Tug and the Ripper

I instantly "got" it. They needed a fall-guy so that Jenny's murder would blend in with the rest of the Ripper killings. And the real reason why she had been eliminated would be masked. It sounded like Flashman was trying to make a noise. It came out like a bleat. His eyes were flicking around the room in abject panic. Not what you'd expect from the Hero of Madagascar.

The Athenian Male took the Ripper's knife and tested the edge. He said admiringly, "Strewth!! This'll make a real go of Mrs. Churchill here. It will look just like those tarts you rogered down in Whitechapel. Plenty of punters saw you with'm, don't you see?"

He grinned coldly at his mate. She gave him a soulless grin in return. He said, "We'll do her worse than the Dollymop we killed last week, won't we turtle? Got to put up a bloody good show for the Prince, what?!!" The prostitute he was referring to was Mary Kelly and she had been partially skinned.

It was horrifying. They were proposing to kill Lady Churchill in the same depraved manner as the five prostitutes who Flashman had visited. Class distinctions obviously didn't matter to these two ratbags. I had the momentarily disturbing thought, "Now, I'M starting to think and talk like a Victorian."

The Athenians were building a frame for Flashman, by killing the women he had fornicated with. It fit the interpretation that he was killing women because he was suffering from some type of murderous Victorian guilt psychosis. That was actually a highly plausible explanation for the Ripper killings, given the social mores of the time.

If you knew the man for ten seconds, you would know that Flashman would be the last person to feel guilty about illicit sex. But the police were eager for an arrest, and there would be no more Ripper murders after tonight. That was a historical fact; and part of the whole Ripper legend. Of course, I now knew the reason why.

The Athenians were going to have the Prince of Wales discover Flashy standing over his victim; holding a bloody knife, which could be tied to the Ripper. As a result, Flashman would merge into history as a perverted serial-killer, and nobody in the Twentieth Century would know the name of Winston Churchill. The ingenuity was impressive.

The Athenian said, "Let's set the scene, like we did the others." His mate nodded. The Athenian stepped toward Lady Churchill who was sitting frozen on the couch. He picked her up bodily and turned her, standing so that she faced Flashman. The Athenian's mate was looking on approvingly

Flashman was gibbering with fear as the Athenian put the knife to the throat of the loudly whimpering Lady Churchill. It was obvious what they were planning. They were going to cut Jenny's throat, just as they had the other five. Only this time they were going to lay the dying woman at Flashman's feet, where the blood-spray would add to his guilt.

Then the Athenian would drop the knife next to Flashman and the two of them would run for help, leaving Flashman frozen and incriminated. They would release him just as they returned, leaving Flashy to convince all those blue-blooded witnesses that the Devil made him do it.

I am as big a coward as Flashman. But, I had to act. The asp was in my pocket. I pulled it out and quietly deployed it. Everybody had their backs to me except Flashman. His eyes widened in astonishment, as I stepped out of my hiding place. I sincerely hoped he hadn't given me away. But fortunately, the two Athenians were too intent on killing Lady Churchill.

I had practiced with the thing while we were passing time in 1888. It isn't exactly a club. When you swing it in an arc, the metallurgy makes it act more like a whip; although it is solid steel. I have seen experts on YouTube break the sound barrier, which causes a whip-like crack.

The idea is to hit your target with the enlarged tip. Even at relatively low velocity that strike has the impact of a bullet. I had to be decisive.

They were one step plus the baton's two-foot length away from the nook. I strode forward, planted my foot and swung for the fences. I wanted to take the Athenian male out, since he was the one holding the knife to Lady Churchill's throat.

He must have sensed it coming. Because he started to turn his head. But, it was too late. The tip, which was moving close to supersonic speeds, connected with his temple instead of the side of his head. That blow was fatal. He dropped like a malevolent sack of overbred, Aryan potatoes. Score one for the puny Human!!

Instantly! I was as immobile as the other two people in the room. The Athenian female slowly turned her head to look at me. No emotion registered in her odd, pale-blue eyes. She said tonelessly, "You have killed Exusia. He failed. He deserved to die. But I must kill all of you now.

