Mycroft Holmes by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

Author:Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

24

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, HOLMES AND DOUGLAS WERE ONCE again in the back of their rented gig, with Huan at the reins. The hollow feeling in Holmes’s stomach was still very much present, though his hunger had been sated. Douglas, ever thoughtful, had arrived at the lean-to with biscuits and fresh tea. Holmes, who had awoken ravenous, was so grateful that he did not think of inquiring from whence they came—or even to wonder where his friend had slept, if he had.

As they passed cocoa fields and sugar plantations—miles and miles of them—and as the day grew hotter, Holmes whistled to mitigate the dull anxiety in his head. He noticed that Douglas glanced at him occasionally, arching an eyebrow. Since he said nothing, Holmes continued whistling, and it eased his inner torment somewhat. Until Huan turned his head and looked squarely at him.

“Woman troubles?” the latter inquired.

“I beg… your pardon?” Holmes stammered.

At which point Douglas leaned in to explain.

“You have been whistling ‘La Donna è Mobile’ for the last quarter of an hour,” he said. “You end the verse and the chorus, then go back to the beginning.”

Holmes could not believe he was so fragile-minded as all that. It reminded him of the time he had quoted Dickens aloud in that London carriage. Was it possible that he was going mad? It certainly wasn’t out of the question, as there were seeds of madness in the family, specifically his mother…

In any case, he would not whistle, hum or sing “La Donna è Mobile” again. But it was too late.

Huan had begun to hum the popular operatic tune. He kept humming it, much to Holmes’s chagrin, until they reached their destination.

* * *

The Sutton plantation was comprised of acres and acres of wild sugar cane reaching upward of thirteen feet and more. It was lovely to look at, green and lush, but not at all what they were expecting.

“That cane has not seen a machete for at least a decade,” Douglas said as they rode past. He pointed out the tracks of the cane carts. “They are there, you see? Barely visible. The Saccharum has reclaimed all available space.”

The boiling house, when they passed it, was half torn down. Through the holes in the slats Douglas could see the brick furnaces, along with a succession of copper kettles of diminishing size, even the large cooling trough. Rats by the dozen skittered from the largest kettles to the trough as though it had been left especially for their amusement.

In a few more moments, the plantation house came into view, just beyond a dilapidated old barn.

It was a gracious affair in the American Southern tradition, with stately pillars and a sprawling wraparound porch, but it was so run down that Huan said he was sure it was abandoned. Holmes and Douglas had to encourage him to keep going.

As they passed the barn, Douglas was the first to notice an ancient nag inside, eating her fresh allotment of hay.

“Something resides here after all,” he said.

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