by James Riley
“You’re charging us all the gold you can carry,” Bethany said, giving her a guilty look.
“Right, I’m charging my friends. You’re going to wipe my memory?” She shook her head. “No way. I’m out. Keep your gold. Or better yet, don’t wipe my memory and give me all the gold.”
“You know,” Owen said, shrugging a bit, “if you did have your memory wiped, you’d be able to deny doing anything wrong this whole time. If your father asked, you’d be able to tell him you lived up to your promise.”
Moira stared at Owen for a second, then burst into a huge grin. “My silly, sad little panda,” she said. “I love when you get underhanded. Okay, you can wipe my memory too, but you better still pay me. Memory or not, I know when I’ve been cheated, and I’m giving you guys a great plan here.”
“Which part of this has been your plan?” Bethany said. “All I’m hearing so far is how impossible it’s going to be to break in there.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Moira yelled excitedly. “But we’ll get to that! So it sounds like Doyle keeps all of his important treasures in a safe in his office. The book doesn’t say where the safe is, only that it’s hidden, and he’s the sole keeper of the combination. Supposedly even W.A.T.S.O.N. doesn’t know it.” She beamed. “So that will be a fun challenge. If it takes me any more than two minutes to crack it, I’ll give back every gold coin you’re going to pay me.”
“So what are these books for?” Bethany said, taking the top one off the pile. “Alpha Predator?”
“Invisibility suits that also hide our heat,” Owen pointed out. “The book’s about this race of aliens that hunt down humanity, and the only survivors have to wear these suits to go about their lives. And if the suit gets ripped even a little—”
“I get it,” Bethany said, frowning. “I hope there’s a less scary place to jump in and grab some of those suits.”
“This one has hover shoes, in case the floors get electrified,” Owen said, handing Bethany a book called RoboJones. “Then there’s Boxing Day 2150 with its knockout gloves. They use them in these crazy fighting tournaments. It’s actually a terrible book.”
“I’m not hearing how that’ll help us against W.A.T.S.O.N.,” Bethany said, taking the books from Owen.
“That’s the best one!” Moira said, and knocked over the rest of the books in her excitement to grab the bottom one. “Take a look!” She shoved the book into Bethany’s hands, then stepped back, giving Owen a smug look. “Nailed this one. I’m so proud of us.”
“Do Computers Worry About Electric Cooties?” Bethany said, then slowly looked up at Owen and Moira. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s about a virus that teaches computers how to love,” Owen pointed out, blushing. “It ends up creating this whole dystopian world because every computer stops working, and humanity loses all of its technology.”
“Electric cooties,” Bethany repeated, still holding the book.
“We can just grab a drive with the virus on it, then plug it into W.A.T.S.O.N.,” Owen told her. “It should only take a few seconds after that.”
“Before W.A.T.S.O.N. falls in love.”
“Isn’t it sweet?” Moira said.
Bethany tossed the book onto the table. “You guys seem to have done a lot of work here, and I think it all makes sense. Sort of.”
Owen glanced from the books to Moira grinning proudly, and back. It could work. It was elaborate enough. But the edges of an idea tickled his brain just enough to make him pause. “You know, there might be another way,” he said quietly.
Moira and Bethany looked at each other. “Set the place on fire?” Moira asked.
“It’s a school!” Bethany said, her eyes widening in horror.
Moira shrugged. “Yeah, but it’d get us in pretty quick. I’m not suggesting it, I just thought maybe that’s what he had in mind!”
“Not exactly,” Owen said, frowning as the idea formed. “It’d be dangerous, but it doesn’t involve actually hurting anyone or making computers fall in love.”
“It’s fire, got to be,” Moira said, grinning widely.
Owen looked down at the table. “Nope. No fire. Just me surrendering to Doyle.”
CHAPTER 36
Though it was early morning, the Baker Street School for Irregular Children was covered in a dreary, almost sticky fog that clung to streetlamps and the front gate as if it were alive.
