Against the Brotherhood (2 page)

I took the offered book, noticing it was written in German:
A Study of the Powers of the Unseen World
I translated, and looked at the notes waiting to be copied. I read and wrote the language competently but not with ease, and on subjects of so esoteric a nature and terms with which I was not familiar, I knew I would not progress quickly through the text. It would not be possible for me to read this volume and transcribe the notes in the time he had allowed me. I weighed the book in my hands, hoping to think of some way to inform Mister Holmes of my predicament.

Mycroft Holmes followed my implication, and gave an impatient wave of his hand. “You may do your transcriptions later, Guthrie. This is much more important, and must be dealt with immediately.” He picked up his saucer and cup, and carrying them with him, began to pace. “Foremost in my mind is the letter: I am concerned for the unfortunate who wrote that warning.”

“You mean the
one who is your friend?”
I asked.

“Yes. For if she is acting against the Brotherhood as I fear she is, her life may well be forfeit before the sun sets. She must be aware that she is in increasing danger with every passing hour. If she still lives as I suspect she does, she will have no protection against any action taken against her.” His grave mien revealed his concern far more than the tone of his voice. “If they discover she has betrayed their cause, they will demand the highest price for her daring.”

“Surely it is not so hazardous as that, sir,” I exclaimed, all the while reflecting that in the seven months I had been in his employ, I had never known Mycroft Holmes to magnify a risk beyond its true scale.

“It may, in fact, be much worse. There is said to be some difficulty developing in the negotiations in Bavaria.” He coughed once, a signal that he was dissatisfied with such arrangements.

“Surely there can be no connection,” I protested, and went on in defense of my own theory, “If those codes are truly based in German, would it not be more likely a diversion prepared by the Russians or the French or the Turks, for that matter, than the work of the Germans themselves?”

“It is possible, but I doubt it: I will know more when I have finished with these codes,” he said quietly, and rose from the table, dropping his napkin negligently on his plate where the last of the sirloin juices stained the edge of the linen red. “I will be in my study, if you should require me.”

“I think I can manage,” I said with deference, and rose from the table quickly, reaching for my unfinished cup of tea.

“You will need more of that before you are finished for the morning,” Mycroft Holmes observed. “I will have brandy waiting for you when you are done.”

“Brandy?” I repeated, somewhat taken aback. Never before had
my
employer suggested I take spirits while I was at my work.

“When you are done with that, you may need it,” he answered cryptically.

FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

Mother much worse today. She is failing steadily. Dr. J. informs me that she will not be lucid many days more and has urged me to spend what time I can with her now.

This afternoon M.H. took time to inquire into the circumstances of Mother’s ill health. I informed him that Dr. J. believes it to be a general foiling of health brought about by age and the vicissitudes of her life. M.H did not seem satisfied with this answer, and asked if, before she had been taken ill, she had suffered from agitation and had an odor of carbolic on her clothes or her bedding. I had no knowledge of the state of her bedding or clothes, but I did remark that she was much distressed and restless before her collapse brought her to hospital. My response caused M.H. grave concern, for he instructed me to investigate her clothing as soon as possible to determine if such an odor clings to them. He is unwilling to explain his reason to me until he learns more about her clothing.

M.H. is planning to send G. on a mission to the Continent for him shortly. I hope G. is ready for the work.

FOR THE NEXT
four hours I read
A Study of the Powers of the Unseen World
,
my senses reeling between outright derision and utter revulsion. The author proclaimed that there were disciplines known of old that could increase the might of those who sought it through rituals so blasphemous and obscene that I feared my eyes would be made filthy from running over such despicable words. The goals of these heinous rites were no less despicable, for they sought to overturn the rulers of great nations the world over, reducing the countries to anarchy and worse. I have never felt such abomination in anything as I did when I first read that damnable book. That otherwise sensible, modern men could be seduced into placing their belief in these rites described was appalling; that they would be willing to practice them was profoundly repulsive.

By the time I rose from my chair at the tall secretary, I was shaken to the roots. Not in all the hoary legends of Scotland, so lovingly recounted to me by my grandmother, had I encountered such malignity, such depravity and perversion. But those legends my grandmother taught were tales intended to frighten children. These were purported to be the chronicling of actual events. I went to the door of my employer’s study and knocked.

Mycroft Holmes was waiting for me, a large brandy in one hand. He held this out to me and waited while I took a generous sip. “Not very enjoyable reading, is it, Guthrie?”

“No, sir, it is not. It is appalling.” I held the book out to him. “If there are men in the world who have taken this as their guide in life, I realize why you are so concerned for any who cross their paths.” I was glad when he took the volume; I felt I had lost a greater burden than the weight of the tome alone. As I took the brandy and drank a little, the warmth it fired in me felt greater than the simple restoration of spirits, but rather a cleansing, as one uses spirits to clean a wound.

“That is a beginning,” he said slowly. “You will have to study more before you are prepared to deal with these men and those who have become their dupes.”

