by C J Lutton
”I'm not embarrassed to admit it,” Thaddeus said. “I don't understand where Holmes is going with this.”
”Well, the food is not poisoned,” Holmes said. “This in itself should have given us pause to be suspect. Why would Dracula allow his pursuers the luxury of having all the food they could eat? Surely, there had to be a reason.”
Holmes looked to Thaddeus for an answer to his rhetorical question. The young man turned the query over and over in his mind until at last he comprehended what Holmes was suggesting.
”That infernal devil,” Thaddeus murmured.
”Yes,” Holmes agreed. “Imagine if there were more than the three of us. And, also, imagine the carnage that would have occurred had we, or a greater number of pursuers, opened all of the cans and feasted on this mana from heaven.”
”My gawd!” whistled Thaddeus, envisioning the scene.
”There would have been tenfold the number of rats entering the area,” Holmes said. “Every man would have had to fight off hundreds, possibly thousands, of the filthy rats. So, you see, Thaddeus, it was because of your suspicions that we are alive to talk about it. Had we opened all of the cans...”
In unison, we turned to look at the pile of unopened cans, envisioning in our own minds the horror of being eaten alive by the dirty vermin. Our stillness and exercised nerves caused me to shiver.
”How about a fire to keep us warm?” Holmes remarked, observing my shivers. ”Since food is out of the question, I suggest that we bivouac here for now. We need rest.”
The thought had never occurred to me that we might spend days underground. Although Holmes’ recommendation to rest was tempting, I was nevertheless profoundly affected by our having to sleep inside the cave. Using the crates and debris of tree branches that had washed up on the shore from the underground river as kindling, Thaddeus quickly had a fire burning brightly.
We spent the next few hours cleaning our weapons and washing ourselves in the freezing waters of the river.
”We'll sleep in shifts,” said Holmes. ”One will sleep, as the other two stand guard. Watson, you sleep first, then Thaddeus, and then me. ”
I climbed into my bedroll. Holmes placed his on top of me. Leaning on my elbow with my head resting on my palm, the smell and warmth of the fire soon had me nodding off. But at every sound—whether it was the crackling and popping of the fire, or the coughing of one of my friends—I was startled to wakefulness, before warily dozing off again.
During the night, my friends’ attempts at sleep would often result in the same startled reactions, as they, too, heard the unfamiliar sounds that crept into their souls. I drew no pleasure in their discomfort, disproving the maxim that misery loves company. On one particular occasion halfway between sleep and wakefulness, I peered through squinty eyes at a movement I saw high in the shadows near the roof. There, posing on an outcropping of jagged rocks like a cathedral's gargoyle, crouched a man. At least I thought it was a man, but there was something undefinable about his presence that sent terror coursing through my body. I glanced over at Holmes and Thaddeus, but they were engaged in conversation. I thought better of remarking to them about what I had seen. When the apparition was gone, and all that remained were the deep shadows and stillness. Believing that I had imagined the experience, I attempted to fall back to sleep. Holmes came over to me when the time came for us to break camp.
”Thank you,” he said, as he lent a hand in tying up my gear.
”For what?” I asked, confused.
”For not calling out when you saw him.”
”Him? Who are you?” Shocked, I grew silent.
”We all saw him,” he said. ”It was Dracula. He was watching us.”
”But Holmes,” I said, ”he could have killed us!”
”He wants to draw us in.” With a final snap of a strap, Holmes straightened and waited for me to continue.
I asked, ”How long was he watching?”
”Possibly since we entered this chamber, but I would estimate only about three to four hours. He sat in the shadows and watched us sleep.”
Thaddeus joined in our conversation. ”Dracula?” he asked, and after seeing our nods, he continued, ”I don't know about you two, but I'll be glad when we're out of here.”
I burst out laughing. ”What a remarkable example of understatement.”
“This place is getting to all of us,” Thaddeus said. “I suggest that we get moving and take care of Dracula, once and for all!”
After putting out the fire, Thaddeus and I pulled on our gear. Holmes strolled over to the pile of cans and stared at them, shaking his head.