She bent and picked up the knife. I could already see the headlines, "Two people Killed at Marlborough House by Depraved American Lunatic!!" The story would explain that I took my own life afterward; before they had the opportunity to hang me.

Now, I could communicate with Maria without fear of discovery. I sent a blast message to my wife telling her how profoundly important she was to me, and how much I loved her. I told her that although I would not be able to spend a millennium with her, every day that I HAD spent with her was precious. My last thoughts were, "I love you."

I felt her reassuring subliminal presence. Then there was a tremendous rush of energy. My vision pixilated and the world went black. It was interesting to discover that the world DID end with a bang, not a whimper.

I opened my eyes and one of God's most beautiful angels was looking down at me. I thought to myself, "Heaven is lovelier than I ever imagined!!"

Then a voice in my head said, "I'm sorry my love, but I had to end it quickly. The Athenian woman couldn't be underestimated. She is particularly powerful." My vision cleared and the angel was Maria. She was holding my head in her lap looking concerned.

I startled awake, sat up and glanced desperately around the room. It was exactly as it had been before the blackout. The bodies of Flashman, Lady Churchill and the Athenians were lying where they had fallen.

Maria said, "I got your first message. The Athenian was about to kill that woman when I arrived." Maria gestured toward Jenny Churchill and added, "Luckily, the Athenian female was so focused on killing that her she didn't sense my arrival. Athenians are like that. They're very blood-thirsty and it gives them tunnel vision."

Maria said, "She was so close to actually doing the deed that the only way I could stop her was with a psychic shockwave. It's our most potent weapon. It knocks out everybody in the vicinity."

I was starting to get my wits back. I said, "How long was I out?"

Maria was helping me up. She said offhandedly, "Perhaps a minute. I wouldn't have been able to do any of that if you hadn't already eliminated the male. He's dead you know?"

I said, "The Athenian female acted like he deserved to die, for allowing me to kill him."

Maria looked disgusted. She said, "They think that they're perfect. Their arrogance, is their downfall."

She said, "I wouldn't have made it in time, if you hadn't done what you did. The fact that you don't have our psychic powers, makes those actions even braver."

Then she gave me the same look a mother might give an unruly four-year-old and said, "Don't EVER do that again; silly man. I would die if I lost you." She gave me a psychic hug, then she whisked out of my head.

The respect of my wife meant a whole lot more to me than saving the world from Nazi Armageddon. But, we still had the inconvenient extra bits and pieces to deal with. Maria reached into her little wrist purse and brought out a time-dilation-pod.

She said, "I'll notify father about the situation. He will clean it up. We needn't worry about it anymore. He will come to this exact moment in time when he travels here. But, we can't be present because of the grandfather paradox."

She grabbed my arm like a proper Victorian maiden. I had gotten over the case of wobbly legs that my allegedly submissive wife had just had caused. I looked around the room. They were all lying there peacefully except the Athenian male. His skull was cracked.

I had the totally inappropriate thought, "I just killed Jack the Ripper!!"

We walked up the long hallway. Maria was gliding along next to me. I sensed a psychic disturbance in the room behind us. Carlos and his men must have arrived. The two murderous Athenians would disappear forever. Flashman and Mrs. Churchill would wake to post-coital bliss and no memory of what had almost occurred.

We walked into the main salon separately. We didn't want to draw any suspicion. Bertie came bounding over to Maria looking for all the world like an overweight Pepe-le-Pew. He took Maria's hand and said in a courtly tone, "I hope you found the facility my dear?"

It was hilarious. Even though Thomas Crapper was alive-and-well in that period, polite Victorian society never used his last name to describe that "facility." I was making my way around the room trying to figure out how to get Maria out of The Prince of Wale's lecherous clutches.

She was back to sitting on his couch and he was running his best seduction lines. I imagine, "How would you like to fuck the next King of England?" might play pretty well in most pick-up-joints. But, it was a waste of time with Maria.

That didn't mean she wasn't enjoying toying with him. She was giving Bertie an open-mouthed fuck-me stare that had him almost wetting himself. But he couldn't get her to move off the couch to do anything about it.

As I was chortling at that, a smooth, very controlled voice behind me said, "Where are you really from Sir?" I almost wet MYSELF. That was a question I couldn't answer.

