Chronicles of the Lost Years (The Sherlock Holmes Series) Page 8

  “John? How?”

  “There would have only been one, perhaps two, journalists actually in situ and their stories would have been syndicated or simply plagiarized in the other papers. Watson would have seen to it that Steiler and his staff kept their silence and the journalists had no other source through which to learn that there was a third party at the Falls.”

  “But why?”

  Holmes shrugged, suddenly bored with the subject. “If your presence was disclosed, your background would have been investigated and we both know how undesirable that would be.”

  They were interrupted by the arrival of the telegram boy, who held out his tray towards Holmes. He took the cable and read it, then thrust it toward her. “Mycroft. He suggests we avoid returning to London just yet. I suspected as much.”

  Elizabeth read the cable. It was in free cryptic, but she had enough points of reference now that she could decipher its message. “So what do we do now?”

  “Do you speak Swedish or Norwegian?”

  “Not at all. Why?”

  “Sigerson is Scandinavian,” Holmes pointed out.

  “My ancestors were Norwegian. I was born in Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth explained.

  “So…your Italian is not good enough for you to pass as native, either.”

  “Why? What are you planning?”

  “I believe it might be better if we parted company. I was thinking of settling you in some sort of pensione and I would travel. Moran, given a choice of two targets, would come after me.”

  They went into dinner and over the meal discussed the necessary arrangements for settling Elizabeth in a safe situation.

  The next day, Holmes departed to survey the city, searching for a suitable pensione of some description, leaving Elizabeth at the hotel. After a substantial lunch she collected her meager possessions and took herself off on a walking tour of Florence’s beautiful heritage. This proved absorbing enough that it was quite late and fully dark when she finally returned to the hotel. She approached the front door and the light that spilled out into the street and hesitated when she observed the ferret-faced desk clerk talking to a stranger. A handful of Lira were passed over the desk and her heart leapt with alarm, for the stranger’s left hand was missing.

  She stepped back into the shadows at the side of the doorway, trying to think of what she must do. She knew it was vital she warn Holmes and so she must somehow get past the desk.

  She slipped back further into the shadows and moved along the street, looking for an alley or mews or some access to the back of the building. Her intention was to indulge in some creative hotel-breaking and reach their rooms without alerting the desk clerk of her return.

  A dismal alleyway presented itself and she glided down its length, moving silently. The ending opened out into a courtyard that served the back of the hotel and held an untidy assortment of crates and other miscellaneous rubbish left to be disposed of properly. Elizabeth negotiated her way through to the bottom of a tall set of rusty iron steps leading to a narrow door. The service entrance.

  With an outward confidence, she climbed the steps and boldly turned the handle and was more than a little surprised when it gave way and the door swung slowly open. She pushed it further ajar and slid inside, looking around for witnesses. Finding herself alone in the service hallway she made her way along to the corridor she guessed would lead her to the service stairs.

  Three minutes later she reached the floor their rooms were on and was stealthily working her way down the carpeted corridor toward their door. She could see a light from under the door and assumed Holmes had arrived ahead of her, but a week of being pursued had sharpened her cautionary instincts and she moved slowly and quietly, alert to any sign of danger.

  So when she traversed an open doorway and a hand reached out toward her she was startled, but not panicked and she dodged. Holmes stepped out of the doorway and motioned her to silence, then rapidly drew her back into the darkness of the room.

  “Straker is here,” Elizabeth whispered urgently. “In the foyer. I nearly collided with him and retreated around to the back and came up through the servants’ hall to warn you.”

  “Straker, too? Moran is at this minute ransacking our rooms.” Holmes shook his head in mock disbelief. “It appears our little ferret-faced friend is working for two masters.” He took a quick look down the corridor. “It is as well we have so little luggage, for we must abandon it once more. Show me the way to the service door. We have an appointment with the desk clerk.”

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  At the witching-hour, the desk clerk left the hotel and began the ten minute walk that took him to his lodgings near the river. He had expensive tastes and his address reflected this. So, too, did his lifestyle. The salary he earned as a lowly desk clerk was insufficient to maintain such luxury. He was a greedy man, however, and rather than sacrifice his bodily comforts, he had sought other means of financing his desires. His position at the hotel brought him in contact with rich and influential people, whom proved to be an excellent resource, of which he had no compunction in taking his advantage.

  He was reflecting on the little successes he’d had in the last two days as he walked home, congratulating himself on his prowess, when two figures stepped out of the dark and confronted him. He looked up at Holmes and fear revealed itself on his petite features.

  “Yes, you have a right to fear me, little man,” Holmes told him.

  The man began to babble in incoherent Italian, his features writhing with rampant panic. Elizabeth watched silently, almost immediately losing the sense of his outpourings, but Holmes followed it well enough.

  He snapped out questions which the clerk answered, gradually turning from panic to sniveling supplication. Holmes’ disgust was plain to see, though he continued to converse with the man. Finally the clerk fell to his knees and looked up beseechingly at Holmes.

  Holmes waved him away, repelled.

  The little man left, whimpering and muttering.

  To Elizabeth’s surprise, Holmes turned and held out his arm companionably to her and led her back up the narrow street, heading for the city center.

  “You were discussing me,” she guessed. “I caught references to my red hair.”

  “It is rather striking. Everyone notices it. The clerk felt that if we were seriously concerned with being discreet you should somehow disguise the color.”

  “Moran was asking after me?”

  “Yes. ‘A beautiful redhead with green eyes.’ No names were exchanged. I thought there might be a possibility that Moran would try a blanket search of this type,” he continued. “If one was to pay for information from key personnel in each of a handful of hotels in the major cities surrounding our last known location, sooner or later information would reach you. So I paid the clerk to remain silent should there be any inquiries about us. I knew he was the hungry sort by the way he inveigled a tip for the papers, but I did believe he’d stay bought once an arrangement had been made.”

  “I saw Straker paying him off in the foyer,” Elizabeth replied. “It didn’t mean anything to me then, but now I understand.”

  “We’re lucky in one respect. Neither Moran nor Straker have seen either of us here in Florence. That is why Moran ransacked our room. He is looking for identification, which he will not find because I am carrying everything that could identify me. They must have raced to Florence at the clerk’s first communication, only to find us both absent. If they had arrived only a few minutes later, I would have been trapped in the room.”

  They turned into a slightly busier thoroughfare, though even that street was quiet, for it was a respectable neighborhood and the hour was late. At the next intersection, however, Elizabeth could see more traffic and brighter lights.

  “Are you up to another lengthy walk, Elizabeth?” Holmes asked.

  “Yes, if needs be.”

  “Oh yes, it is a needy cause. I want to find a quiet little bed and breakfast hos
tel somewhere on the outskirts of the city and I wish to avoid leaving a trail that can be traced through cab drivers. That means walking.”

  “I can manage that.”

  “Good. Once we have arranged shelter and a bed for what remains of the night, then we will talk.”

  They found a hostel high up on the hill overlooking the city and the cathedral, and Holmes organized rooms. They settled into the two chairs in front of the window, which was showing a paling skyline. Elizabeth curled up her feet beneath her and Holmes stretched out, a cigarette in his hand. The silence lasted for a few minutes and Elizabeth finally prompted Holmes.

  “Whatever you need to say or ask, speak without concern that I may be embarrassed. I won’t be.”

  “I apologize for hesitating and shall speak plainly.” He drew on the cigarette then tossed it into the fire and placed his hands behind his head.

  “I was hoping to be able to place you somewhere in safety and lead Moran along my trail, but it appears he is looking for me through you. A wise plan of action, in a way, as your features are so much more memorable than mine. But for you, it is unfortunate, for I cannot leave you now. That much is clear.”

  “Surely he will not harm me if he is only after information?”

  Holmes shook his head. “You’ve not experienced all the base qualities of humanity. If I left you and Moran found you, how do you think he would go about getting the information he wanted?”

  “I suppose at first he would threaten.”

  “You would not betray me because of a simple threat,” Holmes said, with complete certainty. “Moran has less control and finesse than Moriarty. That is why he was not the leader. No, Moran would need to exert extreme effort to get his information and I do not want that to happen.”

  “I could feed him false information, lead him in the opposite direction.”

  “He would distrust information given so easily. Or, if he did believe you, he would kill you once you had served your purpose. No, Moran does not have the sort of control or logical purpose Moriarty had. You are forever tainted by my company and while Moran is alive I must protect you.” He lit another cigarette. “You must travel with me.”

  “Holmes, why are you going to this effort? Why are you assuming responsibility for me?”

  “I am responsible.” He stood abruptly. “I involved you in this business through my damned inability to leave a mystery alone. I insisted Watson set up that interview because I wanted to learn your secret and as a result I have dragged you across Moran’s path like a sacrificial goat.” He leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece and his chin on his fist. “I can only thank god for your resilience, which allows me to suggest you travel with me. I know you accept the prosaic realities of the situation.”

  “So where do we go to first? Obviously Florence is not safe.”

  Holmes stared into the dancing flames. “I believe anywhere in Western Europe would be equally unsafe. Civilization is our enemy. Moran knows how to use it to his advantage.”

  “Further east, then?”

  Holmes frowned. “I believe we should completely avoid the more populous paths of commerce. They’re a natural bottleneck and Moran will pick us up too easily. Constantinople perhaps.” He dropped his fist softly to the mantle shelf. “We could go through Serbia and across country. We’ll have to cross Bulgaria somewhere, but if we travel in the north and avoid the coast….”

  “Do you really believe it will be that long before you can return?”

  “Perhaps longer,” Holmes admitted. “It may be that you and I will never be able to return. While Moran is alive we must keep one step ahead of him, so we cannot settle down in one place. We must travel.”

  “Holmes, what about Watson?” Elizabeth said softly. “Will he be safe?”

  Holmes rubbed his head wearily. “I believe so. It is me Moran wants. He knows I am not there, in London. Once we lose him, he will return there to watch my rooms. As long as I am not seen there, Watson will be safe.”

  Elizabeth held out her left hand.

  “I will need a ring if I am to pose as your wife. I cannot forever encase my hands in gloves.”

  Holmes put down his glass and tugged at a slender gold ring on his little finger. He tossed it into Elizabeth’s lap. “Try that,” he suggested.

  Elizabeth slipped the ring onto the appropriate finger. “It fits.” She looked at him. “Should I disguise my hair, do you think?”

  “No. If it does put Moran on your trail, I will be there to deal with him. At least we will know where he is.” He lit another cigarette with the butt of his first. “Besides, if I must have a wife,” he muttered with acute irritation, “I can at least take pride in her outstanding beauty.”

  Elizabeth smiled to herself as she related this to me. “I believe, even then, it was too late for him, but he didn’t realize it. I didn’t realize it. We were just two companions on a race for our lives and we didn’t really stop running until we reached Constantinople. But once we had stopped running and paused long enough to catch our breath and look around us….”

  •ï¡÷¡ï• •ï¡÷¡ï• •ï¡÷¡ï•

  Constantinople, capital of the Ottoman Empire, was the gateway into another world and they both sensed it. They stayed in an inn on the European side of the Bosphorus, but spent a part of each day on the Asian side, soaking up the contrasts and strangeness. Holmes found himself truly relaxing for the first time in more than a few months. With the knowledge that they could disappear almost instantly in the unknown and unguessed-at human subways that moved about this most ancient of cities, he could afford the time to sit back and think of his next step.