”Holmes, you can't be thinking about food at a time like this?” I remarked, coming to stand by his side.
”What? Oh, Watson, no, of course not. But those who follow in our footsteps may not realize the danger. We must do something to make sure that no one opens these cans.”
He took out a piece of paper and wrote the word “poison” and placed it so that the note could be clearly seen by anyone entering the chamber. Thaddeus came over. After reading the note, he smiled and walked to the center of the floor. With the toe of his boot, he scraped the words, “Beware of rats! Do not open food!”
”We've done all that we can for now, but when we find our way out, we'll have to tell Wilson about this trap,” said Holmes, taking one last look around the chamber. ”Make sure that we have everything and that your weapons are loaded.”
We walked to where the boat was standing on end and lowered it to the floor. Inspecting every inch of the vessel for holes and cracks and finding none, we carried it to the water's edge and tossed our gear into the hull. We lit our torches and edged the nose of the boat into the current. The small vessel immediately turned downstream as we struggled to climb in. Holmes moved to the front, with me in the middle, and Thaddeus facing backwards to watch aft. With one final push from the shore, the boat raced down the river. Holmes, kneeling in the bow, held his torch aloft as the boat banged and scraped against the jutting rocks. The current carried us swiftly to where the choppy waters of the river bled into the tunnel and out of the chamber. With barely enough time to shout a warning, Holmes had to flatten himself across the bow to avoid banging his head on the low ceiling.
Even with the torches lighting the way, the tunnel was claustrophobic, and I soon found myself gasping for air. The walls crept closer to the sides of the boat. We had to push our way off of the many submerged rocks along the way.
Holmes was the first to hear it. It began as a low, rumbling sound that vibrated off the walls and into our ears. The river became a roiling soup of froth and debris as it slapped against the walls and over the gunwales of the boat. We were jostled and thrown as the boat heaved and swayed with wild abandon.
I knew immediately that we were headed for a waterfall. The river was emptying into a gigantic abyss.
”Hold steady, men!” Sherlock Holmes screamed over the roar. ”Prepare to make a jump for it!”
Racing perilously out of the chute as if shot from a cannon, the nose of the boat suddenly dipped below the water. Caught in a tumble of rocks, it pirouetted bow first into a whirlpool that stood the boat on end and pressed us flat against the bottom boards, making us unable to move. As the immutable laws of physics began their death grip, we spun in an ever—tightening spiral. The water washed over us, filling the boat with added weight and pulling us deeper into the frigid, violent waters.
Holmes’ torch had been torn from his hand and washed overboard, as had mine. Thaddeus had managed to keep his lit and aloft.
”Hold on!” the young man shouted, as I craned my neck to see how he was faring.
Somehow he had managed to turn with his back facing the front of the boat. In an attempt to brace himself, his feet were wedged between the bottom of the boat and the seat. His arms were wrapped tightly round the stern's transom.
”Doctor,” he shouted, seeing my astonished face. ”Your rope! Throw me your rope!”
I struggled
to find the coil in my pack as we slammed against a stone pillar. To my great frustration, I was unable to maintain my balance and retrieve the rope.
”Turn round, Doctor!” Thaddeus ordered me. Somehow he managed to hold on and reach into my pack.
”Hurry, Thaddeus!” cried Holmes, reaching for a handhold. He was losing his balance and threatened to tip into the raging waters.
I thrust out my arm for support. Holmes grasped my hand and pulled himself even with me. As we clung to each other, Thaddeus took the rope in his hand, tied it round Athos, and leaned out and away from the boat. Holmes and I supported his shifting weight as he twirled the rope in the air with the shotgun at one end.
Thaddeus kept twirling the rope while looking down towards the front of the boat. He watched the spinning motion of the bow for a few seconds and calculated what must be done. Timing his release perfectly, he let the rope unfurl and watched as Athos, acting as a grappling hook, found its mark and wedged itself between two large boulders. A horrific splintering of wood cracked the air, as the bow of the boat began to crumple under the force of the raging waters.
”Go!” Holmes ordered the young man. ”There's no more time! Hurry!”
