Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 1.

By Sopwith

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in this work. This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline. 

Detective Inspector James Bigglesworth, known as "Biggles” to his many friends and enemies, stretched in his chair and yawned. "It's almost ten o' clock," he observed. "If Raymond doesn't come in ten more minutes, I'm going up to bed. We've been waiting for two hours. I wonder why he didn't call to say it would take so long."

"Perhaps he's in a meeting," suggested Flying Constable "Ginger" Hebblethwaite.

"Perhaps."

"I hope he isn't going to think up some bally mission for us to toddle off to again," remarked Lord Bertie Lissie. "We just got back from South Africa, and that wasn't much fun, no, by jove.!"

"You exaggerate," chided Biggles, with a slight smile. "It wasn't a picnic, but it wasn't as bad as you made it out to be."

"My jolly old clothes got in a frightful mess, what?"

"Only because you were idiotic enough to jump in the river when I joked about it," said Algy, grinning. "You could have just hid in a bush, like I did."

"The blighters might have started hitting the bushes, what?" murmured Bertie reproachfully.

A knock sounded on the door of their headquarters, and Biggles got to his feet. "That must be Raymond.” He opened the door and grinned somewhat ruefully at his chief. "Come in, sir. Take a pew."

Raymond settled himself into his chair and lit his pipe thoughtfully. "I'm sorry to be so late," he apologized. "The situation was rather...unusual."

"I take it that means you're expecting us to head out to the deepest jungles or highest mountains," said Biggles.

The Air Commodore smiled faintly. "Well, not both, hopefully. But yes, I do need you to go somewhere."

Bertie groaned. "My bally clothes will get dirty again before they have a chance to dry, what?"

"You'd notice if we left you behind," remarked Ginger.

Bertie glared at Ginger through his monocle but did not reply.

"This...quest, if I may use the word," said Raymond slowly, "is quite a strange one.'

"How strange?"

"Well, to put it plainly, I'd like you to rescue a princess from a nestful of dragons."

&&&

There was a pause.

Biggles' eyebrows rose comically. "I must be getting deaf in my old age, sir. I could have sworn I heard you say we were supposed to go rescue a princess from a nest of dragons."

"You aren't getting deaf," said Raymond.

"That's what I was afraid of," murmured Biggles. "Dare I ask what sort of dragon?"

"The fire-breathing sort."

"Ah."

"I'd better explain. On a certain island off the South American coast..."

"Africa today, America tomorrow, what?" said Bertie.

Raymond ignored him. "As I was saying, on this island, there exists a certain breed of lizard that 'breathes fire'. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it breathes acid. You see, the saliva of this lizard happens to contain a very acid substance, and when the lizard gets frightened or angry, it spits."

"And whoever gets hit gets hurt, eh?" said Biggles.

"Yes. The wounds are painful, and in the humid atmosphere, they are easily infected. Which means that getting hit is close to signing a death warrant."

Algy shifted in his chair. "I don’t suppose there's such a commodity as a spit-proof vest or mask?"

"No. And the thing about these lizards is, they're very hard to spot among the plants and things, so it's easy to trod on one. They're a bit like snakes in that respect."

Ginger shuddered. He hated snakes.

"And what about the princess?" asked Biggles. "Is she a lizard too?"

"No. She's a diamond."

"Really, old boy?" murmured Bertie, thoughtfully. "Tell us more. Diamonds, by jove."

The Air Commodore shook his head. "Not diamonds in the plural, my boy. Just one. Known to the public as the Princess, it belonged-belongs-to Lord Robert Ackbury. Or to be more accurate, it belongs to his wife, Lady Margaret."

"And how do we come into this?" inquired Algy. "Why not just send a boat over to the island and pick it up?"

"Aeroplanes are quicker," replied Raymond. "And I believe it's all but impossible to get onto the island if you go over in a boat. It's sheer cliff on all sides."

"I'm more interested in how the perishing diamond got there in the first place," put in Ginger. "It seems a funny sort of place to bring a diamond to. Did Lord Ackbury drop it, or something?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I haven't been entirely frank with you..."

"Then it would be best to start now, sir," suggested Biggles.

"The fact is, no one knows what the diamond looks like, where it is, or how to get it. No one's ever seen it before."

&&&

In the dead silence that greeted this unusual statement, Biggles lit a cigarette. He smoked for a few minutes without speaking, watching the smoke spiral toward the ceiling with an unreadable expression. Then, he said, sarcastically, "Let me get this straight, sir. You want us to fly over to an island infested with acid breathing lizards for the purpose of gathering a diamond that no one has any information on?"

"That's right."

"I don't want to state the obvious," put in Algy. "But if no one has ever laid eyes on it, how do we even know it's there? Even if it is there, how in the world are we supposed to find it when we have no idea where it is anyway?"

"Bally mess, what?" agreed Bertie, polishing his monocle.

"I know it sounds fantastic," said the Air Commodore.

"It doesn't sound fantastic," said Biggles softly. "It sounds impossible. I would also be interested to know how our nobleman's jewellery relates to us."

Raymond shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, Bigglesworth...the fact of it is, Lord Ackbury has been rather generous with the Prime Minister over a matter of national importance. This is the PM's way of repaying him."

"Indeed?" Biggles blew more smoke at the ceiling, his face bland. "I'm sorry, sir, but I must confess that I don't really see my way to risking my neck over a matter of politics. I have no trouble fighting in wars and spying on the enemy for the sake of my country, but frankly, this matter is simply a whim of the Prime Minister's. If some other blighter is silly enough to break his neck looking for a needle in a volcano haystack, that's his business, but I'm not going to."

“That is your decision, of course,” acknowledged the Air Commodore. “Between you and me, I’m glad you refused. It sounds like a wild goose chase to me, and there are certain political issues concerned that, well, let’s just say that the paperwork would be considerable.”

“Best for all of us, then.”

“Quite,” said Raymond, reaching for his hat. “Good night.”

Ginger waited until the door had closed behind Raymond before bursting excitedly into speech. “A diamond no one’s ever seen, surrounded by fire-breathing dragons! Raymond must be losing his mind!”

“Or the PM has,” put in Algy.

“What’s it matter, anyway?” observed Biggles matter-of-factly. “We’re not going, so there’s an end to it. Well, I’m going to bed. Good night, everyone.”

Go to Chapter 2.

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents