Mycroft Holmes and the Adventure of the Desert Wind Page 6

  Then one supporting chain of the painting above our heads ripped apart with a loud, metallic clang and the frame fell downwards, dangling on just a single piece of metal connected to the ceiling. After a moment of shock, only a slight shower of dust fell down on our heads, as the painting swayed above us and crashed into the pew behind us before coming to a halt at one of the pillars. The spectacle ended as soon as it had begun. The wind waned and reverent silence returned to the holy halls.

  The first thing I was aware of after the peace in the building returned, was the motionless body of Watson just to my right. He was still breathing, but unfortunately unconscious. The work of art above our head was still moving precariously, so I grabbed the doctor’s body under his shoulders and with Taquini’s help, I pulled him out of the row between the pews. We carefully laid him down on the cold floor of the central aisle. The door was still open, but the weather seemed to behave normally again. Still, the incident had done its best to rob me of my temporary feeling of safety in the cathedral.

  “He must’ve hit his head while falling,” Taquini said. “There’s a bit of blood on the back.”

  I groaned in frustration and moved a hand through my hair to smooth both it and my emotions over. Then I pressed my fingers to Watson’s pulse point on his neck. It was steady and at a reasonable speed.

  “Are you alright?” I asked the church worker.

  “Yes, I only hit my elbow, nothing to worry about. Thank you for your quick reaction.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was a beat of silence between us.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Taquini said and slumped back to sit on the floor next to the doctor. “The winters in Milan are normally not so... violent.”

  I eyed him cautiously. In my usual work, I tried to never leave a deep impression. Too much depended on me performing my deeds in the shadows. Now this man would certainly remember us, for better or worse. While this wasn’t a particular setback right now, it still felt wrong to me. Better to leave quickly. I shook Watson’s shoulder to make him wake up, but he wouldn’t stir.

  “Something hit your cheek.”

  Only then did I realise a slight stinging pain on my skin and brought my fingers up to feel a bit of blood running down from what felt like a short cut. It wasn’t in any way consequential.

  “Ah, allow me,” the Italian man said then and pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, then leaned over and carefully removed the drops from my skin, staining the cloth a deep red in the process. “Can’t have that handsome face all bloodied up...”

  I was momentarily frozen in the light of the man’s radiant smile, but then Watson stirred from his forced sleep, gasped loudly and grabbed at the air in shock.

  “Welcome back.”

  “Thank... you...” the doctor said slowly, blinked into the light and looked around. As we locked eyes, I briefly shook my head and indicated him to stay silent about the obvious matter. He nodded ever so slightly to acknowledge my request. “What happened?”

  “A gale knocked a few things over,” I simply said. “Can you stand?”

  “My head hurts terribly.”

  “It seems like you’ve injured it during the fall. My apologies.”

  “You acted in good faith,” the doctor replied readily under a groan.

  I nodded and turned to our new friend. “Mr. Taquini, I’d like to return my friend to our hotel room and have a look at his wound.”

  “Of course,” the man agreed. “Can I assist you in any way?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I believe the incident has already created enough work for you.”

  I surveyed the damage. Not many items were broken, but the whole church was in a bad state of disarray. Add to that three paintings, which had come partially undone from the ceiling. So had the one above our heads been a coincidence? Or was it only made to look like one?

  As Watson gave the okay for me to move him, both of us helped him keep his balance until he had reached a standing position, which was still a bit wobbly, but held up. Taquini smiled at me as soon as we were ready for the departure.

  “A shame, really. I would’ve loved to show you the way to the shelter, but it seems like we both have other plans now.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” I sighed. ”But I should be able to find it on my own”

  “If you don’t, I’ll be here for the better part of the day.”

  “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

  There was something about that man I found intriguing - and whatever that was, it was gracefully helped along by his obvious advances. Still, we politely said our goodbyes without any further comments. This was not the time.

  I slung Watson’s arm over my shoulder to keep him straight and carry some of his weight. Slowly, we slumped out of the church and closed the entrance doors behind us, which had still been wide open. By then Watson had already found a much more stable footing and detached himself from me.

  “So, where are we going now?”

  “We are going nowhere. You are hurt and will go back to the hotel right now. I will continue without you today.”

  “But I need to help you. Sherlock would...”

  “What my brother does or doesn’t do is none of my concern, doctor.”

  Watson bristled visibly and - consciously or not - took a broader stance. “I am very much capable, Mycroft,” he huffed, but squinted his eyes in pain. “In fact, I’ll be out there right when my brain stops knocking on the inside of my skull.”

  “Which is precisely why I will undertake this investigation alone. You’ll be of no help to me and would only put yourself in further needless danger. What if you have suffered a concussion? Surely as a member of the medical profession, you’d advise anyone in your condition to stay put.”