I laughed, my senses still in some disorder from what I had read.
“Dupes
is a charitable word. Judging from what I read there, these men are capable of the utmost cruelty in bringing others to their service. The corruption is...” I could think of no word sufficiently condemning.

“Just so,” said Mycroft Holmes. “But you must see that they would also be adept at suborning those who are susceptible to their promises of power.”

Little as I wanted to, I could agree with my employer. “They would have to be very gullible, to think that these ceremonies might have such an effect.”

“Or idealistic, or obsessed, or mad, or perhaps merely seeking to be part of something greater than themselves,” added Mycroft Holmes. He tugged at the lapel of his coat and said, “I will want you to run an errand for me later in the day. You will need to disguise yourself, I suspect.”

“Of course, sir,” I said, for in the months I had been his employee, Mycroft Holmes had sent me out on a dozen such missions for him. The first time I had been astonished; now I accepted the assignment as I would any other. In fact, I had come to enjoy them as welcome diversions from our routine. “What sort of disguise?”

“You will want to look as if you have been in the Army, in foreign places, of course. Also, you will want to seem a little crazed, driven to the limits of endurance and beyond.” He ticked these requirements off on his long fingers. “Wear the eyepatch. We don’t want anyone noticing their dissimilar colors.”

“If you insist,” I said, for I greatly disliked wearing an eyepatch since it reduced my capacity to observe the world around me.

“Sadly, my boy, I do insist. These are very dangerous people you go to watch. You will find the clothes you need in the closet off the pantry. Choose a coat and trousers that are a trifle too large, so it will be thought that you have recently lost flesh. Then you can complain about ingratitude and other such and not appear suspect.” He had that slightly distant expression in his eyes which indicated that his mind was working at a furious pace. “And muddy your hands, then clean them poorly.”

“And why do I wish to do this?” I asked him.

“Because you will want to seem to be willing to undertake questionable acts as the means to restore the influence you fear you have lost in the world. Let it appear that you had the confidence of some wealthy man of industry, who unfairly dismissed you after jealous colleagues threw suspicions on you, or some such tale of injustice. Let them suppose that you were posted to a distant city, in Asia or Egypt, and that you have had to make your way back to England from there without compensation.” He smiled grimly. “It wouldn’t hurt if you let it drop that you follow the stars in regard to your decisions.”

“But I know little of such things,” I protested, for it was not only true, but it went against all the training and education I had received.

“I will have some notes prepared for you by the time you finish your luncheon. Learn what is there and you will be able to make a reasonable case for your claims.” He rocked back on his heels. “Now leave me to these codes. I have deciphered one, but the second is more complex.”

I withdrew at once, and set about copying my employer’s notes of the night before, a task I would ordinarily have behind me at this time, and which I undertook now with flagging attention as I tried to fathom what new venture I was being thrust into.

When Tyers returned, he set about preparing our light luncheon of cold roast beef and a bowl of Cornish soup, his face grave and his manner somber. To my astonishment, I saw his hands shake as he put the silver out for the meal. When he brought me a fresh pot of tea, I asked after his mother, and saw him flinch.

“She is failing, Mister Guthrie.” His voice caught in his throat, but he strove to maintain himself: “She is not expected to last much longer, no matter what they do for her, they say. Thank you for your concern.”

“Does she require much of your time?” I inquired as I poured a cup.

He spoke softly, as if the quietness would slow his mother’s end. “I spend as much time as I can with her, yes. With the end so near... Mister Holmes is generosity itself in that regard. He knows it will not be much longer.”

“Ah?” I was trying to think of a tactful way to ask when Tyers gave me the information I sought.

“I spoke with her physician not an hour ago, and he said eight to ten days at most.”

“I am very sorry for it, Tyers. I only hope she will be spared suffering.” I had never found any words that provided true consolation at such times, but I recited the phrases that convention had taught me.

“Amen to that, Mister Guthrie,” agreed Tyers, and left me to my tea.

I had finished putting most of Mycroft Holmes’ notes in order when my employer once again came into his sitting room, calling to Tyers to bring our luncheon as he took his place at the table. He glanced at Tyers as he came in, saying, “I am sorry that your mother is now on laudanum.”

“Thank you, sir. She is slipping away,” said Tyers without surprise at this remark.

But I was not yet accustomed to the ways of my employer, and I challenged him as soon as Tyers was out of the room. “How did you know about the laudanum?”

He looked at me with slight impatience. “You must have noticed the spoon in the oil-wrapped cloth in his pocket? No?”

“No,” I admitted. “And why should I notice it? And what makes you assume it is laudanum?”