Owen slowly approached the front gate, wishing the others hadn’t let him go through with this idiotic plan. Why had he even mentioned it? Moira was the criminal genius. Why hadn’t he just followed her lead?
I believe in you, Fowen said in his head, and Owen nodded. That was why.
It was time to prove once and for all that the Owens of the world weren’t just sidekicks, weren’t just someone to be rescued. No, the Owens might be comic relief, but they could also come up with a pretty clever plan, if he did say so himself.
His breath quickening, Owen reached a trembling finger out to push the intercom button.
It beeped, then a voice with an English accent answered. “Yes?”
“My name is Owen Conners,” Owen said, leaning forward to talk into the speaker. “I’m here to turn myself in to Mr. Holmes.”
The line went silent for a moment, and Owen wondered if the plan was over before it started. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go with the computer love virus after all?
But then the front gates clicked and ponderously swung inward as an enormous bald man opened the double doors at the opposite end of the courtyard.
“Mr. Holmes has been expecting you,” the guard said, and held the door open for Owen.
Doyle was expecting him? No way. That had to be a bluff. “Thank you,” Owen said, and forced himself to step into the courtyard, remembering the cameras that Moira had mentioned. All were probably aimed at him right now, which didn’t exactly help his confidence.
He held the envelope in his hand tighter, took a deep breath, and hurried across the empty courtyard to the doors. The guard looked twice as big up close and seemed to know something was up, given his suspicious look.
Or was that just his face? It was hard to tell.
“This way, please,” the guard said, and led Owen inside to the foyer, with its huge staircase that split halfway up, turning on both sides to lead to the second floor. Owen followed the guard up the stairs and past a bunch of classrooms, all empty at this time of morning.
Good. That’d make things easier.
Owen glanced at his watch, the same one Doyle had placed on his wrist: 00:04:23. Four more minutes until the plan kicked into Phase Two, as he called it. Things were going right on schedule.
The guard led Owen to another set of double doors, this time labeled HEADMASTER’S OFFICE. The guard knocked quietly, then turned the knob, opening the door for Owen without entering. Owen nodded at the guard, then stepped into Doyle’s darkened office, lit only by flickering electrical candles and a fire in the fireplace, which was close to going out.
As soon as he was inside, the guard closed the door and Owen heard the lock click. Great. There was no turning back now.
At the opposite end of the room behind an enormous desk, a bank of monitors showed various cellblocks, all quiet with no movement. The desk’s tall chair was turned toward the monitors, so Owen couldn’t even tell if Doyle was there.
“Hello?” he said, then rolled his eyes at his own nervousness. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mr. Holmes, I’d like a word with you.”
That was better. And would have been even more impressive if his voice hadn’t cracked.
The chair slowly rotated around, and Owen almost stopped breathing when he saw the question-mark mask and the Sherlock Holmes hat.
“Mr. Conners,” said the same deep, fake-sounding voice he’d heard in the library. “Right on time.”
Owen’s heart stopped. It was a bluff. There was no way Doyle knew his plan. No way.
“I’m here to give you a message from Bet
hany,” Owen told Doyle, and stepped closer to the desk. “We’re surrendering, but only under our terms.”
Doyle didn’t say anything, so Owen quickly laid the envelope he’d been carrying down on the desk and took a few steps back. He knew better than to look at his watch, but the time must be getting close.
“And these are your terms?” Doyle said, picking up the envelope without opening it. “Why send only you? Where are Kiel and Bethany?”
“I’m the messenger,” Owen said. “Bethany is ready to pull me out at any moment, if you don’t agree to our terms.”
Doyle slammed his hand down on the desk. “You’re not just the messenger, Owen. What is wrong with you? You need to Owen what you’re doing!”
Owen gasped. “You mean own it?”
Doyle paused. “That’s what I said.” He stood up and carried the envelope over to the fire. While his back was turned, Owen glanced down at his watch: 00:00:59.
Just one more minute.
“I don’t think these are surrender terms,” Doyle said, looking at Owen over his shoulder. “No, I think this is a trick.”
