The Holmes-Dracula File d-2

by Fred Saberhagen

  "But all of this," Holmes went on urgently, "even this, is at the moment of very little importance. Count Dracula, your life and mine are small things compared to what is now at stake."

  I looked at him closely. But no, he was still in too solemn a mood to perpetrate a pun consciously. "I do not understand," I said. "I refer to the fate of London itself. In a moment I shall explain." His weapon's aim was perfectly steady again. "If, Count Dracula—if, I say—I were to permit you to walk from this room a free man, what would your next move be?"

  "I have some business in London still unfinished. When that is done I shall be peaceably on my way."

  "And the nature of this business?"

  "Personal." I smiled yet again, liking the way this man—my nephew, or whatever he might be—met my eye. The more we talked, the more I knew him as a true Dracula. "But then, I suppose it is public, too. Your great city will be a better place when it is done."

  "Jem Matthews was of course a part of the same business. As was the lady on the dock."

  "Two parts now concluded. But there are at least two more to be finished before honor will allow me to return to private life and cease to trouble your police. And now, my dear Mr. Holmes, I think that I must bid you adieu."

  "Ah?"

  "Your friend Watson has gone for the redoubtable Lestrade, or Gregson, who are strangers to me, but whose profession I can readily enough guess. A van-load of police are surely on their way here by now. I will allow another minute or two in which to finish this very interesting talk; but then I mean to take my trunk, which you have so kindly found for me, and go on my way. Are you prepared to try to shoot me as I do?"

  Chapter Twenty

  Though my vigil at the head of the stair seemed endless, actually no more than a few minutes could have passed before there came a rush of metal-rimmed wheels against the curb below, and the sound of several pairs of feet alighting on the pavement. I went down as quickly and quietly as possible, and met a police constable and two burly men in civilian clothing, just ready to ring. Getting out of the carriage behind these men was Jack Seward, who gripped my arm.

  "Where is he?" Seward demanded.

  "Upstairs. Thank God you have come so soon."

  "Fortunately I was already in the city, and happened to communicate by telephone with the asylum, where they had just received your message." Seward folded his spectacles and slipped them into a pocket, readying himself for action. "From the tone of your message, Watson, there is not a moment to lose. Lead the way, quickly!"

  We had no more than set foot upon the stairs when a shot rang out. I ran on up, and without ceremony flung open the sitting-room door, which had not been locked. Holmes sat slumped in a chair in the middle of the room, one hand holding his revolver hanging almost limply at his side, the other hand raised to his face. He was quite alone. There was some disorder evident, in the way of rugs and furniture being disarranged, and even in that first glance I noted that the great trunk was gone. Beyond the motionless figure in the chair, the door to Holmes' bedroom stood open, and through the doorway I glimpsed a window raised, with curtains blowing in the morning breeze.

  As we burst in, Holmes raised his eyes, to scowl at the rush of men.

  "Where is the prisoner?" I exclaimed.

  "Escaped," he answered shortly. Before he could say more, one of the burly civilian attendants had him by each arm, and the revolver had been wrenched roughly from his hand. Seward, springing past me, took only an instant to force up the sleeve of Holmes' dressing-gown, and to plunge the needle of a hypodermic into his arm. My friend, who had begun to struggle, in another moment sank back limp and helpless.

  My anger blazed up. "You have no justification for such treatment!" I protested, and moved forward to clutch Seward by the arm. To my utter amazement, I immediately felt my own arms pinioned from behind. Looking over my shoulder, I saw it was the uniformed man who had grabbed me. I opened my mouth for another protest, and tried to pull free; but the two men who had been holding Holmes now released his inert form and came to lay their hands on me as well. Their leader still brandished his hypodermic, and as one of his confederates pushed up the sleeve of my right arm, he pressed it home. The last thing I saw before lapsing into unconsciousness was a smile of evil triumph disfiguring Jack Seward's handsome face.

