Sherlock Holmes

by Cavan Scott

  Hartley, that damned moustache twitching, turned sharply to cover Holmes in his sights. “Everyone stay still.”

  “Who are these men?” Elsbeth Honegger snapped, not taking her eyes from the unwavering gun barrels.

  “Old friends,” said Burns.

  “Hardly,” I replied. “Believe it or not, these two louts work for the British government. How did you get on board?”

  Holmes answered for them. “The shouts from above.”

  “I didn’t think it would work, to be honest,” said Hartley. “Jerry isn’t known for compassion, and yet, would you believe it, they saw our little boat bobbing around out there, heard our cries for help—”

  “And rescued you,” said Holmes.

  Burns grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Worst mistake they ever made. Still, they’re not worrying about it any more.”

  “You followed us here,” Holmes realised. “Straight to Miss Honegger.”

  “I was wrong about that too,” said Hartley. “I thought we’d scare you off when we paid our little visit.”

  “Isn’t that what you were supposed to do?” I asked, glancing around for my gun. It had slid beneath a bank of equipment. There was no way I could reach it before the thugs squeezed their triggers.

  Hartley shrugged. “They said it would just make you dig your heels in, and try to find Madam here.”

  “They?”

  “Our lords and masters. And the curious thing is, they were right. Stubborn pair of codgers, aren’t you?”

  “We try our best,” drawled Holmes.

  Elsbeth Honegger stood her ground. “So what now? You kill me too?”

  “Nah, we’re taking you back. There’s still folk at home who have use for you.” His eyes flicked to the copper device behind us. “And what you can do.”

  “But they shut my experiments down.”

  “That was before the Germans showed an interest,” Holmes cut in, glancing over to the table where Honegger had been writing notes. “Headed notepaper, from at least two of the major German pharmaceutical companies. Germany is in crisis. A new crop of medical advances would be timely, especially if they could be patented and sold overseas. After all, that’s why you are doing this, is it not? To find a cure for your nephew?”

  “Enough chat,” interrupted Burns, and fired at Holmes. I cried out as the bullet slammed into my friend’s shoulder, sending him pirouetting to the floor. I scrambled over to him, not caring a jot if I was about to receive a bullet of my own. Burns fired again, but the pitch of the ship sent his aim wide, the bullet ricocheting off the copper with a loud clang.

  “No!” shouted Miss Honegger, running back up to the dais.

  “Stay back,” Burns warned her, but she whirled around.

  “Listen, I shall return with you. I don’t care who foots the bill as long as I can continue my work, but would your masters not prefer that we take my crowning achievement back with us?”

  “They just want you.”

  “Because they have not seen him yet. But when they do…”

  Lightning flashed high above us, and the ship rolled again. Holmes cried out as he tumbled onto his injured arm. I rolled him onto his back and examined the wound. It was pumping out blood. Sitting him up, I glanced around. I searched for bandages or gauze, anything I could use to stem the flow.

  Behind me, Honegger continued her plea. “Trust me, he is perfect. Better than any of them. I have no wish to flounder around in the mud any more. Say what you want about the Germans, but they’ve given me what I need.”

  Thunder crashed, and Elsbeth Honegger looked up into the dark sky. “It may happen at any moment. When lightning strikes that mast…”

  Hartley glanced at Burns. “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Are you seriously thinking of escaping from this ship in the middle of a storm?” she asked. “Let me complete my task, and then we shall go together. They will thank you for it.”

  I didn’t have time to watch for the thugs’ reaction. I had found a store of gauze and folded it into a pad. Now pressed over the wound in Holmes’s shoulder, it was already drenched in blood.

  “Hold it in place, old boy,” I told him. His face was as white as a ghost. “I’ll find bandages.”

  The last thing I expected was to hear Elsbeth Honegger calling for me.

  “You. I need your help.”

  I looked round at her in puzzlement. “What?”

  She was working a pulley, lowering the lid of the kettle into position. The louts had relented, but I had no intention of abandoning Holmes.

