FOURTEEN

Virginia made a choking noise, as if she was trying to stop herself being sick. Matty said a single word that expressed his shock. Sherlock assumed it was a word he’d picked up along the waterways in his travels.

Sherlock himself was fascinated. Repelled, yes, but mainly fascinated. As he looked closer, he noticed that Balthassar’s face was covered in small triangular scars. Whatever the things were that were clinging to his face, he’d been using them for some time.

“Hardly the face of a new country,” Sherlock said, trying to disguise his feelings. “I can see why you have to wear the mask.”

“All medical procedures have side effects,” Balthassar said quietly. “Mercury, used to treat syphilis, drives men mad. I consider myself fortunate that my own side effects are limited to the purely cosmetic.”

“But what are they?” Matty whispered.

It was Virginia who replied. “They’re leeches,” she said. “Bloodsucking leeches. They live in streams and ponds in hot climates.”

“Bloodsucking leeches,” Matty repeated. “And you’re letting them suck your blood? You’re insane!”

“At least I’m alive,” Balthassar replied, unperturbed. “My family has an inherited disease. My father died of it, as did his father. The blood flows sluggishly in our veins. Without treatment our bodies simply start shutting down, bit by bit.” He raised a hand and looked at the obviously missing finger. “There wasn’t a lot left of my father when he died.”

“And the leeches help?” Sherlock asked.

“They have a substance in their saliva that stops the blood from clotting. They have to, otherwise they would not be able to feed. With enough leeches attached to my skin, all of them feeding, all of them secreting that substance, my circulation is quicker. The blood rushes through my veins.”

“But—don’t they suck your blood out?” Matty asked.

Balthassar shrugged. “A thimbleful each, perhaps. A small price to pay for good health, and one I do not begrudge them. Which reminds me…” He turned to Dr. Berle. “I believe you have something for me?”

Berle had a disturbed look on his face. He took the box from his lap and put it on the table, then flicked a catch on top and opened a lid. From inside he took a glass jar with a lid made of waxed paper that was fastened on with string.

Inside the jar was something horrifying.

The leeches on Duke Balthassar’s face and hands—and presumably on the rest of his body as well—were small, barely larger than Sherlock’s little finger. The one in the jar was the size of his clenched fist, and it was a bright, glistening red. It lay curled around the bottom of the jar, its tiny head waving blindly in the air, seeking sustenance.

Virginia clutched her hand to her mouth and turned away. The cougars, lying on the veranda nearby, tried to edge back even further. Their teeth were exposed and their eyes looked wild and scared, but their fear of Balthassar seemed to exceed their fear of the leech, and they didn’t try to run.

“An impressive specimen,” Balthassar said, taking the jar from the table. “When did it last feed?”

“A month or so ago,” Berle replied. “Or so I’m told.” He paused and swallowed before continuing. “Duke, as a doctor—as your doctor—I have to tell you that this—treatment—isn’t something I recommend. In fact, I’m not even convinced it works. The things you’re doing to your body … they’re monstrous!”

“I’m still alive, Doctor, and I still have all of my extremities, minus two fingers and some toes,” Balthassar replied. “That is all the proof I need.” He pulled at a loose strand of string, and the knot holding the waxed paper on undid itself. “And with this beautiful creature I will be able to think even more clearly and my stamina will be unbounded.”

He reached into the jar and carefully picked the leech out. It hung bonelessly from his fingers. He smoothed a strand of his fine white hair back from his face, then placed the leech behind his right ear.

The cougars made a mewing sound. They were terrified.

As Sherlock watched, the creature’s head moved around, searching for a vein he presumed, then fastened itself onto Balthassar’s skin. Its rear end manoeuvred for a moment, wriggling around, and then it too fastened itself down firmly.

Balthassar closed his eyes and smiled blissfully. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s right, my beauty. Feed. Feed away.”

“How … how long do they stay attached?” Sherlock asked.

“Days,” Balthassar replied dreamily, eyes still closed. “Weeks in some cases. When they have taken their fill they detach and hibernate for a month or two while they digest the still-fluid blood. I have a large supply of leeches—most from here in America, from Florida and from Alabama—but nothing like this one. Oh no, nothing like this one.” He smiled. “I knew it was there, in the jungles of the Far East. I could feel its presence. It called out to me, asking me to come and get it.”

There was something in his tone of voice that reminded Sherlock of John Wilkes Booth when he talked about smelling smoke—sleepy, not quite focusing on reality. Could the leech be secreting something else into his bloodstream apart from the anticoagulant, some kind of narcotic that stopped its victims from caring that there was a parasite attached to them and filled them with pleasant, hallucinatory thoughts? He filed the idea away for later—if there was a later. He still had no idea how the three of them were going to get away.

Sherlock’s attention was drawn by a movement down by Balthassar’s feet. The cougars were edging away from him. Their attention was fixed on the giant red leech, and they didn’t like it. They seemed afraid of it.

