Mycroft Holmes and the Adventure of the Desert Wind

by Janina Woods

  “What happened?”

  “I heard footsteps at the top,” she answered in a low voice.

  I strained my ears to make out a sound, signaling to the doctor to stay quiet. A few heartbeats later we were still sitting in silence. The weak light of the oil lamp flickered and cast the shadow of Watson’s gun onto the ground in front of me.

  “You both stay here. I’ll go check it out,” I whispered then. “No one leaves the corridor and there’s to be no light in the cistern. Understood?”

  They both looked like they wanted to complain, but acquiesced quietly. I stashed my gun and advanced towards the doorway. My eyes were used to the murky light by now, but beyond the faint shimmer of orange behind me, there was nothing to see, nothing to make out in the total darkness of the underground graveyard. I cautiously shimmied along the wall and onto the stone slab right outside the corridor. Still there was no sound, except the occasional splashing noise of tiny water droplets merging with the pool below.

  I went down on all fours, feeling my way through the darkness, back up the disjointed stairs. On my hands and knees, I made slow progress, painfully aware that a misstep could send me down into a watery grave all too quickly. Because I couldn’t see, my other senses were heightened and I acutely felt the chilliness of the air and the freezing stones even through my leather gloves. It felt as though there were always one more step on an endless spiral, even though I had counted the steps and knew exactly how many I would have to climb. Then, finally I had reached the top.

  No light, no movement, no person. The way to the surface lay in shadows. Had Victoria imagined it? Did someone flee after seeing her retreat? Had we alerted the cultists to our presence? I took a few more moments to wait, but there was no sign of anyone except us in this uncomfortable place. From my pocket I pulled one of the candles I had snatched from the archaeologist’s stash and lit it with a match. Just then I smelled something strange, just for a second. It was like sugar and caramel... almost like treacle. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but I knew I hadn’t been mistaken and filed the information away in the back of my mind.

  By the light of the candle, I rejoined my companions, and together we ventured further down into the belly of the structure. This time, Watson took the lead. I followed behind and Victoria provided the rear guard as we walked in silence. I estimated another two full turns of the spiral until we would reach the water surface, and cautiously placed one foot after the other to get there in one piece. Down here, the steps were less heavily used and caked with dirt that had accumulated over a long time.

  “There is another tunnel!” Watson said then, his voice echoing in the chamber. “But it seems flooded. No, the water covers merely the bottom of it, but someone has laid out wooden planks to make a dry path,” Watson held out to illuminate some of our findings. “Looks like someone doesn’t like wet feet.”

  Due to the raised walkway, there was even less headspace inside the low tunnel compared to the previous one. Watson asked to go last. Even though I didn’t know him to be claustrophobic, it was obvious that the mixture of tight spaces, anxiousness and lack of knowledge about the place made him afraid of going on. Admittedly, I could empathise, but it was no reason to stop. Not yet.

  The water beneath our feet was still. Tiny splashing noises could be heard when dust and little stones came off the walls as we scraped by them. The air grew heavy with the smell of mold and decay. I was just wondering about our next steps should this turn out to be another dead end, when a sudden draft carried sweet, unused air past me, making the flame of my lamp flicker.

  “Something’s up ahead,” I said, for once unable to hide the excitement in my voice. I don’t think any of my companions minded. “I think I can see light. Don’t be alarmed - I will put out our own lamp now.”

  “Hold on to me, Dr. Watson,” Victoria said encouragingly. “Don’t fall behind.”

  He did as he was told and grabbed the cloth of Victoria’s jacket just as the light went out. Our surroundings became as dark as a moonless night in an instant, and I had to place my feet carefully, so I would remain on the walkway and not immerse my shoes in the dirty water. But with every step it grew just a bit lighter and I was able to step more confidently.

  “We should move quickly,” I said as I almost immersed my shoe in the water on a particularly shaky stretch.

  The ceiling of the hallway wasn’t lower than the above, but on top of the walkway, we all but had to crawl to go through it on dry feet. Finally, we reached a doorway with a few steps leading up into a room from which the light emanated. The space behind it surprised me in more ways than one. It had access to fresh air, even though it was at least ten meters underground. You could breathe easier here than in the rest of the catacomb, and even though it still smelled like something had died in there, it wasn’t as unpleasant as what lay behind us. The space was huge, at least three meters high and felt like a room inside a mansion rather than an underground hiding place - except the windows were missing.

  If the altar in the middle, surrounded by statues and candles, had not been there, you could have easily mistaken the space for the study of a very untidy scholar. Shelves at the walls housed books, scrolls and various other curios I partly recognised from my own occasional research work. A big desk in one corner was overflowing with papers, stacked high. I could even see a small chemical lab on a table on the other side of the room, complete with a cupboard filled with all kinds of equipment and ingredients.

  You could’ve almost called the atmosphere homey. It undeniably had a certain, peculiar kind of charm. I tried hard not to look baffled. This was the last thing I had expected down here, even though we had, in fact, been searching for a hideout, which this was.

  “The candles are lit,” I remarked, as none of the others seemed to give them any mind. “Someone has been here recently. They are rather fresh, too. So that someone could still be in the room.”

