Sherlock Holmes and Dorian Gray by Christian Klaver

Author:Christian Klaver [Klaver, Christian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

When we forced our way through the throng of police, press and onlookers, Lestrade was there to greet us with a very grave face. He led us through a cordon in front of the group of shacks, but then we went past the settlement and around a bed of wildflowers towards a small thicket of elm trees fifty yards behind the shacks.

As we walked, Lestrade murmured: “I can see why you played this one close to your chest, Mr Holmes, and no mistake! I’ve kept not only the press away, but the rest of the police force, too.”

“My thanks, Lestrade,” Holmes said. “You are an invaluable ally in these strange times.”

Holmes had spoken absently, but I could see the flush of pride and pleasure that crossed the little detective’s face at his words. We threaded our way between the trees and found Miss Winter, Hyde and Mina waiting for us there in a small hollow.

Mina and Miss Winter were standing, looking agitated and unsettled and more than a little angry. Mina seemed to have borrowed some items from Miss Winter’s extensive collection and was wearing blood-red gloves, wide bonnet, scarf, and an opaque crimson veil. Hyde sat morosely in the mud, facing a veteran elm broad enough that none of us could have put our arms fully around it. Hyde had his head in his hands and had clearly been weeping. He was sitting so that we couldn’t see the portion of the tree that he faced at first, but I could smell the blood that had soaked into the ground underneath.

“Holmes!” Hyde said when he saw us. “At last. I’m so sorry I’ve failed you!”

Gray was shaking as we walked around to see what terrible thing had been wrought there.

Anubis’s body had been staked to the side of the tree in a rough parody or homage to a crucifixion. I blanched and had to look away, and then forced myself to look and pay attention to every detail in case Holmes needed a medical opinion. It was difficult to imagine that this should be so, for the cause of death was painfully, horribly evident. A dozen large, rough stakes had been used to pierce our poor friend’s body at neck, shoulders, stomach and all four limbs, transfixing him completely to the tree. Most of the blood still on him was crusted over the grey fur on his chest, so likely the neck injury had been the cause of death, which at least meant he hadn’t suffered after that. His unusual Beast Folk features – the grey mane, vestigial horns, wolfish muzzle, cloven hands and feet, barely visible tail (in his current position) and bestial legs – looked now, in death, like some badly formed circus trick, and not at all like the lithe, athletic person he’d been before. This hardly seemed like the same man who had danced and juggled knives when we’d first seen him. Even less so did he look like the wise and serious spiritual leader who had spoken with such compassion and conviction at Khnum’s funeral.

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