Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning (4 page)

In a quiet street, called Lisle Street, a hammer laid
covered by frost.  It had been accidently dropped in a moment of excitement and
fear…

v

The past became the present as a man with wings flew away,
eluding, once more, a man with a giant net.  The net fell from the man’s grip
and he found himself in a warehouse filled with the limbs of dead bodies. 
Various tools were scattered around, such as screwdrivers, saws and hammers. 
The place was full of boxes, none of which would open.  Some boxes were stacked
on top of each other, towering over the man, who was Holmes.

Holmes walked through the passageways formed between the
towering boxes, and found himself in front of a set of giant interlocking cog
wheels, slowly turning like those of a massive clock.  As he approached, the
wheels ceased turning.

The warehouse vanished and Holmes found himself running
along an alley, but when he looked to his side, he saw that he was not moving. 
He stopped running, shouted, and closed his eyes.  When his eyes reopened he
was looking at a sign that read, ‘J. J. Smith’.  Bemused, he looked up at the
large, ugly building the sign was fixed upon.  Its dirty walls were dotted with
numerous filthy windows.  The roof looked like the serrated edge of a saw with
its repeating peaks.  The words ‘Paul’s Wharf’ were written boldly in black
letters on a strip of the wall that had been whitewashed.

Below, wreckages of small boats lay upon the muddy bed of
the Thames.  The tide was out and the water of the river ran like a narrow
ribbon along the middle of the river bed.

Somehow, Holmes was now contemplating a narrow flight of
steps that descended from Upper Swandam Lane.  He began to walk down the steps
and was confronted by a large, heavy door.  Cautiously, he opened the door and
walked through into a long room, which had a low ceiling.  The ceiling had
black painted wooden beams running across it.  At the far end was another door,
only just visible through the smoke that filled the room.

Holmes did not venture far into the room.  He looked around
the dingy, smoky atmosphere and saw several inhabitants sitting or lying idle,
the curse of this opium den having claimed their souls.

The door at the far end of the room was opened, and a dead
body dragged out.  As he stared towards the door, its surrounding walls became
transparent so that he could see two men drag the body to the water’s edge and
throw it into the river.  The Thames had acquired yet another secret to keep.

As the two men returned and closed the door, the thick,
brown opium smoke manifested itself into the form of a faceless figure.  The
figure became a man with wings, but, suddenly, he vanished through the door at
the far end of the room.  Once again the man with wings had evaded Holmes.

Holmes gave chase and saw a young girl ahead clip one of the
man’s wings, slightly damaging it.  Two policemen appeared and managed to trip
the man, but he quickly got back up and took off into the air.

Holmes found the net in his hands again and was running with
Watson, chasing the flying man who flew just above them, slightly out of
reach.  Holmes jumped and, this time, caught the man in his net.  Both Holmes
and Watson looked at the man, now tangled and writhing around in the net.  A
face formed upon the figure…

v

A judge was building the Houses of Parliament, and then a
rope tightened…

v

The confused dreams remained with Holmes, as he gradually
regained consciousness.  As the potent cocktail of hallucinogenic drugs slowly
wore off he knew, from his strange dreams, why Sir Charles Grey was dead.

“I do wish you would refrain from using drugs, Holmes,” said
Watson, with a worried look upon his face.

“Do stop moaning, Watson! I hadn’t touched any drugs for
months, prior to last night.”

Mrs. Hudson arrived with the breakfast and morning papers,
noticing the disarray in the room.  She shook her head disapprovingly at the mass
of the files, books and folders scattered everywhere, but said nothing.  She
had heard the commotion the previous evening and knew Holmes would have been
desperately searching for something.

The two men sat at the table to eat.  Holmes checked the
date on the first newspaper he picked up, to find that it was Friday 9
^th
December.  His mind was still somewhat disoriented from the drugs he had taken
the previous night.  Flicking through the papers, he discovered an article that
he had been hoping to find under the headline, ‘Grey Day in Parliament’.

