Sherlock Holmes and the Father of Lies

by C J Lutton

  ”Well?” Holmes asked. It was as if he could see through the door and notice the boy standing there at attention.

  ”I'm sorry, sir, but you have to sign for it.”

  The entire ritual repeated itself, as Holmes grabbed the pen and paper from the boy, slamming the door and opening it again, after signing for the letter.

  Holmes presented the boy with a dollar bill and slammed the door shut with a bang.

  Amazed, the boy looked at the bill, holding it up with both hands, then whooped as he ran out of our suite.

  ”Boys will be boys,” I remarked, wryly.

  ”Dr. Watson, he's just a lad. I'm sure it's not often he receives such a generous reward,” said Thaddeus, no doubt recalling his own years on the street.”

  Having no idea as to when Holmes would come out of his hibernation, we availed ourselves of the hotel's amenities. Thaddeus and I had just completed invigorating baths and changed our clothes when Holmes finally exited his room. He looked at us silently, strode over to the sofa and collapsed, stretching out his entire body. The torn envelope and its contents were crinkled in his hand, as he shielded his eyes with his arm.

  ”Anything important, Holmes?” I asked, referring to the letter.

  ”A most unusual invitation,” came his reply, while holding the letter up for me to read.

  I took the letter and pressed it flat on the small table beside me. Thaddeus walked across the room and read over my shoulder.

  The following is the verbatim text from the letter:

  * * *

  Mr. Sherlock Holmes

  c/o Hotel Niagara

  Mr. Holmes, I trust you and your two associates had a pleasant journey. You are requested to be at the Great Horseshoe Falls at precisely midnight tonight. Of course, any instructions that I may give advising that you are to come alone would, in some way I am sure, be met with a clever device on your part, so I will forgo any illusions as to your sense of fair play and expect your two associates to be close enough for them to observe your demise. We shall settle this matter at the falls, once and for all.

  Moriarty

  * * *

  ”He's an arrogant one; I'll give him that,” said Thaddeus.

  ”He's quite mad, you know,” Holmes replied, sitting upright on the sofa.

  ”Holmes!” I shouted, the rage in me, complete. ”You know that I'm not known for rash actions, but this devil must die, and die tonight!”

  ”Bravo, Watson,” returned Holmes, rising from the sofa. ”That's precisely what will happen. Tonight under the moon, he'll breathe his last. I don't know why, but I do know that I will walk away from this. I feel it's my destiny to battle Dracula. And if I must go through Moriarty, then so be it! I've a surprise for Dracula, the Prince of Darkness. A gentle old woman provided us with the means of destroying him.”

  ”Of course, the package from the woman at the station!” I exclaimed.

  ”Yes.”

  ”What's in it, Mr. Holmes?” Thaddeus asked.

  ”Watson, would you be so kind as to bring it here? It's on my bed.”

  15

  The Limb Of Death

  I retrieved the package and brought it to Holmes, who was still seated comfortably on the sofa. Thaddeus and I took the chairs to either side of the great detective. Carefully, Holmes opened the package and removed several faded sheets of paper with faint writing on them. He placed them beside him, then removed an article that appeared to be an ancient quiver. But rather than having the burnt umber colour of aged fine leather, the quiver cast an unusual hue.

  Approximately eighteen— to twenty—inches tall, the quiver had a cap extending its height another ten or twelve inches. The cap was attached to the quiver by a strip of hide, about three inches in width and eight to ten inches long. Also, affixed to the quiver was a strap that afforded the owner to wear it slung across his shoulders. About midway down the length of the quiver hung a leather lanyard. An old wooden mallet was attached to the lanyard so that the mallet could rest against the side of the quiver. Holmes pried off the cap and tipped the quiver on its side. A smaller version of the ancient quiver slipped into his hands. This one was made of a softer leather than the first. Instead of a cap, the hide was sewn with a flap to contain its contents. Holmes opened the flap and tilted the smaller quiver upside—down. Out fell a darkly colored wooden stake. The point was as sharp as a needle. At the top, the stake was blunted and widened, suggesting many years of use.

