“I’m afraid you’re in for a long night, but it should be instructive. After all, we are going to the British Museum!” Moriarty chuckled, as though he had said something amusing. Mary was not amused.
“Is it really necessary to bring them?” asked Mrs. Raymond, frowning. Whereas before her frown had looked formidable, now it seemed petulant. “You’re taking a risk—”
“Oh, I doubt Miss Jekyll and Miss Frankenstein will do anything foolish,” said Moriarty. “After all, they would not leave without Holmes, and he is coming with us. Isn’t he, Colonel?” He looked toward the door behind them. Mary turned, then drew in her breath sharply. There was Colonel Moran, with two of his underlings holding up Sherlock Holmes between them. Those were the two men who had captured them—so altogether there were five guards, all armed. Mary noted their number automatically. Holmes was upright, but not standing on his own feet—slumped forward as though drunk, with his knees bent, hanging from the arms of the two men on either side of him. What in the world was wrong with him? Behind them came another man, rather nondescript—she barely noticed him. Her attention was on the detective.
Instinctively, she took a step toward him. Holmes looked up and said “Mary…” in a slurred voice. He tried to take a step forward, but stumbled so the men on either side had to hold him up more firmly.
“What have you done to Mr. Holmes?” asked Justine.
“Nothing he hasn’t done to himself before, I assure you,” said Moriarty, with a sort of sneering satisfaction. “Or were you not aware of his less reputable activities, Miss Jekyll? Of his, let us say, addictions?”
“What do you mean?” Mary balled up her fists. She wished she were close enough to hit him.
Moriarty looked at her in mock surprise. “Why, Miss Jekyll, you don’t seem to know as much about Mr. Holmes as I assumed, judging by your intimacy with him.”
Intimacy? What in the world did he mean by that?
“In the depth of his drugged sleep, he called out your name. ‘Mary, Mary,’ he called, over and over again. Evidently, you’re said to be his assistant, or so my associates have determined. You see, I have done some research since we captured you and your friends. That’s a novel and interesting use of the term. I’m sure he will want to see your face before he dies, just as I’m sure you will want to be there for his last moments.”
Oh, the man was odious! If only Mary could—what? Nothing, she could do nothing. She imagined sending a bullet, neatly and precisely, through the center of his forehead.
Moriarty laughed. “If looks could kill, Miss Jekyll! But they can’t, can they?”
“Mr. Holmes doesn’t look right,” said Mrs. Raymond. “He should be—I don’t know. He’s too conscious, considering the dose.”
He didn’t look conscious to Mary! He raised his head for a moment and stared at her, but his eyes seemed glazed over, as though he could not recognize what was in front of him. Alice’s message had said they were keeping him drugged. This must be the effect of the narcotic. Well, it was better than him being sick, or perhaps injured! But it hurt her to see him in that condition.
“You bloody bastard!” said Diana. “You’re damn right we’re not leaving here without him—or Alice.” She sprang toward Moriarty, as though about to attack him, despite the fact that her hands were still tied together. Justine was just quick enough to catch the back of her jacket, although her own hands were tied as well. Oh, stupid Diana! What in the world was she trying to do, get herself killed? She struggled—but suddenly her forward momentum ceased. Justine had picked her up by her jacket collar, as a mother cat might pick up her kitten.
Diana kicked and flailed in Justine’s grasp. “Put me down, you oversized scarecrow!” She continued to struggle for another moment, then hung limp and defeated. With a little shake, as though in warning, Justine put her down again.
“I suggest you keep Diana under control,” said Mrs. Raymond in icy tones. “Colonel Moran will not hesitate to shoot her. As for Alice—by which you mean my daughter Lydia—she has no desire to return with you. Do you? Tell them, Lydia.”
Alice looked up at her, and then at Mary. For a moment, she seemed uncertain what to say. “No, Mother,” she said finally. “I would like to stay with you and Miss Trelawny.” Her voice sounded sincere enough, but her eyes looked cautious, as though she had to be careful of what she was saying. At least, that is how they looked to Mary. Was Alice truly declaring her loyalty to Mrs. Raymond, who was, after all, her mother? Or was she being coerced?
