Watson Has Killed Me, Alas: a Sherlock Holmes zombie mystery by Andrew Fox

Author:Andrew Fox [Fox, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: mystery-horror
Publisher: MonstraCity Press
Published: 2020-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

04 August 1899 2:21 PM

My activities this morning have proven fruitful. I am fortunate in that I performed my examination of Watson’s body while I still retained the fullness of my acumen; were I faced with performing the same examination today, my mind abuzz with the cocaine’s artificial stimulation, I might well overlook those vital but tiny clues which have served to steer me (or so I hope) toward my quarry.

The first visit I paid was to Chief Officer Honneger, to partake of his expertise regarding the garotte color standards adhered to by various Thuggee bands. He most helpfully listed for me two such bands which make use of lime green and crimson red; he also steered me toward various Calcutta locales where members of the bands have been known to congregate. The Chief Officer expressed regrets that he was unable to assign any of his men to assist me. He is currently short-staffed, several of his constables having been attacked in recent weeks by “ghūls” and incapacitated by infectious bites. I reassured the good man, telling him I prefer to perform my investigations alone, then promised I would share with him my notes and any revelations my efforts might produce.

The first of the bands I looked into, the Society of Holy Vipers, I am confident in crossing off my list of potential suspects. Multiple sources revealed to me that the Vipers have turned to quietism in recent years; their newest leader has encouraged his Thugs to immerse themselves in the practices of Sufi mysticism, and such crime as they continue to involve themselves in is of a non-violent sort, intended to procure funds — prostitution, money laundering, smuggling, and heroin distribution. Unsavory characters, perhaps, but not the sort of Thugs, it seems, who would set “ghūls” upon helpless women and children.

Regarding the second band, however, the Society of Virtuous Fists, of them I have reason to be suspicious. Their very name echoes that of the powerful and insidious secret society, the Yihetuan or Boxers, which seeks to violently cleanse Europeans and Christians from China and which currently battles the armies of eight Western and Asian nations. I visited a weaving shop amidst the squalor of Black Town, near the eastern bank of the Hooghly River, and there witnessed dark women with red dots upon their foreheads working looms, turning out textiles emblazoned with the garish colors of the Virtuous Fists — indigo, sunset orange, and most important to me, lime green and crimson red. I spoke with the overseer, a wizened old Hindoo with only one eye, and his assistant, twice as broad as he, a man of youth, vigor, and what I sensed to be an evil cunning. I portrayed myself as an English businessman involved in the textiles trade, who is seeking opportunities to expand into the Indian market, but I doubt either of them was fooled. They eyed me continuously like carrion birds would a dying animal, as though they were searching for signs of my decay.

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