Stone Cold

by Andrew Lane

  A wave of heat wafted out into the corridor, making Sherlock’s eyes water. Matty winced. ‘Someone certainly don’t like the cold,’ he murmured.

  They both entered the room and closed the door behind them. This room was a lot darker than the previous one, lit not by gas lamps but by a coal fire that glowed balefully in the chimney place. There was a smell of something sharp, like vinegar.

  Instead of glass cabinets, the room was lined with glass-fronted cases. They were, Sherlock thought, like the kinds of things you might keep fish in, but only a few of them were filled with water. The others had sand, or earth, or twigs from trees.

  For a moment Sherlock’s memory flashed back to the Passmore Edwards Museum in London, where he had once been attacked by a falcon. That had been filled with glass cases as well, and each case had been made to look like a particular environment – beach, or forest, or field. The inhabitants of those cases had been stuffed animals, made to look as lifelike as possible. Sherlock had a terrible feeling, based on the intense heat from the fire, that whatever was in these cases was not stuffed.

  He moved closer to one of them, feeling a strange mixture of curiosity and repulsion.

  This case was half-filled with gravel and pebbles. Sherlock couldn’t see anything else inside. He bent closer, nose almost pressed against the glass.

  One of the pebbles suddenly lashed out towards him.

  Sherlock jerked backwards. What he had taken to be a large stone was actually some kind of spider. It had unfolded its legs and was poised, angled with its rear end raised. Its body extended at the back into a long tail which it was waving above its lowered head. A stinger at the end of the tail kept hitting the glass with a clicking noise, leaving viscous smears behind. A pair of sharp claws waved from the front of the spider, opening and closing with vicious intent. Sherlock had never seen anything like it before.

  He moved away, towards the next case, and the spider paralleled his progress until it reached the glass at the far end of its tiny world.

  The next case was filled with twigs, branches and leaves. Wary this time, Sherlock held back. He stared through the glass, trying to work out what kind of creature was inside. It took a few minutes, but he eventually realized that one of the twigs wasn’t a twig at all – it was some kind of insect with a thin body and thinner legs, coloured to almost match the vegetation that it was hiding among. Its head was larger, its eyes larger still, but they were green, like a leaf.

  Sherlock moved to the next case, feeling slightly sick.

  This one was filled with water and had sand at the bottom. In the middle of it floated something that looked like a jelly with trailing tendrils that wafted gently in the currents. A handful of small striped fish were swimming in the tank as well, and Sherlock noticed that they kept well away from the jelly-like thing – all except for one of them, which was investigating the boundary between the glass and the sand when a tendril happened to brush across it. The fish jerked abruptly, then turned belly-up and began to float towards the surface of the water.

  Poison, Sherlock thought. The jelly-like creature had poison in its tendrils. The spider had left trails of something on the glass that might well have been poison. Sherlock had a feeling that if he had reached inside the case with the twig-like insect and tried to touch it, then he would have discovered it to be poisonous as well.

  ‘Look at this,’ Matty breathed. Sherlock moved to join him.

  The glass case that Matty was staring into with fascination was filled with bright green leaves. On some of the leaves, frogs were sitting, but these were different from the kinds of frogs that Sherlock was used to seeing in ponds. These were bright red, and no bigger than his thumb.

  ‘What is this place? Some kind of zoo?’ Matty asked in awed tones. ‘I still get nightmares about them two big reptile things that attacked us in America! What are we going to find in the next room? A lion? A couple of crocodiles?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Sherlock gazed around, trying to take it all in. ‘What’s the first thing that occurs to you when you look around?’

  ‘The first thing that occurs to me is – euch! The second thing is that I want to get out, quickly, an’ have a long bath.’

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ Sherlock pointed out.

  ‘Yeah – the reason is that these things are all horrible an’ they make my skin crawl!’

