Part 12 (1/2)

Maupertuis indicated us with a flick of his head.

'Surd,' he whispered to the man behind him, 'kill them.'

We leaped back into the room and I slammed the door. There was a cheap bolt on the inside: I threw it, but it wouldn't stop Surd for long. Holmes tried to open the door again, crying, 'I must see the other man!', but I pulled him towards the window.

'The drainpipe!' I gasped. He picked up my meaning straight away, and clambered over the window-sill. I gave him a few seconds to get clear, then followed.

I still have nightmares about that climb. More than once I felt the bolts that attached the drainpipe to the wall start to give. Rust scoured my hands, and a b.l.o.o.d.y haze seemed to hover before my eyes as I called upon all my reserves of strength. I paused to look up at one point, and saw Maupertuis and the cowled figure of his companion leaning out of the window watching us. Of the menacing Surd there was no sign. I presumed that he was racing down the stairs to catch us. In my panic my foot slipped, and I was left hanging by a supporting bracket whilst my muscles screamed for release.

My flailing feet found a brick which projected slightly from the wall and I resumed my climb, drenched in sweat. I could not tell how far I had come, or how much was left. My universe was a stretch of crumbling brick and a cast-iron pipe.

'Jump!' Holmes's voice shouted from below. Trusting him, I let go.

It felt as if I was hanging unsupported in mid-air for an eternity, but the drop could have been no more than a few feet. Holmes steadied me, then pulled me away across the garden towards the wall.

'Oy!' a voice yelled from the direction of the house. I ignored it, and pounded after Holmes. A hand caught my jacket, and I was pulled up short.

Turning, I found myself in the grip of the greasy-haired footman.

'What's your game, then?' he panted. I planted a short jab to his solar plexus and a cross-cut to his jaw. He'd been in a sc.r.a.p before, though, and shrugged the blows off without letting go.

Over his shoulder I saw Surd leave the house and lumber towards us.

Holmes had reached the wall by now, and was urging me on. I redoubled my efforts.

Surd paused, stood upright, and gazed strangely at me. A warm breeze stirred my hair. It must have been a reflection of the sun, but it looked to me as if his eyes were glowing.

I tried to jerk myself out of the footman's grasp, and succeeded too well.

Staggering backwards, I caught my foot in a clump of weeds. I sat down, hard.

It was that which saved my life.

As the footman grinned down at me I felt, rather than heard, a sudden whumph, and watched in disbelief as his head was engulfed in flames. He screamed and flailed his arms around. I scrabbled backwards through the garden on my hands and heels. He was jerking like a marionette in the hands of a drunkard. The flames were spreading down his shoulders and arms. As I watched, a fiery seam opened up across his chest. I was screaming too, as Holmes hauled me up over the wall and pulled me along the road, out of sight of the burning man, but not out of range of his agonized shrieks.

Chapter 7.

In which Watson and the Doctor attend a family reunion where much is explained and an unusual guest is introduced. explained and an unusual guest is introduced.

Holmes dragged me around the corner and onto the street. My side was raw with the pain of running, and the old Jezail bullet wound in my leg throbbed with a hot, insistent beat. I kept gulping for air, but it seemed that no matter how fast I panted, it was not enough. My stomach was in revolt, and I paused for long enough to bring up a thin, acrid bile before Holmes pulled me on.

Eventually he slowed and allowed me to collapse against a lamp-post. He glanced back urgently. I tried to follow his gaze. Although my eyes were watering, I could see that the street behind us was empty. Everything seemed normal. The birds were singing, the sun shone upon scrubbed steps and a cat padded along a wall.

And yet, not five minutes walk from where we stood, a man was burning like a Roman candle.

'They do not seem to be pursuing us,' he said finally. Apart from a slight flush, he was unaffected by our escape. 'No doubt they are worried about attracting attention.'

'Holmes, who are they?'

He frowned.

'These are deep waters, Watson,' he said finally. 'I confess myself adrift.

What we have seen today is not amenable to deductive logic, and yet...'

'And yet it happened.'

My breathing was coming under control now. My stamina had never fully recovered from my wounding near Maiwand and a subsequent bout of typhoid in Peshawar. It never usually let me down when I made demands: it just extracted its price later. I would probably be laid up for a couple of days after this.

'I need to think,' he said distractedly.

'Perhaps Mycroft...' I ventured.

'No. No, not Mycroft . . : Holmes glanced briefly at me, debating whether to let me in on something. I was well aware that there was some player in this mystery whose ident.i.ty was being kept from me. 'But perhaps...'

The clatter of a four-wheeler made us both jump. It was coming from the opposite direction to Drummond Crescent, and I relaxed as Holmes hailed it with a short blast upon his whistle. It slowed to a halt as I pulled myself to my feet.

'Baker Street,' Holmes barked to the m.u.f.fled cabbie, 'and double the fare if you make good time!'

He opened the door and aided me into the shadowed interior. I sank gratefully into the upholstery.

'Thank Heaven for small mercies,' Holmes muttered with heartfelt relief as the growler clattered off.

'Let's not get personal,' said a voice from the shadows. 'Small but perfectly formed, I think you'll find.'

A figure leaned forward into the light from the windows. I groped for my revolver, then remembered leaving it back at Baker Street. The four-wheeler turned a corner, and a shaft of sunlight suddenly illuminated our fellow-traveller's features.

'Doctor,' Holmes snapped, 'is that you?'

'Let's pretend it's not,' said the Doctor, 'and see what happens.'

'I presume that this is no accident.'

'Given the random nature of quantum interactions,' the Doctor mused as the cab turned again, and I saw the great hall of Euston Station through the window, 'can the confluence of any two events be truly described as anything but accidental?'

'I refuse to bandy words with you, Doctor. Give me a straight answer.'

'I prefer bandy legs to bandy words,' the Doctor murmured. 'An answer to what, Mr Holmes?'

'To my question.'

'You didn't ask any question.'

'I quite patently did.'

'Oh no you didn't!' the Doctor chanted, grinning.