I turned and Alice Keppel was looking at me, all cool and superior. She was a smashing beauty. No wonder Bertie had insisted that she be at his deathbed 22 years later. There was something in the contrast between her exquisite looks and the hint of no-holds-barred sex that reminded me of another great beauty; one I happened to be married to.

I tried to act charming as I stuck out my hand and said, "Mark Twain at your service madam."

Keppel took it smiling sarcastically. My boorish behavior was just so deliciously Yankee. Men didn't shake hands with women in Victorian England. If you did, it made them your equal. She said, "I KNOW Mark Twain, and you're not him. Now who are you really?"

I thought, "Damn!! I had to run into the only overbred society airhead who was actually literary and intelligent."

But I said, "Samuel Langhorne Clemens uses the same moniker. It's a writer's thing and I'm a writer too."

Keppel looked disbelieving and said, "So what have you actually written that I might have heard of?"

I thought, "And she's smart too." But, I said, "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court is my best-known novel." I knew that Twain wouldn't publish that until next year. That would give Keppel something to think about.

She looked me over searchingly and said, "There's something about you that I can't work out. It's almost like you are from another place, or time." I thought, "Oh my God! This woman is incredibly smart, which makes her very dangerous."

I laughed self-effacingly and said, "That's because I'm from Wisconsin. That's a place that time forgot."

She looked at me skeptically, like she still couldn't put her finger on what was troubling her. She finally said, "I'll be honest." Keppel was always honest. "I find you mysterious and exotic. Since Bertie has other amusements for the evening, perhaps you would like to tell me about your literary career up the hall in the drawing room."

That sounded like an offer I couldn't refuse. Except, I was already bonded for life to the most perfect woman in existence. Keppel was attractive. But she was hamburger compared to Maria's prime-rib.

I said with regret, "Unfortunately my sister and I have an engagement very early tomorrow. It will require us to retire soon. I was just about to retrieve her when we met." Keppel gave me a mysterious and knowing smile and said, "Your loss."

She turned and sashayed confidently away alluring round hips swinging with a sensual swagger as she walked. I thought, "What a woman!!"

I made my way through the increasingly drunken group around Bertie. The party looked like it was shaping up to be a right, proper, evening of debauchery. The Prince had gotten his arm around Maria and was staring mesmerized at her cleavage. It looked like he was about to offer her parts of his kingdom if she'd just fuck him.

I think that tactic actually worked for Anne Boleyn. But of course, we ALL know how that turned out.

Jenny Churchill appeared in the door. She had a freshly-fucked glow, which absolutely lit up the room. Everybody was drunk. So, nobody important noticed. She did the metaphoric walk of shame over to the Prince's circle. A few minutes later Flashman slouched in the door looking culpably nonchalant. He also joined the circle. Flashy and Jenny exchanged significant glances.

History records no further Churchill children. Nonetheless, I was wondering if there might be one that never made the record books. Particularly a boy with dashing light-cavalry whiskers, a bullying streak, and a decidedly fainthearted approach to any form of threat.

More importantly it was clear that the two of them didn't have residual memories of fearsome aliens with soulless eyes and murderous intentions.

If Flashman thought of Maria at all, it would be her incredible tits, not the psychic powers that saved his ass. And since Jenny Churchill was still free to foster her son's rise to power, there wouldn't be any Nazi thugs goose-stepping their way down Piccadilly.

I sent Maria a psychic signal. She sent back, "Wait" and made a show of reluctantly unwrapping herself from HRH Albert Edward's horney clutches. As she did that, she left him with the impression that she was dying to fuck him but duty called.

I understood what she was doing. She was cementing her legend as the mysterious femme-fatale who had stolen the Prince's heart, never to be seen again. She was unabashedly my woman. But beautiful women like to leave their mark. Ask Cinderella.

Maria swept up to me with Bertie following in her wake begging her to stay. She turned to him, took his hands in hers and said, "I must leave tonight. But, there will be other nights." Then she laid a goodbye kiss smack on his lips that had steam coming out of his ears. It was a little something to remember her by.

The Prince stood there thunderstruck. She turned to me and said, "Come brother, we can't keep Papa waiting." We exited Marlborough House like it was striking midnight.