  “If someone is indeed here, this is your chance to come out before we have to find you. And you don’t want that,” Victoria said loudly.

  We had already drawn our weapons upon entering the room and held them out into different directions, covering the space around us. Even Watson had grabbed his pistol and for once reacted correctly - even though I was sure he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.

  “Come out, we know you’re here,” I added in my best threatening tone, which made clear that I wasn’t about to negotiate anything. “Alright, if you don’t come to us, we’ll come to you.”

  I nodded at Victoria, who took the left side of the room, whereas I moved away to the right. We slowly walked around piles of books and other objects on the floor and monitored every corner carefully. Watson proceeded to the altar in the middle of the room and kept a watch on the entrance. A few tense minutes later, we lowered our guns.

  “If there’s no secret passageway we have missed, I regret to say that there is no one else in this room,” I sighed. “But that doesn’t matter. We have to examine the objects for clues. There must be something here, which could lead us to Sherlock, if this place is really part of the Desert Wind’s operation... which seems very likely.”

  Thank the stars for the predictable behaviour of religious cults.

  “Look at these shelves! When Holmes was proclaimed dead, the Yard turned to me to help them sort out some of Moriarty’s things. I recognise a lot of the book titles I saw in his study,” Watson said nervously.

  “That’s a very good observation, doctor. I had the same feeling,” I nodded and then turned to Victoria. “When Dr. Watson sorted these things out, he asked me to assist him. I unveiled many of Moriarty’s plans and thinned out his web in England considerably.”

  “We unveiled them,” Watson said with emphasis.

  “You took on the duties of the detective, doctor?” Victoria asked.

  “I felt like I owed it to Ho
lmes. I couldn’t prevent his death, so I wanted it to mean something. Pick up where he left, so to say,” he shrugged, his voice already partly lost in nostalgia. “It was rewarding for a while, but it’s not my calling. I returned to my practice as a doctor soon after.”

  “Nonsense, Dr. Watson. You performed admirably during those days. And in the end, all the credit did fall to you, if you remember,” I added.

  “Only because I could tell no one of your involvement, Mycroft!”

  There was much I could have said then. But mine had never been a work of public recognition, and I would rather die than being seen as petty. We searched the remainder of the room in a companionable silence. It was so quiet that every action resounded so much louder than it should. I turned my attention to a pile of very old looking scrolls next to the altar, as Watson called me over, to ask for my help deciphering some hieroglyphic texts.

  “This is it, doctor! These scrolls tell of a ritual sacrifice, of a person that functions as vessel for Horus. A killing to be made in honour of the god Seth. It even says where the deed should be carried out. Let me see...” I mumbled excitedly and perused the rest of the parchment. “Aha! Judging from my estimations, I think we can make it to the described place within two days, but I would have to check against official records to make sure.”

  “And you are certain we can find Sherlock there?” Victoria frowned.

  “Yes. This place here is some sort of meeting point for the Desert Wind, there is no doubt. And we know of the ritual. This must be it,” I nodded.

  “What’s this, then?” Watson pointed at a stone slab on the altar, inscribed with a mixture of hieroglyphs and ancient greek. “Does it describe the ritual in detail maybe?”

  “Let me see,” I said and placed my right hand on the stone to trace the indentations.

  In that instant the same electrical current I had felt back in Baker Street shot through my hand and up my arm, only many times stronger. I tried to pry my hand away, but it was stuck to the stone as if it was made of iron and the altar a powerful magnet. The symbols beneath my hand flickered as if illuminated from within, and for a second it felt like my hand was being ripped off, then I stumbled back onto Victoria and fell with her to the ground.

  I breathed fast and heavy, and held my hand in expectation of pain, but there was none. On the contrary: My hand and arm hadn’t felt this unburdened at any other time during this journey. Watson opened his mouth to say something, but was immediately interrupted.

  We all jerked up in shock as the sudden noise arrived at our ear. Merely a slow clap, the sound echoed through the space like thunder. In the doorway back to the cistern, which was our only way out, stood a figure wrapped in a wide, white robe, which looked almost like a caricature of a priest. The light from the candles was strong enough to illuminate his face. My eyes widened in horror. Within seconds my gun was back in my hand, as I reacted automatically to this presence. But the vile person in the doorway moved his hands in a soothing gesture.

  “Please, please. No need for this. Must we resort to violence every time? Can’t I invite you to talk first? Over tea, perhaps?”

  I took the opportunity to observe what little I could see of the man. His left hand was missing the pinky finger and over his palm ran an ugly scar. The hair on his head was even thinner than before and a patch covered his right eye, under which a big red blotch stained his cheek. He had certainly taken a lot more damage in the fall than my brother, who had miraculously escaped almost unscathed.

  Still, James Moriarty smiled like a cat.

  “Ah, the good Dr. Watson,” the fiend continued as he scrutinised him. “You don’t look much different at all. I must say the uniform of the Secret Service suits you well. Have you been recruited? Congratulations, if so.”

  “Where is Sherlock?”

  “You come into my house, draw guns, answer my question with a counter question... Where are your manners, good man?” he laughed and pulled a mock-disappointed face.

