The Calling

by Philip Caveney

  ‘But if you had the chance… I mean, if somebody could make it happen… wouldn’t you prefer to be human?’

  Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but broke off as an abrupt hissing sound rent the air. He reacted instinctively, grabbing Ed, twisting around and pulling him close in behind him. An instant later something hit Sherlock full in the stomach before shattering noisily into fragments and flying off in all directions. Ed looked down in astonishment to see scraps of splintered wood falling to the ground and then he saw a sharp metal object clatter onto the tarmac and he realised what it was. An arrowhead! It dawned on him that somebody had just tried to kill him and that if Sherlock hadn’t intercepted the shot, that arrow would now be sticking out from Ed’s chest. He was aware of Bobby crouching by his feet, his little teeth bared, his ears flat against his head, an angry snarl coming out of him.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ snapped Sherlock, looking frantically this way and that. Ed peered fearfully out from under the detective’s arm and caught a glimpse of something moving in the trees, a metal figure

  standing half-concealed by foliage, some twenty feet away.

  ‘There!’ yelled Ed, pointing, and now he could see the figure in more detail: a naked bronze statue who, even as Ed stared in horror, was pulling back the string of a wooden bow for another shot.

  ‘I see you, you coward!’ roared Sherlock and an instant later a second arrow careened off his shoulder and went spinning end over end, behind him.

  Sherlock started towards the Gormley, but then wheeled around with a curse as a clatter broke the

  silence from somewhere behind them. Now

  Ed glimpsed a second Gormley, armed, like his companion, with a bow. He had just popped up from behind the cover of a metal litterbin and his elbow had accidentally made contact with the lid. He had the bowstring pulled back as far as it would go. There was another hiss and Ed was horribly aware of a blur of colour right in front of his face – but then Sherlock’s gloved hand actually snatched the arrow out of thin air and dashed it to the ground, seconds before it could hit its intended target. Ed’s heart seemed to stop momentarily in his chest and his skin crawled with terror.

  The full reality of the situation finally dawned on him. The Gormleys were trying to kill him! But why? What had he done to deserve it? There was a moment of deep silence as he and Sherlock

  stood there debating what to do, unsure now which way to face; then Sherlock pushed Ed towards a narrow alleyway, leading off the main thoroughfare to their left, and he shouted, ‘Run, boy! I’ll be right behind you.’

  Ed needed no second bidding. He took off along the alley with all the speed he could muster and Sherlock followed right on his heels, keeping as close as he could to provide some cover. Bobby scampered after them, barking excitedly. A third arrow hit Sherlock square in the back and this time it actually managed to pierce his bronze skin, but he and Ed kept on running for all they were worth and when they finally dared to glance back, the already distant mouth of the

  alley was empty and nobody appeared to be following them.

  ‘All right,’ said Sherlock. ‘I don’t think they’re following us.’ They slowed to a walk. Ed was already out of breath, but Sherlock showed no sign of that and it occurred to Ed that if a statue didn’t need to breathe, running wasn’t going to be a problem for him. Bobby, too, seemed unaffected by the race. He trotted along behind his companions, his tail wagging.

  ‘What… what was that all about?’ gasped Ed. ‘They… they were trying to kill me.’

  ‘It’s exactly as I feared,’ murmured Sherlock. He reached around behind himself, grabbed the end of the arrow and pulled it free with a grunt. He looked at it for a moment and then dashed it to the ground with a curse. ‘Those two Gormleys work for Charlie. He must have sent them after you.’

  ‘But… he… he pardoned me!’

  Sherlock looked unconvinced. ‘Then he’s clearly changed his mind. Was it his idea in the first place? To pardon you?’

  ‘Well, no… not really. David kind of tricked him into it, so…’

  ‘David?’