“Sherman, Grant,” Balthassar hissed, then he said something Sherlock couldn’t understand. The big cats stopped moving away, but their muscles were still tense.

The red leech appeared to be pulsing as Sherlock watched. Pulsing with Balthassar’s blood, ingested from a vein behind his ear.

“You are wasting time,” Balthassar said. “Do you have any more questions?”

Sherlock tried to pull his attention away from the leech. “You said that ‘the Government in Exile of the Confederacy still seeks to establish freedom from the oppressive regime of the Union for those states who wish it,’” he quoted.

“Indeed.”

“But how?” Sherlock asked.

“Try to work it out. I will tell you if you are right.” As Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, Balthassar added: “Look on it as a way for me to get more information. If you can work it out, given that you know about Mr. Booth, then the authorities can undoubtedly work it out as well. I promise, if you can’t work it out, then I will give you the answer.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. The longer he could keep Balthassar talking, the more he could put off the moment of their deaths. Maybe he could think of some way to escape in the meantime. Maybe Amyus Crowe would find them.

“So,” he said. “John Wilkes Booth’s mind has gone. He’s alternately hallucinatory and violent, and he needs to be drugged most of the time just so you can move him around. He’s obviously no use as an assassin, or as anything else apart from a figurehead. So you need him as a rallying point, someone you can wheel out onstage to inspire the troops.”

Balthassar nodded, but the word “troops” had sparked an idea in Sherlock’s brain, despite the fact that he’d only chosen it as a metaphor.

“You are rallying troops,” he said. “That’s why you need Booth—to motivate your army. To show them that there’s a direct connection between the War Between the States and what you’re doing now!”

Again, Balthassar nodded. “Go on.”

“But I can’t see you raising an army large enough to take on the Union’s army. Not again. Not since you lost last time. So you need an army to do something else.” His mind was racing. “But what? If the army isn’t going to fight on American soil then it must be aimed at invading somewhere else.” He tried to think back to some maps he’d looked at on the SS Scotia. “Mexico?” he asked.

Balthassar shook his head. “A good guess, but wrong. It was tried a few years back, but the plan fell apart due to lack of support. And besides, Mexico is hot and arid and has a standing army of its own that would resist us.”

“What then?” Sherlock asked, but even as he did so the answer sprang into his head. “If you have an army, then you need a land border for them to cross,” he said. “The United States only has two land borders: one with Mexico and one with … Canada?”

Balthassar nodded. “Well done. Yes, we have raised an army, several thousand strong, which is encamped not too far away from here. They have been finding their way here for several months, in dribs and drabs so as not to attract attention. With John Wilkes Booth as our figurehead—our mascot, if you like—we will march up and take the port of Halifax in order to prevent British resupply, then cut communication links between eastern and western Canada by capturing Winnipeg. We can then move through the country and capture Quebec and the Great Lakes region. Once that is done we can carve out a new nation where like-minded Confederates can join us and keep slaves, as God intended.”

“But why Canada?” Sherlock asked.

“Good land for growing crops, a temperate climate—at least near the border with America—excellent harbours for trade purposes, no army to speak of to resist our advance, and of course it is a British territory, recently confederated. And Britain refused to aid us in our battle against the Union.”

“The British government will never let Canada go,” Sherlock said, thinking of Mycroft.

“They probably won’t even care,” Balthassar scoffed. “Just think of the logistics of shipping their army three thousand miles for a battle, especially when we control the ports. No, there will be a few years of diplomatic bleating, of course, but we will control Canada.”

“With you as president?” Sherlock asked. “A man in a china mask?”

Balthassar’s head jerked to one side. Sherlock’s words had hit home.

“John Wilkes Booth, perhaps,” he answered tersely. “With the proper guidance and medication, of course. Or perhaps even General Robert E. Lee. There are plenty of candidates. But I will be the power behind the throne.”

The sudden motion disturbed one of the smaller leeches. It fell from his face and hit the table with a quiet plop. Balthassar glanced at it. “Old,” he said, “one of my longest-serving partners. I think it’s time to retire you, my friend.”

He picked it up from the tablecloth and popped it into his mouth, then swallowed like a man eating an oyster.

Sherlock noticed that the leech had left a red smear on the tablecloth. He kept his gaze fixed on that red smear. He had a feeling he might throw up if he didn’t fixate on something. Anything.

“I must say,” Balthassar murmured in his fragile, whispery voice, delicately replacing the porcelain mask on his scarred and leech-infested face, “you have demonstrated an uncanny ability to predict my plans from a few scattered facts. Either that, or my plans are considerably more obvious than I had thought. Either way, I cannot afford to delay. If you—a mere child—can work them out, then surely the Unionist government can work them out too. I think that our advance into Canada needs to start within the next few days. Thank you for your assistance.”