“Tyers is a careful and methodical man who errs on the side of caution. He would not leave a spoon containing a dangerous compound lying about, and he would be careful handling it himself. Since his mother is known to be dying, what else would an observant man think?” He waved his hand to dismiss the matter, adding darkly, ”Those opiates are damnable things, I can tell you. When I was young, my own mother took to salving her unhappiness with the cursed stuff, and it has continued its dire work in my brother.” He shook his head and deliberately changed the subject. “I think I have broken that second code at last.” He dropped a small portfolio on the table by his elbow, and began to twirl his watch fob. “It was devilishly clever, and I choose my words with great care. The author is a man of great and evil erudition. Mark my words, when we discover him, we will be looking into the Pit.”

Since it was not like Mycroft Holmes to use such language I regarded him with some amazement, finding it difficult to address him in such a frame of mind. At last, I decided on a simple question. “Why do you say so?”

“Because it is certain that whoever wrote these messages is engaged in the most damnable studies for the most reprehensible goals.” He said it flatly enough, but there was a light in his gray eyes that shone like steel. “We will have to be very careful in our moves against this man and his associates. One false step and we both could be made to pay the price with more than our lives.” With that, his left hand stole to the back of his collar and I thought I saw him touch the scar there. Then he shook his head twice, very deliberately. “You will go armed, Guthrie. A pistol and a knife should be sufficient.”

“I dislike pistols, Mister Holmes; I have mentioned this before.” I knew it was useless to argue with him, but the truth of the matter was that I did not like to have firearms about my person. I had often noted that the very presence of a pistol made violence likely.

“In general, I share your convictions, Guthrie, but in this instance, you will permit me to require you to take a loaded pistol with you, and a knife in your boot, if you please. It is not ordinary criminals we seek, but men of tremendous and vile intent who have no conscience beyond their own ambitions. You will have to be prepared to deal with their rapacity, though I devoutly hope it will not be necessary. The men you are to meet will expect such a rogue as you to have some means of defense, as well.”

“But surely they will not want to bring notice upon themselves,” I said, seeking to find a haven in his reassurance.

He favored me with an exasperated stare. “They will subject you to scrutiny. You will not want these villains to decide you are not one with them once they can be persuaded to accept you. To guard against such misfortune, Guthrie”—he reached out and took my right hand—“I am going to give you as much protection as I can.”

Before I could object, he had tugged on my sleeve, baring my wrist just at the base of my palm. I stared in astonishment as he took out a syringe filled with a deep-green fluid. “What on earth—?” I began, only to stifle an oath as Mycroft Holmes pierced my wrist and injected a small amount of the dye under my skin.

“It is similar to a tattoo, only this one may be removed with certain chemicals when this case is finished,” said Holmes, consulting a scar on the inside of his right wrist as he continued to mark my skin.

“But what does this mean?” I asked, wincing at the repeated sting of the needle.

“It is the mark of the Servants of the Valley of the Kings,” said Holmes, as if every schoolboy should recognize it. “And that is all you need know.”

“The Servants of the Valley of the Kings,” I repeated. “All right.”

“Should anyone inquire as to its meaning,” Holmes said as he put the finishing touches on a scarab no larger than my collar-button, “you must deny having any more knowledge than that.”

“Which is true,” I reminded him.

“Just so. They cannot force it from you.” Holmes put the syringe aside. “I am sorry for the discomfort, but I assure you that the protection this affords makes the process a small price to pay.” There was a grim light in Holmes’ gray eyes. “For they will be revenged on you for your temerity if they decide you are not what you claim to be. They will make your death a warning to others who might attempt anything of a similar nature.” He leaned back in his chair so that it teetered on two rear legs. “You will be on the precipice, Guthrie; I cannot emphasize that too strongly. I do not want you to fall.”

“No, indeed, sir,” I said, taking his remarks to heart, for there was no gainsaying the conviction with which he spoke.

My employer lowered his chair so that all four legs were once again solidly on the floor. “You relieve me, Guthrie. Now, have your meal while I go over what I want you to do. There is an inn off the Brownlow Street, near Gray’s Inn. It is called the Cap and Balls, one of the few buildings in that area to survive the fire of 1666. I want you to go there, and take as inexpensive a room as you can, and make inquiries about a solicitor who is not particular about his client or his fees. Make sure they see the scarab, but do not flaunt it. And mention malign stars if you can, so that the spies of the men we seek will know that a likely prospect has emerged. You will need to be venal and willing.”

I took my notebook and set it beside my fork, certain that I would have to take notes while we ate; I hoped that what he would tell me would not entirely rob me of my appetite.

By two in the afternoon I was as prepared as I could be without intense study. I had chosen a suit of clothes from those Mycroft Holmes kept for disguises, provided by the actor Edmund Sutton: a slightly threadbare coat not quite in the current mode, the sort a senior clerk might wear; the waistcoat was missing two buttons and was overlarge on me; a shirt with a twice-turned collar and cuffs to enhance the shabby appearance of the coat; and a pair of nondescript trousers about three inches too large at the waist. Add to this two badly scuffed boots and I presented the appearance of a man of modest means who had fallen on hard times.