Young Sherlock Holmes: Fire Storm (9 page)

The man pulled his pole back again. Instead of attacking Sherlock he turned his head slightly and spoke to his companion. ‘Get up, you moron! Go outside – get that other kid if he’s still around, and stop this one getting out of the window if he’s not.’

The man shook his head as he climbed to his feet. His expression was a mixture of sullen and furious. ‘I want this one, Marky. I
really
want this one. You saw what he did.’

‘I saw you fall over on your fat rump,’ Marky snarled. ‘Now get outside. This ain’t a time for bruised muscles and bruised feelings. The boss will want to talk to this one, and knowing you like I do, you’ll slit his throat for making you look stupid, and then the boss will take it out on both of us.’

The man – presumably Nicholson, based on the names Sherlock had heard earlier – backed away and turned towards the door to the outside. He cast a last, baleful glance at Sherlock before he left.

‘You don’t want to go through the window,’ Marky said, smiling at Sherlock. ‘If Nicholson catches you, then the chances are you’ll be dead before your feet touch the ground, despite what I told him. He don’t like being embarrassed. Really don’t like it at all.’

‘So what’s my alternative?’ Sherlock asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Marky’s eyes, looking for some indication that the man was about to strike with his hook-tipped pole.

‘The alternative is that you put that pole down and come with me. The boss wants to talk with you, is all. Just a little talk.’

Sherlock shook his head. ‘Based on what I’ve done, I think I’ve got a better chance with your friend outside than with Josh Harkness. At least I’d die quickly.’

Marky shrugged. ‘I see your point, I really do. It’s a conundrum, isn’t it? Go out of the window and you die straight away, but quickly. Come with me and you stay alive for a little longer, but your death is more painful and slower.’ He dropped his voice, trying to lull Sherlock into relaxing. ‘You know, kid, if I were you, I’d –’

Without warning he lashed out with the pole, trying to get the hook past Sherlock’s shoulder so he could catch it in the flesh and muscle over Sherlock’s shoulder blade and pull him forward, but Sherlock had noticed the slight widening of his eyes that meant he was about to do something physical. It was one of the things Amyus Crowe had taught him – how to predict from small movements what people were going to do. ‘Body language’, he had called it. Sherlock swept his pole left and right across his body, intercepting Marky’s weapon as it flashed towards him and deflecting it sideways.

‘So that’s the way you want it then,’ Marky said, pulling back again. ‘A stand-off, right? Except that when the boss arrives it’ll be two against one, and you won’t stand a chance.’

‘There’s always a chance,’ Sherlock said with as much bravado as he could muster.

‘Two ways to escape,’ Marky pointed out, ‘both of them covered. Unless you can magically walk through walls or disappear through the floor, you ain’t got a hope of escaping.’

‘I do if –’ Sherlock caught himself before he said Matty’s name – ‘if my friend escaped before Nicholson got to the window. He’ll have gone straight to the police. They’ll be here in a few minutes.’

Marky shook his head scornfully. ‘The local peelers don’t dare make a move against the boss. He knows too much about them.’

‘But how’s he going to prove it?’ Sherlock asked. ‘All his blackmail material has just been destroyed.’

Marky frowned, thinking.

‘Once the police know that all the letters and documents Harkness was holding over their heads have vanished into the tanning vats, they’ll know he can’t blackmail them any more. What will they do then?’ Noticing Marky’s perturbed expression, he pressed on more urgently. ‘Firstly they’ll want to come out here and make sure it’s true, and secondly they’ll pay Harkness back for everything he’s done to them. Once he’s lost his power, he’s just like any farmer or brewer in Farnham – with the exception that they hate him. He’ll be lucky if he makes it to the cells in one piece.’

Sherlock could tell from the way Marky’s shoulders slumped that his points had hit home.

‘How’s he going to pay you?’ he asked. ‘All the material he’s been using to blackmail people has gone, one of his tanning vats is contaminated and another one is leaking. One of his businesses is finished and the other one is in trouble. If I were you, I’d be looking for other employment.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Unless he’s got something on you as well, but if that’s the case then the proof’s in the vat along with everything else. All Josh Harkness has is word of mouth, but that’s not going to get him very far. Nobody’s going to believe a story with no proof.’