“And what about us?” Virginia asked. Sherlock was proud of how level she kept her voice.

“Oh, I have no need of you now,” Balthassar said. There was no trace of anger or vengeance in his voice. There was barely a trace of anything at all. He might just as easily have been discussing the price of tea leaves. “You will be disposed of.”

“How?” Sherlock asked.

“Ah.” Balthassar’s porcelain face was impassive. “There, I confess, I may have misled you. I have a fate in mind for you which will solve three separate problems I have, but it does involve quite a lot of pain and suffering.” He gestured to the brutal Rubinek. “Captain, please take our guests to the new enclosure. My latest acquisitions need to be fed.” He turned back to Sherlock. “My collectors of rare and unusual creatures made sure they had eaten before they were captured,” he said conversationally, “and it takes them several weeks to digest their food, during which time they are almost comatose, but they have had a long journey from Borneo and their current behaviour suggests they are hungry again.” He paused, and Sherlock suspected that he was smiling beneath the mask. “I anticipate that they will draw huge crowds when I display them. By feeding you to them I get rid of you, I dispose of your bodies, and I also make sure my pets have a decent source of good quality meat to keep them satisfied for a while.” He paused for a moment. “I am told they take their food underwater and store it beneath rocks until it becomes … tender. We will all enjoy watching that process.”

Before Sherlock could say anything, two more men had moved from the shadows at a gesture from Rubinek. The three men took Sherlock, Matty, and Virginia by the shoulders, pulled them roughly from their chairs, and started pushing them along the veranda.

Despair filled Sherlock. Despite everything, it looked as if they were going to die a particularly nasty and painful death. He didn’t know what Balthassar’s latest “acquisitions” were, but he doubted they were going to be anything as innocent as squirrels or parrots. Whatever they were, they were likely to be big and have sharp teeth. More cougars? No, he could get those locally, and would not have to hunt abroad for them.

He caught Matty’s eye as they were pushed along the veranda. Matty was looking scared, but he smiled briefly at Sherlock.

The three of them were pushed off the edge of the veranda to the hard-packed earth, and then shoved towards the area of cages, paddocks, and fenced-off enclosures that Sherlock had seen from the train. They seemed to be aiming for a walled area off to one side. The wall looked freshly built. Adjoining one side was a balcony with a view down into whatever was enclosed by the walls. Steps led up to the balcony, and Sherlock found himself shivering when he saw a wooden plank that stuck out from the balcony and ended over whatever lay beneath.

Separate stairs led downward, into darkness. Sherlock wondered momentarily what was down there, but his speculations were broken when Rubinek pushed him up the stairs to the balcony. His two followers pushed Matty and Virginia after him.

Sherlock could see down into the enclosure. From that vantage point it looked more like a pit. The area inside the walls was rocky and uneven, with vegetation growing out of cracks between the rocks and a pool of brackish water taking up about a third of the space. There was no sign of anything living in there, but Sherlock didn’t find himself particularly comforted.

Rubinek manoeuvred Sherlock to the start of the plank. The other two men herded Matty and Virginia together a few feet away.

“Go on,” he said. “You know what to do.”

“And if I don’t?” Sherlock asked.

Rubinek raised his hand. He was holding a small pistol, barely larger than his palm, with two barrels, one above the other. “What’s in there don’t particularly mind whether you’re dead or alive,” Rubinek said. “And neither do I.”

Sherlock looked back towards the house. He had expected Balthassar to follow them and watch from the balcony, but the tall man in the white suit was still on his veranda. He had spread a map across the table and was consulting it. He appeared to have already forgotten about Sherlock and his friends.

Reluctantly Sherlock walked out to the end of the plank. It dipped beneath his weight. The drop to the rocky floor of the enclosure was about ten feet.

“Jump,” Rubinek ordered. Now that Sherlock was following orders, Rubinek slipped his tiny revolver back into his jacket pocket.

“I’ll break my legs!” Sherlock protested. “That’s hard rock down there!”

“So?” The man patted his jacket pocket. The threat was clear.

Sherlock glanced into the enclosure, looked across at Virginia, then took two steps back before running towards the end of the plank and jumping into the enclosure.

He used the springiness of the plank to push himself out as well as up, angling himself so that he arced towards the pool of water. He hit, sending a massive splash up into the air. The water had been warmed by the bright sun, and Sherlock struck out for the edge before anything that might be living in the water could get him. He scrambled out quickly onto the rocks, dripping wet, and looked around. Nothing was coming for him yet.

He looked up at the balcony. Virginia was at the end of the plank, looking scared. Matty was just stepping onto the plank, but he stumbled and fell back against Captain Rubinek, who pushed him roughly back onto it.

Sherlock quickly glanced around in case something was sneaking up on him. There was a splash from the pool, and then another, as Virginia and Matty joined him. He reached out and pulled them both to the rocks when they surfaced, spluttering.