The coach and four traveled no more than three blocks up the Mall and onto Horse Guards. An incredibly handsome man was standing by the curb; at the point where Downing Street intersects Horse Guards Road. I knocked on the roof with my cane and said, "Drop us here my good man." I was really getting into that Victorian upper-class jive-thing.

Carlos greeted us as we disembarked. He said cheerily, let's walk down a little further into St. James Park, shall we? We walked into the pitch dark of the park crossing the little causeway and into the thick trees of the island.

I had to use my little flashlight to keep from breaking my neck. Maria and Carlos seemed to be using the psychic senses because they walked along in front of me like it was broad daylight.

When we got to the very middle of the island Carlos said, "Stand back to back."

He was talking to me. It was obvious both Atlanteans knew the drill. He withdrew something that looked like a larger version of the time dilation pod and the next thing I knew we were in the room on Carlos's yacht. There wasn't even a flash-bang.

It was too much. My senses whirled. My circuits blew. And I passed out colder than a mackerel. The conquering hero had returned.

*****

We were sitting at a four-top on the beach terrace at Latitudes. Carlos's captain had ferried us over to Sunset Key on the Poseidon's Chris-Craft. We didn't want to take the ferry to the island with all of the yuppie riffraff from Mallory Square.

The entire room was staring at the perfection on display. I stood out from that group like my tug does among the sleek mega-yachts. I'm anything but beautiful.

Carlos was in a natty summer-weight tropical suit, as exotically handsome as usual. Carla was wearing a little black dress that only served to emphasize her incredible body. She's the High Priestess of Cleito; the Mother of all Atlanteans. There has probably never been a woman as incredibly voluptuous.

Maria was in an understated taupe silk dress that highlighted her almost lethal feline grace, long legs, lithe body and perfectly proportioned tits. Her amber cat-eyes were full of excitement as she told the story.

Carla was leaning toward her fascinated. She might be 1,057 years old, AND my mother-in-law, but I was fascinated by the sheer size of her boobs. Being the high-priestess of a fertility goddess has its rewards. A voice in my head said mildly, "Stop staring at my mother's tits! You're getting embarrassing!!"

Carlos explained the reason why the Athenians tried to frame Flashman. It seems that, on his ninetieth birthday the old boy had journeyed over to Downing Street to try to convince H. H. Asquith NOT to declare war on Germany. He failed in that effort. But the Athenians wanted to hedge their bets anyhow; just in case he succeeded this time around.

The Athenians needed the FIRST World War, for Hitler to come to power for the SECOND. So, they hoped to metaphorically kill two birds with one stone by making Flashman Jenny Churchill's murderer. As I said, it was a complex and ingenious plot.

Carlos said, "We weren't aware of this Flashman character until we spotted the alternative time-line anomaly. He was an interesting man. His life is well documented in Lady Churchill's bestselling book, if you are interested in reading it."

I said astounded, "Jenny Churchill wrote a book about Flashman's life!!???"

Carlos looked at me puzzled and said, "No, Elspeth Churchill, Jenny's daughter. She was Winston Churchill's sister. She was fifteen years younger than Winston. She was a very well-known writer and historian. She died in 1975."

Carlos continued without missing a beat, "Lord Randolph Churchill was Elspeth's father. Nobody knows why his daughter was so dedicated to chronicling the life of an old Victorian soldier instead of him. Perhaps it was to set the record straight after what Tom Brown said about Flashman."

I did the math. To my credit I didn't fall out of my chair. I thought questioningly, "Was I there when it happened." I wondered what ELSE was different about my modern world.

We ate and talked and Carlos presented both of us with some kind of Atlantean medal. It was a nice trinket to commemorate my first, time-travel adventure. But I already had all the reward I could ever want. She was sitting next to me in all of her sleek, gorgeous, self-contained glory.

I had no idea where life would lead us. Being more-or-less immortal I knew there were a lot of adventures in front of us. I also knew that the two of us would face them together.

But right that moment, the only thing that was important was the sweet little voice that was clamoring for attention in my head. I heard Maria say, with deep motherly affection, "Don't disturb daddy, honey. You'll have to wait until your born before he can give you a hug."