  ‘But why are they horrible?’ Sherlock asked. ‘Why do they make your skin crawl? Look around – the fact is that they’re all poisonous.’ He pointed at the spider-thing, which had stopped stabbing at the glass with its tail and was now watching them with tiny, glittering black eyes. ‘I think that’s called a scorpion. It’s got poison in its sting. They have them in Africa, and America, and other places.’ He moved his finger to indicate the frogs. ‘The bright colour of those amphibians is a warning to birds and other animals not to eat them, because they have poison in their skin. I remember reading somewhere that South American tribes use that poison on their arrows.’ He moved in front of one of the water-filled tanks. Floating inside was a small fish. Sherlock rapped on the glass with a knuckle. Within a few seconds the fish had swollen to several times its previous size, and spines had emerged from its skin. ‘This is a puffer fish. It swells up to deter predators, and its spines contain poison. I was told about it when I was in Japan.’

  ‘I thought you were in China,’ Matty asked.

  Sherlock shrugged. ‘On the way back we stopped in Japan for a few weeks.’

  ‘You never mentioned that before.’

  ‘There’s a reason,’ Sherlock said darkly. ‘But anyway – this fish is a delicacy in Japan, but the chefs have to be careful to remove the poison sacs first, otherwise the diners might die.’

  Matty indicated the tank with the jelly-like mass floating in it. ‘That’s a jellyfish, right? You get them at the seaside.’

  ‘Not like that. If I’ve identified it correctly, that’s a box jellyfish. It’s got poison in its tendrils that’s hundreds of times more toxic than snake venom.’ He looked around again, taking in every tank. ‘Yes, I think everything here is poisonous. What with that and the wax body parts, it all makes sense!’

  ‘It does?’ Matty didn’t seem so sure.

  ‘If you ask yourself, why would anybody have this kind of collection? What would they use it for?’

  ‘I keep asking myself that.’ Matty looked around dubiously. ‘I can’t think of an answer.’

  Sherlock had just opened his mouth, ready to tell his friend what he had worked out, when the side door leading to the next room abruptly opened. A man stood in the doorway – not the big, scarred man that Sherlock had seen before, but a smaller man wearing a black suit and striped waistcoat. His head was shaved, and his tiny eyes were almost hidden in the flesh of his face. His gaze snapped instantly from Sherlock to Matty and back, and then he roared, ‘Boss – we got burglars!’

  ‘Quick,’ Sherlock yelled to Matty, ‘get to the—’

  He was interrupted when the man rushed at him, fist raised.

  Sherlock backed away, raising his own clenched fists in defence. The man threw a tight punch at Sherlock’s head. Sherlock ducked to the right and brought his own fist up and crashing into the man’s chin. It was like hitting brickwork. The man took a step back, scowling, while Sherlock nursed his aching knuckles.

  The man stepped forward again. Blood dribbled from a split lip. He jabbed with his right fist again, but it was a feint. Sherlock didn’t see his left hand swinging in from the side and it caught him on the ear. A spike of scarlet pain flashed through his head, and he fell sideways.

  The man swung a foot at Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock rolled over, and the foot caught him in the back. Pain flared up and down his body, but through the haze of agony Sherlock knew that it was better than if the foot had hit its target. That would have disabled him for hours.

  The shaven-headed man reached out to the fireplace and took a poker from a rack. It seemed to glow in the fireli
ght. The man raised the poker above his head, intending to bring it down on to Sherlock’s skull.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sherlock scuttled backwards on elbows and knees, but the man followed him, preparing to strike.

  From the shadows, Matty launched himself at the suited man, grabbing his upraised elbow and hanging on for dear life. The man fell backwards, with Matty’s weight dragging him down. Matty tried to let go and fall away, but he was too late: the man’s weight landed right on top of him. Sherlock heard the breath rush out of his friend’s lungs with an audible whoosh!

  To add injury to injury, the man jabbed backwards with his elbow, catching Matty in the stomach. As the man rolled away and climbed to his feet, Matty curled up into a ball, moaning.

  The man looked from Sherlock to Matty and back again, trying to work out which of them to deal with first. Matty was out of the fight for the time being, so he advanced on Sherlock, still holding the poker.