Thaddeus pulled back hard on the rope. It snapped taut, supporting his full weight. He climbed completely out of the boat and scampered up the water—slick rope like a monkey. With a mighty groan, the boat collapsed into itself, just as Holmes pushed me up and towards the swinging rope.
In defiance of gravity, Thaddeus spread his legs between a ledge and a limb from a tree. He swung the untethered end of the rope until it was within my reach. Climbing, slipping, falling, and climbing again, I managed finally to grasp my young friend’s outstretched hand. He pulled me up and off to the side.
With a sound like a clap of thunder, the boat finally gave way, just as Holmes made a mighty leap for the rope, simultaneously tossing up the lit torch. Thaddeus handily caught the blazing cresset and wedged it between two rocks. Meanwhile, I stretched my full length and reached out for Holmes. He held tightly to the rope, even as the water swirled and sucked at him. When the current pushed him my way, he grabbed for my hand. I would have gone headfirst into the water if Thaddeus had not gripped my legs. Once I was safe, the young man and I worked together to pull Holmes from the frothing river.
Shivering from the cold, the three of us huddled on the rocks. We watched as the boat splintered into a thousand small pieces. The refuse was tossed around as it raced down the causeway and into the depths below.
After catching our breath, we navigated the treacherous rocks. Slowly, we climbed down, even as the icy waters were thrown up over us. Holmes led the way and held the torch to help us see. Our bodies were numbed beyond caring. We shook violently, but we soon found ourselves on firm ground once again. Having not an ounce of strength left, we collapsed in a heap on the black beach. Holmes rammed the end of the torch into the ground.
My medical degree wasn't necessary for me to understand that we were in trouble. All of us exhibited the symptoms of exposure and shock. If we didn't get into some dry clothes soon, we could die. Pushing myself up from the ground, I felt a thousand needles burn their way into the palms of my hands. I cried out in pain. Shifting my balance off my hands, I sat back on my haunches. I yanked the torch out of the ground and shone the light along the ground. The beach glistened with the shimmering glow of countless shards of black glass.
”Don't move,” I warned my friends. I sat there on my haunches, picking the jagged fragments out of my hands and knees. ”We'll be cut to ribbons if we move too quickly.”
”Damnable place,” said Thaddeus, removing a spear—like shard that was embedded in his leg.
I turned to Holmes. To my horror, I saw that he had collapsed with his neck inches away from a spike rising up from the ground.
”Holmes, are you all right?” I asked.
”I think so, but I can't move.”
I shone the light over my old friend’s prostrate body. Hundreds of shards poked out through his clothes.
”Don't move an inch, Holmes,” I said, alarmed at the sight. ”Thaddeus, give me a hand, and whatever you do, be careful. These pieces will cut clean through your boots.”
Gingerly, using our rucksacks for padding, we inched closer to Holmes. I saw the blood soaking through his trousers. My old friend was pinned to the ground by shards piercing his clothes. He had suffered so many cuts that he was beginning to go into shock.
”Good heavens!” Thaddeus cried, as we pulled each new spear from Holmes’ clothes and flesh.
When I saw Holmes’ eyes roll up into his head, I knew there were no alternative. If he were to survive, I would have to carry him to safety.
”Thaddeus, take the torch and see if there's a way clear of this. Tie one end of the rope to that glass spear sticking up next to you, and the other end about your waist. Let it play out as you walk. I'll give it a tug if I need you back here. Now, go!”
Thankfully, the young man had enough in him to do as I asked, and he stepped away from us, leaving us alone in the dark. I watched as the flame from the torch grew faint. I lifted Holmes’ head into my lap. I chaffed his hands and said, “Hang on, hang on.” As time passed, I worried that Thaddeus would run out of rope before finding a safe place for us.
”I found it, Doctor! Over here! Wait, I'll come back and...”
”Stay where you are!” I shouted. ”Don't move! Just keep the rope taut as we come towards you.”
I saw the rope go slack, and I let my anger roll out into the cave.
”Listen to me! Stay there!” I shouted. ”We're coming to you! You can help us best by keeping the rope steady and taut!”
