Sherlock Holmes and the Father of Lies

by C J Lutton

  ”As you wish, Mr. Holmes,” the lieutenant hesitated, before continuing, ”You're aware, of course, that should anything go wrong, there'll be no time for my men to help. You'll be on your own.”

  ”We understand completely.”

  ”Good hunting then, and may God be with you.”

  ”Come,” said Holmes. ”We'll accompany you outside.”

  Stepping out into the cold and blustery night, I was surprised to find that a fourth car had been hitched to our train. We watched as the soldiers led their horses down its ramp. The animals, sensing danger, had to be coaxed out of their refuge. Their ears twitched on their swiveling heads. Their mouths frothed as they rolled their tongues over their bits. Their giant eyes pulsated with fear.

  The more the men tried to quiet their animals, the more persistent were their cries of protest. With nostrils flaring and steaming, the horses cried out in whinnying bursts. Their tails whipped the air nervously. Their hooves scraped and pounded the snow in defiance and fear.

  ”We don't take kindly to leaving you alone, Mr. Holmes,” came Bill's voice from behind us.

  ”It's better this way, my friend.” Holmes clapped the man on the shoulder. “You and your brother will leave with the lieutenant.”

  ”I'll do as you say, but I don't have to like it,” Bill said. “It's not my nature to leave and hightail it, when a good fight is about to be commencin'.”

  ”You've shut down the engine?” asked Holmes, as he looked at Bill somberly.

  ”That I have. Irene'll be well rested, if, uh, when you return.”

  ”Very good. Now, off with you,” said Holmes. “And be careful. You don't know what you're up against. Be sure to keep the men moving out of the area.”

  Bill looked over and nodded at us all.

  The lieutenant strolled near where we were and pointed to his men as they loaded a crate into our car. ”You may be needing those,” Lieutenant Victor said, handing Holmes a sheath of papers, which he promptly stuffed into his coat.

  He shook our hands, and he called to his men to mount up. Bill and Scotty climbed on their horses. We watched as they rode off in single file. The three of us stood there, listening to the creaking leather of the saddles, and the soft murmuring of the troops as they disappeared from view. As we climbed up and entered the coach car, Holmes pivoted the iron bar across the door, securing it shut.

  ”We're on our own.” he said, turning round. ”We'll have to stand guard throughout the night. I'll take the first watch.”

  Using a pry—bar, Holmes opened the crate the soldiers had brought in. Inside were rifles and cartridges. Holmes said, ”Watson, you, and Thaddeus check these out and clean them up. I'll see what these papers mean.” The detective sat down to read while the rest of us worked.

  The car grew deadly quiet. Somewhere off in the distance, we heard the cries of men and the sounds of rifles being fired. Thaddeus and I rose from our tasks and hurried to the door.

  ”Stay inside!” Holmes’ voice shouted angrily. ”There's no helping them now.”

  ”But they're in trouble!” Thaddeus protested.

  Holmes’ look quickly silenced Thaddeus.

  ”Quick,” Holmes shouted, ”the shutters!” He ran to the windows and began slamming them shut, bringing down the iron bars for security.

  Somehow, with all of the hours we'd spent on the train, the shutters had escaped my notice. They were made of iron and about an inch thick. When they were open, they blended into the interior of the car's mahogany panels, matching the walls completely. When they were shut, their true purpose became apparent. The back sides were now folded away from the wall and over the windows. Instead of looking like mahogany, we could see the armor plates that had been blackened to the colour of the engine. Each shutter had a small panel plate that swiveled up and away to reveal the eye—slit and an additional narrow slot for the barrels of rifles.

  Still unaware as to what had alarmed my friend, I ran to the crate. I tossed rifles and boxes of shells to Holmes and Thaddeus. Then I ran to the shuttered window nearest me and peered out the slot. We were being watched. I sensed, rather than saw, the tree line coming alive with movement, as darting pairs of amber lights spectrally appeared and disappeared. After mind—numbing concentration, it was some time before I realized what was causing the yellow—tinted lights. I was looking into the eyes of a pack of wolves!

