Sherlock Holmes 01: The Breath of God (23 page)

“No,” Silence insisted, “it wasn’t as petty as that. Civilisation is moving too fast! It’s forgetting all the powers and spirituality of the past. We needed to remind them, to make them remember what true power is, to relearn the lessons they have forgotten. We needed them to be afraid.”

“And, of course, the more people who believe how powerful you are, how powerful
it
is –” Holmes gestured out of the carriage window into the darkness outside – “the more powerful you all become. Because that’s how it works, isn’t it? Belief is key? Yes? On both sides?

“Hilary De Montfort believed didn’t he? And look how effective the Hellish wind was on him.

“Lord Ruthvney? Not so much, he was no occultist, sufficient digging by Langdale Pike was enough to confirm that. He was just a major shareholder in the line upon which we are currently travelling. I presume you wanted his papers? Forge authorisation for you to work here?”

“We needed his authorisation to have this train laid on for our use,” Silence said, “they weren’t planning on running anything along the tracks for months yet.”

Holmes nodded. “And once that was organised another death, particularly one as absurd as that, all helps the theatre doesn’t it? Keeps me involved, excites the readers of the popular press, has them eagerly awaiting the next grisly happening.”

“But why involve you at all?” I asked Holmes.

“We said it ourselves at the very outset of this case,” he replied, “I have become the detective who is known for solving the impossible. I would have become involved anyway. All the better if I was involved under their
control
, guided into accepting their side of the story. Then of course – as they have so frequently requested – I would endorse their actions with Scotland Yard and indeed the government. The word of Holmes? The most famous rationalist in the country? What better endorsement could they have!

“The only thing I don’t understand,” he admitted, “is why you involved Carnacki. I know it was Karswell who hired him, the stench of his outdoor temple, the yew tree and the verdigris sculpture gave that away.” He looked to Carnacki. “Congratulations on both the precision of your memory and the sharpness of your senses by the way, you’re almost to my standard.”

“Too kind,” Carnacki replied.

“But wasn’t he too much of a risk?” Holmes continued. “Someone who might see through what you were up to?”

“That was Karswell’s fault,” Crowley said. “I must admit I thought it was over-egging the pudding somewhat but he was convinced that if we could fool you then Carnacki would be no problem. And what harm could there be in one more recommendation? He is rather well thought of by a number of landed gentry, after all.”

“I’ve exorcised enough of them,” Carnacki said, “but surely there was more to it than that?”

“I hoped you might introduce me to your friend, the writer, Dodgson,” Karswell admitted, “with his connections at
The Idler
magazine I thought he might have helped me find a publisher.”

Holmes actually laughed at that. “Unbelievable,” he said. “You construct that entire shadowplay just to entice someone who may be able to help you get in print? Unearthly creatures appearing within the bookstacks! You killed a publisher doing so!”

“He’d already turned the manuscript down,” Karswell said with a shrug, “a short-sightedness he lived long enough to regret as I fed it to him, page by brilliant page.”

Holmes sneered in disgust. “You petty little man.”

“Don’t you dare call me that or I swear you’ll regret it!” Karswell shouted, pointing menacingly at Holmes. “Nobody insults me and lives!”

“I’ve been threatened by much worse than pathetic little bookworms like you,” Holmes said dismissively. “Now,” he looked to me and Carnacki, “the chemical that they have been poisoning you both with, as well as gassing the poor survivors of the bomb explosion above...”

“The
nzembe
,” Carnacki said.

Holmes nodded. “Nothing of the sort, just hallucinating victims, more theatre, briefly glimpsed, to build up to their grand final act.”

“Which is?” I asked.

Holmes nodded towards the rear of the carriage. “You’ll notice we’re pulling a freight container. I imagine it holds more of the gas we saw used above.”

Silence nodded. “I synthesised it myself. You’ve seen the sort of hallucinations it can cause.”

“Indeed. Am I right in thinking you plan to release it at Bank?”

Silence nodded again. “From there you can access the entire Underground, the gas would float up all over the city, contaminate thousands.”

“Mass murder,” Holmes said. “I hope your conscience burns, Doctor.”