‘You’re a smart kid,’ Marky acknowledged. He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right – Harkness is finished. If the police don’t get him, then some of the landowners around here who he’s been blackmailing will soon take the law into their own hands. He’ll end up as compost on someone’s fields before long.’ He relaxed, letting the pole drop. ‘If anything happens – if I get caught – you’ll put in a good word for me. Tell the peelers I let you go.’ He nodded once, decisively. ‘Time for a career change,’ he said, and then he turned and vanished through the doorway.

Sherlock couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d been expecting to have to fight his way out. He’d been talking in order to distract Marky, to give himself time to catch his breath and work out a plan of attack, but he seemed to have actually talked himself out of trouble.

He gazed at the window. It was tempting, but the other man – Nicholson – was probably underneath by now, and after what had happened earlier Sherlock didn’t think that the man would be amenable to argument.

Reluctantly he headed for the door back into the tannery.

He looked around, alert for Josh Harkness’s presence, but he couldn’t see the blackmailer. The only sign that he’d been there was the pile of damp, stained paper and cardboard boxes that slumped beside the nearest vat in a puddle of brown liquid. The smell was worse than it had been earlier – probably because Harkness had been stirring the stuff in the vats around while he was trying to rescue his blackmail material. One look at the papers and Sherlock knew they were useless for anything. What little printed material was still visible through the stains was smearing into incoherence.

He headed around the wooden walkway towards where the main door had to be, hoping that Harkness had already left.

He was wrong.

The blackmailer stepped out from behind one of the vats. His hair was sticking up wildly, and his eyes were so wide they were nearly popping out of his head. He held a knife in each hand. The light reflected off the wickedly sharp curve of the blades.

‘Flensing knives,’ he said casually, although his expression was anything but casual. ‘Used for cutting the skin off cow carcasses. Very sharp. Very sharp indeed. As you are about to find out.’

‘There’s no benefit in killing me,’ Sherlock pointed out calmly, despite the sudden rapid thudding of his heart.

‘No benefit at all,’ Harkness agreed, ‘apart from the fact that it’ll let me sleep a little better tonight. You’ve ruined me. You’ve stolen the food from my mouth and taken the roof from over my head.’

‘I’ve saved a whole lot of people from ruin and despair,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘It seems like a fair bargain to me.’

‘Nobody asked you.’ Harkness shifted position. ‘Half an hour ago I was a man contented with his lot. Now I’m destitute. I’ll have to start all over again.’

‘If the people around here let you.’ Sherlock walked casually down the few steps that led to the central part of the room. He was too exposed on the walkway. ‘When they find out your power over them has gone, some of them will come looking for you. Best thing you can do is run.’

‘You’re right,’ Harkness nodded. ‘But I’m going to take as much of your skin with me as I can cut off, and when I find a place to settle I’m going to have it tanned and made into a waistcoat so that people will be able to look at me and know what happens if you cross Josh Harkness.’

Before Sherlock could say anything in response Harkness drew his right hand back over his shoulder and jerked it suddenly forward, throwing one of the flensing knives at Sherlock’s head. The knife seemed to spin lazily in the air. Sherlock ducked, and the blade embedded itself in the wood of the nearest vat.

Harkness hefted the remaining knife, tossing it from left hand to right. ‘You can’t run forever, son. But by all means try. It’ll make things sweeter for me.’

Sherlock turned and tried to prise the knife out of the vat, but it was stuck fast. A sudden intuition made him jerk his head to one side, just as the second knife whistled past his face. This one hit the vat handle-first, bounced and clattered to the floor. Sherlock bent to pick it up, but Harkness was rushing towards him, arms outstretched, and Sherlock converted the duck to a spring and a forward roll to take him out of Harkness’s way.

The blackmailer scooped one knife off the floor and pulled the other one from the vat with extraordinary strength. He turned to face Sherlock. ‘The longer you fight,’ he snarled, ‘the better that waistcoat will look on me.’