  “We have no time for your games,” Watson said tensely.

  “Games?” he shouted. “Well, if you have no time, why are you participating?”

  He threw a little object towards us, and I flinched instinctively. It fell to the floor right in front of my feet. Another small, ceramic plate, painted white with three blue, wavy lines. It was of exactly the same make as the other two in my possession.

  “What house are we in now? The House of Water?” I asked, looking up again.

  “Oh, very good Mycroft, very good. The waters of chaos and humiliation are the only bad square in the whole game. Such bad luck...”

  “Explain,” Victoria demanded.

  “There’s really nothing to explain. Let your dear friend tell you about the rules later, I’ve no time for that now.” Moriarty made a dramatic pause, in which he eyed me intently, then righted himself up as well as he could. “My friends of the Desert Wind believe me to be the reincarnation of the god Seth and that your dear detective is the vessel of Horus. Our eternal struggle is divine to them, and they are so right. They want to help me to get rid of him and honour Seth at the same time. It’s one of these great situations where everybody wins!”

  I held my gun higher and pointed it squarely at Moriarty’s head.

  “You will not shoot me. Any of you. Our dear doctor is too polite - don’t look at me like that, you know it to be true. And, after all you all need me to find your precious Sherlock,” he spat out my brother’s name as if it tasted horrible. “And you will never make it out alive if I do get shot. The catacombs behind me are now full of my own agents. Which is also why I can tell you all of this without problem.”

  I narrowed my eyes and sniffed the air. “Sugar...” I whispered. “You reek of sugar. That’s what I smelled up there at the entrance. You let us walk into this trap.”

  “Only because you so rudely interrupted my breakfast earlier. I had to flee my cozy office and eat in a hurry,” the professor shook his head.

  My patience with the man ran thin. In one way, I felt incredible anger towards him, but in a weird, perverted way I was also glad to have finally encountered him in person, and thereby confirmed all of our hopes and fears. Watson grabbed the scroll from the altar and held it up next to his gun. I groaned. Improvisation had never been one of his talents, and he should really stop attempting to be clever. Hopefully...

  “We don’t need you, Moriarty. We have already figured out the place of the ritual,” he said triumphantly. “What stops us from shooting you right here? Your agents? Surely you know us better than that.”

  Never mind.

  “Indeed, Dr. Watson. Admirable observation. Someone is using their head, I see. On that note, let me thank you for bringing dear associate Elizabeth back to Egypt. I would have hated for all that training to go to waste. Once I take care of you and Sherlock, I may even let her walk free,” he did a little bow into Watson’s direction. “As to what stops you from shooting me: Would you believe me when I told you that the catacombs are riddled with explosives?”

  “What?” the doctor exclaimed. “That’s madness!”

  “And also untrue,” I said assuredly. “If there had been any explosives hidden here, I would have detected them by their smell.”

  “Are you really so sure? I expected more of the elder brother of my archenemy. Use your head, Mycroft Holmes,” Moriarty still didn’t waver from his spot in the entrance of the room. “Where could I have hidden them?”

  “The mummies! Their stink masks the smell of almost anything!” Watson shouted.

  “Another point for Dr. Watson. I’m disappointed, dear so-called agent first rank,” Moriarty shook his head. “It’s true. Should you shoot me, my associates will detonate the mummies and bury you alive. You see, they really did excavate and examine them - they just put them back with a little something extra.”

 
How could I have missed this? How... I wavered and involuntarily took a step backwards. Victoria seemed to realise this and in turn took a step up. She held out the gun straight at Moriarty’s head.

  “Cease your rambling and stop with those cheap tricks! If we do shoot you right here, we can save Sherlock, even if we die in the process,” she stated. “I, for one, am willing to risk that.”

  The accused threw his head back in laughter and put one hand to the wall to keep himself upright. His action bothered me much less than it should have, but I was still on edge, disappointed in myself. The professor was not the calm and collected person, the quiet and rational mathematician we had known in London. This was a disfigured, madman in the service of a cult to the Egyptian death god Seth. Hell, he may have even believed himself to be a god! I was betting on the fact that he had even more injuries hidden underneath his white robe... and in his head.

  “I’m sorry, but this is delightful. Yes, sacrifice. This is good. Unfortunately it won’t do you, or your precious Sherlock any good. I am not the leader of Desert Wind - merely a very enthusiastic supporter. They will go through with the ritual whether I am there or not, even though they might not be as happy. As long as I can keep you here, there will be no one to stop it.”

  “Keep us here? Not kill us?” I asked, frowning.

  “Oh, yes. The House of Water has a special role in the game. I really thought you studied it? But I can tell you. Anyone who visits this House gets thrown back to the beginning of the playing field. And while I can’t send you back to London, I can inconvenience you long enough to make it count.”

  “You’re sick,“ Victoria spat. “This isn’t a game!”

  “Now, now. No need for this,” he tutted again, even had the audacity to raise his finger in a reprimanding fashion. “I’ll tell you now what’s going to happen. You lot are staying right here. There is enough reading material to keep you occupied for the next few days. As soon as Sherlock is dead, I will come back and kill you too. It’s as beautifully simple as that.”