Sorry for the late update. I was visiting colleges and didn't have time to publish it earlier.
And now, the penultimate chapter of our exciting adventure!
This is a Sherlock Holmes story I wrote a few years ago, set in an alternate London where the British Empire expanded into the reaches of outer space. Will be posted in chapters on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Scroll to the end for chapter list.
And now, the penultimate chapter of our exciting adventure!
This is a Sherlock Holmes story I wrote a few years ago, set in an alternate London where the British Empire expanded into the reaches of outer space. Will be posted in chapters on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Scroll to the end for chapter list.
“Are you quite certain this is a
good idea?” I whispered to Holmes at eleven o’clock that night.
Holmes
shushed me and peered into the darkness. It was a cold, foggy night, and I
shivered as I pressed myself flat against the outer wall of Buckingham Palace.
I flexed my mechanical fingers nervously and foolishly wished that Miss Morstan
had accompanied us. But no, I chided myself, it was better that she, a fragile
woman, remain in her home during this most dangerous operation, although it had
taken Holmes and myself the better part of two hours to convince her so.
Beside
me, I sensed Holmes tilting his head. “Something is wrong,” he whispered.
“Where are the guards? There should have been a patrol just now.” My friend
hastened towards the gates of the palace, with me hot at his heels. The
entrance to the palace itself was alarming in its complete lack of guards.
Holmes
raced through, halting just beyond the mighty gates. I heard cries and the
sounds of vigorous fighting coming from the courtyard. Holmes started once
again for the mighty building. “That is merely a distraction. Quick, Watson!”
We
ran into the darkened palace and dashed through several rooms. Holmes stopped
and held out his hand. “Watson, do you feel anything odd in your arm?”
I
looked at it and flexed it. “No.”
“Good.
The device I constructed is working, then.”
“You
mean the device Miss Morstan constructed.”
Holmes
grimaced and motioned for silence. The device in question was clipped to my
upper arm, to prevent it from receiving any signals besides those from my
shoulder.
We
journeyed through those royal halls, Holmes padding silently and me keeping as
quiet as seemed humanly possible. Holmes led the way, suddenly breaking into a
sprint as we neared our villain’s target. He burst through the door to the
anteroom of the jewel case, his modified revolver in hand. “The game is up!” he
cried, but then he started, frowning, for there was no villain to be seen.
I
perceived motion in the corner of the room and cried out. In the next moment, a
MAID had flung itself upon Holmes and two more were advancing towards myself.
I
pulled out my revolver and, seeing no other option, shot one of the unfortunate
robots through the cranium. It sputtered down in a grinding of gears, but the
other was still wheeling towards me at an alarming speed. I ducked as it aimed
a deadly blow at my head and I knocked it over to the side where it struggled
to stand.
Suddenly
I felt the gears in my arm move against my will. But this time the gears
stopped when I commanded them to.
“Villain!”
I cried. “Your foul device will not work a second time!”
“We
shall see,” responded a deep voice, and the gears once again moved.
It
appeared that Miss Morstan’s device did not work quite as well as we had hoped.
Exerting
all my will to stop my arm from moving, I ran to help Holmes but was hampered
by the MAID I had knocked down, which had regained its balance. The subsequent
skirmish was made all the more difficult for me by the fact that I was also
struggling to keep my arm under control. I glimpsed Holmes grappling now with
the other human in the room but I was unable to give him aid; indeed, I would
have welcomed aid myself. Battling mechanical servants while one’s arm is
disabled is nothing to laugh at. Two more MAIDs had joined the first three, one
helping Holmes’s adversary and one joining me.
While
Holmes held his own, I must confess that I was overwhelmed. One of the MAIDs
pinned me to the floor while the other raised the large pike it held, obtained
from I know not where, and prepared to stab me through the heart.
Helpless,
I braced myself for the deadly blow.
I
heard a small noise from the doorway and the MAID holding the pike abruptly
jerked, cogs grinding unpleasantly as it underwent a conflict of intentions.
