Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror Page 26

  Amanda was exhausted and cold but she wasn’t going to let Earful and Splunk forget their promise. They were going to help her find Nick or their deal was off. She ached for her mobile, could feel her fingers itch to text him. How had people ever got along without digital devices?

  “You said you’d help me find Nick,” she said.

  “So we did,” said Splunk. “Any ideas?”

  She gave him a sarcastic look. “You want me to do all the work?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Earful. “We’ll find him all on our own.”

  How they were going to do that without knowing anything about Nick she couldn’t imagine.

  “We can’t go back to the Yard, that’s for sure,” said Splunk.

  “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” said Earful.

  “Because they’d just arrest us,” said Splunk.

  Earful gave him a withering look. “I know.” Then he turned to Amanda. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s just it. I have no idea where he was going. I just know he was going to try to help me. Although now that I think about it he said something about a lawyer.”

  “A lawyer?” said Earful. “There’s a lot of those about.”

  “Yes, but it would have to be a cheap one,” she said. “He doesn’t have much money.”

  “A cheap lawyer, you say?” said Splunk. “How about Ernie Tabachnik?”

  “Bah,” said Earful. “He’s a git.”

  “Tell me one cheap lawyer who ain’t,” said Splunk.

  Earful looked at Amanda sadly. “He’s got a point. You want quality you have to pay.”

  “Well it’s moot now, isn’t it?” she said. “Anyway he might have gone to some cheapo guy or tried to get money for someone better. Either way I don’t know where he’d be.”

  “We’ve got to narrow it down or we’ll be chasing our tails,” said Earful.

  “There is one other possibility,” said Amanda.

  “What’s that darlin’?” said Splunk.

  “Sherlock Holmes.”

  Earful went ashen. “Holmes? What’s he got to do with this?”

  “We saw him yesterday,” she said. “His friend Dr. Watson fixed my shoulder.”

  When Nick returned to Baker Street he found Holmes rummaging around in his cupboard. The detective handed Nick a sack and said, “Hold this please.” He removed a couple of top hats, tails, cloaks, and other fancy dress and handed those to Nick as well. After that he dug in a drawer and pulled out two wigs—one blonde and one gray. Then he turned and looked Nick up and down.

  “You’re a bit taller than I but this will have to do. Watson, come here. You’ll play the woman.”

  Watson, who had been sitting in a corner reading a newspaper, rose and said, “Not I.”

  Holmes reached out and yanked Watson’s sideburns. “You are a bit thick of body and the muttonchops will have to go, but you’re the best candidate. Mr. Muffet and I are too tall.”

  Watson huffed. “Oh all right. But no laughing.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of it,” said Holmes. “Now I’ve got a frock for you. It will be a little tight but it will work.” He threw Watson a pale pink gown. “The cloak will cover you so you don’t have to shave your chest hair.” He reached into the cupboard again and produced a brunette wig. “Here’s the hair.”

  Nick glanced at Watson. The doctor was not amused but he sighed and began pulling off his clothes and throwing them all over the room. Finally he stood there in his shorts, stomach hanging over.

  “Damn you, Holmes,” he said as he yanked the dress over his head. It fit perfectly. “You had this made just for me, didn’t you?”

  Holmes smiled. “Of course. Now the wig please.”

  Watson grumbled but pulled on the wig. He looked ridiculous with his muttonchops and mustache.

  “It will do nicely once you shave,” said Holmes. “Off you go. Try not to cut yourself.” He turned to Nick. “Mr. Muffet, chop chop. We don’t have all night.”

  Nick removed his clothing, folded everything neatly, and stepped into the formal wear. Then he put on the blonde wig.

  “Hm,” said Holmes. “Too recognizable. Take these spectacles.”

  He handed Nick a pair of rimless glasses, watched him fit them to his face, and stood back.

  “You need a mustache.” He turned back to his cupboard and produced a blonde appliance and a tin of glue. “Put this on.” Nick stuck the mustache to his face. “Good,” said Holmes. “You’ll fool him.”