  I saw him take a deep breath to hurl yet another argument at me, but something in his eyes had already changed. Especially after I appealed to the rational doctor in him.

  “Then what would you have me do?”

  “Return to the hotel and rest. If my investigation turns out to be fruitless, we will need to draw up a replacement plan and I need you in better condition for that.”

  “I don’t suppose I could...”

  “No. There is no reason to put us both in harm’s way. Still, any information that could connect to the man who attacked us in Dover is just as vital as the interrogation of the child. You remember the look of his clothes and especially the dagger?”

  “I couldn’t forget them if I tried.”

  “If you insist on a task, this is your mission, then, and there will be no more discussion. But first you need to return to the hotel and rest that head of yours. Remind me again: Who of us is the doctor?”

  Watson huffed again and shook his head, which only elicited a groan of pain and thereby proved my point nicely.

  “I guess you’re right. But be careful,” he said warily. “The things that are happening don’t seem... right.”

  “Not right?”

  “Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m on about! The man in Dover, the storm, the roof tiles... and now this! Something is happening that’s beyond our understanding and I don’t like it.”

  I frowned on his words.

  “Dr. Watson, you are once again seeing ghosts where there are none. Yes, we’ve been attacked in Dover, which was surprising as well as unusual, but it’s nothing that hasn’t happened before. Someone simply knew where we would be, which means they were well informed, and as much as that irks me, it isn’t reason enough to suspect anything else.”

  “But the storm! The fire!”

  “There simply are blizzards in winter, and nature does have a way of behaving unpredictably at the best of times. As for the light we have witnessed: I admit, it seemed a little dramatic, but
there are a number of chemicals I could mix without problem, which would produce the same reaction.”

  Watson seemed as exasperated by my rebuttals, as I was by the fact that he had the audacity to even assume such a... thing would be possible. That was exactly what our enemies wanted us to think. To fall into an irrational fear, unable to act. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

  “And your hand? Mycroft, you have to admit this isn’t natural!”

  “What about my hand?”

  “I’ve seen you clutch it every time something has happened, always contorting your face in pain.”

  “We have more important work to pursue and no time to think about impossible things,” I hissed, acutely aware of my defensive tone. “If we delay our initiative now, we might as well give up on my brother altogether. I will join you at the hotel as soon as I can... and I trust you do your part.”

  I wasn’t proud about how I fled the scene and left Watson behind, but he had his instructions and would perform them. In the end it didn’t matter what he thought about me. If there was something I had always hated, it was to justify my actions in front of... well, anyone. Results were what counted, and I got results. Mostly good ones, too, so no one was in the right to complain.

  The map of the city in my head provided me with the shortest route to the place the church worker had described, and my feet found the way automatically. The snowfall had waned completely and the wind died down to a gentle breeze. While the sky was overcast, it was still the best weather I had encountered throughout all of our journey. I knew how quickly it could change, though.

  There was the matter of the strange sensations in my hand. While I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, there was no way to deny that something had happened back in Baker Street and that it was connected to the abduction of my brother. I couldn’t ignore it, but to let it dictate my actions was simply a preposterous thought. Still, I flexed my right hand absentmindedly as I walked, repeatedly checking it for any signs of discomfort, but no matter how many times I examined it, there was absolutely nothing wrong. Just as the sand in the ledger had turned out to be just ground down rocks, my skin was unblemished and healthy. A circumstance which irked me terribly.

  The streets were empty and I progressed quickly, walking ever faster to put distance between me and Watson with his... irritating questions. Within minutes I was at the building, which was supposedly housing the homeless. It appeared derelict and abandoned from the outside, but looks can be deceiving. It was only sensible to nail shut any windows and fill the cracks to keep the cold - and any unwanted guests - outside during the winter. I knew that I wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms, but then, was I ever? It had always been my brother’s style to mingle with the less fortunate, never mine. But needs must...

  At least the front door was recognisable as such. Predictably unlocked, it opened with a minimum of screeching noise and so I slipped into the darkness of the corridor stretching out behind it. The inside was dry, as clean as it could be and surprisingly warm, considering the state of the building, but the air smelled stale and used. No one was present to welcome me, so I had no choice but to venture further on my own. A short walk through a corridor, past closed doors to either side, brought me into a sort of communal area furnished with some tables and a lot of aggregated chairs, all of different makes and in various states of disrepair. Five men were sitting around a table in the far corner, heatedly arguing in the fast and aggressive way only the Italian language can manage. No other people were present, and most importantly: No children.

  One of the men became aware of my presence and pointed it out for his colleagues. I was now scrutinised by five gazes across the room, but the dim light and a copious amount of clothing on my person hid important details quite well from their inquisitive eyes. Luckily for me, I didn’t suffer the same problem and sized them up while walking through the space without missing a beat. As I dodged the countless chairs, I had ample time to observe the group.