  ”It's nothing but a wooden stake,” Thaddeus remarked. His shoulders slumped with disappointment. ”We already have the tools we require to kill Dracula.”

  ”So we were led to believe,” said Holmes crossing his long legs at the ankles. “But if we had confronted him with what we had, we would've lost. Our lives would have been forfeit, and he would have won.”

  Thaddeus and I exchanged surprised glances. My young friend sat up a little straighter in his chair.

  Holmes put aside the quiver and picked up the papers. “Allow me to read this most remarkable chronicle from an ancient cleric. My Latin is sufficient for understanding this historic document. Some of the words are illegible because of age, but I'm able to decipher most of it. Gentlemen, I give you the history of Count Dracula!”

  * * *

  We are the keepers of the gate. Our Divine purpose is to protect the living from the undead. He who shall possess the Limb of Death and the Fabric of Life shall rule over the Prince of Darkness. The Limb of Death holds the blood of each of those sacrificed by Vlad IV. From the first to the last, it has been sanctified by the immersion in the blessed waters. Its fruit is of the last impalement. The Fabric of Life is of the windows of all the souls impaled. We know of the Divinity of similar Limbs; their powers are for his children. The Father must be expelled by the true Limb of Death. He who holds the sacred Limb must strike thrice at the Dark One.

  First, comes one through blackened heart, 'til there beats, not one.

  Second, comes two, through cursed cave, from whence his voices come.

  Then thrice it must be, through heart once more, until the songs are sung.

  * * *

  Holmes placed the pages reverently on the table and waited for our reaction. He took another page from the package. It was obviously of later lineage, for I could see the text had been typewritten on a fine quality white paper.

  ”Since neither of you have anything to say, perhaps this may be of assistance. It's a report from some acquaintances of ours.” Holmes read the document out loud to us:

  * * *

  In the year of 1456, Vlad IV was crowned in Wallachia, a southern region in what is now called Rumania. Approximately six years after his reign began, a warring alliance was formed and nearly 25,000 people were slaughtered by impalement on tall wooden stakes. Vlad's thirst for blood and cruelty extended to the forcing of children to eat the flesh of their mothers who had been roasted alive. Vlad was personally responsible for these deaths and was rumoured to be the person who nailed a Turkish emissary's turban to his head for his refusal to remove it as a sign of respect. Vlad acquired the name Dracula from the Rumanian word meaning “dragon.” In 1477, Vlad was rumoured to have died of natural causes whilst in exile. We've not been able to verify the veracity of the last statement. That is all that we have on Vlad IV.

  Signed:

  R. Willenthrop Harker

  Dr. Joseph Bell

  * * *

  ”There's other text as well, but it cannot be verified,” said the detective. “Well, what do you two make of it?”

  ”I'm not quite sure what to make of the information,” I replied. “Although it is good to hear from those two friends of ours again.”

  Thaddeus nodded in agreement.

  ”If I may,” continued Holmes, ”I think these pages are a manual. A guide, if you will, on how to kill vampires.”

  ”We already know how,” Thaddeus snapped, as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  Holmes looked him and raised an eyebrow. �
��Are you willing to risk everyone's life on that brazen assumption?”

  ”What do you mean?” asked Thaddeus, feeling the rebuke.

  ”Suppose,” began Holmes, ”that we confront Dracula with what we presume to be the weapons necessary for his death. What happens if they fail? Do you not think, that after all of these centuries, that others didn't do battle against Dracula? The odds are incalculable. What I'm saying is that he must've fallen victim to at least one warrior, and if that's the case, then why is Dracula still here?”

  We did not respond.

  ”I believe these pages are the answer. Let me explain what I feel to be their meaning, then I'll listen to your arguments.”