Owen could almost hear his own heartbeat, it was beating so hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Bethany agrees not to trespass in anyone’s story ever again, as long as you tell the police that Kiel and I didn’t set the fire. Agree to that, and you’ll never have to worry about us again. And you can keep the books. That’ll be the end of it.”
“No, I don’t believe it will be,” Doyle said, then absently tossed the envelope into the fire.
“NO!” Owen screamed, and leaped forward, but Doyle swept a leg out, knocking Owen to the ground. Before Owen could move, Doyle had Owen’s arms behind his back and a knee to Owen’s neck. “I am the greatest detective who ever lived,” Doyle said, his fake voice sounding even more eerie up close. “Did you really think you could trick me like this?”
Owen watched as the envelope slowly caught fire, burning away to reveal a page from a book, before that too went up in flame. “No,” he said again, quieter this time, as behind him his watch began to beep.
“So let me see if I have the plan correct,” Doyle said. “You come in, ostensibly surrendering, but carrying a page from a book that Bethany and friends are hiding within. At a designated time, right now, it sounds like, Bethany jumps out of that page to take me by surprise, bypassing all of my security in one swoop. Do I have it correct?”
Owen groaned and tried to free himself, but Doyle just yanked Owen’s arms up painfully, and Owen stopped moving.
“Shall we see if they’re coming?” Doyle said as the book page shriveled up in the fire, blackening into ash.
Finally, the page disappeared entirely into the flames, and Owen dropped his head to the floor, unable to even look anymore.
“Ah,” Doyle said, releasing Owen’s hands and standing up. “Now I will accept your surrender.”
CHAPTER 37
Don’t be so melodramatic,” Doyle said, using a poker to stir up the ashes from the book page. “It’s not like they’re trapped in that story. If they jump out now, they’ll just end up back with the rest of the book.”
“How can you know that?” Owen said quietly.
Doyle turned and looked at him in what Owen assumed was a sarcastic way. “I’m Doyle Holmes. I’ve cataloged Bethany’s powers multiple times, and know exactly how she does it. But that’s for later.”
Owen’s eyes widened. Could he be telling the truth? Had Doyle really figured out how Bethany’s powers worked? The Magister had used magic to re-create her abilities, after all. Maybe Doyle’s science had done the same thing.
“So was this it?” Doyle asked, pulling Owen to his feet. “Was this your entire plan? Sneak a page of a book into my office, and then what? Pull me out of the book with you?”
Owen wouldn’t look him in the eyes, or, well, question-mark mask. “Thought we’d get Kiel’s wands and spell book off of you and then make you forget any of this ever happened.”
Doyle snorted beneath the mask. “You never had a chance, Mr. Conners. None of you did. I was two steps ahead of you this entire time. Three or four, for most of it.” He moved over to his mantle, lifted a glass case off a pistol labeled THIRD ACT, and pulled on the gun.
It raised just an inch, and something behind the desk began to rumble. Owen turned to find the bank of monitors pulling aside to reveal a safe with fourteen different combination locks. “No peeking,” Doyle said, and started working his way through each one.
For a moment Owen considered just jumping Doyle and trying to knock him out. All he’d need was a weapon. His thoughts turned back to the pistol on the mantle, wondering if it came off, or was just part of the safe mechanism. The rest of the office was strangely empty of anything weapony, unfortunately. The chairs were far too big to pick up, and the desk was completely out.
“Just another minute, if you don’t mind,” Doyle said, almost taunting Owen by not bothering to turn around. Owen nodded to himself and crouched down, ready to simply tackle Doyle right into the wall.
“And before you move, you might want to consider that countdown band on your wrist,” Doyle said, still not looking. “Every student at the Baker Street School wears one. Most of the time it’s just a watch, but within the school grounds it also works as a deterrent. Try to leave the school or act up in any way, and you’ll be twitching on the ground in seconds.”
Owen’s eyes widened, and he immediately went to take the band off, only to get a shock that sent him to his knees.