  My return to awareness was a slow and painful process, marred again and again by irresistible relapses into drugged sleep, a sleep shot through with strange dreams or visions. At one point it seemed to me that I was manacled helplessly to a peculiar cart or bed. Again, the comely face of a young woman in a high-collared gown, a complete stranger to me, was hovering near; and I thought she exchanged words with some unseen personage just outside my range of vision. As she gazed at me the young woman seemed concerned about my plight, though she was evidently unwilling or unable to take any helpful action.

  When at last I fully recovered my senses, there was no woman to be seen. To my dismay, however, the metal cart and the shackles holding me to it proved to be only too horribly real. I was held down on my back, unable to do much more than turn my head, in a small room that was more like a cell than a bedchamber. It was sparsely furnished, and the paint on the walls was old and worn. Through shutters and bars, a sectioned shaft of wan, orange-yellow sunlight entered the sole window almost horizontally, suggesting that the day was nearly spent. The effects of the drug had evidently lasted many hours.

  On turning my head I was shocked to discover a still figure similarly bound to another cart, not five feet from my own. I leave it to the reader to imagine my sensations on recognizing in the dim light the face of Sherlock Holmes, pale and motionless as death.

  I whispered his name repeatedly, each time louder than the last, but he made not the least response; and I had about decided to see what I could accomplish in the way of obtaining help by using my lungs at their loudest, when a key rattled sharply in the lock of the stout door that formed the only entrance to the room. It opened, and Seward came in, a small lighted lamp in hand.

  "What does this mean?" I demanded of him, in quiet rage.

  He seemed not to hear, but closed the door behind him, then put on his spectacles and came forward, holding up his lamp. He bent over the inert form on the cart beside mine, and looked for a long moment before he straightened up.

  "Incredible!" Seward muttered then, as if speaking only to himself. "An amazing likeness to the Count—yes, now I see."

  "You know Count Dracula?" I asked—rather stupidly, I am afraid. It may have been that the last traces of the injected drug were still affecting my brain.

  He turned to me with a short, unpleasant laugh. "Oh yes, Watson—Dracula and I are old acquaintances, though I had thought him six years dead. What can you tell me of how he came to be involved in this?"

  I could not have given the villain a helpful answer had I wanted to; but rather than even give the appearance of cooperation, I simply pressed my lips together.

  He shook his head, as if at an obstinate patient. "You are mistaken, if you imagine you will be able to withold information from me. There are some things I mean to learn, from Holmes or from you; and the sooner I learn them, the less painful your remaining hours will be." He looked at me, shrugged, and drew from a pocket of his coat a small case of surgical instruments, such as any doctor might carry about with him. When the case snapped open in his hand, the gleaming knives and scissors, all familiar tools of my own trade, appeared to me in a light in which I had never before seen them.

  Seward's hand was hovering over the open case, as if doubtful which bright implement to choose, when there came a sudden bold rattle at the door. From just outside, a woman's voice, young and carefree, called out: "Jack? I say, are you in there?"

  Muttering something under his breath, Seward snapped shut the case again and replaced it in his pocket. Going to the door, he unbolted it and opened it very slightly. "Mina," he remonstrated calmly, "I am afraid that there are patients here."

  Through the
partially open door I could catch just a glimpse of a young woman's face in the brighter hallway outside. It was the very face that I had seen, and taken for part of a dream, while I was still half-conscious.

  Now she replied lightly: "Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry, Jack. You look somewhat harried; is there anything that Jonathan or I can do?"

  "No, nothing, thanks. I have my attendants on call."

  "I met one just now." She lowered her voice. "A rather brutal-looking fellow, who scowled at me when I came down this way from upstairs."

  "I shall speak to him. However, I am afraid I am not as free of professional matters as I had hoped to be."

  "But two patients in one room? Isn't that odd?" Now she was trying boldly to peer in past his shoulder.