  “You’re a doctor, are you not?” she said, struggling with the apparatus. “Trust me, this will be the operation of your career.”

  “I’m busy,” I snapped back. “Ask those two.”

  Burns’s gun swivelled towards me. “I’m going nowhere near that thing. Do as she says.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “You will be there before us if you refuse. And then where will your friend be, bleeding to death all alone?”

  “Do it, Watson,” Holmes said weakly, his hand holding the now scarlet dressing. “I find myself unable to move.”

  I looked from my friend to the gun pointing in my direction, before struggling to my feet. “Very well,” I said, as I tottered over to the platform. “What do you need me to do?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  NEW LIFE

  “Steady,” Elsbeth Honegger said as she guided down the lid. My shoulder burned as I lowered the pulley, but it was in no way as serious as Holmes’s injury. I glanced across at my companion. He was sitting where I had left him, his hand pressed against his shoulder and his eyes closed. Was he even breathing?

  “Concentrate!”

  Miss Honegger’s sharp command brought my attention back to the kettle. Glaring at her, I lowered the lid until the two metal components met with a clatter.

  “That’s it,” she said, checking the seal. “Now, help with the bolts.”

  She moved to the far end of the kettle, fastening the first in a series of hinged latches that would clamp the two parts together. I did the same at the other end, moving in to meet her in the middle.

  Through the windows in the copper I could see the ghastly thing on its cradle, oblivious in death. Perfect. That was what she had called it. Certainly, it was less misshapen than the poor soul in Prestwich Asylum, less hulking than Agares, but it was still unnatural, made out of who knew how many cadavers.

  The final latch in place, Honegger stood with her back to Burns and Hartley.

  “When the lightning strikes, there will be a flash, brighter than anything you have experienced before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that anyone not wearing goggles is going to be blinded.”

  “Goggles?”

  She walked away from me, calling over to the men. “We are nearly ready.”

  Before they could answer, she plucked two pairs of welder’s goggles from a hook and, turning, threw one at me. I caught them, marvelling at this remarkable woman. As she walked back to join me, our eyes locked and I knew what she expected me to do. When the light flashed, the men would be blinded, whereas I, thanks to the goggles’ filter, would still be able to see. As I fixed the rubber band around my head, I glanced at Burns and Hartley, judging the distance between us. They were more than seven paces away. For just how long would they be dazzled? Could I move that fast?

  The ship swayed and I caught hold of a handle on the lid of the kettle.

  “I wouldn’t touch that,” Elsbeth said. “If it starts to conduct—”

  Thunder sounded, but not from the sky above. It came from below, a tremulous rumble accompanied by a vibration that travelled from the floor up into our bodies. Immediately the ship listed to starboard, throwing us against the copper, but the movement felt different from the effects of the storm. There was another sound beneath our feet, the clamour of rushing water. The entire ship seemed to groan, as if its metal skin were tearin
g itself apart.

  “We’re taking in water,” Burns shrieked.

  “What?” Elsbeth Honegger shouted.

  “The hull is breached,” I shouted as the deck sloped. I hung onto the platform’s rail, stopping myself from being thrown against the copper – and not a moment too soon.

  Lightning forked across the sky, striking the main mast. The mass of cables absorbed the inconceivable energy in an instant, channelling it down towards the chamber, the glass ceiling shattering above us. I threw up my arms against the sudden shower of sparks and broken glass, the coruscating electricity flooding into the copper drum.

  The moment the charge met the swirling chemicals within the kettle, a luminescent glare flared through the windows. Even behind my protective goggles, it felt as if my eyes had been boiled away. All around was chaos. Rain lashed down into the exposed compartment, the delicate equipment that lined the walls erupting into flames. There was a scream, shrill and panicked, and I looked up to see Burns where he lay in a growing puddle of blood, the side of his face having been sliced clean off by a shard of falling glass. Hartley was staggering, his gun lowered, desperately rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand. Even in my addled state, I remembered what I had to do. This was my chance, I could disable him; but even as I half-tumbled from the dais, a terror struck me, more deadly than any lightning. The door to the chamber was open, and silhouetted by the light from the corridor outside was a monstrous figure, eight feet tall.