  But why Holmes had become so agitated? Surely, these predators couldn't harm us. Especially while we were in the railroad car. I stared at the movement outside. Only then did I realize something unnatural was occurring. The wolves were not running round, growling and fighting, as one would expect. Instead they were sitting in a line, facing our car. Despite the fact that a terrifying scene was laid out before us, I couldn't help but admire the magnificence of these beasts. From my position, I counted eight in all. Seven were pure white but the largest one was the color of obsidian. This coal—black animal was obviously the leader. His extraordinarily large body and his intelligent eyes had the most disquieting effect on me. I can only call it hypnotic. I sensed his cunning and ruthlessness as I stared at the nightmarish scene. Yet, the most unnerving aspect was the stillness of the wolf pack. They just sat and watched. Recalling Langston's words as he described the actions of his neighbor's dogs, I was badly shaken.

  ”Don’t move,” whispered Holmes, urgently, as I crouched by the nearest window and peered out the eye—slit. ”Let's see what they're about.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Thaddeus and noticed that something else had caught his attention. ”There's more on this side,” he said, his voice firm as he leaned against the other wall of the train car. ”I count twenty or so, and they came down the trail the soldiers had taken.”

  Off to our right appeared more wolves. These were smaller in size, but they also acted in the same eerie manner. They sat behind the original eight without so much as a growl. Their coats were matted down with thick and shiny dark patches. Their snouts had the same discolouration. The only movements were the lapping of their tongues as they licked the dark patches from their fur.

  ”Blood!” cried Thaddeus, hoarsely. ”They're covered in blood!”

  ”My word!” I shouted. ”The troops! They've killed the soldiers!”

  ”Damnable creatures!” Holmes was visibly shaken by the unholy sight. “Do nothing!” He patted the air to reinforce that we were not to move while he stayed in his position a few feet from Thaddeus. Holmes continued, ”But do keep your eyes on the dark one. He's the leader. If he moves, shoot him.”

  Knowing that our car was locked up tightly offered little comfort. Somehow, we realized that if they had the chance, these wolves could tear us apart. The moon had fully risen, and now we could see the wolves clearly. The leader's eyes glowed red and as he stared intently into our coach. Feeling a sudden muscle cramp coming on, I shifted my weight slightly to gain a more comfortable position.

  ”Watson, don't move,” said Holmes. ”Thaddeus? When I tell you, I want you to walk slowly from one end of the car to the other. When you reach the middle, I want you to stop for a few seconds and then continue. Got it?”

  ”Right, Mr. Holmes.” Thaddeus nodded.

  ”Watson, I want you to keep your eyes on the five on the left. Let me know what you see. I'll keep my eyes on the leader and the others.”

  ”As you wish,” I responded, not knowing what to expect.

  Holmes dropped his hand as if signaling the start of a race. ”All right. Thaddeus, move. Slowly, now. Watson, stay alert!”

  Never taking my eyes off the five wolves I’d been assigned, I heard Thaddeus walk from left to right behind me, one step at a time. My attention was firmly fixed upon those amber eyes. I saw the animals slowly turn their heads, following the young man’s movements as he changed his position. They tracked his path even though they could not see Thaddeus through the walls! The recognition that the pack was acting like one sentient creature horrified me. I spat out, ”Holmes, they're following Tha
ddeus’ every move!”

  ”I thought so. I noticed a similar reaction when you moved. Thaddeus, come back and return to your window.”

  The young man did as asked. When he resumed his original place, Holmes cried out, “There's something happening! Watch the leader! Look at his eyes!”

  I turned my gaze to the obsidian wolf. He never moved his head, but his eyes slowly rolled upwards. Scraping sounds could be heard on our roof.

  ”They're up top!” Thaddeus cried. ”What should we do, Mr. Holmes?”

  ”Sit tight. It sounds as if there are three of them. Watson, keep a keen ear! When I give the word, fire into the ceiling. Thaddeus, train your weapon on the leader. When I say so, shoot him in the head. I'll aim for his heart.”

  Holmes and Thaddeus lifted their rifles to their shoulders. I remained in a half—squat on the floor, trying to follow the sounds above my head.