  Sherlock looked around desperately. He needed a weapon too!

  The man swung the poker at Sherlock. Sherlock ducked, then converted the duck into a sideways dive that took him to the floor. He rolled, ending up near the fire. There weren’t any more pokers in the rack, but there was a large pair of tongs for picking up lumps of coal. He grabbed them and briefly checked on Matty. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I will be,’ the boy moaned. ‘Just give me a minute. Or ten.’

  Sherlock straightened up and turned just as the man rushed at him, his face was contorted into a diabolical scowl. ‘I’m goin’ to cripple you, you little –’

  Before he finished the sentence, he swung the poker again. Sherlock blocked it with the tongs. A high metallic note rang through the room. The shock of the impact numbed Sherlock’s arm right up to the shoulder. He stepped back, aware that the open door to the next room was just behind him. When the man rushed at him again, swinging the poker like a club this time, Sherlock took two steps back, grabbed the door handle and pulled the door half shut.

  The man ran straight into the edge of the door. He bounced backwards, crying out in pain. He wiped a sleeve across his eye, smearing the blood across his face, and advanced into the next room, following Sherlock.

  ‘Don’t you ever stop?’ Sherlock whispered, half to himself.

  ‘Not ever,’ the man replied. ‘You can kill me, and I’ll still keep on coming. My job is to protect this place from little thieves like you.’

  Sherlock was about to say that he wasn’t a thief, and neither was Matty, but he doubted the man would believe him. He was like some kind of unstoppable clockwork machine!

  He suddenly lashed out at Sherlock with the poker. Sherlock blocked with the tongs again, then poked the tongs directly at the man’s eyes. The man leaned backwards. Taken by surprise, Sherlock followed, suddenly overbalancing. The man abruptly changed his grip on the poker, holding it halfway up and jabbing the handle into Sherlock’s ribs. It felt for a moment like he had broken one of them. Sherlock brought his left arm down to protect his side while he jabbed the tongs at the man’s throat. He caught him just below the Adam’s apple, and the man doubled up, choking. Sherlock hit him hard on the head with the tongs and he fell to his knees, gasping in pain.

  Sherlock backed into the centre of the room, taking deep breaths while he could and looking around to see if there were any other weapons he could use. This room was lined with glass tanks too, but in the few seconds he had to make an analysis Sherlock saw that these tanks had snakes in: some the colour of sand and some brightly banded in red and yellow; some the size of Sherlock’s little finger and one, in a triple-sized tank, as thick as Sherlock’s arm. Attention attracted by the sudden movement, they followed Sherlock with eager eyes.

  Sherlock realized that the man had climbed back to his feet again. Blood was streaming down his scalp but it still wasn’t stopping him. In fact, it appeared to have made him even angrier.

  ‘There ain’t going to be enough of you left to fill a bucket when I’ve finished with you,’ he growled. He swished the poker through the air in front of him. Sherlock could feel the breeze of its passage riffling his hair.

  Behind him, Matty was still curled up on the floor.

  The man charged, still waving the poker.

  Sherlock took hold of his tongs with both hands and swiped sideways. The poker flew out of the man’s hand and struck one of the tanks. The glass shattered.

  The man grabbed hold of the other end of the tongs. For a moment the two of them stood there, each fighting for control, but the man was too strong. He tore the tongs from Sherlock’s grasp and threw them away.

  Directly into another tank. More glass shattered.

  The man grabbed Sherlock by the throat and lifted. Sherlock suddenly couldn’t breathe. His feet weren’t touching the floor. A red mist came down over his vision, making everything foggy and distant. The man was saying something, his breath hot on Sherlock’s face, but the words were muffled by the thudding of blood in Sherlock’s ears. He tried to see over the man’s shoulder in case Matty had got to his feet and was coming to help, but the boy was still curled into a ball.

  This looked like the end. There was nothing Sherlock could do. Not all the puzzle solving in the world was going to help him survive being strangled.

  Something moved by his shoulder. He could hardly see now – his vision was restricted to a narrow tunnel surrounded by blackness – but there was definitely something there, waving slowly to and fro.

