The Great Game (55 page)

             
Moriarty reached the building ahead of his companions and tried the door. It was locked. He shattered the lock with one swift kick and darted inside, Holmes and Barnett following. The room was dark, with only the slightest spill of moonlight coming through the long, barred window that faced the railroad tracks. Two men were leaning against the window, motionless in the dark. Moriarty grabbed for one of them, feeling a rigid arm encased in a stiff leather jacket under his hand. It took him a second to realize that the man was dead, and had been so for some time.

             
A man appeared in an inner doorway, just a shadow in the darkness. He fired two shots at the intruders, without effect, and ran for a rear entrance. Holmes was on him in an instant, using a baritsu move to relieve the man of his weapon and another to pin him to the floor.

             
Moriarty followed a strange whirring sound through the inner doorway. The narrow inner room ran the length of the building, ending at an oversized window in the far wall. Moonlight flooded the far end of the room, revealing a man kneeling on the floor working over a small square box in front of him. When he saw Moriarty, he swore and grabbed for a pistol on the floor next to him. Moriarty threw his blade at the man with long-practiced skill, and dove forward. The man screamed and cursed, and then Moriarty was on him, his momentum throwing the man to the ground.

             
The man fought with an insane intensity, but Moriarty was almost as skilled at baritsu as Sherlock Holmes, and in a brief time he had him pinned to the floor.

             
Barnett was a few seconds behind Moriarty, and he tied the man's hands behind his back with wire from a roll found conveniently by the man's feet.

             
"Well," Barnett said, rolling the man over, "if it isn't Graf von Linsz."

             
The count squinted up. "Herr Barnett!" he exclaimed. "Then," he said, looking at his other captor, "you are—"

             
"Professor James Moriarty, at your service," Moriarty answered.

             
"Goddamn!" the count cried, "you must be the very devil!"

             
"I wouldn't speak of devils, if I were you," Moriarty said, looking over the device von Linsz had been working with when he was interrupted. "That's an electric dynamite igniter. You weren't attempting to capture the train; you were going to blow it up!"

             
Barnett squatted down and examined the apparatus. "It's all hooked up," he said, "and the handle's been pushed. Why didn't it go off?"

             
"Perhaps a general war in Europe was not meant to start quite yet," Moriarty said. "Perhaps there is some sort of higher force that watches over
we
foolish mortals."

             
Watson came through the door, brushing himself off. "Holmes seems to have everything in hand out there," he said. "Sorry I'm
late. I stumbled over some wires outside and got all tangled up. Had to break them to get my foot
loose,
and it took a few moments. Hope you'll forgive me."

             
"Forgive you!" Moriarty clapped Watson on the back. "Why man, you've just saved the lives of everyone aboard the train. You may have just prevented a general war!"

             
"No need to be humorous about it," Watson said. "I said I was sorry."

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.

— Plato

             
It was Saturday evening and the British Embassy in Vienna was giving a reception for His Grace Peter George Albon Summerdane, the seventh duke of Albermar, Her Britannic Majesty's secretary of state for foreign affairs, who, the guests were informed, just happened to be passing through Vienna on private business; and His Grace's younger son, Charles Dupresque Murray Bredlon Summerdane, who was returning to public life, or at least public view, after a long seclusion.

             
In a small side room off the reception room, His Grace the duke had gathered a small group of people who, in the past few days, had become his special friends.

             
"A few words," he said, standing before the group. When they had all turned to look at him, he raised his glass. "A toast," he said. "To all of you who have helped save two of the things most precious to me in all the world; my son Charles, and this fragile amity between nations that is preventing—or at least delaying—a war that will be as horrible as any the world has yet seen."

             
They drank the toast in silence, as any reply seemed too artificial or too trite.

             
"I will not go on about how gratified I feel to have my son back, as I would not embarrass him," the duke continued. "But let me say that anything any of you ever need—anything at all—you have but to come to me, and if it is in my power, you shall have it."

             
Holmes turned to Moriarty and murmured, "Well, Moriarty, how does it feel to have been of some service to your country?"

             
"It has not been without its points of interest," Moriarty replied, "and the duke's remuneration will go a long way toward paying for some equipment I need for my laboratory and observatory on the Great Moor."

             
"Jenny identified His Highness the Crown Prince Sigismund as the man she overheard that night," Holmes said. "We told von Seligsmann and he's pondering what to do about it. He doesn't think telling the kaiser directly is wise, but perhaps one of the kaiser's aides—"

             
"I'm sure the Prussian bureaucracy will manage to render him harmless," Moriarty said. "Nothing enfeebles a man quite as effectively as being caught in
the roils
of a vast bureaucracy."

