Fantastic Metropolis

On the same day that his father successfully prosecuted the Holloway company Minton who had been ill for a few days fell into a high fever delirium brought on by a languid midsummer rain. When the bodies of the principal witnesses and their families were found in the bayou his father talked of going into hiding but before he could muster up courage enough to move them to a place of safety he went missing. Bloodhounds scrambled through the reeds and mud of the bayou for weeks without the least result. Heartbroken his mother died of palpitations and hysterics while the child lay listlessly complaining on the horsehair sofa in the back parlor. Holloway assassins uneasy after finding her already dead overlooked the boy during their hasty search of the residence. Worn out from diarrhœa and confused by all the footsteps in the hall he stopped mumbling right as they passed the parlor door. A soft breeze tenderly fluttered the white curtain in the open window some pigeons cooed the air tasted faintly of lilies. A bumblebee became entangled in the billowing curtain making a fuss until the wind launched it into the room. It was Saturday the maid wasn’t due back till Friday. Minton dozed on through the vacant afternoon caught up in dreams of appalling butchery only occasionally disturbed by the lackadaisical buzzing of the bee as it roamed around the parlor bumping into things. The sycamore out in the yard either purposely or accidentally shed some damp leaves and twigs onto the croquet lawn and a rabbit quietly hopped into the garden with bold intentions. Forty acres of sugar cane flourished beyond the confines of the yard growing unchallenged all the way to the river. Minton awoke blubbering like a turnspit dog.

Dusk was bringing a coolness to the air as the sky was gradually being deprived of sunlight and the feverish boy was soon shivering his tears quite forgotten.

Mother! Mother I would like some broth and a muffin with raspberry jam. Mother?

After a little while he got up from the sofa opened the door and went into the kitchen. He didn’t notice how quiet the house was until he had satisfied his appetite. The old clock ticking in his father’s study sounded unusually loud and shadows were deepening in every room so he lit a candle and returned a bit unsteadily to the sofa in the parlor figuring that his mother had gone into town. He knew that she still desperately hoped for good news. Shutting the window he thought about his father a stout man with a certain briskness of manner that did not invite intimacy. He had toiled on the Holloway case for years often working through the night at his office in town. He always wore a white cotton shirt and a silk necktie even on the rare occasions when they went fishing for trout in the river. Picking up [cough] where he had left off Minton settled down to read more of Dandy Deane and the Troglodytes of London.

CHAPTER II Bugler for the Dead

If he was going to rescue his trusted friend Torty from that cowardly Yankee’s air castle certain sacrifices would have to be made thought the dandy discarding his fine kid gloves.

Dandy Deane eased the steam driven horse gently towards the floating palace operating the delicate controls with his bare hands while looking ahead for the best place to land. Two miles below the flying machine large icebergs bobbed in the serene waters of the North Atlantic calved from the glaciers along the coast of Greenland by the wanton Yankee’s sunlight collector and destined for the southern shipping lanes. The whalers who had hired him to thwart the plot has already lost twenty vessels to the treacherous blocks of ice. Deane set the horse down on the hurricane deck turned off the boiler and retracted the wings. His intelligent features were concealed under a mask of dark red velvet like an executioner moreover he was elegantly dressed in formal mourning and his bowler was dignified with a narrow black crape band. The air castle was built to resemble a grand seventeenth century Italian villa though he was not surprised to find that it was made of balsa. Peeping through the nearest window Deane saw a beautiful young lady sitting on the side of a bed slowly pulling a pair of striped silk stockings on to her very fetching legs. Blinking short sighted eyes the shy dandy hastily looked away fretting meekly for a minute or two. At length when he looked back the girl had finished dressing and was now braiding her long auburn hair. Her angelic countenance so full of innocence and strength was reflected in the silvered lookingglass. She sighed softly then left closing the door behind her. He stepped into the room. Guided by the unmistakable sounds of a banquet he followed silently drawing a well oiled revolver out of his vest pocket. Amongst the drunken conversations he recognized one rusty voice. Nithsdale.

Nithsdale was very cross and irritable and his host kept trying to assure the wicked traditionary that some herculean work had been taken care of in spite of his doubts. This persistent placating greatly annoyed the dandy’s sanguinary foe.

Even if everything is as you say I’ll not stay here any longer. You’ve got that damned negro there—he shook his fist at poor Torty who was tied to a chair—so Deane is sure to turn up to reclaim his property and nothing will induce me to face that workhouse wagabone again. He spat fiercely in a spittoon. Carlatina and I will return to London in the morning.