The pike imbedded itself in the floor just to the right of my head and in
broken tones the robot said, “Commen/men/mencing emergency/cy
shutdown/own/own.” Its head dropped to its chest and a click signified its
death. The MAID that had been holding me to the ground rolled neatly to its
feet and began straightening the debris of its comrades.
I
clambered to my feet and was glad to see that the MAID fighting Holmes had also
desisted, allowing him to gain the upper hand on the human villain. Then,
turning to the doorway, I beheld a most astonishing spectacle: Miss Morstan
stood there, a shining rectangular device crackling with energy in her gloved
hands!
“Miss
Morstan!” I cried. “How have you come to be here?”
“Watson!”
Holmes, having rendered his foe unconscious, raced for the room beyond the
anteroom we stood in. Miss Morstan followed him and I her, but Holmes abruptly
halted in the doorway.
“Too
late!” he cried, and indeed, the case containing the crown jewels had been
smashed and the crown itself taken!
“How
is that possible?” I exclaimed. “We halted the villain in the anteroom!”
“That
was not the mastermind, merely the minion,” said Holmes grimly, running back
into the corridors of the palace. “He held us off while his master got clean away
in the commotion!”
“Leaving
his henchman to the mercy of the guards,” commented Miss Morstan.
Holmes
turned and stared at her. “What are you doing
here?” he asked, incredulous. “You were told to stay at home!”
“Would
you prefer it if I had not come when I realized that Doctor Watson’s device
could not possibly block the signals at close range?”
“You
are female! You should not have come!”
“If
I had done as I was told, Watson would be dead!”
“She
did save my life,” I admitted
reluctantly. Holmes looked at me in astonishment before shaking his head and
running towards the palace entrance.
We
were waylaid by the guards, who had stopped fighting each other and run to see
what the commotion was. Holmes took charge. “Quick!” he cried, “the villain went
this way!” Dodging their confused questions, he dashed into the street. Miss
Morstan and I followed with a few apologies and promises of a later
explanation. I do not think the guards considered this sufficient, but they
were disorganized enough to allow us to slip away.
Holmes
immediately lit upon a piece of fresh manure as evidence of which way the
mastermind had made his escape. He glanced about the street and rushed to a
mechanical coach that was parked by the palace wall. “Morstan! Open this!”
Miss
Morstan hurried to unlock it, having the key in her pocket. I now recognized
the coach as the same one she had been repairing when we first met. Holmes
climbed into the driver’s seat and released the brake. The coach began rolling
forward incrementally.
Miss
Morstan joined Holmes in the seat to his left, while I sat in the back. The
mechanic frowned at my friend as he grasped the vehicle’s tiller. “You do know how to drive a mechanical coach, Mr. Holmes,
don’t you?”
“It
can’t be all that different from a traditional one,” said Holmes, stomping on
the accelerator.
The
old mechanical coaches were, as I have mentioned, extremely difficult to drive.
They had a tendency to weave from side to side on the road, and they were
steered by means of a tiller, which made turning the contraption disobliging
and dangerous. To my knowledge, Holmes had never attempted to steer one before.
The
coach shot forward, throwing us back into our seats. I dearly wished for
something to secure myself with, but the wretched thing had no safety harnesses
or anything of the like. I was reduced to clinging desperately to the side of
the carriage as we raced through London at dangerous speeds. The few nighttime
passersby leapt out of the way as we passed.
Holmes
jerked the tiller far too hard as we barreled into a square. The coach spun,
the wheels screeching and throwing up sparks. The noise of the engine was so
loud as to be nearly intolerable.
“For
God’s sake, Mr. Holmes, let me drive!” cried Miss Morstan, clutching her seat
so as not to be flung out.
“No!
I am getting the hang of it,” growled the detective, pounding the accelerator.
Between bouncing from the cobbles and trying not to let my dinner resurface, I
caught sight of a regular coach ahead of us.
“Slow
down!” shrieked Miss Morstan. “You’ll kill someone!” A street urchin proved her
point by diving for cover, barely avoided near-certain death.