“You ungrateful little rat,” said Diana. “How could you? We came here to rescue you!”
“Be quiet, Diana!” said Justine. Mary had never heard her speak so forcefully.
Abruptly, Diana shut up. Thank the Lord for small mercies, thought Mary.
“That’s quite enough,” said Moriarty. “Come, it is time we left. Margaret will have everything prepared. The others are meeting us in the exhibit hall. Mr. Harker, your client, Lord Godalming, and Dr. Seward are already there waiting for us. I suggest you take your umbrella. We expect to be there all night, and it may rain when we return tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Harker! Moriarty must mean the nondescript man, who was now nervously putting on his hat and placing an umbrella under one arm. So this was Mina’s husband? He was attractive, in a washed-out, weak-chinned sort of way. Quite the opposite of Dracula. Would Mina be any happier with the Count? Mary did not know. But at least the Count would not have looked so thoroughly cowed by Moriarty! She imagined, with pleasure, Count Dracula drinking the professor’s blood.
LUCINDA: I believe the Count would have spit it out in distaste. He is most particular about his source of nourishment.
“As for Miss Jekyll, Miss Frankenstein, and Miss Hyde,” continued Professor Moriarty, “I suggest you ladies walk in the middle of our little group so the inhabitants of Soho, should we pass any, do not notice that you are my prisoners. As it is dinnertime, I suspect we shall parade through the streets largely unnoticed. If you attempt to escape, Mr. Hoskins will immediately shoot Mr. Holmes. But why would you want to miss the spectacle that awaits? You are about to witness the greatest scientific experiment in modern times. It will alter the world we live in more than any vaccine, more than the steam engine or telegraph. It will give us a source of unlimited power, and with it, we will change the world! Tonight, we will summon the Great God Pan.”
“Bollocks,” said Diana, but under her breath, so only Mary, and she imagined Justine, could hear it. It was very much what she would have liked to tell Moriarty herself. Instead she followed him and Mrs. Raymond out the front door. They walked, in a sort of armed cavalcade, into the London evening toward the British Museum where Moriarty would do—what? What in the world did it mean to summon the god Pan? He was the Greek god of nature, was he not? Surely he did not actually exist. Was it another of those ridiculous metaphors alchemists used for their experiments?
Alice was ahead of her, walking with Mrs. Raymond. Had she truly betrayed them? Surely not. And yet Mary could not be certain. She stole a quick glance behind, where Mr. Holmes was being half-dragged, half-carried between Colonel Moran’s men. He had called her name in his delirium.… If only she could help him! But there was nothing to do but follow after Moriarty and Mrs. Raymond. The sun was beginning to set above the rooftops, turning the buildings of Soho red and gold. She walked on beside Justine, who had a firm grip on Diana’s jacket so she could not launch some sort of sudden attack, and wondered what that night would bring.
CHAPTER X
At the British Museum
What should she do? Alice had no idea. Should she somehow try to help Mary? Or Mr. Holmes? But there was no way she could help them, not at the moment.
Mary, Diana, and Justine were sitting together, guarded by Colonel Moran. At least his henchmen had left—she imagined they were patrolling the museum, making certain no one interfered with the ceremony that was about to begin—a ritual to summon the Great God Pan, or what Helen had described
as the energic powers of the Earth. So far it did not look like much of a ceremony. No one was wearing special robes, no one was chanting an ancient litany in spectral tones. Compared to the books Alice liked to read at night, by candlelight before she went to sleep, the scene before her was not particularly impressive.
MRS. POOLE: You’ll ruin your eyes doing that, my girl.