  Then Holmes donned his own disguise. It was perfect. With the gray wig, spectacles, and false nose he was unrecognizable. His reputation as a master of disguise was obviously well earned.

  “Now,” he said. “A little instruction. This will be a bit tricky, but with your theatrical training you should manage it.”

  Nick started.

  “Did you think I didn’t know?” said Holmes. “It’s obvious. You need to work on that. Anyway, as I was saying, we will need to perform some delicate maneuvers, to wit the following. When we arrive at the appointed spot, we will envision something that scares us deeply. Do not stint or the shadow will not appear. We need to broadcast our vulnerability. Can you do this?”

  Nick was used to digging down inside himself and using his emotions in his acting, but this was different. There had been so much horror in his life in the last couple of years he was afraid that if he evoked it it would destroy him. He might become so vulnerable that he ended up like Amanda. The very notion was terrifying.

  “I—” he started.

  “Use it,” said Holmes.

  Nick gaped at him. How did he know?

  “You won’t need it for long, Mr. Muffet,” Holmes said. “Just a moment. If you were doing this alone you’d need to sustain the emotion, but because we’ll be combining our fears we’ll only need it for a trice. But you must participate or the next part won’t work. I can’t stress strongly enough that you must hold on until the shadow appears. Then you must instantly switch to resistance and mentally fight the monster, but in a specific way. You do not want to dissolve it. You do not want to scare it away. You want to send it to Moriarty, right to his very brain.”

  Holmes smiled at the astonishment on their faces. “I know we don’t enjoy access to his formulas,” he continued. “But if I’m correct we won’t need it. The monster will give us that. If we can resist its power we should be able to direct the emotion it feeds on, but it will require great precision to do so. We must do three things at once: resist, grab onto the fear, and be aware of each other’s minds so we can combine our strength into one great burst. The moment that happens we direct that fear to Moriarty, who will be nearby.”

  “But how do we find him?” said Watson.

  “That’s the trickiest part,” said Holmes. “You must sense him as well. You can see how delicate this all is.”

  “Holmes,” said Watson. “This verges on the metaphysical. I am in no way certain I can do this. You’re asking us to read each other’s minds.”

  “I’m aware of that, Doctor,” said Holmes. “It’s quite risky. However, I am certain that if we do manage it the result will be spectacular.”

  “What happens when the fear gets inside Moriarty’s head?” said Nick.

  Holmes chuckled. “Then, my dear Mr. Muffet, we control him.”

  Nick, Holmes, and Watson had almost reached the point where the first shadow had appeared.

  “Are we ready?” said Holmes.

  Nick nodded. Watson made a grumbling noise.

  “Yes or no, Watson?” said Holmes. “If you’re not ready say so now.”

  “I’m ready,” said Watson. “It’s ridiculous though. Bunch of mumbo jumbo.”

  “Humor me,” said Holmes. “We’ll all have a good laugh.”

  “Fine,” said Watson ungraciously.

  “Excellent,” said Holmes. “Let’s be off.”

  They traveled the remaining block to the spot and Holmes whispe
red, “Now.”

  Nick thought about how afraid he was of being consumed by his past. Normally he avoided thinking about it as much as he could, which was quite a lot, but now he let the images have free rein. He could do this for Amanda, and would.

  But he was unprepared for the result. As the fear grew he could feel it physically—in his gut where Blixus had shot him, in his heart where Amanda lived, in his head where logic told him to hold on tight. The fear surged inside him, larger and larger like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him until he could scarcely breathe. He tried to gulp air into his lungs, but his muscles wouldn’t work, and he began to feel lightheaded. Then, just as his vision began to fail him, a monstrous shadow appeared in front of him.

  It was much bigger than the others, a phantasm created from the deepest fears of three strong men. Later he would wonder what the others’ nightmares could possibly be, but for now he knew only his own. Fifty feet high, it towered over them like Godzilla, swirling like a hurricane, thick and dark as the night, shrouded in the fog, its smell overpowering.