“What’s in here with us?” Matty asked, breathless.

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock replied, looking around. Up on the balcony, Rubinek and his men were leaving. Whatever was going to happen in the enclosure, it wasn’t classified as a spectator sport.

“They’re not watching us,” Virginia pointed out. “We’ve got a chance to escape.”

“The walls are too high to climb,” Matty said dubiously.

Sherlock looked around. “There are loose rocks around. Maybe we can pile them up and climb up so we can reach the top of the wall.” He thought for a moment. “No good. They could see us from the house as we climb over the wall. We need to find a way out where they can’t spot us.”

A scrabbling noise from the far side of the enclosure caught his attention. He glanced that way, heart pounding in his chest. What was in there with them?

For a moment he couldn’t see anything, but then a nightmare head appeared from a dark gap between two rocks. It was long and narrow, with small eyes set on either side. The creature’s skin was a dirty grey-green, and folds of it hung down from that long jaw. The mouth opened as Sherlock watched to let a forked red tongue flicker out, tasting the air, but inside he could see a row of vicious teeth the size of his little finger, curved backwards so that any prey caught by them would not be able to tear itself free.

Matty gasped, and Virginia let out a stifled moan.

“What is it?” Matty whispered.

The creature moved further out into the open. Its body was as long as Sherlock’s, half of it made up of a long, muscular tail. It walked on four legs that splayed out sideways from its body. Its feet terminated in hooked claws that skittered on the rocks as it moved. The grey-green skin seemed like a baggy fit, hanging loose beneath it and swaying as it moved.

Even at that range, Sherlock could see that there was no emotion in those eyes: just a cold and hungry intelligence.

“Some kind of reptile,” he said, “but it’s huge. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It’s the same size as us,” Virginia whispered. “I thought it might be an alligator—they have them down in Florida, I’ve heard, but this is something else. Alligators are slow and stupid, and they don’t like being out of water, but that thing looks quick and intelligent, and it’s walking on the rocks with no problems.”

Sherlock gazed at the thing’s feet. “Those claws look like they could climb trees,” he pointed out. “Not that there are any trees here to climb anyway.”

The creature moved out onto a flat rock and stared at them, flicking its tongue towards them. It knew there was food around.

Something moved off to one side. Sherlock glanced that way. A second creature was emerging from another gap in the rocks. This one was even bigger than the first.

“Look!” Virginia warned. For a moment Sherlock assumed she’d seen the second creature as well, but when he looked over at her he saw she was facing the other way. He followed the line of her pointing finger. A third lizard was moving towards them along the line of the wall. Its head was swinging from side to side as it watched them.

The first creature that he’d seen moved in the other direction while the second one began to head towards them, its body swinging from side to side as its claws got purchase on the ground.

The three creatures appeared to be working together, like dogs. They were pinning Sherlock, Matty, and Virginia down, giving them nowhere to escape.

Sherlock’s mind was racing. Given the size of the creatures and their massive and sharp teeth, they were obviously carnivores, and they were moving as if they were hungry and they knew there was food in the enclosure. They didn’t seem wary or cautious, the way dogs might have been. They seemed deliberate in their movements. Sherlock had a feeling that reptiles couldn’t be scared. Their brains just weren’t made that way. They would keep coming, no matter what Sherlock and the others did. Noises wouldn’t stop them, nor would sudden gestures. Thrown rocks probably wouldn’t work either. They were like calculating machines with teeth.

The monstrous creatures were edging closer and closer now, from all directions. Sherlock, Matty, and Virginia edged backwards, towards the nearest wall. Their options were progressively being closed off by these freakishly intelligent reptiles.

“What’s that smell?” Matty asked, his face wrinkling up. Sherlock could smell it too: something like rotted meat. If those creatures really did swallow their prey whole and then spend weeks digesting it then the smell was probably part of them.

“Sherlock,” Virginia said in a too-controlled voice, “what do we do?”

“Thinking,” Sherlock said, and he was. He was thinking as fast as he’d ever thought in his life.

The creature on their right took a few steps closer. Matty bent down and picked a stone up from the ground. He lobbed it at the creature. It didn’t move as the stone hit the wall beside it and bounced off. No fear, no caution, nothing. It just didn’t care. After a few seconds it took another two steps, legs splayed out to either side of its body.

The creature to their left hissed, head held up as it sampled the air. The other two hissed as well. Sherlock wasn’t sure if they were communicating with each other, or just making noises designed to cause their prey to freeze in terror.

The distance between the reptiles and the three of them had almost halved now, taken up gradually by the reptiles in small steps. No rush, no sudden attack, just a progressive and intelligent process of backing their prey into a corner where they could be eaten at leisure.

And Sherlock couldn’t think of any way of stopping them.