They were in one of the large exhibition halls of the museum. It was filled with what she presumed were Egyptian artifacts, including a great many pots, most of them broken in one place or another. She would have liked to fix them with a bit of glue. She recognized some of them from the vision of Queen Tera’s tomb that Helen Raymond had conjured up. Just to make clear where they had all come from, there was a large sign by the door:
THE TRELAWNY EXHIBIT
VISIT THE TOMB OF QUEEN TERA
SPONSORED BY THE BRITISH ARCHAEOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION
AND THE EGYPT EXPLORATION FUND
Underneath was some information on the Ptolemaic Dynasty and the Temple of Isis at Philae. Alice had glanced at it briefly as they entered. She would have liked to read more, but there was no time now. She had only been to the British Museum once before, with Mrs. Poole, and wished she could wander around, looking at all the exhibition rooms—she had seen some very large statues of winged, bull-headed men that looked interesting. If she got out of this situation alive, she would most certainly have to come back. There was so much to see and learn! She did not want to be an ignorant kitchen maid all her life. I hope I live through this, she thought, looking at Margaret Trelawny dubiously. Thirteen seemed awfully young to die.
“Welcome, welcome,” Margaret said when they all entered, although she had looked with astonishment at the addition to their party of Mary, Diana, and Justine. She was wearing her black gown with the low neckline that showed off the scarab necklace to perfection. There had been a brief whispered conversation between her and Helen. Then she had nodded and gone back to bustling around the raised wooden platform at the center of the room, on which rested the stone sarcophagus of Queen Tera. It must have been difficult to get that large stone box all the way from Egypt to London! The lid was lying on the platform so you could see the painted carvings on it, and also look inside the sarcophagus to see the mummy of Queen Tera lying in her coffin. Alice had looked in quickly. Queen Tera was there all right, but she did not look as she had in the vision produced by her mother. This was a real mummy—all wrapped up in bandages that had been dried and darkened by the centuries. Strangely, however, as in the vision, her left hand had been left out of the wrappings. It had long ago turned into a wrinkled claw. It was still holding the golden ankh Alice had seen in the vision.
At the corners of that platform, and centered on three sides, were wooden pillars carved to resemble the lotus-topped columns of the Temple of Isis, seven in all. At the top of each pillar was a curiously shaped bowl. Margaret called them lamps, and she kept fussing with them, as though they needed to be positioned in just the right way.
The gentlemen were milling around—Lord Godalming talking to Dr. Seward, Dr. Raymond focusing intently on how Margaret was arranging the lamps, no doubt trying to memorize her movements for some Pan-summoning of his own, and Jonathan Harker sitting in the chair ordinarily occupied by a museum guard, looking a bit lost. Colonel Moran was standing beside Mary, Diana, and Justine, who were sitting on the floor, their wrists still tied together. He and Mr. Morris were showing each other their firearms, as though comparing their relative merits. Seriously, at a time like this, all they could think of was their guns? And Moriarty was pacing impatiently up and down, asking Margaret every five minutes if it was time yet. Alice was not a violent person, but she would have liked to smack him and tell him to stop. The noise of his boot heels clacking back and forth on the stone floor was distracting.
Alice cast an agonized glance down at Mr. Holmes. He was lying on the platform, where Moran’s henchmen had placed him. He seemed to be unconscious. Had her trick with the salt not helped him at all? Or perhaps there had been something wrong with the salt, some sort of impurity, and she had inadvertently poisoned him! She felt sick with worry. If only she could talk to Mary, tell her everything she had found out, everything Moriarty intended to do! Then Mary could advise her. Mary always had such useful, sensible advice! But if she betrayed Helen and Margaret in any obvious way, she would be tied up with Mary, Diana, and Justine, which would be no help to them at all. It had been horrible, letting everyone think she was in league with Mrs. Raymond, knowing what her friends must think of her. Diana had made her opinion perfectly clear!
What should she, what could she, do? Nothing, for the moment. She must just bide her time.
“We’re about to begin,” said Helen finally. How long had they been there? It already felt like hours. She took Alice’s hand. “You and I will help Margaret draw upon the energic powers locked in Queen Tera’s sarcophagus. You don’t need to do anything—I shall draw upon your power to amplify mine, as I did in the fight against those Baker Street ruffians. Do you understand, Lydia?”
“Yes, Mother,” said Alice, not at all sure what she was saying she understood. The energic powers in the tomb? Were they not drawing on the energic powers of the Earth itself?
“Place the sacrifice on the lid of the sarcophagus,” said Margaret.
Lord Godalming and Seward stepped forward, lifted Holmes by his hands and feet, and placed his body on the sarcophagus lid, spread-eagled so that his hands and feet were at the four corners. Holmes did not awaken.