  The man closest to me, with dirty blonde hair and a garishly patterned scarf around his neck, which stood in stark contrast to his overwhelmingly dark brown clothing, was obviously the one with the highest standing. I didn’t know what role he occupied within their world, but the others glanced at him repeatedly with questioning looks, while he used all of his time to observe just me. He was the only one not shrinking back into his chair as I stopped at a respectful distance and lifted my hat briefly as a greeting.

  “Good evening,” I opened the conversation in what I knew to be a companionable Italian accent. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “You’re not here to stay the night,” the blonde man stated, and I groaned inwardly. Of course it had to be an individual with at least some intelligence. The dumb ones were much easier to manipulate.

  “You are correct. I am merely searching for someone,” I said and smiled briefly when I saw the instinctive reaction of a man, who has had too many brushes with inquisitive police forces already. It was mirrored in three of the other men around the table. “In a private matter, I might add.”

  A healthy amount of distrust visibly spread across the table. Of course any outsider who just barged in and asked questions would be seen as suspicious. And I was a foreigner on top of it all. But this wasn’t the first time I had ever encountered such odds and it wouldn’t be the last.

  I made sure to keep an open stance and my manners polite enough, as well as my choice of words collegial. No person, no matter his circumstance, appreciates being talked down to or treated in any way less than his conversation partner. It didn’t matter that I excelled in these matters and could make a person feel smaller than a fly under my feet - the current situation called for a more... gentle approach.

  “I’ve been sent this way by Mr. Taquini. He was so kind to help me with my search. Could I ask you to extend the same kindness to me?”

  The mention of a familiar name took some antagonistic air out the atmosphere. I had assumed that the man was well liked among the people he chose to help and was proven right.

  “Alright, then tell us who you’re looking for and we’ll see if we can help you,” the blonde man flashed a smile, showing a surprisingly low number of crooked teeth. “But if we don’t know the person, of course, there’s nothing we can do.”

  The other men nodded their agreement in unison as if it had been choreographed by an invisible theatre director. Frankly, it was an amusing sight, but that would’ve been the wrong emotion to show.

  “I’m looking for a boy about this height,” I indicated it with my left hand, always leaving my right free to act in this unfamiliar environment. “He helped a friend of mine and I would like to find and thank him for it.”

  Unfortunately, the gentlemen in front of me didn’t seem to look kindly on strangers, who were interested in children.

  “There is no boy of that description here,” one of the men with a long, greying beard and unruly black hair said with an aggressive and challenging edge to his voice. “In fact, there are no children here at all.”

  Even Watson would’ve been able to detect the man’s lie. So there were children in the building, and by the sound of it at least one boy, who fit the description. But it didn’t seem like this was the way I could get to them. It was neither the wisest nor the quickest way to seek a confrontation with the men. Also I wouldn’t make myself beg for entrance. No, there had to be a more subtle approach.

  “Ah, excuse me, then. Thank you for the information and have a good night.”

  I nodded, showed them a perfunctory smile and lifted my hat again, then turned around and made my way to the exit in a pace that was neither too leisurely nor too fast. Despite that, I was only allowed to cross half the room before the men had caught up with me and the dirty blonde placed himself right into my path.

  I had really wanted to avoid this.

  “Now, before we le
t you leave, why don’t you tell us why you’re really looking for that boy?”

  “I believe I already told you,” I answered, still smiling.

  “And it has nothing to do with this letter to London, John Watson?”

  I whirled around. One of the man had the audacity to pick my pockets while I was distracted. Damnation! He held in his hand the fateful envelope and waved it back and forth. They believed me to be Watson... Someone must’ve alerted the homeless that a man of that name might come to look for the letter boy. This whole city turned out to be one big, elaborate trap, after all. First for my brother, then for his rescuers. But these men were unlucky.

  The gentleman who stood between them was anything but a harmless doctor.

  “I would appreciate if you could let me leave.”

  “Not a chance. There’s a price on your head, Watson,” the leader laughed, pronouncing the doctor’s name Wotto-sen.

  “How much is it?”

  “None of your concern.”

  “I believe it is very much my concern, as it is my head you’re all wanting to sell.”

  The dirty blonde threw the first punch. It had been painfully obvious from the way the muscles in his arm tensed. The slight repositioning of his feet told me everything I wanted to know about the direction his fist would approach me in. I ducked, which eliminated the resistance he had calculated to encounter. The man tumbled forward and I could easily push him sideways and to the ground, as there was no way he could regain his balance mid-air. The leader fell against the legs of one of his lackeys, and they both crashed noisily into a table behind them.