“I say, Watson, look at this headline.  It’s in rather bad
taste, as the article describes the death of Sir Charles Grey.”

“Why do you purchase such papers, Holmes, if they offend you
so much?”

“I like to obtain as much information as possible.  Although
newspapers, such as The Times, provide good accounts, the views of the
journalists that write the articles usually have a certain bias.  Also, no
single source of information contains all pertinent facts.  Less serious papers
often reveal information missing from the others.”

Holmes read through every article he could find on Sir
Charles Grey as he ate his breakfast.  Most articles were more concerned with
the political ramifications, rather than with details of the murder.  All
Holmes discovered was that the post-mortem had revealed nothing he didn’t
already know.  Holmes decided to visit Dr. Death at the mortuary later that day
to get a first hand account.

The men finished their breakfasts in silence.  Holmes looked
at the files lying all over the room that he had abandoned the previous night.

He turned to Watson and said, “I had the strangest dream
last night.”

“I’m not surprised, considering the narcotics you took.”

“Yes, I know, Watson!  Please refrain from lecturing me! 
Anyhow, the dream has provided me with a clue.  I now know where to look
amongst these files.”  Holmes waved his hand, loosely pointing at the files
scattered throughout the room.  His eyes scanned the room as he searched for
the file that had been revealed to him in the dream.  Suddenly, his face lit up
as he recognised the file he was seeking on the floor.  Holmes obtained the
information he sought, from the file, with a triumphant smile upon his face.

Watson shook his head in disbelief and asked, “How can a
dream lead you to a clue in a murder investigation?”

“If my dream is to be believed, which I think it is; then
someone is taking revenge for the execution of the murderer described in this
file.”  Holmes held the file up towards Watson and then went on to tell him
about the dream, including how he had chased the man with wings, the body that
was dumped in the river from the opium den and the girl that had clipped the
flying man’s wings.

Watson was completely confused and asked, “What on earth can
you deduce from all that nonsense?”

“Oh do come along, Watson!” exclaimed Holmes, taking a book
that Watson was toying with and gently hitting him on the head with it.  Watson
looked shocked, as Holmes laughed because of the sound the book made as it hit his
head.

Watson became angrier as Holmes continued to laugh, and
suddenly shouted, “That was jolly bad form, Holmes!”

“I’m sorry, old man,” giggled Holmes.  “The book made such a
funny thud as it hit you on the head.  It was very amusing, but I should not
have hit you with it.”

“I should hope that you are sorry!  It’s a bit much, you
know – bopping a fellow’s book on his head!”

“I have already apologized, Watson.  Tell me, how would you
describe the book?”

“It’s bloody heavy!”

Watson’s quick response caused both men to laugh.  When they
had composed themselves, Holmes continued, “Come along, Watson.  It has been
three days since the murder of Sir Charles Grey, so we must get to work.”

“But today is Friday, Holmes, and Sir Charles was found on
Wednesday.  That’s only two days.”

“He was discovered on Wednesday, but murdered on Tuesday,
according to what we were told by Dr. Death.”

“Yes, of course.  How silly of me.  You were about to tell
me of your dream.  Perhaps, you could also explain why you’ve made such a mess
with all these files.”

Holmes looked around the room and smiled, as he anticipated Mrs.
Hudson’s response to the prospect of cleaning up such disarray.

He then looked at Watson and said, “There is something about
the events that have transpired, which leads me to believe this is all
connected to an old case.  I was searching for clues, but found only
frustration, hence the mess.  Now, let us analyse my dream.”

“Very well, old fellow.  But I’m afraid that you’ll have to
begin as I can’t make any sense of what you’ve told me so far.”

“Watson, I never expected anything else,” smiled Holmes,
jokingly.  “My first thought is that the man with wings represents a criminal. 
Furthermore, I believe myself to be the man chasing him with the large net. 
The fact that he managed to evade me on several occasions, despite my attempts
to capture him, has great significance.”