  ”Get ready,” whispered Holmes, as I increased the pressure on the trigger. The tension was incredible.

  ”Steady, now. Steady. Watson! The door! Get over to the door!”

  I crawled on my stomach as I heard a clawing and scraping sound. The sound did not come from overhead. A wolf was at the door to our car!

  Suddenly, the noise stopped. A huffing sound took its place. The creature was sniffing under the crack of the door. Although I couldn't see him, I noticed a wisp of snow waft through the crack when the animal snorted. Pressing myself against the wall of our train car, I silently pushed myself to my feet in order to look through the glass panel in the door. I glanced down, but there was nothing there to see. I trembled and ached with both fear and excitement.

  ”The leader! Look at the leader!” Holmes said.

  Once again, I peered through the glass, but this time, I glanced to my left. The wolf pack leader stretched his neck and gazed skyward. I watched and listened as an unearthly howl rose deep from within the monster's throat. The sight coupled with the sound totally bewitched me.

  A wolf appeared from nowhere and slammed against the glass of the door. I stumbled backwards in shock. The animal’s loathsome jaws snapped and growled. His claws scraped the glass near my face

  ”Now!” Holmes ordered in a screeching voice. ”Shoot everything that moves!”

  Glass shattered as Holmes’ first bullets were fired. Thaddeus and Holmes continued firing, and I sprang into action. Another wolf slithered down from the cowl of the coal car and dove headlong towards the glass of the door where I stood. His attack was a desperate hope at shattering the window in my face. But the animal’s dive was interrupted, as I fired through the glass. He fell in a heap at the foot of the steps.

  One after another, the wolves attacked the car. Their growls and howls of pain grew to a deafening crescendo as our bullets tore through them. Above the dizzying din of animal voices, I heard my companions' rifles being fired, round after round. I continued to shoot at every wolf that came into view. The confusion within the car was impossible. We screamed and fired and swore and loaded and loaded and shot and swore some more. The beasts continued to attack, wave after bloody wave. We fought them at this frenzied pitch for what seemed like hours. For every wolf we killed, two others took its place. My friends and I raced around the inside the car like madmen. We fired from every available opening. And still the wolves came!

  The snow grew pink, then red, then crimson, and finally black as it soaked up the wolves' blood. Their bodies were stacked up like cordwood. The smoke of our gunpowder dimmed the light in the car. Our eyes burned and tears blurred our vision, but we choked back the misery and continued to wage battle.

  As with any war, after a time, the tide began to turn. There were fewer and fewer targets. The attrition continued as the number of fallen wolves increased. Some of the wounded continued to fight on, but now their bloodlust was such that they turned on other wolves! Before our astonished eyes, they began to maul their own wounded comrades.

  Slowly, their ranks thinned. The few wolves left alive tried to shield themselves behind the bodies of their dead friends. Our firing became sporadic, as we took aim at the survivors and brought them down. Finally, there was only one wolf left. It was their leader.

  The magnificent beast advanced toward us. His body had been riddled with bullets. His pelt was covered in blood. His right front foreleg had been blown off, as had been his left ear. His mouth and jaw were hinged at an impossible angle. From his muzzle dripped a foamy combination of white froth and blood. One eye was swollen shut. His hind legs kept collapsing onto the snow. And yet he still crawled toward our car. Leaving a trail of dark red blood in his wake, he would plant his left foreleg in front of him and drag his broken body forward. He cried out in pain, but he never took his eyes off of us. We stopped firing. Could it be that we felt pity for the courageous creature? We silently watched his agonised advance with curiosity. His laboured breathing was audible even from where we stood, and yet the animal kept crawling toward us.

  Holmes raised his rifle and took careful aim.

  The leader was about ten feet from the car, dragging its body closer, leaving a trail of gore soaking into the snow behind him. The noise of his hitched breathing was deafening. He stopped every few inches and howled in anger and fury. I watched Holmes as his finger tightened on the trigger. His aim was true and his bullet tore into the wolf's chest and sent the magnificent animal somersaulting backwards. With one final growl of defiance, the leader collapsed onto his back. His one paw clawed at the air and then stopped. The black wolf was dead. Finally.