  As his fears swelled out of control panic gripped him and he felt the urge to run. In his mind his fears had always been manageable, but now, faced with the horror they had created he couldn’t escape. He screamed and felt himself about to lose consciousness as his past caught up with him.

  “Muffet, resist!” Holmes cried. “You can feel sorry for yourself later.”

  “I can’t,” Nick yelled back, breaking into sobs that wracked his whole body. “It’s too much. Can’t think, can’t move, can’t—” “Live any longer” was the thought that came to his addled mind, but he couldn’t say it.

  “I thought so,” said Holmes. “You’re nothing but a fraud. You present yourself as this big, strong hero but you’re weak. You don’t deserve her and you know it. She knows it.”

  Nick turned and looked at him through his tears. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” said Holmes. “Go ahead, let go. Die right here in front of us. You know you want to. It would make everything so much easier, wouldn’t it?”

  As Nick heard Holmes’s words the fear fell away and unbridled fury took their place. He had never felt such rage in his life. He lunged at Holmes, but the detective stepped aside and he stumbled.

  “On the ground. That’s where you belong,” Holmes taunted.

  Nick picked himself up and flew at Holmes again, slicing and kicking, but the detective dodged every move.

  “Use it!” he cried. “For once in your life do something worthwhile. Stop wallowing and fight back.”

  Startled, Nick realized what Holmes was doing. He was right, of course. He had been a coward, refusing to face his own demons, dodging them the way Holmes was dodging his kicks. Amanda was so much stronger than he was. He could never do what she did, live with the nightmares day after day without a word of complaint, continuing to work and strive and do what needed to be done.

  Amanda. If he were to give in to the monster he’d leave her alone in a strange place and time, perhaps to die by the hangman’s noose. What was the matter with him? Was he so selfish he would let that happen?

  No. He was not and would not. He was Nick Muffet, just a boy, but a boy who cared. A boy who mattered. A boy who wouldn’t let his mistakes, no matter how egregious, wrestle him to the ground. The past was the past. His new life would begin now.

  He pushed back against the specter in his mind, picturing what he would do if it had Amanda. The thing blocked him—an eventuality unforeseen by Holmes, but Nick pushed harder. “Never, never, ever,” he thought over and over again.

  As they fought their mental tug of war Nick could feel the sweat run down his forehead and into his eyes, and still he resisted. Then, slowly, he could feel his force take hold, and a brief moment of opportunity opened up. He reached out with his mind and felt the hard shells of his companions’ resistance, and he pushed like Sisyphus with his boulder, harder and harder until he felt their minds give like eggshells. Then his resistance was theirs and theirs his, an immense ball of strength. “Now,” Holmes whispered,” and Nick felt for Moriarty. He could sense the man there, so much like Blixus and so easily recognizable—Blixus, the man who had tormented him, warped him, nearly ruined him. Imagining his mortal enemy in front of him again he snapped, his anger gathering, expanding, growing into a monster of its own. Filled with rage he pushed the great ball toward Moriarty with his entire being and then—

  A whimper. No, don’t let it break your concentration. But what if it was Amanda? He looked around but could see nothing in the darkness. Of course not. How could it be? She was in jail.

  The monster was hovering but had grown indistinct, melding with the night and the thick fog. They had it where they wanted it. All it needed was a good shove. Nick focused again, pushing and shaping the force of the three of them, and then—

  Another whimper.

  His mind shut down and the shadow grew again, spewing the smell of death.

  “Muffet!” Holmes hissed. “Focus!”

  But Nick was staring in disbelief. There in front of him, in the dim glow of a street lamp, was a man who looked a lot like Blixus Moriarty holding a knife to the throat of his friend Clive Ng.

  “Out of the question,” said Earful.

  “Sherlock Holmes is out of the question?” said Amanda. “Why?”

  “Never mind,” said Earful abruptly.

  “We don’t like him,” said Splunk.

  “I know he’s not exactly warm and cuddly,” said Amanda. “But there is a possibility that Nick’s gone to see him.”

