“Mr. Splunk,” she said. “They’re going to execute me.”
“Good grief,” he said. “Ain’t you got a barrister?”
“I don’t know anyone. And I don’t have any money.”
“Well then,” he said. “You need the Greater and Smaller London Legal Aid Society.”
“What?”
“They help indigents. I ain’t never needed them—well, once or twice—no, several times—er, fine, perhaps a dozen times. They’re good and they’ll take your case for nothing.”
This was the first ray of sunshine she’d had in a while. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “You sound innocent.”
“So do you,” she said.
“Don’t be fooled,” he said. “Crime is in my blood. Truth be told I kind of like it. I wouldn’t admit that to no one but you though, so don’t go tellin’ people.”
She was about to blurt out, “Then why are you partners with Earful?” but she caught herself. “You sound nice even so.”
“Oh I’m nice,” he said. “I’m just a crook.”
She called for Lestrade again but the guard told her he’d gone home and if she knew what was good for her she’d get some sleep. She closed her eyes and managed to get a couple of hours, but it was so cold and uncomfortable that she couldn’t relax.
In the morning she heard a commotion and saw two guards march past her cell. A moment later they came back the other way, one on each side of a handcuffed man with pink hair and an earring. As he passed her cell Micajah Splunk gave her a wink and blew her a kiss.
“You’re a nice lass,” he said. “Good luck.”
As he left with the guards she felt a tear run down her face. She wished she could get to know Micajah Splunk better. If she ever got out of there she’d tell Ramon what a nice man his great-great grandfather was.
After seeing Sherlock Holmes Nick couldn’t sleep. He kept imagining Amanda’s lovely face, her beautiful dress covered with blood. He thought about the events of the evening—the party, the horrible Mrs. Parrot, the monster, the Doohickeys. Then there was Holmes: cool, aloof, cryptic as always. Everything depended on him—and Simon. If they failed . . . he didn’t want to contemplate the possibility.
Perhaps he could break her out of jail. It would be a challenge with all those police around but he might be able to pull it off. And then what? Live their lives as fugitives? He’d done it before, but that had been him alone. How could he damn Amanda to a life like that, always looking over her shoulder, feeling that it was his fault? And yet the evidence was looking bad. It might be the only way.
At the crack of dawn he stashed her everyday clothes, the ones they’d bought that first day, into a sack and made his way back to Scotland Yard. When he arrived they told him he’d have to wait until 8:00 to see her. Visitors weren’t allowed before that.
He wished there were a Starbucks nearby. It was too early for the cafes to be open, but he had seen a street vendor setting up. He left the station and retraced his steps, purchased a cuppa, and drank it on the spot. Then he returned to the Yard and parked himself on a bench in the foyer to wait.
At 8:00 o’clock he approached the DC on duty and asked to see Amanda. The man checked his bag, frisked him, and said, “Ten minutes.” Then he called a guard.
Nick found himself being guided down a dingy, smelly corridor that seemed to go on forever. At last he found himself at Amanda’s cell. The guard stepped back against the wall and waited.
Amanda was wearing what looked like a hospital gown. She ran to the bars and stuck both arms through as far as they would go. Nick grasped her hands and kissed them, then kissed her lips. He stuck the sack between his knees, reached his arms through, and pulled her to him.
“Oh, Nick,” she said, holding him.
“Guard,” he said. “I want to give her these clothes.”
“She can have them later,” said the guard. “Give me that sack.” Nick was about to argue but decided it wasn’t worth it. He threw the sack over.
“How are you?” he said, reaching in and holding her again.
“About as you’d expect,” she said. “Why didn’t you come? I thought you were dead.”
“They wouldn’t let me see you.”
She made a face he could feel next to his skin. “That Lestrade. I was right about him. He really is a twit.”
“I’ve been to see Sherlock Holmes,” he whispered. “He’s taken our case.”
“You have? He did?”
“Yes. He told me he needs to see the body and to come back at ten this morning.”
“I don’t think Lestrade will let him do that,” she said. “He’s a piece of work.”
“I got the impression it wouldn’t be a problem,” Nick said.
“I suppose Lestrade owes him quite a few favors. Is there any other news?”
“I encountered another monster last night. It was menacing a couple in Marylebone. I took them to see Holmes too.”
“Really? Then no one was hurt?”
“No. I managed to scare it away.”
“Good for you.” She kissed him again.
“I’d like Holmes to examine your clothes.”
“They took them. I made such a fuss about having to wear them that they went and found me this.” She clutched the garment she was wearing. “It’s yucky but not as bad as mine.”
“Then I need to get hold of them,” he said, eyeing the shift. It really was pathetic. Amanda was tough but he didn’t like seeing her like that. She deserved better.
“Good luck. Why do you want them? There’s no way to get DNA in this time.”
“I have a feeling they’ll still be useful.”
“There’s some blood on my bra.” She reached into the armhole of her garment and pulled out a strap.
“That will do,” he said.
