
    The connection closed with a click. Kornukope put the Psittacidae back into its cage, then walked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “Eastachia? London is hairy! We must go out to investigate. Wear something stout.”

CHAPTER THREE
    Sheremy stared at the woman’s visage. She stared back at him.
    “Great heavens,” he said, “who the devil are you?”
    “I, sir, am Valantina Moondusst, and I would ask you not to speak to me in that tone of voice.”
    Sheremy’s mouth remained open. The woman was pretty, damned pretty, with big dark eyes and black hair down to her shoulders; if rather too forward for his liking. He took a deep breath and said, “You’ve taken a risk coming out into the street without a chaperone. This place is deadly, ma’am.”
    “A chaperone? ” Valantina replied. She sounded almost scornful. “Times are changing. Some women have their own minds, you know. Their own ways.”
    “Yes, quite,” Sheremy said, not a little embarrassed. The woman must be some sort of Suffering activist. Inconvenient...
    “Though I do thank you for rescuing me,” Valantina continued. “I lost my footing, and, as you may know, once you are beneath the hair it is difficult to