Colonel Mervyn fitted a cigar into an amber mouth piece and eyed the pretty young lady while leisurely considering his reply. From his hiding place at the top of the stairs Deane was watching her too as she listened intently to their conversation leaning over the table in a most tantalizing manner. The handsome Yankee decided that it was time to enlist an ally.

Do you share your father’s fears that this foppish deserter is on his way to murder us in our beds Miss Carlatina?

A champagne cork popped and a fat dowager in black satin abruptly stopped cackling.

Carlatina was tempted to slap Colonel Mervyn’s face and she might have if her father hadn’t suddenly struggled to his feet and stalked off to the drawing room whispering nonsense and humming to himself. The other guests gradually wandered away until only Torty the Colonel and the indignant woman remained at the table. The two quarrelled but evidently it occurred to Mervyn that Torty was eavesdropping because he struck the former slave bloodying his nose. They then waxed wroth afresh on an adjacent balcony. Deane saw his chance to liberate his friend. As he cut the rope with a knife he happened to glance through the French doors at the arguing couple. Colonel Mervyn was facing into the sunset but Carlatina was calmly observing the rescue. Her eyes met Deane’s she winked and the dandy tipped his hat. They left the banquet hall without being challenged and the Yankee was astonished when the stubborn girl hastily abandoned the quarrel and retired after administering a hurried kiss. Deane retraced his steps to the hurricane deck and soon Torty was sitting astride of the steam driven horse. It took two or three minutes for the boiler to heat up and Torty used the time to tell his exmaster all of the horrifying details of the conspirators’ scheme that he had overheard while being held captive. Finally the horse was ready and the brave black man was transported into the air just as the loud cry of a bugle signalled that the escape had been discovered. Leaning out of a window Colonel Mervyn viciously fired a repeating rifle burying five bullets in Torty’s back. Torty threw up his hands fell out of the sky and plunged into the briny deep. Deane sprang through Carlatina’s window.

Minton ill tempered at the events described in this chapter closed the book. After reading the first chapter he had been delighted to find that fearless Torty was the central hero of this latest adventure since Dandy Deane was sometimes too cautious to suit the boy. He wanted a hero who was hot tempered and rough even cruel to his unnatural enemies quid pro quo yet still good natured with the peasant women or with beasts. Torty had moped a lot in the previous books of the series but at least he was easily offended. Killing him off wasn’t just wrong it was to Minton unpardonable. However the dandy and his sidekick had both been apparently killed many times only to reappear at the most opportune moment so Minton expected to see admirable Torty again if not in this book then in the next. Tired as he was he began to read the third chapter.

CHAPTER III Colonel Mervyn and the Diving Bell

Carlatina was unplaiting her hair when the masked man dropped into her room accompanied by a chorus of shouts of alarm and barking dogs in the hall outside her door. He took in the situation at a glance and moved swiftly to the armoire but before stepping inside he coolly bowed with an easy gentility as if to say that he trusted her to repeat her double dealing ways and to not disclose his whereabouts to the searchers now pounding on the door. She smiled and broke a bottle of scent to throw off the hounds. Why yes it’s plain that the intruder has been here she told them.

Colonel Mervyn sauntered into her room and sent the guards away to continue the search downstairs. Delighted at having gained admittance to her bed chamber he listened with undisguised contempt as the distressed damsel resumed her account of the alarming encounter with the villain.

And then when I threw the perfume in his eyes he dashed out!

Clearly still frightened Carlatina had never looked more alluring. Her face was very pale and her disheveled tresses rippled over her graceful shoulders. The Yankee’s ardour had been much encouraged by the champagne and perversely by the recent bloodlust that took pious Torty’s life. Cautiously he seated himself on the bed beside the willowy girl and pretended to comfort her with feigned graciousness. Plying her with brandy from a flask fortified with drops of laudanum he seized the innocent girl’s hand as she went on chattering seemingly oblivious to his impertinent intentions. His muscular arms suddenly enveloped her in a bold embrace and sneering at her indignant protests the brute bent over and roughly kissed the liberally endowed woman. Twilight shadows were oozing into the room as Deane slipped quickly out of his place of concealment in the armoire. As a knock on the door announced Nithsdale and a couple of guards with shotguns the dandy struck the Colonel on the back of the head with the butt of his revolver rendering him unconscious. Dandy Deane managed to pass a note to Carlatina before being caught.

If Nithdale was excited by the capture of his nemesis he didn’t show it any more than he showed concern over his daughter’s close call with dishonor. He looked suspiciously at the stationary Colonel Mervyn lying face down on the floor. One of the dogs sniffed at the flask.