  "Help!" I croaked, loud as I could through my parched throat, thinking that I should never get a better chance. "Send for the police!"

  Seward, not in the least perturbed, went on without even looking back in my direction. "Unusual, yes. But don't worry your pretty head, my dear. What the French call folie a deux, meaning two patients with a shared delusion. Just for the present I don't want to separate them."

  "Police!" I repeated hoarsely. "Tell them Sherlock Holmes is held a prisoner here!"

  The young lady giggled, as I continued my cries and groans for help.

  Continued Seward: "As you perceive, things may get just a bit noisy here before we are finished. Don't let it bother you; and you might just say a word to Jonathan when you go up, so he won't be perturbed if there are a few yells. As soon as I am able I'll join you—for dinner, I hope."

  "I'll mention it to him." To my despair I heard her voice begin to fade as she turned away. "But you know Jonathan—nothing perturbs him, or at least nothing has for the past six years." She started to leave, then turned back. "By the way, I suppose you have no objection to my using your telephone? I wanted to call Arthur and tell him Jonathan and I and the children will be with you tomorrow for the procession. I hope His Lordship has enough seats available."

  "I'm sure he has—but by all means, call him if you like. And—Mina? Before you go. The—the other night I spoke too quickly. But it was the strength of my feelings that led me—"

  The young woman's voice grew steely. "I told you, Jack, that if you spoke that way to me again, you should regret it. There is one man whom I love, above all others. And you are not him." In the next moment she was gone.

  Seward, with the bitter smile of his parting from the lady still on his face, turned back to me, leaving the door ajar. It was a moment before he spoke. "Would you like to try calling for the police again, Watson? As you see, it will avail you absolutely nothing."

  In a moment, a hulking attendant had appeared silently at the door; I recognized him as the "constable" who had assisted at our abduction, though he had since changed out of his uniform. At Seward's order our two carts, Holmes' first and mine following, were wheeled out of the room and across the adjoining corridor. The brief look afforded by this passage convinced me that the building was, or had been, an asylum or hospital of some sort; and the deadly silence of the place indicated we were somewhere outside of London.

  On the other side of the corridor we were wheeled into a somewhat larger chamber, Seward closing and locking the door when we were all in. As we entered, a strange smell assailed my nostrils. At first I thought of open drains, but there was in this stench a peculiar muskiness that quickly brought to mind the idea of an unclean zoo.

  When Seward brought his lamp into the room I saw the animal responsible, and at first could not believe my eyes. Crouched in a metal cage against the farther wall was a creature bigger than a large hound, yet unmistakably a rodent. Its feral eyes gleamed redly at me in the lamplight, and its snout twitched, before it turned away to pace its cage, on feet repulsively naked-looking below the matted fur covering its legs.

  Averting my gaze from this disgusting sight, I saw with mixed sensations that Holmes' eyelids were now open. His eyes looked flat and lifeless, and they wandered aimlessly, showing the continuing effects of the drug Seward had injected, rather than any understanding of our predicament. Seward set down his lamp upon a table, and now, also seeing that Holmes was awake, came over to offer a light bow. "Mr. Holmes. I am very glad to meet you—I was about to say, even under these unhappy circumstances. But then, from my point of view, it would be easy enough to imagine our meeting under circumstances infinitely worse."

  Holmes' eyes moved dreamily to focus on the face which hovered over him. His lips formed a word, scarcely audible: "Who—?"

  Seward smiled again. "You may call me Jack. Why not? We are about to establish a very intimate relationship—unless you, Dr. Watson, are ready now to begin to talk to me? No? Too bad."

  Our captor walked over to the cage, and there turned back to face us. "Would it surprise you gentlemen to learn that a large part of this animal's diet is human flesh? Poor Scott, when he caught the beast, was having a difficult time providing its accustomed fare… not a lot of plague victims around just then. As usual, those of us who scrupled less accomplished more—as soon as we had taken over his camp, Scott himself went along the path that you may take. He went rather quickly, however, whereas you will not… and all for the lack of a few words."