I tied the rope round my waist, then carefully cleared an area with my foot and rolled Holmes onto his back. Stooping, I helped my friend rise. He groaned in pain but fought to stand upright. I took the first step and felt a knife cut into the sole of my boot.
”Thaddeus!” I called out. ”Stay where you are and pull on the rope slowly. Keep it taut! Do you understand?”
”Yes, taut,” he said.
Wracked with pain, I began a torturous trek to Thaddeus and safety whilst half—carrying Holmes. It was all that I could do to stay on my feet. The razor—sharp rocks tore and sliced through my boots. With each painful step, Holmes grew heavier, but the torch light grew brighter. I willed myself to ignore the stabbing pain. Instead, I forced myself to concentrate on the flickering flame. The flame. That was all that mattered. It was my entire universe. My whole reason for being. As we came within the circle of light, Thaddeus’ smiling face turned to shock when he saw that I was half—carrying Holmes.
Having nothing left, I stumbled forward under the detective’s weight. Thaddeus ran to us and steadied me. I managed to remain standing only as long as it took for the young man to grab Holmes from my arms. As Thaddeus slowly lowered our friend to the ground, I collapsed in agony.
”Get a fire going,” I said. I was dazed and possibly incoherent, but I managed to tell Thaddeus, ”We have to dry our clothes.”
While Thaddeus got the fire going, I stripped the unconscious Holmes of his garments and tended to his many wounds. After stemming the bleeding with bits of torn clothing, I wrapped Holmes in our sleeping rolls, which thankfully had been packed in waterproof canvas. Soon a fire blazed. Thaddeus and I warmed ourselves, hanging all of our clothes on sticks to help them dry. As I crouched over my longtime friend, I suddenly realized that we hadn't eaten in nearly two days. Holmes desperately needed something warm inside him.
”Food,” I said. ”We must get some food in him.”
”Do you think it's safe, doctor? I mean, with the rats and all.”
I looked hard at young Thaddeus, before responding. His eyes were hollow with exhaustion and fear.
”With the amount of blood we have shed,” I said, drawing on my last reserves for energy to fuel my logic, “the rats would have a scent that should be easily followed. But as you can see, there are none to be
found. Besides, what does it matter? We haven't any food, so there's no reason to worry about it.”
”That isn't quite true, Doctor,” the boy replied, as he searched through his pack.
”What do you mean?” I asked, turning back to Holmes. My friend was still shivering.
”This.” Thaddeus placed three cans of food on the ground. ”I thought I would keep these as a reminder as to what nearly happened to us, but...”
The young man stared at me with hope—filled eyes. Very quietly, Thaddeus asked, ”Do you think they will help?”
”That's just what the doctor ordered,” said I, laughing. ”I'll open one of the cans and place it in the coals. You keep an eye out for any sign of rats.”
Thaddeus moved away from the fire and walked in circles round our camp. Before long, the food bubbled over. It was some sort of thick stew, and it smelled wonderful. The meaty aroma awakened Holmes. His appetite was surprisingly voracious. I opened another can, watching as Holmes gained his strength.
From time to time, Thaddeus would enter the camp and watch through shining eyes the incredible recuperative powers of Sherlock Holmes.
”Water,” Holmes rasped.
I directed our young friend, ”Thaddeus, wash out the cans and fill them with water.”
Thaddeus took all of the cans. He returned a short while later with them full of water. As I watched, Thaddeus set them close to the fire. He went over to his pack and removed a small bag wrapped in paraffin—coated paper. As soon as the paper was spread open, I knew immediately what it was. Tea!
Taking a few pinches from the coarse cut, Thaddeus dropped the leaves into the hot water. As he worked his magic, he said, ”This may not be the best tea ever, but at the very least, it will have some taste to it.”
After letting it steep for a while, Thaddeus carried the hot liquid over to Holmes, who sipped the rejuvenating elixir. Thaddeus returned to the fire and checked on our clothes. I walked over and stood above the young man as he turned the trousers inside out and arranged them across the spit. Sensing my presence, he glanced up and smiled, handing me the other can of tea.