Alice wished she understood more about what they meant. Were they going to drain the life out of him, as Professor Trelawny’s life had been drained? Would it take some time, or would it happen immediately? Would there be time for Alice to do anything? Involuntarily, she started moving toward Holmes, but her mother’s hand held hers as though in a steel vise.
“Please take your places, gentlemen,” said Margaret. “It is almost midnight. Let us begin the ceremony inscribed on the walls of Queen Tera’s tomb. In a moment, we will summon a power stronger than man has ever known. Are you ready?”
“Get on with it, Miss Trelawny,” said Moriarty impatiently. Like each of the other men, he was now standing by one of the seven pillars.
“As you wish,” said Margaret. She seemed to be smiling a particularly catlike smile. It reminded Alice of the smile painted on the mummified cat in Tera’s tomb. Margaret stepped onto the platform, stood next to the sarcophagus, and said, “Light the lamps.”
MARY: What was it about those lamps, anyway? Why were they so special?
BEATRICE: Ayesha told me it was not the lamps themselves, which were merely ceremonial objects, but the oil they contained. Certain substances have the power to amplify energic waves. Some crystals will do it, as will certain kinds of musical instruments. And there is a combination of cedar and other aromatic oils that the priestesses of Isis would use for that purpose.
ALICE: Also cod liver oil, believe it or not.
What were they doing with Mr. Holmes? Mary leaned forward to see. Perhaps if she stood up… Moriarty and Colonel Moran were now standing by two of those strange pillars, which were shaped like lotus flowers. There were seven pillars in all, and on top of each one was a bowl of some sort. One flared up—ah, they were lamps! Each of the men stood behind a pillar—one by one, they were lighting the lamps, which burned with a strange white flame. She had heard their names earlier, when Moriarty had told them what to do: Lord Godalming, Dr. Raymond, Mr. Morris, Mr. Harker, whom they had walked over to the museum with, and of course Dr. Seward. She was afraid Dr. Seward might recognize her as Miss Jenks from when she had visited the Purfleet Asylum with Mr. Holmes, but he had scarcely glanced at her. So that was the infamous Dr. Raymond? It did not surprise her that he was involved in this absurdity as well. There, now the last of the lamps were lit. Were they about to start the ritual?
No one was paying attention to her, Diana, or Justine. They had simply been left sitting beside
one of the exhibition cases, as though they were no longer important. Well, that was a relief! Mary stood up and tried to see what they had done to Mr. Holmes.
He was lying on the lid of that large stone box—the sarcophagus, she believed it was called. Lying spread-eagled like that, he looked more than ever like a spider. But not a dead spider! He was still alive—he must still be alive, mustn’t he?
In front of the sarcophagus stood a beautiful woman with upswept black hair, looking down at a scroll she held in her hands, saying something in a foreign language, her voice rising and falling, almost as though she were intoning a chant. She wore a black gown with a low collar, and around her neck was a magnificent gold necklace with a ruby pendant dangling from it. Earlier, when they had first entered and Moriarty called the women over for a hurried consultation, Mary had noted that it was in the shape of a scarab. He had called her Margaret—she must be Margaret Trelawny, who would be performing whatever strange ritual was being enacted here. On the other side of the sarcophagus stood Mrs. Raymond, holding Alice’s hand.
“What language is that?” Mary asked Justine. She did not think anyone would overhear them—the participants were too far away, and too occupied with those strange-looking lamps, whatever their purpose.
“None that I recognize,” replied Justine. “There is no one watching us. I will attempt once again to break this rope.”
“That will not be necessary,” said a low voice behind them. Mary turned around, startled. There, crouched in the shadow of a display case, was one of Colonel Moran’s lackeys. He spoke with a foreign accent that sounded almost, but not quite, German. She felt a sense of satisfaction that, after her European adventures, she recognized the intonation.
“Here,” he said, holding out a knife. “Free yourselves and flee while it is still possible.”
Diana snatched the knife out of his hand and sawed through the rope around her wrists, then quickly cut those around Mary’s and Justine’s wrists as well.
The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl Page 21