  The man saw it as well. His face went pale. Before he could do anything more than ease his grip slightly, the thing lashed out, fastening itself on his cheek.

  It was a snake: striped in vivid red, yellow and black. Sherlock grabbed at its body, which was whipping back and forth. He tried to pull it away, but its fangs were fastened in the man’s flesh. The man himself was screaming now, face contorted in agony and terror.

  Matty suddenly appeared at Sherlock’s shoulder. He was hunched and pale, obviously still in pain, but at least he was moving. ‘Let’s get out,’ he said urgently.

  ‘Take hold of this thing!’ Sherlock nodded towards the snake.

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘It’s going to kill him!’

  Matty scowled. ‘So what? You were tryin’ to kill ’im! ’E was tryin’ to kill you! We need to escape!’

  Sherlock could feel his lips tighten in stubborn anger. ‘It doesn’t matter. He’s a human being, and he’s in trouble because of us. Take hold of this thing now!’

  Matty stared at Sherlock for a second, then at the window. Reluctantly he reached past Sherlock and grabbed the writhing reptile. ‘I didn’t sign up for this kind of thing,’ he muttered.

  Once Matty had a firm grip, Sherlock let go and moved past him, towards the bitten man. His eyes were closed and he was whimpering now. ‘We’re trying to help,’ Sherlock said. ‘Brace yourself.’ He grabbed at the snake’s jaws, careful to use the looser skin around the thing’s mouth as protection against the teeth. It was dry and warm to the touch. Exerting pressure, he pulled the snake’s mouth further open. The fangs in the top and bottom jaws slid out of the man’s cheek, leaving four bloody holes behind.

  Matty slid his hands up so that he was holding the snake just behind its head, preventing it from whipping around and biting him too. His arms flailed as the snake tried desperately to get out of his grip.

  The man fell to his knees, still whimpering. Sherlock stared at the holes in his cheek. There would be poison in the wound now, and he hadn’t got a clue what to do about it. Should he try to get hold of a doctor? Just how long did this snake’s venom take to have an effect? Was it just disabling, or actually deadly?

  ‘Sherlock . . .’

  ‘Not now – trying to think!’

  He had no idea what to do next. No idea at all.

  ‘Sherlock,’ Matty repeated, voice very quiet and controlled, ‘look over there!’

  Sherlock turned and looked to where Matty was staring in horror. There, on the carpet, was ano
ther snake. It was larger than the one Matty was holding, and brown. It must have come out of the second shattered tank. As Sherlock watched, its head broadened out into a kind of hood that made it look more threatening. A sudden rattle made Sherlock look at its tail, which was raised above the carpet and shaking back and forth. There were little bony plates there that made the rattling noise when they vibrated – a warning perhaps? Not that either Sherlock or Matty needed a warning. They were scared enough already.

  Sherlock froze. His gaze flickered around the room, searching for something he could use against the creature, but finding nothing. The tongs were in the shattered glass tank near the bitten man’s head, while the poker was on the other side of the room, lying on the carpet amid shards of glass.

  The snake opened its mouth wide, displaying the red flesh inside. Another warning.

  The only thing that Sherlock could think of to do was to grab it when it struck. It was a risky option, and he didn’t like it, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice.

  The snake’s head drew back. It was going to launch itself at him. Sherlock braced himself.

  Something moved in the doorway of the room they had come out of a few minutes earlier. The snake didn’t react, but Sherlock glanced sideways.

  The doorway was filled by a huge figure. It was the man Sherlock had seen earlier, taking the parcel from the post box, and earlier than that, in a carriage entering the grounds of the house. He had taken off his bulky leather coat and hat, but he was still wearing the close-fitting jigsaw mask. In fact, Sherlock now saw that it was a hood that went entirely over his head. Bright blue eyes shone through the eyeholes. He held a gun in his hand, a hand so large that it made the weapon look like a toy. His eyes moved, taking in the scene. They ended up looking at Sherlock.