  16

  The Fabric of Life

  Hearing no objections, Holmes continued, ”The first paragraph implies a secret cult or religious sect, whose beliefs centered round the existence of vampires. Their task is to protect the living from the undead, to be exact. The Limb of Death could only mean this wooden stake. The species of tree that it comes from is the white oak. Quite common in that part of the world. Of course, there are other types of trees found in that region, such as the beech, fir, pine, and willow, but the white oak would be the most desirous for Vlad's purposes. He impaled his victims on poles of great length, perhaps twenty to thirty feet high. The weight of the bodies would surely split a tapered pole of that height unless it was oak. Therefore, I believe that this particular stake comes from the pole of Dracula's last victim.”

  Thaddeus removed the stake from the quiver and looked at it closely.

  ”Remember that I had said the white oak?” asked Holmes, as he watched Thaddeus handle the relic. ”What do you attribute the reddish pigment to be?”

  Before we could answer, Holmes continued, ”I've examined it closely, and I believe it to be the blood of Dracula's victims.”

  Thaddeus handed me the stake and I cradled it in my arms as if to protect it.

  ”It has also, according to the text, been immersed in holy water for centuries. The entire stake has been hardened by blood and water. It's impervious to wear or damage and has fossilized or petrified into a nonporous weapon.”

  Holmes reverently took the stake from my hands and placed it back in the quiver. He said, ”The Fabric of Life must be the quiver and sleeve. Watson, you're a doctor, what can you tell me about it?”

  Holmes handed me the magnifying glass and I examined the article closely. I held it up to the wan light coming from our window.

  ”My word, Holmes!” I cried, nearly dropping the piece. ”This is made of skin and hair.”

  ”Multiple pieces of human skin to be more precise. You'll note the different complexions and textures of the small patches. Each piece is from the eyelids of Dracula's victims.”

  Thaddeus’ voice shook as he said, ”I recall reading of a sect that upon the death of one of its members peeled away the eyelids to let the departed's soul be ever watchful.”

  ”What were the words?” asked Holmes, again rifling through the pages. ”Ah, yes. Here it is, 'The Fabric of Life is of the windows of all the souls impaled.'”

  ”But, Holmes,” I said, ”there are hundreds of patches sewn together with human hairs!”

  “Thousands,” responded Holmes. ”How does that quotation from the Bible go?”

  ”The eyes are the windows to a man's soul,” said Thaddeus, holding the sleeve in his hand.

  We stood there in silent horror, staring at the remains of Dracula's victims. Holmes placed the stake back into its sleeve and returned it to the quiver, before securing the cap to the case. It was a solemn moment, and we honored the nameless dead with our silence.

  Holmes broke our quiet contemplation. ”If everything I've said is correct, then we have the means of killing Dracula. We follow the verse on this page. Once we've discovered Dracula's lair, we must be sure to follow these steps exactly. Both of you are to memorize the words, in case I fail. One of you must be able to take my place.”

  Holmes read the verse aloud numerous times, and we discussed any other possible meanings until we had exhausted all but one possibility, the meaning was straightforward. Dracula must first have the stake driven through his heart with one blow until his heart stops. Secondly, we must deliver two blows through his mouth. And third, there must be three blows into his heart again, until... We were not sure what was to happen next. The third part remained a mystery. We hoped that somehow we would know that Dracula was dead.

  Holmes glanced at his watch.

  ”It is now four o'clock,” he said. ”I suggest we try to get some sleep. We'll need to be alert for our rendezvous with Moriarty later tonight.”

  Holmes rose from the sofa and slung the quiver over his shoulder. Slowly, he walked to his room and shut the door. Thaddeus and I talked to each other for some time before we also retired.

  In my room, I opened my bags and placed the wooden stake and mallet on the nightstand. Cleaning Porthos, I checked my supply of shells. When satisfied that we were doing everything possible, I sprawled on the bed and closed my eyes. I finally dropped off while clasping the small silver cross that Holmes had given me.