  ‘David Livingstone. Charlie wanted to… well, he wanted to have my head chopped off but… David made the others vote on it and…’

  ‘Well, there you are then.’ Sherlock brushed scraps of splintered wood from his coat with a huge gloved hand. ‘Charlie’s not a man to take being bested lightly. He wants you silenced. He’ll have instructed those two minions of his to come after you.’ He studied the top of the alley in silence for a moment, his expression grim. ‘All the more reason to get you away from here before those two have a chance to regroup.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Ed. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone about all this.’

  Sherlock reached down to place a huge hand on Ed’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter what you promised,’ he murmured. ‘Charlie dances to a different drum.’ He glanced quickly around. ‘We’re not far from the lab now. But, we’re going to have to take a roundabout route. The last thing we need is for those Gormleys to work out where we’re headed. I shudder to think what might happen if they ever reported back to Charlie about the Anomaly.’ He had another look around and seemed satisfied. ‘Come on,’ he said and started walking. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for those two villains. If you see anything, just shout.’

  They hurried along the alleyway and Sherlock started to make a bewildering series of changes to the route, cutting left and right, doubling back on himself, unlocking doors to pass though entire buildings, then locking another door behind them, occasionally stopping to look and listen for any signs that they

  might be followed. Finally, when they had been doing this for more than half an hour, he produced a key to an innocuous-looking little doorway and opened it up. He led Ed and Bobby inside, pausing to lock the

  door behind him and keeping watch for a moment through a small glass panel before he was entirely satisfied.

  ‘All right,’ he said, at last. ‘I think we’ve lost them. This way.’ He led Ed up a long flight of stairs to the first floor, then along a corridor where they passed a whole series of glass-fronted rooms, each of which appeared to be fitted with lab equipment of all shapes and sizes – test tubes, Bunsen burners, microscopes and computers. After they had gone some distance, Sherlock paused outside a frosted glass doorway and rapped upon it with his knuckles, in a curiously complicated pattern. They waited in silence for a few moments and finally there was the sound of several bolts being drawn and the door creaked slowly open. A tall bronze statue stood in the opening, gazing out at them, a look of mild irritation on his heavily

  bearded face. He was slightly silhouetted against a pulsing red glow coming from behind him. He registered the detective’s odd appearance and stared at him in bewilderment.

  ‘Sherlock, what in the name of mercy have you done to yourself?’ he cried in a Scottish accent. ‘You look ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s a disguise,’ Sherlock assured him. ‘So I can pass for a human.’

  ‘Really? Let’s hope the humans have a sense of humour,’ muttered James Clerk Maxwell. He took a pocket watch from his waistcoat and held it out so that Sherlock could see the time displayed on it.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said. ‘You know I can’t abide tardiness of any kind.’

  Sherlock smiled. ‘Sorry, but I do have a good excuse.’ He stepped aside, revealing Ed, who had been standing behind him.

  ‘Galloping gravy!’ said James. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Sherlock.

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there! The two of you had better come inside.’

  Fourteen

  The Anomaly

  Ed gazed apprehensively around the small,

  cramped room. A complicated arrangement of electronic equipment had been set up on a workbench along the back wall. There were digital displays, several computers, dials, s
witches and various other bits and pieces, none of which meant anything to him. At the centre of the display was a large circular glass dish, which was emitting a pulsing red light and a constant low humming sound.

  On entering the room, Bobby had been delighted to discover that James had a dog with him too, a ragged little bronze terrier who James had introduced as Toby and the two dogs were happily rubbing noses and sniffing at each other in the time-honoured fashion of such creatures all over the world. Ed had been left to his own devices for the moment, while Sherlock and James had an intense conversation at the back of the room, keeping their voices hushed so Ed wouldn’t overhear them. James appeared to be intrigued by his human visitor. He couldn’t stop staring at Ed and kept asking Sherlock questions, listening to the replies and then nodding, as though evaluating them. Eventually, he seemed satisfied and he approached Ed, smiling, his hands in his metal pockets.