The
carriage ahead was at full gallop now. It swung around a corner and Holmes
followed, throwing us into the doors. We were now running near the Thames,
which drove my panic to greater heights. Dying was not something I wished to do
that night, and falling into the Thames would mean my certain demise, weighed
down as I am by my arm. I noticed at this point an alarming rattle coming from
the left side of the carriage. Peering as best I could in the dark and bumpy
ride, I got an impression of the problem: One of the wheels was loosening.
“HOLMES! CAUTION! PLEASE!”
We
were going at full tilt now, far faster that the vehicle had ever been meant to
travel. The tyreless wheels caught at every cobblestone, jostling us wildly and
increasing the difficulty of steering for Holmes. I saw the carriage ahead of
us suddenly turn down a side street. Holmes cursed as we shot past, unable to
risk turning. “Never mind!” he cried, “they must follow the river. They are
merely trying to—”
Ahead
of us, a cab and four trotted into the middle of the road. Holmes slammed his
foot on the brake, but the mechanical coach did not stop until it was not six
feet from the horses, screeching unpleasantly. Glancing at the wheel, I saw
that it was almost off. I tried to warn Holmes, but before I could speak he
once again accelerated. The coach rocketed forward, pedestrians running. It was
truly a miracle that we injured no one during that terrible ride.
A
few streets later, once again a coach came in front of us. But this time,
instead of braking, Holmes pressed the accelerator. My head snapped back and I
was unable to see what was happening for a few moments, but Miss Morstan
explained later that the horses spooked and reared, about to bolt. Miss Morstan
instinctively threw Holmes aside and stamped on the brakes. The mechanical
coach screamed, the loose wheel finally detached, and our vehicle skidded
around several times before slamming into the side of the carriage, knocking it
clear over on its side.
I
am quite sure that none of us would have survived had Miss Morstan not had the
presence of mind to cry “Jump!” as she deployed the brakes. Holmes and I leapt
over the sides onto the cobbles, with Miss Morstan following a moment later. I
therefore was able to watch the fearful crash not as a victim, but as an
observer. The driver of the carriage was not quite so lucky, but he too lived.
He was thrown off his seat and one of his legs was caught under the toppled
carriage, cleanly breaking the bone.
We
picked ourselves up off the pavement once the two vehicles had ceased movement,
besides that of the panicked horse, dragged down onto its side but not
seriously injured. Holmes ran to the fallen traditional carriage. He wrenched
the door open and gave a cry of anger. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that
the carriage was completely empty.
“Holmes,
do not tell me that this was the wrong carriage!”
“It
was the correct carriage, but our foe was wily, Watson. He leapt out in the
backstreets and is even now making his way down the Thames! There is no chance
of catching him now! I should have seen it immediately!” Holmes groaned and
turned away from the coach in disgust.
Hearing
cries from the bystanders, I hurried to help the fallen driver of the
traditional coach. Finding that his injuries, although serious, would heal
easily, I called out for someone to summon an ambulance. Holmes and Miss
Morstan were, meanwhile, climbing about the fallen vehicles, examining them. It
was Miss Morstan who, climbing inside the carriage, gave a cry of surprise.
“Mr. Holmes! Look at this!” she cried, holding up a bag which evidently carried
something angular and heavy.
Holmes
ran to her side and, snatching the bag and reaching inside, brought forth the
Crown itself!
“Aha!”
he cried, “our pirate has left his prize! He could not safely jump from the
carriage while carrying it, so he sacrificed his treasure for the sake of his
own well-being! Well done, Miss Morstan!”
At
that moment, the ambulance which I had requisitioned arrived. I will spare the
gentle reader an account of the questions and answers that followed, the
lectures Holmes received from the police, and the arrest of the carriage driver
except to say that Miss Morstan and I solemnly swore to each other never to let
Holmes behind the tiller of any vehicle at any time in the future, no matter
what the circumstances. We had most thoroughly learned our lessons.
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