The Future Door (10 page)
The gas lamps flared to life all around him. Rupert stood there, looking wild-eyed and disheveled, his thinning hair pointing up in all directions. Griffin supposed that the sound of his sword hitting Watts's metal head must have startled him awake.
“What the deuce is going on?” he shouted.
But before Griffin could answer him, his uncle's eyes automatically flicked to the opened window. With the lights on, Griffin could see for the first time just how disordered the room looked. Someone had definitely been there. “A prowler?” Griffin said, half to himself.
But then Griffin saw something that made his heart freeze. As he walked slowly over to the fireplace mantel, he focused on a new object that hadn't been there before.
He reached up and took down Charlotte Pepper's elegant teapot, the same one that she'd brought to tea earlier. And there, attached to the teapot handle and tied with red string, was a prettily folded note.
It took a moment for Rupert to register what had happened, but when he did, his eyes grew wide and his skin paled. He gestured shakily for Griffin to hand him the note. Griffin felt sick. Someone had clearly broken into their home and stolen the time machine right out from under their noses.
After opening the letter, he and his nephew stared at the beautiful handwriting, unable to believe what they were reading.
Messrs. Snodgrass and Sharpe,
I hope you'll accept in trade for your remarkable teapot this one of my own. I do appreciate you inviting me in and leaving me to care for the premises in your absence this evening.
The location of the time machine has eluded me for several weeks. Until tonight, I feared that you had hidden it so well that I could never hope to find it.
However, when you hurried back into the parlor before you left, I felt that perhaps what I sought was within reach. I had just deduced its location when you returned, and had to put off taking it until you were asleep.
Please do not hold anything against dear Mrs. Hudson for helping me break into your apartment. She was compelled to do so, by means that I am not free to discuss. I have left the key she gave me on the kitchen table.
I shan't be needing it any longer.
Mr. Wells was helpful in describing the invention's function, but he failed to mention the charming container in which it was housed. I must offer my compliments on using something so decidedly British to contain the greatest invention of the modern age.
I must insist that for your own safety you do not try to follow me. You are up against forces that even the great Sherlock Holmes would find daunting, if not impossible, to prevail against. In a few hours the world as you know it will have completely changed. Professor Moriarty plans on rectifying the years of thwarted plans and failed capers that have plagued him so.
He insists that a new history begins tonight and that the hands of the ancient clock will be turned and the very stones themselves will be rearranged.
Oh, and a second word of warning. Very few have met Miss Atrax in battle and lived to tell the tale . . . Your escape will be duly noted by the entire Sisterhood of the Black Widow.
And now I must be off. TIME is, indeed, of the essence.
With warm regards,
Charlotte Pepper
Rupert finished reading the note aloud and let it slip from his fingers. Griffin, feeling weak, eased himself down onto one of his uncle's threadbare chairs. It was terrible, too terrible to even think about. With the time machine at their disposal, Professor Moriarty and Nigel could wreak havoc. By changing the events of the past, they could effect for themselves a future where justice couldn't prevail.
“We've lost,” Rupert mumbled. “We'll never find her. She's too good . . . She took me in and fooled me completely.”
Griffin's heart nearly broke when he heard the hurt and despair in his uncle's voice. His uncle had barely gotten to know Charlotte Pepper, but it was evident that he'd fallen quite hard for her. To have such a beautiful young woman suddenly seem so interested in him must have been an unexpected and exciting twist in Rupert's life.
Griffin had to admit, his first impression of Miss Pepper was hard to shake. She seemed so nice! But he was reminded strongly of the story of Lucifer, an “angel of light” who, against all appearances, was capable of great evil.
Griffin's dad had often told him the old saying “One shouldn't judge a book by its cover,” and in this case it was certainly true.
Griffin picked up the note and read it a second time. As he scanned the lines, his eyes suddenly widened in surprise. There was something there that he hadn't seen beforeâa clue! A clue that told him that even when it seemed all was lost, there was still hope of tracking down the stolen device!
But even as he discovered this information, Griffin was also acutely aware of the danger they would be walking into. If what he thought was right, then the words Charlotte had written about Sherlock Holmes thinking twice before pursuing her were probably true.
Griffin rose from his chair and, taking his uncle gently by the arm, said, “Uncle, I think I know where Miss Pepper went.”
Rupert Snodgrass gazed down at his precocious nephew uncomprehendingly.
“What?”
“Miss Pepper,” Griffin repeated. “I think I know where she's taken the time machine.”
Rupert suddenly snapped to attention, his eyes focused on his nephew with a desperate, hopeful expression. “Where?” he demanded.
Griffin paused before replying, “I'd rather not say just yet. But if it's where I think it is, then I'm pretty sure we're going to need assistance.” He gazed up at his uncle with his sad, blue eyes. “And there's only one person in all the world that I think we can trust to help us.”
N
igel Moriarty marched down the stone corridor, his eyes alight with knowledge and hidden purpose. His lips were twisted into a bitter scowl, and the right leg of his trousers was shredded. Beneath the pant leg, bloodstained bandages, hastily wrapped, could be seen peeping through.
In spite of his tattered appearance, the professor's cousin seemed filled with a vigor that defied his middle years. For he held something underneath his arm that was and was not from the world in which he lived. And the thing that he'd found while on his unusual journey would change his and everyone else's lives forever.
He didn't hesitate before entering his cousin's private chambers. His was a rare privilege, the ability to enter the inner sanctum unannounced. This hidden lair was the most secret of the professor's holdings. Unlike the warehouse apartment, it was a location so private that only the highest ranking and most dangerous of Moriarty's henchmen were allowed to know about it.
