The Near-Dead Detective
FOR THREE DAYS HOLMES WAS A DEPLORABLE spectacle. He lay abed, flitting in and out of consciousness. When asleep he was inert, corpse-like. The rise and fall of his chest was only just perceptible and his pulse was a fickle thing, hard to discern even by my experienced touch. When awake, he scarcely had the strength to raise his head from the pillow. I spooned soup between his lips every time the opportunity presented itself and gave him doses of various patent tonics. The occasions when I myself needed rest, I left him in the care of Mrs Hudson, with strict instructions that she was to rouse me if he so much as intimated he wanted to get dressed and venture out. I told her that he had contracted some form of “coolie disease” while working at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river. It was either Tapanuli fever or the black Formosa corruption, and he would recover of his own accord as long as he did not exert himself.
“Those sound horrible,” our landlady declared with a shudder. “Are they contagious?”
I assured her that they were not, which was no word of a lie since both ailments were entirely fabricated.
By the third day Holmes had regained the power of speech and used that facility to berate me roundly.
“How could you have let me languish here, Watson? You know I was supposed to be at the Isle of Dogs both last night and the night before. W’gnns will be wondering what has become of me. He and the other Irregulars may well have abandoned their search prematurely, on the assumption that I am no longer interested in learning the result. Oh, this is a fine debacle. All that trouble, all that effort, for nothing.”
“That effort, as you put it, almost killed you, Holmes. You overtaxed yourself intolerably, using the crown.”
“Nonsense.”
“Really? Tell me then. How do you feel right now?”
“Fit as a fiddle.”
“Prove it. Get out of bed.”
Holmes propelled himself up to a seated position, but only by enlisting the aid of the bedstead for support and with considerable exertion. The moment he tried to stand, he nearly passed out. “Heavens above,” he said with a grim, self-deprecating laugh. “I have rather overdone it, have I not?”
“That is something of an understatement.”
“Yet I must still make the meeting with the Irregulars tonight. If they have intelligence for me, I need to know it. What if they have located our abductee? He may not stay in one place for long. He may since have been moved out of London, beyond the Irregulars’ ambit.”
“Holmes,” I said, “you are in no fit state to go out gallivanting in the chilly night air. Nor, for that matter, have you recuperated sufficiently to use the crown again with any surety of safety.”
“There is no alternative,” he insisted. “Unless…” He fixed his bleary grey gaze upon me. “Unless,” he said, “someone were to go in my stead.”
* * *
Thus it was that I wound up back at the Isle of Dogs, ankle-deep in mud again and with the Triophidian Crown in my hands.
I had even less desire to be there this time than the last. I had remonstrated strenuously with Holmes for over an hour, maintaining that I was neither willing nor able to use the crown. I could not stand the thought of confronting the snake men alone, never mind attempting to impose my will upon them. I would rather be dipped in tar and set alight.
Yet somehow I had capitulated. Holmes had told me I was braver than I made out and possessed of a robust constitution that was more than adequate to the task. Whether I liked it or not, these blandishments did help sway me.
The sky was clear save for a herd of fat clouds, which traipsed westward across the stars. The moon hung low and full. The hands on my watch stood at twenty past twelve. I eyed the sewer outfall, praying fervently but guiltily that the snake men would failt to appear. Disappointed twice by the non-appearance of Holmes, they would not bother a third time.
Alas, my hopes were dashed. Sure enough, the Irregulars crawled from the aperture, the distinctive black-and-gold frame of W’gnns to the fore.
With nervous hands I lifted the Triophidian Crown and lowered it into position. I braced myself.
Holmes had given me some idea of what to expect. “You will feel a kind of mental surge,” he had said, “like a rush of blood to the head. You will hear the crown speak to you. It has a scratchy, wheedling sort of voice. One might liken it to the voice of an inner demon. I warn you, whatever you do, pay it no heed. The crown wishes to take command of you. You must instead take command of it.”
This seemed fanciful stuff, yet I had no doubt it was a fair summation of the facts. Holmes did not indulge in airy imprecision.