“The gas doesn’t kill,” Silence insisted, “Watson’s proof of that. But the things they’ll see!”

“Enough to convince anyone of angels and demons.” I said.

“Precisely,” Silence agreed, “and with the whole city convinced of the supernatural, we will come into our own, happy to save their lives and souls and bring society back to a more cautious, spiritual level. What we’re doing is for the benefit of mankind, however it may appear to the contrary.”

“The gas was enough to kill Ruthvney,” Holmes argued, “driven to grotesque suicide by his visions. Many more will die as you subject the capital to your brutal empire of fear. Kindly don’t attempt to hold any moral high ground Silence, your hands are as bloody as those of your fellows. But no matter, we shall see the gas is never released.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley said. “I don’t think we’ve quite run out of options yet. I haven’t been entirely idle while Holmes has been preaching from his pulpit.”

Light suddenly burst through the windows as we appeared at Chancery Lane Station and Crowley’s face bore a terrifying rictus of ill humour. “I have summoned our faithful servant to once again assist in our efforts.”

The train bucked violently as that terrifying force, the so-called Breath of God, hit us from the rear. Carnacki toppled forward, the gun falling from his hands. The train’s metal wheels screeched on the rails as the driver hit the brakes. For a moment all was chaos. Holmes rebounded off the wall, Crowley reaching for his throat. Silence held his head in his hands and rolled along the floor towards the driver. I was pressed back in my seat, reaching out for Carnacki in the hope that I could help break his fall. Karswell did the best of us all, he jumped for the gun.

“No!” Silence cried, lying on his back by the front exit. “This has gone too far!”

Karswell pointed the gun and fired, shooting Silence right between the eyes.

“Nobody tells me what to do!” Karswell shouted. “Nobody!” He turned the gun towards Carnacki but the younger man was already on the move.

“Quickly, Doctor!” he yelled, flinging Holmes’ dropped cane at Karswell. “The door!”

The tip of the cane jabbed Karswell in the face and his hands went up with a startled cry. His clenched fingers pulled the trigger and a bullet went into the roof of the carriage, sending out a shower of wood splinters and dust. Taking the moment of grace offered, I opened the door closest to me and both Carnacki and I toppled out onto the platform.

The wind was still curling around the walls of the station, sending the various cables and posters flapping against the tiles or whipping around our heads.

“We need to keep moving,” Carnacki shouted over the noise. “Come on!”

“But Holmes!”

I turned back to see him through the carriage window wrestling with Crowley. I also saw Karswell raising the gun to fire once more.

“Duck!” Carnacki cried. We both ran up the platform towards the exit. Two bullets ricocheted off the tunnel wall sending fragments of tile and plaster tumbling into our hair.

The exit was sealed, no escape that way.

“The track,” said Carnacki, snatching a lantern, “no other choice.”

He pulled me past the front of the train. Through the window I saw that duplicitous old sailor cowering from the threat of gunfire. Carnacki aimed towards the edge of the platform. “Careful!” I warned him, yanking him back. “The central rail is electrified.”

We slipped down as carefully as we could and ran ahead into the darkness, the sound of the wind growing louder and louder behind us.

“We can’t possibly outrun it!” said Carnacki, passing me the lantern. “Our only chance is to fight it.”

He removed his cufflinks, kissed them tenderly then turned and threw them into the tunnel behind us, muttering an incantation under his breath as he did so. In the low light it was impossible to tell precisely what was happening, but a shimmer of light passed across the whole tunnel as if a firework had been ignited in our wake. There was a deep bellowing sound that I could only imagine was the Breath of God colliding with some form of barrier, though there was nothing I could see.

“Keep moving!” Carnacki insisted. “I don’t know how long that will hold.”

My ears had popped as if something had sucked the air out of the tunnel and I massaged them as we ran, trying to get my hearing to return. Slowly they cleared, in time to hear the thing I had feared, that dull hum of electric current. Crowley had gained control once more.

“The train’s coming!” I said. “It’ll mow us down!” Then a thought occurred to me. “Or pick us up.”

I turned and flung my lantern at the wall where it exploded sending a trail of frame licking across the dirty brick.