Nigel turned the lion-headed knob and opened the heavy door. Then he stepped inside the lavishly apportioned room.
The room was lit by the bright glow of electric light, a rare luxury. Furnishings of the finest quality were arranged around a Persian rug, a carpet that Nigel knew came from a Turkish prince. Nigel hid his jealousy over his cousin's wealth behind a carefully constructed mask of indifference. He couldn't let on that he planned to make them his own by any means necessary.
“So, you have returned,” croaked a voice. Nigel turned and saw the familiar, spidery shape of his cousin's steam-driven wheelchair emerge from the shadows. “Because the world around us appears to be quite unchanged, I deduce that you were unable to properly affect the past.”
Nigel shook his head. “The blasted machine is completely unpredictable. That idiot Snodgrass didn't create a way to pinpoint where and when a person can travel. All it's got on it is a switch that says âPast,' âPresent,' and âFuture.' The only thing that can be safely relied on is, once a trip is embarked upon, the machine will return to the point of departure. That's it.
Otherwise, I would have never gotten back.”
The professor studied his cousin's battered leg. “And you had a bit of trouble, I take it?”
“Tyrannosaurus rex. Barely escaped with my life.”
“And what have you got under your arm?” the professor said, eyeing the small package.
“After numerous attempts, I decided that I wasn't getting anywhere. So I made a leap into the future and found this.”
He removed the wrapped package from under his arm and handed it to his cousin. The professor studied the unusual bag for a moment, noting the strange, florid colors that decorated its surface and the unique material of which it was made.
“Some kind of synthetic material. A chemical compound woven together by scientific means. Hmmm.” He examined it more closely, studying the words
The Book Loft
printed on its surface.
Nigel had a hard time containing his impatience. He wanted his cousin to get on with it. The bag wasn't important; what was inside it was.
After what seemed an eternity, the professor finally reached inside the bag and pulled out a hardback book. When he saw the title, his eyes grew wide.
The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
He cracked open the book and scanned the table of contents. “A collection of that fool doctor's magazine articles. Nigel, I asked you to come back with historical documents, not sensational stories. The only consolation I have is that in the future, James Watson has been relegated to obscurity by a usurper. Someone who has apparently taken credit for his writing . . . this Conan Doyle chap. Humph.”
But before Nigel Moriarty had a chance to respond, his cousin spotted what had made Nigel buy the book. Listed among the various adventures was a collection of stories titled
The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes
.
“Ah. Now here indeed is something of interest.” He turned the pages to the back of the book and began to skim the text. After a brief moment his sunken eyes flicked to his smug cousin. “I see now why you brought this to me. Well done, Nigel.”
In that section of the book were future cases that Professor Moriarty hadn't been a part of yet. They were plans and capers that he had been formulating as recently as that morning, but he could see now that all of them had been thwarted by Sherlock Holmes.
The book, of course, made no mention of Professor Moriarty by name. After the accident at the Reichenbach Falls, the one that had robbed him of his ability to walk, everyone had believed him dead. This was, of course, perfect for the professor, who could now control his vast criminal empire without suspicion of being linked to any of the crimes.
“The arrogant fool,” the professor said, referring to Holmes as he turned the pages and read. “It seems that no matter what I do, he thwarts me. However, this book does tell us something. It tells us exactly where Sherlock Holmes will be. Each of these cases has yet to happen, and if we plan accordingly, we can determine what time and place to spring a trap.”
He pointed at one of the cases listed among the future events, one called “The Lion's Mane.”
“See here, Nigel. This account gives us the precise location of Sherlock Holmes's new residence, along with where he will be when the events of this particular case unfold. Hmmm.” Moriarty rubbed a gnarled forefinger along his massive temple. After a long moment, he spoke.
“Take this.” The professor removed from his waistcoat pocket a glittering silver ring. Nigel recognized the beautifully crafted spider as once having belonged to Miss Atrax.
Professor Moriarty continued, “I was planning on trying the particular venom contained in that ring on Miss Pepper, but, considering the circumstances, we shall postpone. It's time we gave Mr. Holmes's illustrious career a surprising twist.”
Nigel smiled, his curled, gray mustache tilting upward in an evil grin.
For him, the worst part of traveling to the future was finding out that his name was completely without mention in any of the history books. He'd always thought himself a great man, and finding that he had been given no credit for his misdeeds had wounded his pride. Only his cousin was known, mentioned in popular culture as Sherlock Holmes's greatest adversary. In the future, the name Nigel Moriarty was forgotten.
But now that he possessed this knowledge, he was going to make sure that he changed that. After tomorrow, when he paid a visit to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, things would most certainly be different.
He would be
remembered
.
A
s Griffin disembarked from the carriage, he was greeted by a stiff ocean breeze. He looked about him, taking in the majesty of the Sussex coast. The towering white cliffs contrasted beautifully with the cobalt sea. Gulls squawked overhead, and the thatched roofs of whitewashed cottages dotted the landscape in the distance.
Even the carriage horses seemed to appreciate the place, for they stamped their hooves and shook their manes as if anxious to break free of the wagon and run down the sandy beach.
Griffin couldn't deny the air of peace and relaxation, and for the first time since leaving the London apartment, he smiled. The stress and worry over the time machine's whereabouts vanished as he leaned on his walking stick and gazed at the wonderful countryside. He could definitely see why Sherlock Holmes had chosen this location for his retirement. The Sussex Downs were gorgeous.