  Agares clambered into the room, snarling with fury, like a monster from hell.

  Hartley turned, hearing the noise behind him, and blindly emptied three bullets into Agares’s chest. The giant roared, but did not fall, swatting the thug aside with one swipe of his mighty arm. Hartley flew across the room, carried by the pitch of the ship, and cracked into the wall, his neck snapping like a twig. I fell to the floor as Agares loomed towards me, hair plastered against his bloodless skin and eyes burning with hatred. For a moment I thought that he was about to pluck me from the ground and send me sprawling like Hartley, but he stomped past, heading for the platform. I twisted, fragments of glass slicing into my hand, but I paid no heed.

  There on the dais lay Elsbeth Honegger, her body limp.

  “No,” bellowed Agares, snatching her from the floor and pulling her upright. Her head lolled back and I could see the vivid burns across her face. She must have fallen against the copper as the lightning hit, the electricity ravaging her body. She hung in the giant’s grip, like a marionette with its strings cut.

  Agares shook her violently, her head flapping pathetically back and forth. “I was supposed to die, not you! You were supposed to show me how. You were supposed to end the curse!”

  The deck reeled, the ship sinking deeper beneath the waves by the second, and even Agares teetered on his feet, Elsbeth’s corpse falling from his hands. Seizing the rail, he threw back his head and howled at the heavens like a wild beast.

  A hand grasped my shoulder. It was Holmes, leaning heavily upon me.

  “Watson, we need to get out.”

  “You,” snarled Agares, spotting us, the only people left alive on the doomed ship to behold his rage. “Did she tell you? Did she reveal the secret?”

  “Now,” shouted Holmes, throwing his good arm around my shoulders. I hoisted us up, almost immediately slipping on the water, and tottered forward. The ship creaked and tilted further, sending us crashing to the floor. Holmes cried out, and then the monster of a man was upon us. He flipped me over as if I weighed no more than an infant and yelled into my face.

  “Tell me what she said!”

  I tried to wrestle his hands from my lapels, but it was hopeless. He was too strong, and I had used up what remained of my already depleted resources.

  “Tell me how to die!”

  There was the crack of a gun, and my world was painted red. Agares slumped down upon me, crushing from my lungs what little air remained in them. I tasted copper in my mouth, my sight obscured by a crimson sheen.

  I reached up, pulling the goggles from my head. Holmes appeared beside me, throwing Burns’s discarded gun aside. He yanked at Agares’s body with his good arm, screaming as his wounded shoulder took the strain. I pushed upwards, attempting to roll the dead weight off me. Agares had wanted to know how to die, and Holmes had showed him, delivering a shot to the man’s head, but I was determined that we should not join the devil in hell just yet. I wriggled from beneath his body and grabbed Holmes. Fighting against the yawing deck, I pulled him up to the door, crying out with the effort.

  As I thrust Holmes out into the corridor, I glanced back and froze. Now it was the detective’s turn to urge me on, yelling at me that we had to reach the lifeboats before the ship went down.

  His shout broke the spell, and I hauled myself through the door, flinging Holmes’s arm around my shoulder. As I propelled us along the corridor, what I had seen in the chamber clawed at my mind.

  It wasn’t the sight of Agares’s body rolling over on the deck, his yellow eyes meeting mine, that had chilled me more than the rain that fell from above.

  No, it was the pale face in the window of the copper drum, pressed against the glass, screaming to be saved.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  BRAVE NEW WORLD

  “You imagined it, of course,” Holmes said, when I finally told him what I had seen as we made our escape. Sitting in my drawing room, with the early August sun streaming through the window, it was hard to believe that our bizarre experience in the North Sea had happened at all.