  Elizabeth felt the same horizon-broadening possibilities.

  They stayed in Constantinople for three weeks, while they savored the many possibilities open to them and tried to choose which option appealed the most. The advantages of being technically dead to the rest of the world were many....

  During one of their excursions to the Hagia Sophia, Elizabeth ran into trouble. Womankind in that part of the world was a second class with fewer rights than our civilized country. Sometimes they are considered as little more than walking pleasure objects and Muslim men in particular are quick to gratify their desires when the yearning is upon them.

  Elizabeth had already discovered her coloring was a beacon in Florence and now she found that it attracted attention she would rather do without. For a while her European dress and Holmes’ company kept her safe, but it was merely a matter of time before a fellow with more than the usual boldness attempted something.

  They were walking down the long colonnaded avenue that ran the length of the mosque when Elizabeth felt a brazen hand on her waist, which slid quickly upwards.

  She clutched at the hand, an involuntary outraged shriek escaping her. Holmes, alerted, pivoted around to intervene. He stepped toward the man and around Elizabeth. She turned quickly to see what action Holmes intended but not quickly enough, for the Muslim was already sprawled on the paving, hands clutched to his stomach and his eyes rolling up into their sockets.

  Holmes caught her arm and pulled her along into the crowd, putting distance between them and the scene.

  It was a mild fracas that caused almost no sensation in a busy street that witnessed at least one murder a week but they both took the warning to heart and Holmes began teaching her his self-defense tricks.

  He was knowledgeable in Baritsu, the Japanese system, and his grounding in the fundamentals of defense was supplemented by his boxing, fencing and singlestick interests. From his years of confrontations with the criminals and desperados that were the raw material of his profession, he had acquired a broad catalogue of techniques drawn from almost every type of self-defense methodology known to man, in addition to a not-inconsiderable supply of tricks that barely gave lip service to fair play.

  The latter Holmes did not hesitate to teach Elizabeth in conjunction with more orthodox skills. His intention was to develop her ability to defend herself by whateve
r means was necessary. There was a degree of self-interest in this: Holmes did not want to be wholly responsible for Elizabeth’s safety and well-being, for their circumstances in the near future may put them in the position where he could not help her and her survival would depend entirely on her own abilities. He reasoned that if she were to overcome her natural weight and power disadvantages, foul play must be included in her repertoire of defense.

  Elizabeth was more than willing to agree with this philosophy. She only had to remember back to the moment upon the moors when she had been utterly at the mercy of a shepherd to see the logic in learning to fend for herself.

  Lessons in violence therefore became a regular program.

  Holmes also bought her a wicked-looking knife. Elizabeth showed me the knife, after first carefully ensuring Mrs. Hudson was out of the way. The knife was curved and sharp and had a gold hilt embedded with green gems. The hilt appeared ornately overworked, but the clever placement of the gems gave a perfectly comfortable grip. The gold was supposedly from the high ranges to the north of Tibet.

  After the incident at the mosque, Elizabeth almost entirely discarded with European dress standards and she sensed her change in costume not only prevented curiosity about her, but helped Holmes relax his guard even more. She took to wearing the Arab head cloth to disguise the unusual color of her hair and a burnoose for comfort and disguise.

  It was the first time either of them had dressed “native” and once she had encouraged Holmes with her descriptions of ease and freedom he, too, donned the burnoose and veiling headgear.

  I gave a start at this and Elizabeth smiled at my reaction. “We were not there to keep up the side, you know,” she pointed out.

  They found the local costume opened up doors for them that would have remained firmly locked otherwise and they entered into a previously unsuspected world. This was the world of the Saracen, one that lay between the traditional regions of east and west, although sympathies in this strange world lay firmly to the east. They were already familiar with the challenges Islam made to their social and political traditions, but now they discovered sub-layers of complex cultures and exotic social structures revealed, pearl-like, one layer at a time, drawing them ever deeper into the heart.