“What are you doing?” Carnacki asked.

There was no time to explain. As I had hoped the electric sound shifted in pitch, as the driver – that fraudulent old soak – panicked at the sudden explosion and slowed the train’s engine, uncertain what he was driving into.

“Jump on!” I said, and we ran back towards the train, clambering onto the slight scoop at the front. Gripping the edge of the windows, on either side of the driver, we could hang there, somewhat precariously, as the train once again picked up speed and moved along the tunnel.

“All he can do is hope we fall off!” I called, looking up at the infuriated face of the driver.

“An objective he may yet see fulfilled,” Carnacki replied, gritting his teeth and trying to work the tips of his fingers more firmly into their holds.

The train began to speed up and it was all we could do to maintain our grip.

“We might be able to jump clear at the next station?” I suggested.

“One of us may,” Carnacki agreed. “It rather depends what side of the train the platform is on.”

I saw what he meant. While it was certainly in the realms of possibility for whichever of us was on the same side as the platform, there would not be time for the other to inch across the front of the train in order to jump.

“Then let’s both be ready,” I said, “so we can take the chance when it’s offered.”

Both of us hung there, trying to twist our heads so that we could see ahead and anticipate our chances. Soon, light appeared.

“Your side,” Carnacki said and I felt bad for him as he tried to shift his grip before it slipped. “Best of luck.”

I dropped my body weight to my left, the opposite direction to the platform, waiting for the right moment. I would need to swing myself, using momentum to jump in the right direction. Hopefully the wind resistance, pushing past the nose of the train, should help carry me. The train’s speed was limited, fast enough to offer a genuine threat of injury but slow enough that I might just manage the manoeuvre with my legs intact. There was only one way to find out. I tensed and then flung myself towards the light and the platform beyond it. For one terrible second it was all in the air – would I make it or not? Then I hit the platform and rolled. I got to my feet as quickly as I could and ran back towards the train. Was it long enough? Would I have time?

I jumped towards the final carriage, grabbing at the ropes that held the tarpaulin in place. It was smaller than a passenger carriage and, clambering over the top of the gas canister, I was able to look directly through the rear window and into the carriage we had originally been sat in.

Holmes was up and still fighting, though I could tell from a fast blossoming bruise on his cheek that he had taken something of a beating. He turned towards me and I saw a momentary flicker of recognition on his face as he caught sight of me through the window. He turned his back on me and did his best to block any view of me from the Karswell or Crowley who were at the front of the carriage.

I could only hope that Carnacki had managed to maintain his grip.

I inched forward, wondering whether I might be able to disconnect this last carriage from the rest of the train. But if I raised my head a fraction too far, the roof of the tunnel would shave it right off me.

The sound of raised voices alerted me to trouble. In the carriage Holmes was being shoved out of the way as Karswell ran towards the rear window.

“I knew it!” he shouted. “Crowley! He’s here, the bastard’s here!”

Karswell yanked down the window and pointed his gun to fire.

“Don’t be an idiot man!” Crowley shouted. “You’ll hit the gas!”

I didn’t know what else to do but duck as the sound of a gunshot rang out. The shot went wide – it would later become clear that Holmes had pushed Karswell to ruin his aim – but there was a popping nose, like a champagne cork, from a foot or so away. It was followed by the hissing sound of escaping gas. He’d breached the canister.

I did my best to hold my breath, sure that the gas must be flooding around me. It was too late though, for the effects of that terrible poison began to make themselves felt. The jolting of the train wheels against the track got louder and louder, like the pounding of a blacksmith’s hammer, and I became aware that the tarpaulin was shifting underneath me.

“John...” whispered a voice, still audible over the noise of the wheels, “take my hand John, I’ll keep you safe.”

As the tarpaulin slipped away it revealed what was left of my wife. The years had been cruel and the fingers that reached for me, tickling my cheek and leaving a little of themselves there, were far thinner than even the dainty hand of the woman I had loved with all my strength.

“Not real,” I said, begging myself to believe, even as her other hand pushed its way between the buttons of my shirt and raked my skin with tips too hard and wet to be nails. “Not real!”