  ‘A belated welcome to you,’ he said, in a refined Edinburgh accent. ‘Mr Holmes has fully appraised me of your unfortunate situation. I have to say I am fascinated. I’ve never had the opportunity to talk to a human before. Indeed, if there was only more time, I would love to study you.’

  ‘Erm…’ Ed felt slightly uncomfortable at this. ‘Study me, how?’

  ‘Well, there are a lot of questions that are just crying out to be answered,’ said James. ‘Why should you be the first softie in history to resist sleeping through the Calling? Why, after all these years, does the honour fall to you? What is so very different about you?’

  ‘Search me,’ muttered Ed.

  For a moment James looked as though he might actually be thinking of doing exactly that. But he seemed to dismiss the idea. ‘If Sherlock was planning on bringing you back with him, I’d definitely have a whole list of questions for you. But he assures me that, for you at least, this is to be a one-way trip. Such a pity. What a missed opportunity to further our knowledge of humankind.’ He sighed then gestured to the banks of electronic equipment. ‘So, what do you think of our little brainchild?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s er… very… red,’ murmured Ed and James chuckled delightedly.

  ‘It is indeed,’ he said. ‘Red! I’d never thought of it like that.’ He turned to look at Sherlock. ‘So, where exactly is it you need to go?’

  ‘It’s in Manchester,’ said Sherlock. ‘You have your mobile?’

  ‘Of course.’ James reached into his pocket and brought out an identical phone to the one Sherlock used. ‘Never without it.’

  ‘Bring up Google maps while I look for the postcode,’ suggested Sherlock. He took out his pipe and tapped it. The curved Perspex screen slid down from the peak of his cap. He peered intently at nothing for a moment and then read the postcode aloud to James, who dutifully tapped it into his own phone. Then James walked over to the bench, picked up a lead that was plugged into one of the computers and connected the other end to his mobile. Almost instantly, a blurred map appeared on the screen. It focused itself and there was the familiar red marker indicating their destination.

  ‘The Peveril of the Peak,’ read Sherlock, looking over James’ shoulder. ‘Fine ales. Table football. It’s not a lot to go on but it’s the best clue we have.’

  Ed chuckled. ‘Google maps are great, aren’t they?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, and perfectly suited to our needs,’ chuckled James, with evident pride. He studied the screen for a few moments. ‘Of course, for the moment we’re only using existing technology. Wait till you see what happens when we patch it in to the Anomaly.’ He waved a hand at the equipment, then studied the screen again. ‘The main road is a bit too public for my liking,’ he observed. ‘We need somewhere where your arrival is less likely to be observed by passers-by.’

  Sherlock nodded. ‘Switch to street view,’ he suggested, ‘and we’ll look for the best place.’

  As Ed watched in amazement, the pub itself appeared on the screen and it was just as he’d seen it in his vision, a small two-storey affair, completely clad in green tiles, pea green on the ground floor and a paler shade above. The name of the pub was spelled out in tiles on a brown band that ran right around the building between the two floors and it was also on a large painted sign above the main door. James used the mouse to track effortlessly around the side of the building to the back of it. ‘Ah look,’ he said, ‘there’s a little walled yard at the back with a gate set into it. That should be the ideal spot.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Sherlock. ‘Lock onto those co-ordinates.’

  James tapped some keys and the computer made a brief beeping sound, as though announcing it understood.

  ‘Locked on,’ said James. ‘Well, getting you there should be no problem at all. But what do you want me to do about bringing you back?’ He frowned. ‘I take it you are coming back?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Sherlock touched his pipe and the screen slid silently back out of sight into the peak of his hat. ‘At least, I hope to be. Once I know what’s happening, I’ll text you a postcode and a time,’ he said, slipping the pipe and the phone back into his pockets. ‘Obviously, you’ll have to keep an eye on things here. I’m afraid it means that you’re going to miss the Agon.’