‘Dream on,’ Sherlock said. ‘The only new clothes you’re going to get are a prison uniform.’ He reached to one side, to the ladder that Harkness had used to get up to the rim of the vat. Grabbing it by the rungs at the top end, he swung it around until the other end pointed at Harkness. The man’s eyes widened even further. He pulled his right hand back again, preparing to throw a knife, but Sherlock rushed at him, hitting him in the chest with the bottom rung, pushing him backwards. Caught by surprise, Harkness staggered backwards, arms flailing. Before he could catch his footing and push back, his right heel caught in the slushy papers and cardboard that he had pulled from the vat. His foot skidded, and he fell. His head hit the wooden floor with a solid
crack
. His eyes rolled up in his head.

Before Harkness could recover, Sherlock threw the ladder to one side and dropped on to the man’s chest, his knees pinning the man’s arms to the floor. He scooped the knives from Harkness’s nerveless hands and held them up, poised, with the blades pointing at Harkness’s face. Harkness was horrified. Before he could struggle free, Sherlock brought the knives flashing down, one on either side of the man’s neck. The knives embedded themselves into the wood, pinning the material of his jacket to the floor.

Sherlock climbed to his feet and stared down at the man. ‘This is where the police will find you,’ he said. ‘Remember that sometimes the rabbits fight back.’

He turned and ran towards the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

After leaving the police station, where he had given the police an edited version of what had happened, Sherlock stood breathing the fresh air. It was like diving into a sparkling river when you were covered in mud. He could feel the horrible smells of the tannery being flushed from his lungs. He knew the air outside wasn’t particularly fresh, but compared to the stench inside the tannery it was as pure as could be.

He had a feeling that his clothes had become impregnated with the smell, and he decided that he needed to change as soon as possible.

He found Matty standing beneath the window of the tannery. His friend breathed a visible sigh of relief when he saw Sherlock.

‘Wasn’t sure what had happened to you,’ he said. ‘I thought Harkness might have got you.’ He frowned. ‘What happened to Harkness? You didn’t . . .
kill
him, did you?’

Sherlock shook his head wearily. ‘We had a little talk,’ he said. ‘I left him there and told the police where to find him.’

Matty shrugged. ‘It won’t make any difference. When the big fish in the pond gets caught,’ he said, ‘the next biggest one takes over. That’s the way things go.’

‘I know,’ Sherlock said, ‘but I can’t do anything about that. Not right now. At least we’ve got Harkness out of the way, and destroyed his blackmail material. That’ll make a lot of people happy.’ He frowned, looking at the way Matty was casually standing in the middle of the alley. ‘What happened to that man who got sent out – Nicholson?’

‘The bloke with the beer belly? He came out and just stood here. Didn’t look happy. Looked like he’d tear someone’s head off as soon as talk to them, in fact.’

‘Where were you?’

Matty indicated a pile of crates on the other side of the alley. ‘When I heard him coming I hid there. He wasn’t exactly keeping quiet. There was curse words he used that I’d never heard before.’

‘So what happened?’

‘He stood there for a few minutes, then his friend came out.’

‘Marky,’ Sherlock confirmed.

‘Yeah, him. He grabbed the other bloke by the arm and said something to him. Next thing I knew they were both heading off down the alley.’

Sherlock nodded. ‘I managed to persuade Marky that, with Harkness’s blackmail material gone, the town was going to become a very unfriendly place for them to be. I think they’ve decided to try their fortunes elsewhere.’

‘Where to now?’

‘Let’s go home,’ Sherlock said.

‘I ain’t got a home, apart from the narrowboat.’

‘I meant Holmes Manor.’

Matty shook his head forcefully. ‘I don’t like that housekeeper,’ he said, ‘and she don’t like me. If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here.’

‘I think,’ Sherlock said, ‘that you’ll find Mrs Eglantine’s influence over the Holmes household will diminish rapidly within the next hour or so. I’m sure you’ll find yourself welcome at the manor from now on.’ He glanced critically at his friend. ‘Well, if you dust yourself off and comb your hair, you will.’