  17

  Onto The Dinosaur We Battle

  I awoke with a start. The lights were out and the drapes were drawn. Instantly alert, I rose from my bed and carefully made my way to the door. I had a premonition that something was wrong. Running my hand over the furniture, I found and turned up the light on my gas lamp. Glancing at my watch, I was horrified to see that it was nearly midnight.

  ”Holmes!” I called, fumbling with the door.

  Thaddeus came running out of his room, Athos at the ready.

  ”What happened? What is it?” he asked, swiveling his head and checking the suite.

  ”Look at the time! Where's Holmes? It's nearly midnight!”

  We glanced at Holmes’ door and noticed it was slightly ajar. Thaddeus kicked it open and switched on the light. The room was empty. In the middle of a dresser sat the quiver with a note attached. Thaddeus reached the message first and began reading it silently.

  I was frantic. ”What is it? What's it say? Where's Holmes! Holmes! Where?”

  ”No sense in shouting, Doctor. He's gone,” Thaddeus spoke calmly.

  ”Gone? Gone where? What is this all about?”

  ”Here! Read it yourself.” Thaddeus roughly shoved the paper into my hands.

  I read the words greedily.

  * * *

  My dear friends—

  By the time you read this, I will be well on my way to my appointment with Moriarty.

  S. Holmes

  * * *

  ”Come on, Doctor,” Thaddeus shouted, as he recovered himself. ”Grab your hat and coat and let's get out of here!”

  Scurrying about, we tore through the rooms, getting everything we needed.

  ”What about the quiver?” I asked.

  ”Leave it! No! Hide it!”

  I took the quiver and shoved it back into the package that had previously cradled it. With the box under my arm, we ran out of the room. Running to the lobby, I accosted the concierge. I told him to place the package in his safe and to guard it until our return. When I burst through the front entrance and stumbled out into the cold, Thaddeus was already waiting for me.

  ”Which way?” I asked.

  ”How am I supposed to know?” he chided me tersely. Then, remembering himself, he said, “I'm sorry, doctor! I didn't mean to be rude to you.”

  ”I know,” I answered. ”This is Holmes’ doing. Wait! There's a sleigh and driver over there. Let’s ask him.”

  The snow and ice offered our feet no traction. We came to a sliding halt as we banged into the side of the sleigh. The driver looked down at us with an expression of surprise.

  ”Did you see a man come out of the hotel and head to the falls?” asked Thaddeus.

  ”I sure did!” the driver said. “He left about twenty minutes ago, and he was in a hurry! He wanted me to drive him, but I told him I was off duty.”<
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  ”Which way did he go?” I asked.

  ”To the falls. You said so yourselves.”

  ”My good man,” I responded, abandoning any pretense of caring about his feelings, ”if you value your life, which way did he go?”

  I let the barrels of Porthos show through my coat. He nervously pointed in the direction that Holmes had taken.

  ”He hailed another driver and took off that way!”

  “And will you take us in that direction?” Thaddeus asked.

  “No amount of money will persuade me to go out on a night like this, and no one else will go, either.” The man seemed to enjoy refusing our request.

  “Then there is no choice but for us to borrow your sleigh,” Thaddeus said as he reached up, pulled the man roughly from the sleigh, and tossed the driver to the ground. In the process, Thaddeus had fully exposed Athos, and the driver could not help but realize he was in peril. Wisely, the man responded to Thaddeus’ actions and the sight of the gun by lying there quietly in the soft snow. To soft the man’s disposition, Thaddeus tossed a handful of bills next to the driver’s face.

  “That should cover our rental,” the young man said. Thaddeus pushed me into the sleigh and climbed in. Taking hold of the reins, he stood up and yelled at the nervous horse. I grabbed the whip and snapped it close to the horse's ear. The surprised animal shot away from the kerb like a bolt of lightning.