Sure enough, no sooner was the crown seated in place than I became aware of a soft whispering, like a tickle within my brain, insistent and insinuating. I cannot accurately reproduce here what the voice said. I am not certain it even used words as such. It was more an urge, a compulsion. The crown was inviting me to surrender to it. Hypnotically it crooned and lilted, singing a sinister lullaby. I felt as though it would be to my benefit to give in. I should offer up my belly, like a complaisant dog. I should extend my neck so that my throat might be slit open like a sacrificial lamb’s.
No.
I may have uttered the negative aloud. I may only have thought it. Either way, I made clear my refusal. I knew what the crown wanted from me: my life force. It wished to latch onto me in the manner of a vampire and suck until I was drained.
No, I would not be the Triophidian Crown’s willing victim. I would not be parasitised.
The voice quailed before my resolve. Now, all at once, the crown was submissive. It was eager to please. What did I want from it?
I directed my gaze upon the approaching snake men. The crown knew its duty. It could grant me control over them. All it asked for in return was a little of my energy, a mere sample, a taste…
This was untrue, of course. The Triophidian Crown never took “just a little”. Invariably it exacted its pound of flesh – or more – from the wearer. The wearer simply had to ensure that he got something in return, making the crown earn its keep.
Green light began to radiate from the diadem. The humming from its bronze coils drilled through my skull, causing my teeth to vibrate in their sockets and my sinuses to click like crickets. I regarded the snake men with fresh eyes. Suddenly it seemed as though I understood them. I knew not only their thoughts but their way of thinking. Some deep-seated part of my brain had an affinity with theirs. We were strange siblings, they and I. Somewhere far back in our evolutionary pasts, eons ago, we had been more alike than different. We shared a common ancestry.
I will not call this sensation sympathy, but it was close to that. The snake men were no longer alien to me, or repugnant. I was experiencing a lofty compassion for them, underpinned by the realisation that they were beings with as much right to exist as any, part of Nature’s warp and weft. Moreover, their needs were modest, and I had the ability to influence them. They were there to be guided. As with a horse, where all that was required to tame it was the judicious application of whip, spur and rein, the snake men had to be taken in hand. They did not know what was best for them until told so by the wearer of the Triophidian Crown.
“You will stop right there,” I said.
The snake men did not do as asked. Instead they continued to prowl towards me at a slow, menacing pace. I felt a stab of panic. Was the crown malfunctioning? Was I not using it correctly?
Inwardly, the crown nudged me. I had made a mistake, it was saying, an elementary error.
I could have kicked myself. I had spoken in English, a language in which the snake men were not conversant.
I repeated the command in R’lyehian – “N’rhn!” – and this time the snake men responded instantly. They halted in a rough semicircle around me, W’gnns standing slightly ahead of the others.
“You are not Missster Holmesss,” said he. “Where isss Missster Holmesss?”
“Indisposed,” I replied.
“He did not come when he wasss meant to, and now, adding to the insssult, inssstead of appearing himssself he sssendsss hisss proxxxy. It ssseemsss disssressspectful.”
“Do not be insolent,” I chided. The crown thrummed more intently upon my head and its glow brightened. I puffed up my chest, feeling myself the snake men’s superior in every respect. I would not abide insubordination from them.
W’gnns nodded humbly. “I apologissse, Dr Watssson. I ssspoke out of turn.”
“See that it does not happen again.”
“It ssshall not.”
Somewhere faintly and afar I heard a cackling, and realised that it came from the crown. The more I lorded it over the snake men, the more energy it leeched from me. At the same time, the power I had over these creatures was attractive, even intoxicating, and I was eager to keep exercising it. I was aware that I was falling into a trap. The crown, by enabling me to make thralls of the snake men, was in turn making me its thrall. This was a Faustian bargain. Yet somehow I did not care.
“Just because I am not Sherlock Holmes,” I said, “it does not entitle you to treat me with any less deference. I am in fact his equal. My words carry as much weight as his. Don’t you forget that.”
Brighter still the Triophidian Crown shone, causing the snake men’s reptilian irises to contract to the thinnest of slivers. A couple of them raised hands to shield their eyes against its glare.