  We had made it to a lifeboat, the only living souls left on board, or so I kept telling myself. We crashed down onto the waves, moments before the sea finally claimed Das Rabe for its own. With Holmes lying at my feet, I had found a flare, firing it up into the stygian sky.

  Thankfully, a courageous fisherman heard my cry for help and braved the storm to find us. Finally, I could let myself be a patient, safe in the knowledge that Holmes was being cared for. We were taken straight to hospital, where a member of the British consulate was waiting for us, armed with an official communiqué from Mycroft.

  Holmes had fared worse, of course. His bullet wound was less serious than I had feared, although his body, finally giving in to the ravages of the last two weeks, succumbed to pneumonia.

  Mycroft had us shipped back to England, Holmes being afforded the greatest possible care. For a time it looked as though we would lose him. For the second time in a month, I prepared to say goodbye to my greatest friend, but Holmes rallied and was soon attempting to discharge himself at the first opportunity.

  We said nothing of the ship until we were alone, other than Holmes expressing a wish to inform Camille Sellman of her sister’s demise. We owed her that much, although Mycroft was ahead of us once again. He surprised us both by revealing that he had visited the Sellmans personally, explaining that Elsbeth Honegger had been employed on official state business but had suffered an accident. There was truth in the lie, of course. Elsbeth had been conducting state business, although for a foreign power rather than our own. Now, the entire affair was in Mycroft’s hands. Elsbeth Honegger’s work had been lost with the ship, her lodgings in Bremerhaven having been searched and found empty. The senior Holmes brother had insisted that we never speak of the matter again, even going so far as to have us sign a written agreement, which he assured me would protect us from the employers of the late Messrs Burns and Hartley. I had no reason to disbelieve him, but spent the next few days looking over my shoulder all the same.

  My wife returned to London and proceeded to wrap me in cotton wool, a task she likewise attempted to perform on Holmes when he too returned to Chelsea to convalesce. Needless to say, she was encouraged in no uncertain terms to leave him be. However, I could tell that Holmes was grateful to her, and she in turn treated him like one of the family, which was exactly how it should have been.

  Finally, after days of studiously avoiding the subject, I broached what we had witnessed on the ship.

/>   “How did he find us?” I asked, as we sat alone in the house, my wife having gone out earlier in the morning.

  “Agares?”

  “I thought Inspector Tovey was keeping him under lock and key.”

  Holmes’s eyes sparkled. “As you were supposed to.”

  I sighed. “You knew he was free.”

  “Tovey was to release him the moment we left the country, letting slip where we were going first, of course.”

  “To what end?”

  “To bring all the pieces together, what else? I must admit, the appearance of Burns and Hartley was something of a surprise. For once, I had no idea we were being followed.”

  “Used to sniff Elsbeth Honegger out, you mean.”

  “And there I was thinking that Inspector Tovey was the bloodhound.”

  “But how did you know Agares would find his way onto the ship?”

  “I didn’t, although I am glad he did. Mr Agares turned out to be more resourceful than even I predicted; following the ship out to sea, blowing his way through the hull.”

  “Using what? Dynamite?”

  “What else could he use? His bare hands?”

  I was beginning to wonder.

  “But what did he want with Elsbeth Honegger?”

  “What he said. He wanted to know how to die.”

  “You gave him that answer.”

  Holmes gave the ghost of a smile. “As we have already discussed, Agares believed his fantastical tale, believed that he was the creation of Victor Frankenstein.”

  “Cursed with immortality.”

  “And yet, he knew that Elsbeth Honegger had killed one of his own, butchered Adam at Abberton Hospital. That is what he was looking for in the hospital, not the bone, and that is why he followed us halfway across Europe. The man wanted to die, and thought she was the only one who knew how to achieve his goal. He wanted release, the mad fool.”

  “You believe he was insane, then?”

  “The last few weeks have led me to question much about existence, Watson. I am uncertain what I believe at present, but I am grateful that even as my life reaches its end—”