aviary, and soon located the chicken coop. Everything seemed in good order, and Zungo went so far as to open the unlocked door to the pen and inspect the sleepy inhabitants by light of the lantern he held.
“All well here, and I see three roosters among the flock, each with their own harem and separate perches. The potential sacrifices are yet safe,” said Zungo.
Holmes made no acknowledgement of this statement, but stood before another pen nearby, which seemed to have no avian inhabitants. The entire area of the enclosure was taken up with an enormous pile of leaves and sticks.
“What is that Holmes? An enclosed compost heap? Is that some experiment in controlled decomposition of vegetation, whereby the process is accelerated by being sheltered from the weather?”
Holmes replied, “I wonder if you may be close upon the mark, my friend. Certainly this has the appearance of some control of the decomposition, as you say, but to what ultimate purpose?”
I said, “Fellow must be a fanatical gardener I suppose.”
Holmes said, “Perhaps. However, this may not be entirely a project of the owner of the estate. I rather think there is another who devotes his full attention to the decomposition process here. Be that as it may, I suggest we disperse to places of concealment and await our would-be poultry thief.”
As Holmes directed, we each found a hiding spot nearby, and settled in to await developments.
Very shortly I heard a slight noise, as of gravel moved beneath the feet of a stealthy walker. I prepared myself to spring upon him, moved my grip on the stout blackthorn walking stick I held, and inhaled deeply to oxygenate the musculature, as recommended by my Hindoo martial arts, or Sastravidya, tutor.
A voice spoke from the shadow of the large elm tree beside the chicken coop, “Lost him in the forest, Mr Holmes. Not the fellow we want, though. I recognised him as a labourer from Bartley village, who fancies himself a dab hand with the snare and net, and spends many a moonlit night after pheasants and rabbits.”
“Thank you, Mr. Green,” replied Holmes. “Please exhale, Watson, the apparent crisis is past.”
We waited another full hour, to no avail, and then Holmes lit a match and kindled his pipe. “It would seem we must seek elsewhere for our magic-worker. Tell me, Green, has there been a market day in the vicinity in these past few days?”
Green replied, “Why certainly, Mr. Holmes. Lyndhurst Fair is a busy event, and Burley market day was yesterday. Anyone could have bought chickens there, if they had the readies.”
“We must refocus our efforts to the actual site of the ceremony, on the likely location he might choose for the invocation. Come, let us hasten to our vehicle.”
We retraced our path back through the forest to the encampment, and the motor vehicle. With Green’s strong arm at the crank we were ready to go in a remarkably short time.
“Where are we going?’ I enquired.
“This type of ceremony may best be performed at a crossroads, and as the subject of the curse is of some importance, this would be at an important road junction. Let us proceed in the direction of Portsmouth, Watson.”
Fortunately the road surface was light in colour, so that, in the glow of the ambient moonlight, I was able to navigate with a fair degree of certainty as to the location of the road ahead. My passengers were polite enough to refrain from distracting conversation during the journey. I heard some brief muttering at times, though this was largely during those interludes when clouds obscured the moon, or other circumstance required my fullest attention to steering our course while yet maintaining a decent velocity.
We reached the junction with the main London to Portsmouth turnpike, and I drew into the stable yard of a nearby Inn.
I said, “No Voodoo ritual in sight here. Would the fellow dare display his practices to the public eye? I suggest it more probable he would perform the mumbo-jumbo in some convenient building nearby.”
Holmes answered, “Let us listen awhile. Drums are a required element of his particular brand of mumbo-jumbo, Watson.”
Sure enough, a deep rhythmic throbbing sound was clearly audible, emanating from a barn across the street from our location.
“Let us divide our forces as to block all egress from the building. Mr. Green, to the rear, if you please. Mr Zungo, to the right side of the building, next to the blacksmith’s shop, and Watson, if you would station yourself on the other side, between the barn and the adjacent meadow.”
There was no opening on that side, with access to the meadow being through the fenced barnyard to the rear. I did not quibble, but took my station near the corner, from whence I had a decent view of both the side and the front of the building.