I was at once exhilarated and incensed. This light was my doing. It was generated by me. Rightly should the snake men be dazzled by it. But should they not bask in it as well? Should they not genuflect before it, as the Ancient Egyptians did before the sun?
The crown was now overcome with glee, and so was I, even though I knew perfectly well that I should not be. Any joyousness the crown exhibited came at my expense. I could feel how it had its hooks in me. I could feel it supping upon my very essence. A numb lassitude was creeping over me, a kind of anaesthesia, like rivulets of ice water through my veins, yet I had no wish to stop. How thrilling it was to have the snake men kowtowing to me! I could make them do anything – anything – I wished.
“Kneel,” I said, and they did. “Bow,” I said, and they did that too. “Grovel,” I said, and they abased themselves in the Thames mud, writhing, groaning.
“Thisss…” said W’gnns, straining to speak. “Thisss isss… not right, sssir.”
“It is if I say it is,” I barked.
“You… abussse usss. Pleassse desssissst. We have information for you. We know where the nightgaunt went. I will tell you where, on condition that you leave usss be.”
“You will tell me regardless, without condition.” I accompanied the declaration with a burst of indignant rage so strong it made the crown crackle audibly.
W’gnns clutched his head. Many of the other snake men did likewise. “It hurtsss,” he wailed. “What you are doing to usss. It bringsss pain.”
“Tell me, you grub, you worthless devil. Tell me! Now!”
Trembling in distress, W’gnns spat out his answer. “Due eassst. Where the sssity petersss out. Where the river mergesss with the land. Thither did the nightgaunt fly. We traced the placesss where it alighted. Where it resssted upon the way. Sssomewhere in thossse marssshes did it land lassst of all.”
“Be more precise.”
“I cannot. I cannot! We dared ssstray no further than that from our hauntsss. To do ssso would be to risssk exxxposing ourssselves. Pleassse, Dr Watssson! We can take no more.”
The voice of the crown was adamant that they could – and indeed should. It was telling me that I was entitled to increase the torment until they begged for death. Indeed, if the mood took me I could actually destroy the snake men by scorching their psyches from the inside out until nothing remained. And would that be so bad? I despised this race, after all. I disapproved wholeheartedly of the way Holmes had given them the run of the city, setting himself up as their noble liberator. If I got rid of the Irregulars, what a message it would send to the rest of their kind. Never would London have anything to fear from them. They would stick to their benighted underworld, cowed and cowering.
The crown was offering me an unparalleled opportunity, and I had a vague inkling of the cost. In order for me to kill the Irregulars the crown would have to reach deep and extract every last iota of energy from me. It would mine me until the seam ran dry.
For a moment – a very long moment – I considered this a price worth paying.
Then it hit me. What was I doing? I was a doctor, a man dedicated to preserving life. I did not kill except as a last resort, in self-defence or to safeguard innocents. Yet here I was, contemplating the slaughter of a score of sentient beings who were at least partway human.
A wave of disgust swept over me – a disgust aimed not at the beleaguered Irregulars but at myself. With a grunt of protest I snatched the Triophidian Crown off my head and hurled it into the mud.
The sudden absence of that coarse, provocative voice in my mind was a blessing. I felt cleaner, more wholesome, as though I had purged myself of something poisonous and sickening.
The Irregulars ceased their agonised contortions. One by one they picked themselves up off the ground. They looked haggard and worn after the ordeal I had put them through. Several clung to their neighbours for support.
W’gnns, his stripes besmirched with riverbed filth, fixed me with a malevolent stare.
“Missster Holmesss would never have done sssuch a thing,” he snarled.
“I know, I know. I can only express regret. The crown – it possessed me. I had no idea what it would be like, wearing it. Holmes warned me, but even so. The power. It was hard to resist.”
“That isss not what I meant. I meant he would never have been ssso carelesss.”
“I was careless, yes, but—”
“Ssso carelesss asss to drop the crown where I might reach it.”
With that, W’gnns darted forward. He moved with snakelike speed, quick as any cobra striking its prey. In an eye-blink the Triophidian Crown was in his clutches.
* * *
“Give that back,” I said.