  “What makes you think that, darlin’?” said Splunk.

  “Only because he’s the greatest detective in the world,” she said. “He might help clear my name. That’s how Nick would see it anyway.”

  “He ain’t the greatest,” said Splunk, clearly offended. “We is.”

  “Oh bother,” she said. “You don’t believe that for a second.”

  Splunk smiled. In that light and with that expression he looked a lot like Ramon. “No, we don’t. But we got our reasons.”

  “Very funny,” she said. “Now please get serious. I think we should go see Holmes. You’re not much help, you know.”

  “I’m not going there,” said Earful.

  “Get over yourself,” said Amanda. “Whatever your problem is with him you made me a promise. Don’t be a weasel.”

  “Sometimes detectives have to be weasels,” said Earful.

  “Yeah, and you’re a thief,” she said. “Stealing secrets from those poor Indians.” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “What did you say?” said Earful, his gorgeous eyebrows drawing together in anger.

  She shook her head.

  “How does she know about that?” said Splunk, utterly at sea.

  “Who are you?” said Earful again. He was really mad.

  “I’m just a girl,” she blurted out.

  Earful looked her up and down. “You’re no ordinary girl. Come clean. Are you working for Moriarty?”

  “Good heavens no,” she said.

  “Moran?” he said.

  “Moran?” she said. “What’s he got to do with this? No, I’m not working for Moran. I’m not a crook.”

  “You’re working for someone,” said Earful. “I want to know who it is.”

  “Very well,” she said, trying to think fast. “I’m working for Inspector Lestrade. I was a plant in the jail.” Once she’d said it she realized she’d never see any help from these clowns. She might as well play the role to the hilt.

  Both men went white. “What?” said Earful.

  “Yep,” she said, “I’m an undercover cop. And I’m going to turn you in.”

  She looked at Splunk and the man took off running for dear life. Earful watched him go, then gave her a quizzical look and took off himself.

  “What a couple of losers,” she thought.

  As she stood there looking after them she realized that the two losers had done her a
big favor. They’d actually got her out of jail and away from Lestrade. She should give them credit for that at least.

  Now what? There was little point hanging out at the boardinghouse, so she shouldn’t waste time going there. Nick was probably out investigating, perhaps at the murder scene, or maybe questioning witnesses. If the latter were the case she had no idea where to look. But she couldn’t just sit there and wait. The passivity was driving her crazy.

  She decided that the best thing to do would be to go to Baker Street as she had suggested to Earful and Splunk. If Nick wasn’t there perhaps Sherlock Holmes or Dr. Watson would know where he was. If not, she might at least discuss her case with them.

  She set out for Baker Street. Night was falling and odd characters were beginning to roam about, but she did have Professor Peaksribbon’s excellent self-defense training and she wasn’t afraid, although she was aware that she needed to be vigilant. It took her quite a while to walk to Baker Street, her lack of funds denying her the use of a cab. When she arrived it was close to eleven. She glanced upward and was crushed to see that there was no light coming from Holmes’s window. That either meant he was asleep, in which case Nick wasn’t there, or out, in which case she couldn’t ask him where he was. Nevertheless, she’d come this far so she rang the bell.

  Moments later a disgruntled Mrs. Hudson answered the door, nightcap askew. She was younger than Watson had implied. For some reason Amanda had gotten the impression that the woman was past sixty, but with her unlined face and bright blue eyes, she seemed no older than Herb and Lila.

  “What is it now—oh, hello, dear,” she said. “You shouldn’t be out alone at this time of night.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but I’m looking for Nick.”

  “Nick Muffet?” said Mrs. Hudson. “That nice tall boy who was here twice today?”

  Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. At least Nick’s trail hadn’t gone cold.

  “Yes, he’s my intended,” she said.

  “Well, dear, you’re welcome to come in and wait, but to be honest I have no idea if he’ll be back.”

  That sounded like a waste of time. “Thank you, but I need to find him at once. May I leave a note?”