             
Charles Summerdane took the hand of Madeleine Verlaine as though undecided whether he should shake it or kiss it. Madeleine solved the problem by shaking his hand firmly. "It has been a pleasure being your sister, 'Paul,' " she said
. "
I never had a brother of my own before. Come to think of it, if I had such, he probably would have ended up in jail, what with this and that."

             
"I understand that I have to thank Professor Moriarty for saving my life," Charles said, "but I thank you for saving my sanity. Were it not for your occasional visits, life in that dank little cell would have been even more intolerable than it was."

             
Madeleine ran her hand across his chin. "You look quite different without your beard and mustache," she said. "I could hardly recognize you."

             
"A good thing," Charles said. "If any of my old compatriots, or any of the Austrian police, recognize Paul Donzhof in the son of the British foreign secretary, words would be exchanged."

             
"I can see that," she said.

             
Charles squeezed her hand. "Madeleine Verlaine," he said, "I hereby appoint you my honorary sister, from this moment forth, in good weather and in
bad,
my house shall be your house."

             
"Thank you, sir," she said, curtseying to him. "I'll remember."

             
"I mean it," he told her. "So do
I
," she said.

             
Sherlock Holmes walked over to where Watson was sitting by the window, watching the four-wheelers pass by in the street below. "Come, Watson, old man," he said. "It's time we started back to London."

             
"I agree," Watson said. "Perhaps there'll be some fascinating crime for you to work on."

             
"And for you to write up, eh Watson?
Well, perhaps. And if not, there's always ..."

             
Across the room, Moriarty walked over to where the Barnetts were standing. "I hope you're recovering from your ordeal," he said to Cecily.

             
"You know," she said, "I believe I've quite recovered. Unhappiness recedes into the past when it is replaced by joy, and I've been quite joyful for the past week, reveling in
all those
thing that I once took for granted, like walking down the street, and doors without locks."

             
"I feel responsible for what happened to you," Moriarty told them. "I don't know how to make it up to you."

             
"Being your friend is certainly what got us in the clutches of that madman in the first place," Benjamin said, "but very few people could have gotten us out of that castle so neatly, or would have gone to so much effort. A man-carrying kite! Who would have imagined such a thing?"

             
"Where are you going from here?" Moriarty asked.

             
"Prince Ariste and his wife have asked us to spend a few weeks with them," Cecily said. "Playing bridge and shopping."

             
"Ah!" Moriarty said. "Give them my best."

             
"We shall," Cecily said. "Tell me, what will happen to that vile creature—Graf von Linsz?"

             
"He seems to have lost his mind," Moriarty told her. "He sees henchmen of his mythical Professor Moriarty everywhere, and is cowering in a corner of his cell afraid to let anyone touch him and refusing to eat. He may be faking, but it is a debatable question as to whether a lifetime in a hospital for the criminally insane is better than a lifetime in an Austrian prison."

             
"Poor man," Cecily said.

             
"Poor man!"
Benjamin looked shocked.
"After what he did to us?"

             
"Poor man," Cecily repeated. "What a wonderful life he could have lived, with his money and position, if he didn't set out to— what did he set out to do?"

             
"Overthrow the existing order," Moriarty suggested.

             
"Just so.
And whatever for?"

             
"There are many injustices in the world," said the Duke of Albermar, who had come up behind them. "The poor are scrabbling for livelihood, for life itself, while the rich arrogantly indulge themselves in unseemly displays of wealth. But I'm afraid that von Linsz and the others like him are not trying to improve the lot of anyone but themselves; they wish to replace the existing world order with one to their liking—one with them at the top."

             
"Well," Barnett said, "maybe we've slowed them down."

             
"We have cut off one tentacle of the beast," the duke said, "but the creature still lives, and it will grow another and another—it will not be stilled until governments cease trying to establish their legitimacy by stirring up ancient hatreds and false rivalries, and join in a commonwealth of nations."

             
" 'Till
the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd / In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.'
" recited
Cecily.

             
Moriarty nodded. "Tennyson."

             
"That will not happen in our lifetimes," Benjamin said.

             
"Nor our sons, nor their sons," said the duke, "but it must happen if we are to survive without blasting ourselves back to savagery or oblivion. For the weapons are getting more powerful and the wars are getting more absolute."