She stuck her hands into the back opening and unhooked her bra. Then she inserted them into the armholes and somehow wriggled out of it. He couldn’t imagine how she’d done that. She handed him the bra and he stuffed it into his pocket, duly impressed. The guard didn’t seem to notice.
“I wish Simon would work his magic,” she said. “You know we could send him messages. He’s probably watching us.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, feeling like an idiot. He was definitely off his game. “Great idea!”
She squeezed his hand. It was driving him crazy that he couldn’t hold her without iron between them.
“Time!” yelled the guard.
Amanda looked crestfallen. Nick reached through the bars and stroked her face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I love you,” she said.
“I am yours and you are mine,” he whispered.
16
Simon Gets Emotional
Simon was going bananas. He was sitting at the history machine, watching Nick talk to Sherlock Holmes and following Lestrade interrogating Amanda, yelling, “Break her out of there, you idiot!”
How had it not occurred to Nick to do that? Normally he was all about action but now he was nothing but talk. Consulting Sherlock Holmes was all well and good—brilliant in fact—but he was wrong for the situation. If Simon had been in his place he would have swooped in and freed her in the dead of night, not gone running to a brain man. He’d have busted right out of there with her in his arms, and then Ivy would look up at him and say—er, Binnie would look up at him. No, Amanda would say . . . Dammit! Why couldn’t he get Ivy out of his head? Because she was the most beautiful, talented, smart, perfect girl in the world, that was why.
He glanced at the most perfect girl in the world sitting with Nigel across the common room and his heart pounded. She looked up as if seeing something she couldn’t possibly see.
“What is it, Simon?” she said.
How in the world? “What’s what?” he said.
“You were going to say something,” she said.
“No I wasn’
t.”
“My mistake then,” she said, and went back to her tablet.
Simon exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He turned back to his history machine but she monopolized his peripheral vision. She was positively ethereal, a right angel in that green dress of hers, her red hair flowing over her shoulders like some pre-Raphaelite painting. He wanted to take her in his arms and worship her.
At that moment Dreidel entered the common room, swept the ethereal being into his arms, and kissed her passionately. Simon turned away. He couldn’t bear watching Ivy with anyone else.
“I’m sorry,” he said to his beloved loud enough for Simon to hear.
“For what?” she said.
“For being jealous. I was an idiot.”
“I didn’t notice anything,” she said.
“Then never mind,” said Dreidel. “It won’t happen again.”
“Nuts,” thought Simon. He’d half been wishing for an argument. How wonderful it would be if they broke up as Clive had suggested. Then the way would be clear for him.
Except for one thing.
It was at that moment that Binnie, the one thing and the girl he supposedly loved, walked in with an armful of books.
“Hi, babe,” she said sweetly. “I’m doing a little physics research.”
She looked so bright and happy and Simon felt so guilty and miserable. Why did people stuff have to be so hard? Science was easy. That was how life should be—black and white. No mess.
He breathed deeply, put on his most cheerful face, and said, “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
“I’ve been over every circuit, every switch, every gate,” said Clive, watching the action and shaking his head. He was sitting next to Simon and spoke low so no one else could hear. “I cannot figure out how it happened.”
“It’s Hugh,” said Simon. “His interference is the wild card. We really could have used his help.”
“Well he’s dead,” said Clive. “However . . .”
“I don’t like that look,” said Simon, catching the expression on his face.
“You aren’t going to like what I’m about to suggest,” said Clive.
Simon eyed his best friend. There was definitely something off about him and he didn’t like it.
“No, no, no,” he said, suddenly realizing what Clive had in mind. “We are not going to bring Ramon in on this.”
“What could it hurt?” said Clive. “We have nothing to lose.”
“There are no ghosts and we are not going to try to contact one,” said Simon.
“You don’t know that,” said Clive.
Simon gave him a dirty look. “We’re wasting valuable time.”
“It doesn’t have to be a waste of time,” said Clive. “You and I don’t have to be involved. We can keep working.”
“I can’t stop him if that’s what he wants to do,” said Simon. “But I’m not going to sanction it.”
“That’s all I ask,” said Clive.
“That’s all I ask,” Simon mimicked.
Clive frowned. “What is your problem, mate?”
“It’s sitting right in front of me,” said Simon.
“Thanks a lot,” said Clive.
“Not you. My history machine, you stupid git.”
“You’re the git,” said Clive. He lowered his voice even more. “You need to forget about Ivy and appreciate what you’ve got.”
That enraged Simon so much that he stood up, threw down his phone with a clunk, and stormed out of the common room.
“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy, Ivy, Ivy,” he thought. “I cannot get her out of my mind. As a result I may be dooming Amanda and Nick to who knows what?”
He had half a mind to march right back in there, pick Ivy up, and run off with her. Maybe then he’d be able to concentrate. But he obviously was not going to do that. Instead he sent a text to Scapulus asking him if he could see Professor Redleaf’s computer, the one Hugh had managed to deform the previous year. Perhaps there would be some artifact of the event that would help solve the problem.
“I’ve been all over it but you’re welcome to try,” said Scapulus. “Meet me in the dining room.”