“Yes, I think I understand.  Perhaps you were trying to
prove the criminal’s guilt in some case, but he was able to escape justice as
you were unable to provide enough evidence to have him convicted.”

“Bravo, Watson!” exclaimed Holmes, delighting in his
colleague’s interpretation.  “Your reasoning matches mine precisely.  Let us
continue.  The large warehouse containing various limbs illustrates that the
man with wings was most likely a murderer.  Moreover, he was a serial killer,
and carried out his crimes over a relatively small area.”

“I can see how the limbs imply the man to be a serial
killer, but how do you deduce that he confined his crimes to a small area?”

“Oh, that’s quite simple to explain.  The warehouse I found
myself in represents his territory, and it wasn’t very big in the dream. 
Furthermore, the warehouse contained many boxes that I perceived to be hidden
clues.  I knew that the clues were there, but were concealed from me, which is
why I was unable to open the boxes in the dream.”

“What about the giant interlocking wheels?  What do they
represent?” asked Watson, now completely intrigued.

Holmes laughed as he replied, “Ah yes, the wheels.  They
represented the wheels of justice.  As I had not been able to provide enough
evidence to secure a conviction, justice could not be served, and so the wheels
stopped turning.  Watson, I mentioned that I found myself running in an alley,
but not achieving any movement.  What do you make of that?”

“I think that it illustrates your frustration.  You were
trying to apprehend a killer by finding evidence against him.  This is shown,
in the dream, by your efforts to reach the end of the alley.  As you were
unable to produce sufficient evidence, your progress was hindered and so you
were not moving anywhere, even though you were running.  I think that when you
stopped and shouted, you did so out of shear frustration, which led to you finding
the clue you were so desperately seeking.”

“Yes, I concur,” replied Holmes, “Except for the reason that
I shouted.  Don’t forget that, as well as shouting, I also closed my eyes.  I
feel that the alley represents a particular line of investigation that I was
pursuing.  Upon realising that it was leading me nowhere, I stopped and
shouted, as you mentioned, in frustration.  I then discontinued this particular
line of enquiry and so, in the dream, I closed my eyes.  Upon opening my eyes,
I saw the sign ‘J. J. Smith’.  This can be explained as me having found a new line
of enquiry to my investigation.”

Watson smiled, whilst shaking his head.  “Holmes, you never
cease to impress me with your ability to make such connections.  I would never
have attached any significance to you closing your eyes.”

“Everything in the dream has significance, Watson.”

Holmes poured himself some water and took a sip, as he
continued, “The sign ‘J. J. Smith’ is on the side of Paul’s Wharf, facing the
river.  As you may, or may not, be aware, this building is on the north bank of
the Thames, in Blackfriars.  In fact, it is just a stone’s throw to the east of
Blackfriars Bridge.  I remember going there to catch the murderer.”

“Are you saying that this sign has no symbolic meaning,
Holmes?”

“Indeed.  This is one part of my dream that adheres to the
actual course of events.  I vividly recall Paul’s Wharf.  I first encountered it
from the south bank of the Thames, and was immediately struck by what an ugly
building it was.  The tide was low, revealing the rotting timbers of old boats,
embedded in the mud.  These rotting remains lying in front of the decaying
edifice of the building compounded its ugliness.  I crossed Blackfriars Bridge and ventured towards the wharf.  I found an unlocked entrance and ventured
inside, purely out of curiosity.”

Holmes paused, causing Watson to prompt, “Go on, Holmes. 
What did you find inside?”

“The place was damp with the smell of the river.  It
appeared to have been unused for quite some time.  I slowly advanced into the
building, very carefully, due to the darkness.  I could hear a lot of strange
noises all around me.  It was not until my eyes adjusted to the dim light that
I discovered the source of these noises.  Scurrying in and out of old boxes,
rusting anchors and other debris, were rats.  There must have been hundreds, as
the entire place seemed to be crawling with them.  At one stage, I thought the
shock of seeing them all was about to render me unconscious.”