Josiah Green had scarce slipped into the shadows, en route to his assignment in the muddy barnyard, when the drumbeat stopped. The silence seemed to throb with tension as we all expected to see movement. Perforce, we hastened to our stations to complete the ambuscade before our quarry could escape.
Holmes strode to the door facing the road, pushed it open, and went in. I could see the doorway from my position, but could not see inside.
“We are too late,” called Holmes. “I see our opponent has anticipated some interference with his objectives, and has resorted to an ingenious subterfuge.”
Inside the barn, a fire burned in the middle of the almost empty space. There were a few farm implements against the walls, as a plough, a number of hand tools, and a small wagon. Near the fire were a scattering of black feathers and an empty rum bottle, together with a strange contraption of ropes and levers connected by copper tubing to a large kettle over the fire. The device culminated in two large bones, likely leg bones of a ruminant such as an ox or a water buffalo, suspended over a wood and animal skin drum.
“An automated device to beat the drum in a regular rhythm with no human hand required. Most inventive,” said Holmes. “Steam driven, I see, with a deft and inventive mind at work to improvise a functional device from available material. Sad that such a mind should waste in trivia and petty malevolence.”
We were able to obtain some much needed refreshment at the adjacent Inn, and then rooms for the remainder of the night. I was not entirely happy with the Burgundy on offer, it being somewhat beyond the optimum maturity for such a dubious vintage, however some fluid was an absolute requirement when chewing the beefsteak from an equally over-aged steer that was all we could prevail on the kitchen to serve at that hour.
Zungo had changed his barbaric and startling ritual attire for more conventional garb, and now elicited only a degree of curiosity in his tweed suit and bowler hat. I cannot imagine he would so readily have been accommodated in his Witchdoctor persona, but together with his cultured speech, his respectable attire assured the innkeeper of his financial and social worth.
Green, I believe, retired to some more congenial place of his selection, as he adhered to his people’s customary distaste for sleep within the confines of solid walls and a roof.
In the morning, however, we four all assembled once again for a conference over a reasonably substantial breakfast of grilled kidneys and oatmeal porridge.
By unspoken agreement no word beyond polite niceties was uttered until we had all consumed a comfortable quantity of nutriment.
“We are not yet out of the game, since the ceremony must continue,” said Holmes. “I suspect, however, this will be at yet another venue. Possibly somewhere more closely related to the object of their malevolence. This cannot be the British Empire as such, but must perforce be the very person of Her Majesty, or some member of the Royal Family. There is some possibility of a curse directed against a ship of the Royal Navy, for example, or a similar unitary manifestation of the power of our realm.”
I replied, “Could this curse be directed at some forthcoming event, such as the Trooping of the Colours, or the opening of Parliament? This would have dual effectiveness, in that Her Majesty would be present, and so vulnerable, and some considerable public outcry must ensue to any disruption of such events.”
&
nbsp; Holmes favoured my suggestions with a nod and replied, “Very good, Watson. Such events could be prime targets for a malicious person bent on disrupting the functioning of the Empire, but are not, I think, likely in this instance. Simply put, the geography of recent events argues strongly against any undertaking in the metropolis. We must confine speculation to this immediate locality, that is to the New Forest, Southampton, and Plymouth.”
Zungo said, “Gentlemen, may I suggest we seek some scheduled event in the region which will entail the presence of Her Majesty or some member of her family? Perhaps a regional fair or military parade in this area.”
I unfolded my copy of the local newspaper, specifically to search for some such occasion, and was soon rewarded with success.
I said, “Good Lord, Zungo, you may have it, I believe. Her Majesty will be present this very day in Southampton, as a Naval ship, the Royal Sovereign, is floated. Also a first class cruiser, the Centaur, now renamed The Royal Arthur, will be launched, with Her Majesty as sponsor. There will be a religious ceremony and prayer, followed by the application of christening fluid in a most novel manner. An electrical machine is to be used in releasing the restraints of a bottle of champagne, so that it may fall upon her cutwater and release the christening fluid over her. Her Majesty has to press a button to activate the machinery at the
Sherlock Holmes Investigates. The Case of Lady Chatterley's Voodoo Dolls Page 5