A few minutes later the two boys were sitting with cups of tea and the object in question.
“I’ve bombarded it with every kind of wave imaginable,” said Scapulus. “X-rays, MRI, cat scan, infrared, radio, sonar, even brainwaves. I cannot see a difference between this screen and any other. It’s as though nothing ever happened to it.”
“Do you think it was an illusion?” said Simon.
“I’ve considered that,” said Scapulus. “But Nick and Amanda disappearing certainly wasn’t. And that black shadow wasn’t either.”
“How do you know?” said Simon.
“How do I know everything that happened two days ago wasn’t an illusion?” said Scapulus. “Because Amanda and Nick are still gone, for one thing. And we’ve watched them in the past.”
“It does seem real,” said Simon.” But what if they’re just invisible?”
“And mute? Come on, Simon.”
“I’m just trying out ideas. What if they’re simply out of phase, like happened on Star Trek with Ensign Ro and Geordie?”
“Come on, mate,” said Scapulus. “You’re getting carried away.”
“It makes more sense than Ramon’s ghost nonsense.”
“Perhaps.” Scapulus played with the keys, lost in thought. “What if this all really is an illusion after all? A mass hallucination.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Simon.
“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”
“The Moriartys. Maybe they brainwashed all of us into seeing things the way they did to Amanda.” He shook his head as if that would clear it.
“I was thinking the same thing. Signals Hugh sent electronically.”
“Wow,” said Simon. “That would be mental.”
“Literally,” said Scapulus.
“Which might mean that Amanda and Nick really are still here.”
“Wouldn’t we have bumped into them though? Surely there would be some evidence.”
“You’d think so. And they would have to have been brainwashed too. Maybe they think we went to the past instead of them.”
Just then Ramon came hurtling through the dining room door.
“No go,” he said. “Hugh’s alive.”
“What’s happened?” said Scapulus. “How do you know?”
“I couldn’t contact him,” said Ramon. Scapulus and Simon exchanged a look. Ramon shook his head. “Cut it out. I know what you’re thinking.”
“And that is?” said Simon.
“That there are no ghosts so how could I contact him?”
“Correcto,” said Simon.
“Philistine,” said Ramon. “The ether is completely different when someone is dead. You may or may not be able to contact them but you can tell they’re dead.”
“Oh really?” said Simon. “Sounds pretty convenient.”
“Why do I waste my talents on you?” said Ramon. “I’m telling you Hugh is alive. Blixus too.”
“Oh now it’s Blixus too, is it?” said Simon.
“I give up,” said Ramon, shaking his head and walking out the door.
“What a berk,” said Simon.
“Agreed,” said Scapulus.” But I think he might be right.”
Simon looked at him as if he had a horn growing out of his forehead. “Say what?”
“I think Hugh is alive.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the electricity in the air has increased overnight. Either it’s another of his time bombs or he’s manipulating it himself.”
17
Holmes and Nick Investigate
When Nick met Holmes at 10:00 the detective said, “Your young lady did not kill Mrs. Parrot.” He was sitting in his red velvet chair smoking his pipe and looking pleased with himself.
“You have proof?” sai
d Nick, a little stunned but encouraged.
“Some,” said Holmes. “The stab wounds were made after death. Post-mortem wounds don’t bleed.”
“But there was blood all over her clothes,” said Nick.
“Indeed,” said Holmes.
“Then how is that possible?”
“I asked to examine the clothing,” said Holmes.” Unfortunately the good inspector did not see fit to grant my request.”
“Doesn’t he owe you?” said Nick.
Holmes gave him a look that would freeze a pond in thirty seconds.
“Mr. Muffet, just because you know about my life does not mean you’re entitled to pry.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Nick. “I forgot myself. I’m just desperate to save Amanda.”
Holmes relit his pipe and began to puff even harder. The tobacco smell was sweet and tickled Nick’s nostrils. “Tell me more about this history machine.”
“It’s complicated,” said Nick, who had only skimmed the subject in their previous discussion. He was pretty sure this question was going to come sooner or later though.
“Try me,” said Holmes drily.
So Nick told him about Simon’s device in as much detail as he knew. Some of it was guesswork but it seemed logical based on what Simon had told him.
“Well then,” said Holmes matter-of-factly. “All your Mr. Binkle needs to do is reverse the process.”
“Tell that to him,” said Nick, not really thinking about what Holmes was saying.
“I just did,” said Holmes. “Now we’ll see if he’s really on the ball.”
Nick sat there stunned for a moment. Holmes was even smarter than he’d thought. There seemed to be no limit to his intellect.
Nick looked up into the air and addressed his friend who wasn’t there. “Simon, have you got that? Reverse the process.”
“In the meantime,” Holmes continued, “since I don’t have access to Miss Lester’s clothing I will need to visit the crime scene.”
“Oh, but you do,” said Nick. He reached in his pocket and pulled out Amanda’s bra with the blood on it.
Holmes stared at the bra. “If I didn’t already know you were from the future I would now.”
Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror Page 20