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like water.
    Dignitaries and aides rushed to his side, attempting to console the stricken Prince, little realising that no consolation would be sufficient.
    Burns said, “Now to Buckingham Palace!” and together he and the Sentinel left the cover of the loom and slipped through the chaotic melee.
    As they crossed Hyde Park at a run, the Sentinel said, “I fear my time in this guise is limited, Burns. Here, take the disequaliser. You know what to do.”
    A minute later they climbed aboard a Hansom and sped north.
    ~
    T ommy Newton would recall the next fifteen minutes for the rest of his long life.
    The last thing he recalled was the interior of the strange sunken vessel, the wizened, staring manikin, and the sudden lethargy that had overtaken him. Then, as if suddenly awakening, he found himself no longer aboard the vessel but crouched behind a screen in what he took to be a toff’s bedroom, going by the bulky outline of the four-poster bed illuminated in the dim lamp-light.
    The next he knew, someone was gripping his elbow and breathing into his ear. “Fear not, Tommy,” said Bartholomew Burns. “All is well. Keep quiet and do exactly as I say. Understood?”
    Tommy nodded, then realising his gesture could not be seen, whispered, “Understood, guv.” He paused, then said, “One thing – where the ’ell are we?”
    Burns murmured, his breath hot in Tommy’s ear, “You might find this hard to believe, Tommy, but we are in Queen Victoria’s bed-chamber.”
    “Bleedin’ ’ell!” Tommy expostulated. “And how did I come to be here?”
    “That, Tommy, is what is known as a long story. Suffice it to say that we are engaged in a mission to save the life of Prince Albert himself.”
    Tommy goggled up at Burns’s dim outline, and only then noticed that the man was gripping what looked like some sort of bulbous pistol.
    “You mean, someone’s going to break in and threaten his Highness’s life?”
    It was a second before the reply came. “Not exactly, Tommy. Soon, I hope, Prince Albert will return, and then I will render him... unconscious.” Burns gestured with the weapon. “That, I hope, will be sufficient to save the day.”
    “You’re talking in riddles, mister, is all I can say.”
    “Shh!” Burns said.
    Tommy stiffened as, from beyond the screen, someone gave a muffled moan, and then resumed snoring. Tommy chanced a peek around the brocaded screen and made out a humped figure lying on its back in the bed, genteel snores issuing from its small, pointed nose.
    “Is that...?” he began.
    “No other,” Burns responded.
    “Lord strike me sightless!” Tommy gasped.
    He shook his head. Just this morning he had slept the sleep of the innocent in his barrel home, and now here he was in Queen Victoria’s bed-chamber.
    Burns gripped his arm again, warning him to caution. A sound came from across the room, the quiet lifting of a latch. The door creaked open and a tall figure appeared briefly in the doorway. It crossed the room, illuminated by the covered lamp beside the bed. Tommy was aware of his increased heartbeat – wait till he told Ratty and Miller about this... not that they’d believe a word, of course.
    Prince Albert paused by the bed. He seemed stooped, not his usual upright, imperious self. His hand went to his brow and he wept quietly. It was as if he were a broken man, and Tommy wondered what tragedy might have occurred to bring about this transformation.
    He glanced up at Burns, at the weapon in his hand, and he wondered if he should leap out now and warn the Prince, for all Burns’s assurances that good was on his side.
    He was wracked by indecision as he crouched behind the screen and watched as Prince Albert slowly disrobed. Soon the worthy was down to his unmentionables and his garters, and then even these had been removed – and Tommy felt grateful that the light from the bedside lamp was dim.
    All that the Prince now wore was a chain about his neck, at the end of which hung a