Lock him in the potato cellar said the demented old slaver relieving the dandy of his pistol and his mask. Why does it smell so of Eau-de-Cologne?

Carlatina was quite surprised by her first glimpse of Deane’s tattooed visage which was far worse than the descriptions had led her to believe. Every inch was embedded with words in large capital letters tattooed with black ink by an expert following her father’s mysterious commands. [As recounted in Dandy Deane and the Minotaur from the Moon —ed.] Now crestfallen he consented to imprisonment without a struggle. The guards brought the subdued man to the potato cellar and gave him a vicious drubbing in the moonlight it took his mind off of spry Torty’s fate. Left to himself in the stuffy enclosure he was overcome by melancholy and despair. No doubt Nithsdale would have him tortured and executed. After many destitute years of exile the revenge that he and Torty had worked and suffered for would finally destroy them and Nithsdale would win. It was dreadful to think that all of their sacrifices had been in vain but it was even worse to know that no one else could prevent the monster from enslaving mankind.

When the sun rose the next morning the floating villa reposed under a twinkling shroud of snow. Dandy Deane had to be lifted out of the potatoes and carried into the breakfast room where the distinguished visitors were gathered around a fire place sipping steaming bowls of coffee and politely enduring their jagged hangovers. Colonel Mervyn in his usual loud voice was regaling the virtues of Nithsdale’s grand work to the wincing gentlemen and ladies and he received the rustic dandy’s appearance among them with flashing eyes.

Have some breakfast said the rich Yankee with a hollow chuckle. I dare say you’ll need all your strength when you get to where you’re going! I wonder replied Deane if these fine people here would still fund your filthy plans if they knew about your part in the murder of the president?

There was a general laugh.

Fiddlesticks! answered the ill shaved Colonel gleefully. Who do you think furnished the greenbacks so I could hire Booth? He looked smug.

The dandy squared his shoulders snatched a pistol from an inattentive guard and fired it at Colonel Mervyn just as Nithsdale and his daughter entered the room.

The other guards regained control of the prisoner and Nithsdale instructed them to remove him to the terrace while he and Carlatina prepared the bell. Colonel Mervyn’s wound was not severe and he was taken to the infirmary. Carlatina engaged in some comforting small talk with the guests and paid no attention as Deane was dragged out of the room. On the terrace his wrath dissipated rapidly in the frosty morning air leaving him stranded once more on the shoal of his remorse pondering his doleful life and his imminent death. He had never faced a predicament like this before. If Nithsdale succeeded in assembling the vast army that Torty had learned about the madman could conquer the entire world but if he forfeited his life to stop the plot Colonel Mervyn and his outlaw financiers would soon own the American government. Somehow he had to warn the president. Just then Carlatina wrapped up in sumptuous furs announced that the bell was ready. The guards forced him into an adjoining room where an ominous piece of machinery was dangling from a derrick. The old fellow peeped out of a hatch in the round iron apparatus and cordially invited Deane to step aboard.

No. You’ve no right to kill me in some foul iron coffin. I demand a duel!

For a minute Nithsdale looked baffled and sad like a lonely child turned away from a party but then his abominable nature reappeared and he ordered Deane to board the Ocean Belle. Mervyn’s diving bell dropped rapidly to the sea and sank beneath the waves.

It was funny thought Minton hefting the book as if weighing the evidence how the talk of buying political power reminded him of his father’s case against the crooked politicians paid off by the Holloway company. Carlatina seemed to be flirting with betrayal again and the hero despite his shortcomings had almost done in that confounded Colonel. Minton stared at the cover affectionately for a few moments. The engraver had depicted a masked Dandy Deane shielding the lovely Carlatina who is clinging to her ripped frock in a vain attempt to maintain her modesty while a rather sullen Nithsdale commands a pack of stunted semihuman creatures to quit the sewers and attack the hapless pair. Behind them London lies in snarling ruins.

CHAPTER IV Nithsdale’s Escape

The interior of the diving bell was densely carpeted and lined with walnut wainscoting. One of the two sealskin armchairs stood before a control panel covered with dials and gilt knobs. Portholes were built into every bulkhead and when Nithsdale brought up the lights monstrous fish went slinking by. Deane watched the handling of the controls closely knowing that he could never allow Nithsdale to return to the surface and that meant he had better acquaint himself with the workings of the bell. The old gasconade noticed the prisoner’s interest and could not resist boasting while offering up explanations.

Mervyn’s fortune may have made this bell possible but my cannibals will save mankind.

I’m glad said Nithsdale magnanimously that you refused to die among the olive trees overlooking Pompeii for I happen to have a use for a selfish vindictive person like you.

