Sherlock Holmes - The Breath of God by Guy Adams

Author:Guy Adams [Adams, Guy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes Pastiche
ISBN: 0857682822
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 2011-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ASSASSIN IN THE NIGHT

As the train continued north, Carnacki filled the time with more stories of his exploits. For all his arrogance he told a good tale and I confess I enjoyed listening to him. The thrill of his adventures only slightly marred once it occurred to me that, if all he was saying was true – something I could no no longer entirely dismiss – then our current experiences were far from isolated incidents. Carnacki had, as previously admitted, been involved in several cases where the supernatural had not been involved, rather the evil hands of man wishing to convince otherwise. Accepting that, there was still the matter of the disembodied tongue that wagged within the dining room of Brackridge Hall or the squealing of the Pig Lords that had so terrified those in residence at Mocata Grange.

The world in which both Silence and Carnacki operated was not the world in which I had hitherto lived. The safe, solid world I was used to seemed little more than a stepping stone to other existences and experiences. I tried to bear Holmes’ advice in mind, to listen, and be willing to believe, but to also accept that their tales may have grown in the telling, that perhaps the gelatinous spectre of Andover Crescent was the result of misunderstood evidence, events that could have had an explanation through science as well as the supernatural.

I was still deeply unsettled, however, and even when I began to feel tiredness sweeping over me I found I couldn’t close my eyes against the furniture of the carriage. In my mind’s eye I found it all too easy to imagine faces appearing in the darkness of the window, the light of the lamps dimming, hands moving beneath the upholstery of the seats. I had lost all faith in the comfort of my surroundings.

Accordingly, when we finally approached Inverness, I was exhausted and agitated. Desperate for sleep but unable to give in to it.

The train pulled up and we descended with our luggage. I placed both mine and Holmes’ bags on the platform and checked my watch. It was just shy of midnight. Our plan had been to find a hotel close to the station so that we might sleep and recommence our journey towards Foyers, where Boleskine House lay, in the morning. At this time of night we certainly didn’t fancy doing much more than securing a bed.

“I dare say there’s a railway hotel nearby,” said Silence. “What say I check with one of the porters?”

He walked over to a short, red-faced man who was wrestling with the hatboxes of the elderly lady I had been saddled with earlier. They talked for a few moments, and then Silence returned.

“There’s a place not five minutes walk away,” he announced, “and apparently what they lack in refined decoration they more than make up for with breakfast.”

“I’m sure I’ll have stayed in worse,” said Carnacki, picking up his bag and following Silence towards the exit. I went to pick up my own bags and suddenly realised that Holmes’ case had vanished.

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