  ‘That’s no great loss,’ said James. ‘I swore the last time I went I would never do it again, not after hearing Sir Walter droning through one of his interminable ballads. Besides…’ He gestured to a pile of notes littering the workbench. ‘I’ve got plenty of reading to keep me occupied.’ He leaned closer as if to reveal a secret. ‘I’m working on another little modification for the Anomaly,’ he said. ‘If I stick at it till late tonight, I reckon I could have it all ready to go for next year’s Calling.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘It’s a voice activation module. Once it’s installed, it means you’ll be able to simply tell the machine exactly where you want to go… and it will take you there in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ agreed Sherlock. ‘But look, we mustn’t leave things too late. There has to be enough time for us to get back to our respective plinths. You don’t want to get frozen in here, do you?’

  ‘Good point. Same goes for you, of course. If I froze at least I’d be in the right city. How would they ever explain you being in an entirely different location altogether?’

  ‘They’d probably blame it on drunken students,’ said Sherlock. ‘That’s what they generally do with these things.’

  ‘Er… about the… Anomaly,’ interrupted Ed.

  The two statues turned to look at him. ‘Yes?’ asked James.

  ‘It is … well, it is safe and everything? Isn’t it? Only, Sherlock told me about the cherub. You know, the little statue you sent to India…?’

  James threw an accusing look at Sherlock. ‘Oh you did, did you?’ he growled. ‘That was useful.’

  ‘I merely mentioned it in passing,’ said Sherlock.

  ‘Hmm.’ For a moment James looked rather annoyed, but then he forced a smile and turned back to face Ed. ‘Well, yes, that was rather unfortunate,’ he admitted. ‘Something happened with that experiment that we hadn’t fully accounted for… but, we’ve had another two Callings since then so that little hiccup has been well and truly taken care of.’

  ‘A little hiccup?’ asked Ed. ‘Is that what you call it?’

  ‘Yes… just a wee… complication. But it’s all fine and dandy now. Seriously, you’d be in more danger crossing the road! The Anomaly is… well, it’s the future of travel. Just think of the tedium everyone endures when they’re going from A to B, even in this day and age! I mean, how long did it take you to get from Manchester to Edinburgh?’

  Ed shrugged. ‘I was asleep the whole way,’ he said.

  ‘Well, fair enough, but some people can’t sleep on trains, can they? With our invention you simply step through a door and you’ve arrived at your destination. Instantly! Forgotten something? No problem, you can just nip back and pick it up, no matter what the distance. O
f course, the only fly in the ointment is, how do we tell the world about it?’

  Sherlock frowned. ‘I’d personally prefer to keep the invention for the sole use of us statues. I really don’t think humankind can be trusted to use it responsibly. They’d probably employ it as some kind of weapon.’

  ‘There’s something I don’t quite understand,’ said Ed.

  The two statues looked at him. ‘What’s the problem?’ asked James.

  ‘Well, I’m trying to understand. Time has kind of stopped here in Edinburgh, right?’

  James frowned. ‘Not stopped exactly. But it’s running in a different dimension.’

  ‘Yes, but it must still be moving forward normally in Manchester, so if we go there now… will it still be today… or will it be tomorrow?’

  James looked thoughtful at this. ‘Well, now there’s a question. Of course, you must remember, that time is simply a concept created by man. And The Anomaly, of course, calibrates itself to the two different time spheres. So people in Manchester will still be interacting with you in real time. And it won’t be today or tomorrow, but… something in between.’ He noticed Ed’s bemused expression. ‘Well, put it this way. I’m sure you’ve read Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time?’

  ‘No,’ said Ed. ‘Sorry.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But I’ve read The Time Machine,’ he offered.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not quite the same thing,’ said James. ‘That’s science fiction. This is science fact. If I had a couple of hours to spare, I’m sure I could explain it to you in a way you’d understand, but…’

  ‘We don’t have the luxury of time,’ interrupted Sherlock. ‘We need to go.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ James smiled at Ed. ‘You’ll just have to trust me,’ he concluded and clapped his hands together as if to end the conversation. ‘Well, we’re all ready to proceed. If you would like to take up your positions?’