  He paused, looking from one of us to the other. "Well, Mr. Holmes? Come, no need to look so dazed, I know you are awake now. Have you nothing to tell us yet about your work and Scotland Yard's? For example, where have you been looking for my infected rats? Ah, it is too bad you do not answer, for it means that I must begin to feed Dr. Watson here to the Rat. Campbell, come here and remove the doctor's shoes. Feet first will be best; that way good old Watson will remain able to join in our conversation. We shall have all night to discuss my questions; my departure for France will not take place until dawn."

  Another of the burly attendants had now come into the room, and with the one already present started to take off my boots. Looking down past my own feet, I could see the slavering animal pacing in its cage. Holmes' voice, in the form of an unrecognizable croak, now issued at last from his parched lips. "Why not… to the fleas?"

  Seward frowned; evidently this particular reaction was not one he had anticipated. "But my dear sir, surely you realize that the time for experiments with fleas is past?… I see, you pretend ignorance so I shall think it a waste of time to question you. No, Holmes, that is a rather pathetic effort, and it won't do; I have too much respect for your powers. You must realize that by now I have obtained my thousand rats and they are ready, filled with plague from this my walking reservoir." He tapped on the bars of the cage, and the creature within bared its yellow teeth and strained against the barrier on my side. Its eyes were fixed on my bound and helpless figure, as if it were used to this procedure, and knew what to expect next.

  Seward went on: "Before we depart for France we shall launch my thousand rats into the London sewers, where in a day or two they will begin to sicken and die. In a week a million rats will be infected, and in a week after that, possibly a million men, women, and children. A pity you and the damned bloodsucker did not allow us a chance, here in London, to arrange a foolproof system for collecting our ransom—but in the next city the authorities will be not at all stiff-necked about paying; not with the example of the world's greatest metropolis fresh before them. You'll be in no position to interfere, next time, and if Dracula continues to take an interest I'll find a way to deal with him—perhaps he would not refuse a partnership."

  He was interrupted by a rattle at the door, which in the next moment was unlocked from outside. It swung open to admit the man Holmes had already identified as Dr. David Fitzroy. Fitzroy's mustache had been shaved off, and a pair of sideburns were under cultivation since I had seen him at Barley's, but still I had no difficulty in recognizing him again.

  Exchanging terse greetings with Seward, he crossed the room to draw a blind over the window—the last faint rays of the sun were just disappearing there, and my heart sank at the thought
that I should probably never see it again. Coming back, Fitzroy cast a single, impersonal glance at me, then paused to look down at my companion. "So," he murmured, "this is what the greatest detective in London looks like. But you know, I have the feeling that I've seen him before."

  Seward at once changed the subject. "You have the extra serum with you? Just in case any of us should need a dose?"

  "Yes—there are only six of us left now, I believe? I saw Day and Morley upstairs, and here are Campbell and the Pincher."

  "That's right."

  "Then there's plenty." And Fitzroy indicated a small black bag he had brought in with him and set down on the table. The two muscular attendants, who had been following this portion of the conversation with special interest, now nodded with satisfaction. They had completed the task of removing my boots, and were standing one on each side of my cart, ready to push it up to the cage when their masters should command them.

  I thought Seward was on the point of giving that command, but Fitzroy held him for a moment with a gesture. "We're all ready for departure, then. The other cage for the Rat is aboard the launch, and the launch is fueled and ready. We'll just stop at the old place to release the rats into the sewers, and then be on our way for France. But what about—?" And he motioned toward the upstairs.

  "My guests? What about them?" Seward asked coolly.

  "Well, the other day you mentioned the possibility of one more person coming with us, and I saw you talking to the woman then, and I thought…"

  Seward turned away. "No, I care nothing about her. Let her stay and enjoy the plague with the rest of London."