  ”Is everyone all right?” asked Holmes, setting down his weapon.

  ”Fine. Fine,” came our shocked responses.

  Tested beyond reason, we sat down on the floor. We looked around us at the shambles of the car. In our panic, we had overturned every stick of furniture. There was nothing left standing. Bullet holes splintered the walls and ceiling. The spent brass casings were strewn on the floor amidst the shards of broken glass. There were dents from the flying bullets in the shutters. That’s when we realized that we had been fortunate that we weren't killed by the ricochets of our own ammunition.

  Holmes walked over to the door where I had been when the battle erupted.

  ”Watson,” he called, ”take a look at this.”

  I walked to Holmes’ side, and my blood ran cold as I stared into the demonic eyes of a wolf's head impaled with a spear of glass protruding from its neck. The creature had managed to burst through the glass of the door, only to find itself stabbed in the throat. The wolf had died a slow and tormented death while I had stood less than two feet away. I rocked back on my heels at the sight.

  ”My word, Holmes,” I said. ”What are we up against? Who are these creatures from hell?”

  Expecting no answer, I lowered my head and stared glumly at the floor.

  ”We’d better seal this place up as best we can,” Holmes said, ”And keep the fire going in the stove. It's going to get very cold in here.”

  After spending the next half of an hour securing the car and patching up the glass windows as best we could, we collapsed in what was left of the club chairs. Through the rest of the night, we took turns standing watch. What little sleep we could steal was interrupted by ghoulish and terrifying nightmares. The sun had already risen when Holmes shook us awake. His bleary—eyed appearance startled me.

  ”Do I look that bad?” he asked. I muttered something unintelligible and groaned as I rose from the chair.

  ”Look outside,” he whispered, ominously.

  Thaddeus and I walked over to the windows and gazed out upon purest carnage. There were scores of dead wolves. Carcasses sprawled all over the landscape. The snow was crimson with their blood. At first, my mind couldn't comprehend such a gruesome and horrible sight, but gradually and quite curiously, I began to pick out the ones that I knew I had killed. Their bodies lay broken and shattered and in every contortion imaginable. My victims were scattered about and frozen in the rigors of death.

  ”Put your coats on,”
Holmes instructed, ”we're going out.” He draped the quiver over his shoulder and held Aramis in his right hand.

  Holmes pushed the door open. The body of the wolf that had impaled itself was resting against the door panel. The corpse fell to the packed snow with a thud. My friend opened the door and peeked out, then jumped to the ground. Thaddeus and I followed, carefully climbing over the corpses. Holmes paused occasionally, turning over the carcass of one of the wolves. Finally, we came upon the leader. Silently, we stood over his body almost as if we were honoring a fallen comrade. Though his pelt was badly mangled, it was obvious that he had been a most magnificent animal.

  Holmes knelt beside the creature and gently patted its coat, as if he were petting a domesticated dog. ”As deadly as his purpose was,” he said, ”in his chest beat the heart of a warrior. He fought till his last breath and watched as his comrades died their torturous deaths.” The detective was about to continue, but he heard something.

  ”Get down,” he whispered, as he crouched behind the leader. ”Someone's coming!”

  Thaddeus and I dove into the snow, seeking similar cover.

  Porthos' barrels rested on the chest of one of the wolves, as I turned my eyes in the direction where Holmes was staring. I heard the sound of crunching snow, as someone stealthily crept towards us. Out of the dark green forest, a lone man moved forward hesitantly. He paused, crouching and eyeing the slaughter before him. Slowly, he brought his rifle off his shoulder. At this distance, I realized that Porthos was useless and wished that I had taken one of the rifles with me.

  ”Mr. Holmes!” called the stranger, running in a half—squat. ”Is anyone alive? Are you there?”

  We didn't move.

  Once the stranger stepped over the first line of carcasses, he called out again. ”Mr. Holmes? I've come to guide you to the caves. Mr. Holmes?”

  ”I am Sherlock Holmes. Who are you?” my friend demanded, breaking the silence.