Holmes watched, as Watson shuddered, and then continued, “I
believe the only reason I remained conscious was the realisation that the rats would
have crawled all over me, if I had fallen.  I remember cursing myself for
walking in so foolishly.”

“How did you get out, Holmes?”

“I lit a match in the hope that it would cause the rats to
run away from me.  Instead, it simply caused the vermin to run in all
directions, like a sea of vile creatures.  I just had to slowly make my way
back to the door I had used to enter.  Eventually, I reached the door and, with
a sigh of relief, made my way through it.”

“So what happened next?” asked Watson, now utterly
enthralled.

“I continued a short distance along Upper Swandam Lane,
which incidentally, the wharf backs on to.  It is a nasty little alley,
Watson.  The very fact of my presence in such a squalid place made me feel ill
at ease.  Anyhow, Paul’s Wharf is a large warehouse that has been divided into
two.  An archway runs along the divide from Upper Swandam Lane to the river’s
edge.  It runs like a long tunnel through the building.  I walked into the
archway, which was dark and imposing.  Approximately thirty feet from the
river, on the right, there is a set of steps leading down from the tunnel to a
low black door.  I carefully walked down the steps to the door.”

“Was anyone with you?  I shudder to think what may have
become of you venturing into such a place on your own, Holmes.”

“You are right, Watson, but that is exactly what I did. 
There was an oil lamp hanging above the door that burned dimly.  I had
disguised myself, so I decided to enter.  I tried the door, which was not
locked, so I opened it and went inside.  The pungent aroma from within was overwhelming,
Watson.  This was the opium den from my dream.  As I moved inside, the
proprietor looked at me with disdain.  I stood just inside the doorway for a
moment, looking around the room.”

Watson was shaking his head in disapproval.  “Holmes, you
could have been killed going to a place like that on your own.”

“I agree that it was a foolish venture.  In retrospect, I
find it hard to believe I took such a course of action.  The room was quite
long and narrow.  It had a low ceiling with several black support beams running
across.  There was a small bar to the left of the room, behind which stood the
proprietor, still observing me with suspicion.  The room was filled with
addicts lying on the straw covered stone floor.  The smell of vomit and urine
was easily detectable, despite the smoky atmosphere.  There were four gaslights
on the walls, two on each side of the room.  The glow emanating from the lights
was highly diffused by the thick brown smoke.”

“That sounds absolutely hideous, Holmes,” commented Watson.

“It was, old fellow.  It saddens me a great deal to think
that those who sell these drugs profit from such suffering.  Those poor
wretches lying in that den slowly killed themselves as others made money from
them.  The smoke in the room was a refuge to the ghosts, nightmares and hell
seen only through the eyes of those mesmerised souls.  They just laid there
like zombies, Watson.”

“Why did you go there, Holmes?”

“I had learned that the man I suspected of the murders had
been seen in the place on numerous occasions.  I hoped to obtain some
information about him but, as soon as I saw the place, I knew it was a
worthless venture.  None of the occupants were going to reveal anything to
someone like me.  The room was littered with rats, some dead, others scurrying
over and around the addicts.”

Holmes became quiet as he thought back to the opium den.  He
tried to think if he had witnessed something at the time and not realised it,
but nothing came to mind.

Watson, seeing the perplexed look on Holmes’ face, asked,
“Is there anything else that you can tell me from your dream last night,
Holmes?”

“Indeed, Watson.  The next extract from my dream is another
based on fact.  In the dream, I was able to see through the wall at the far end
of the opium den.  I could see two men dumping a body into the river.  What
happened, in reality, was that one of the poor wretches had died of an overdose
prior to my arrival.  His body was being tied up in a sack by two men at the
end of the room.  The men dragged the dead body through the door and then
returned.”