What absurdity could this evil genius have in mind now? thought Deane. The pathetic old fool actually expects me to help him!

What do you want? Very soon we will reach the ocean floor. There is a cavern—

Minton obeying a momentous impulse suddenly flung the novel across the room and stood up. He stepped to the window lightheaded and extended his thin bony arms as tears pickled his eyes. Fumbling enthusiastically succeeded in a window raised enough to struggle through then he was trampling shrubbery. High up in the sky a fat complacent moon sat reflecting second hand sunlight onto the lawn shimmering with dew and noisy with the lament of crickets. The cool air smelled of smoke from a Holloway sugarcane field burned for harvesting the following day. Crying quietly with loneliness the feverish boy fled blindly over the wet grass and into the dark stillness of the green cane field where the rough caresses made his hands bleed but consoled his aching heart.

Minton scarcely knew where he was going so it was a gentle surprise to step from the cane field onto the bank of the river. Moonlight sparkled on the murmuring water and the shadows of overhanging trees went shilly shallying on the breeze. Minton knelt to bathe his tear stained face. When he looked up a crone was crouching on the other bank watching him. She was dressed in muslin Holloway sugar sacks with one on her head for a hat.

So Minton here you are! The diminutive woman tucked a stray strand of white hair back under her cap as though suddenly conscious of the poor impression she was making. Steady there boy steady!

Minton fainted at the water’s edge.

He woke bewildered to the sounds of machinery coming from somewhere below. His fever had broken and his silk bedclothes were disagreeable with perspiration so he changed into a loose jacket and a pair of trousers he found waiting atop a table. Like the bedding the clothing was improvised out of sugar sacks. When he was done dressing he rubbed his sleepy eyes and wondered about the room which he knew was an attic of the sugar refinery. Minton and his papa had toured it in happier times and the cloying sweetness filled him with sorrow.

A tap at the door brought him scowling back from his sad associations and he was quite impertinent when the little old woman wished him a cheerful good morning. After tea and boiled pigeon eggs for breakfast she sat him down for a dreadful talk.

Holloway murdered your parents she said bluntly. They will kill you too if you don’t diappear into the machine. She waited patiently until his uncontrollable sobbing ceased. Now Minton the first rule to remember is only death is more disappointing than life. We live for the timebeing. Every artificial instant of every bitter hour of every useless day is an opportunity for indelible memories. Vanish with a vengeance. Anonymous malcontents like us fight alone—

Shivering in the timid sunbeams that stretched through the dusty skylight Minton had stopped listening and was busy thinking about Dandy Deane. He certainly felt obliged to grieve the loss of his father and mother and yet he knew that he was really crying out of self pity and fear so ashamed his thoughts quickly moved on to more noble things. Deane had chosen to desert rather than give Torty up to the lynch mob without remorse.

—corporation. Sometimes I’ll wheedle a hopper and drive it into the bayou.

In the glorious days that followed Minton renounced all unselfish habits and beliefs and declared his allegiance to the old woman’s secret campaign of sabotage. They haunted the refinery crippling machinery here taking a bag of sugar there any mischievous misdeed that wouldn’t harm the workers. Before long their offenses were noticed by the company for Minton despite many reproaches often went too far. Holloway representatives had calmly overlooked the old woman’s pathetic little pranks for years because they defused the workers’ anger. But after Minton painted a large resemblance of Dandy Deane freeing Torty on the refinery wall the rich owners of the corporation feared an all out rebellion so they unceremoniously killed the old lady and fed her to the crocodiles. All of the sinister men gathered in an office after the last shift to laugh and to drink to her demise. Minton barricaded the door and set fire to the refinery burning it to the ground. Then he walked slowly home where to his great surprise his father had returned and his mother who had only fainted was recovering. Brushing a dead bumblebee off of the sofa he sat down to finish reading his book.

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Allan Kausch is an editor, surreal collagist and author from the San Francisco Bay Area. He has had a handful of shows of his original collages, and is the author of five books: Voyage of Exile, Blackberry Castle, The Wax Baby, Fetch the Stick Dog and Remorse Code and Other Tantrums. A devoted Dickhead, he organized the massive preproduction of the six volumes of the Selected Letters of Philip K. Dick. Until recently he worked as the Continuity Editor for Lucasfilm Ltd., serving as the Star Wars expert under George Lucas, and he received the Harvey and Eisner awards for his editing of Star Wars comic-books. He is now pursuing a freelance existence.

“Minton” is from his latest book, Remorse Code and Other Tantrums, of which noted montagist Winston Smith has said: “These artist books are really cool… Max Ernst would be amazed at his legacy… great!”