“Oh, and I wouldn’t try taking it off,” Doyle said, finally turning around as he pulled the safe door open. “Sorry, probably should have mentioned.” He shrugged, then reached into the safe and pulled out Kiel’s wands and spell book. “Beautiful, aren’t they? I know they shouldn’t exist, and that as a man of science I should reject them outright, but I simply can’t put them down.” The spell book tried to bite his head, but Doyle smacked it hard against the desk, and the book started whimpering.
“What are you going to do with those?” Owen asked quietly.
“What do you think?” Doyle said. “Come, let me show you something.” He gestured for Owen to follow, then led the way out of his office.
Owen paused, then followed slowly, glancing behind him at the still-open safe. Was there anything else in there that—
And then the safe door slammed closed, and all fourteen combination locks whirled around.
Maybe not, then.
“Put the school on lockdown,” Doyle was telling the guard outside of his office. “I want a total quarantine. No one in or out. I’m expecting some visitors will be arriving in a matter of minutes, and they may be using technology you’ve never seen. Just ensure that all doors and windows are electronically sealed.”
The guard nodded and jogged off, barking orders into a tiny device on the neck of his T-shirt while Doyle gestured for Owen to follow him. “I’d really like to go over my plan now, if you don’t mind? There won’t be time once Bethany and Kiel show.”
“Maybe they’re not the only ones,” Owen said. If Doyle didn’t know they had a Moriarty on their side—
“What, Moira Gonzalez?” Doyle said. “I’ve been watching her for years, waiting until she might present a bit of a challenge. Didn’t want to just cut her legs out from under her before she could hold her own at the game. She has potential, but nothing like the original.”
And that was that. Doyle knew every last bit of advantage they had.
“Was that what you’ve been hiding?” the detective asked, throwing a look Owen’s way. “Your body language has been virtually screaming that you were keeping something from me.”
Owen nodded sadly. “I thought she’d be our secret weapon. What better way to fight a Holmes?”
“That’s just it, Mr. Conners,” Doyle said, sliding his hand down a portion of the wall near the stairway. “You can’t.”
The wall next to him split apart, revealing an elevator filled with newspaper a
rticles framed in gold. Owen looked at the first few and realized they were about the actual Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective Solves Murder; Doctor to Publish Account. That was their first case. Holmes Uncovers Hound Hoax. Holmes Not Charmed By Murderous Snake. All of the famous cases of Sherlock Holmes, here in actual newspaper articles. Some even had drawings.
“All we had was his reputation,” Doyle said quietly, staring into one of the mirrors as the elevator shook, then began to descend. “That’s all the family had. We were of the house of Holmes. And that meant something until your little book arrived on the scene and gave away our family secret, even if it was in what everyone thought was a made-up story.”
“What secret?” Owen asked quietly.
“That my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was saved from his death at Reichenbach Falls by a flying man,” Doyle said, practically spitting. “Sherlock Holmes then spent the next three years looking for that man, tracking down magicians and yogis of various sorts, trying to learn the secret of flight. Do you understand how humiliating that’d be if it got out? That this great man of science and deduction was taken in by magic, of all things?”
Owen just shook his head as the elevator rumbled to a stop, and the doors opened into a dark, dank hallway.
“Bethany will pay for what she put my family through,” Doyle said, then stepped out of the elevator. “And she’s given me the tools to do just that.”
“Where are you taking me?” Owen asked, wondering if Doyle was going to leave him down here to starve. Or worse, make Owen start attending his school.
“Thanks to Bethany, I now have copies of every single fictional story in your library,” Doyle said, ignoring Owen’s question as he walked farther down the dark hall, forcing Owen to jog to catch up. “And since I have Kiel’s magic, I can follow the Magister’s example and re-create Bethany’s powers with a simple spell. All I need now is the girl herself, and I’ll have access to every fictional world ever.”
No. This couldn’t happen! Owen stopped dead in the hall as Doyle reached his destination, a lone cell door, too shadowed to see inside.