“Why?” retorted W’gnns. “Why ssshould I? It isss an inssstrument of tyranny. With it, you sssubjugate and caussse sssuffering. Without it, you are nothing. Just a sssoft-ssskinned mammal.”
The other Irregulars hissed assent. Still reeling from the misery I had inflicted upon them, they perceived nonetheless that the balance of power had abruptly shifted. I was no longer the master. I was merely a lone human whom they outnumbered twenty to one. My fate was in their hands now.
W’gnns gestured, and one of the Irregulars – he who was wholly snake from the waist down – slithered towards me. I was slow to react, doubtless because the debilitating effects of using the crown still lingered, dulling my reflexes. I went for my revolver, which I had once again, as last time, made the precaution of bringing along. Before my hand even made it to my pocket, however, the snake man had coiled his lower portions around me, wrapping me from knee to neck. My arms were pressed against my sides and my legs were locked together. I was helpless, entwined in a long, thick cylinder of muscle. I knew then how a monkey must feel when caught in the grip of a boa constrictor. I struggled, but the snake man only tightened his hold upon me. I felt my bones creak. I was having difficulty drawing breath. To make matters worse, the ammoniac reek of the snake man’s body filled my throat and nostrils chokingly. This would be an awful way to die, and I was all but powerless to do anything about it. My only hope of escaping the predicament was to talk my way out.
“W’gnns,” I gasped. “Think. If I do not return home tonight, Holmes will soon work out why. He will know what has become of me and who is to blame. He will come looking for you, all of you, and his anger will be terrible. None of you will escape it.”
“But he will not have thisss.” W’gnns waved the crown under my nose. “We therefore will have that much lesss reassson to fear him.”
“Crown or no crown, Sherlock Holmes is a force to be reckoned with. Listen to me. Do not do this. For all your sakes.”
“Ssshould I ssshow you mersssy?” W’gnns mused. “When you yourssself ssseem ssso lacking in that quality?”
The other snake men snarled that I should not be allowed to live. Let their colleague suffocate me. Let him crush me until my every bone snapped and my organs burst.
“But I did not, did I?” I said. “I relented. I saw sense. You can do the same. You do not want my death on your conscience.”
“From threatsss to an appeal to my better nature.” W’gnns’s lipless mouth grinned starkly, revealing sharp, sickle-shaped fangs. “What nexxxt? Pleading?”
“Never,” I declared. “An Englishman does not plead for his life. If nothing else, an Englishman knows how to die with dignity.”
“Englissshman,” W’gnns echoed quizzically, for I had spoken the word in my native tongue, knowing no easy way of translating it into R’lyehian. “Isss that your tribal affiliation? Isss that what you are?”
“Amongst other things, yes.”
“Well then, Englissshman, you will get your wisssh.”
For one dreadful, vertiginous moment I thought that my claim about dying with dignity was going to be put to the test. I steeled myself for what was to come. I had faith that beyond the pain, as my soul parted company with my body and flew to its ultimate destination, Mary would be there to greet me. I saw myself prostrate before her, imploring her to forgive me for my failure to protect her. I saw her reaching down a benevolent hand, her features lit up with a radiant, loving smile. I felt then that I could die with equanimity at least, if not dignity, knowing what awaited me on the other side.
“You will live,” said W’gnns. “But,” he added, brandishing the Triophidian Crown, “thisss isss oursss now. Never again ssshall Missster Holmesss, or anyone elssse, ussse it upon usss. We will continue to obssserve our pact with him. My race ssshall not impinge upon yoursss. That will be, however, on the underssstanding that the reverssse alssso holdsss true. Your kind ssshall not be troubled by usss again asss long asss we are not troubled by you. Isss that clear?”
Still enmeshed within the snake man’s coils, I nodded.
W’gnns gestured again, and the snake man gave a final squeeze, exerting an almost intolerable pressure upon my ribcage. Then he relinquished his grasp, unravelling himself, and I could breathe freely once more.
The Irregulars ambled off to the sewer outfall while I stood mired in the Thames mud, feeling both relieved and rueful. The tide rose, but only when the edge of the widening river began lapping at my feet did I stir myself to move.
