Incognito
Sherlock stepped out from the changing cubicle and stood in front of Ed, a questioning look on his oddly transformed face. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘How do I look?’
Ed didn’t really know how to answer that question. He considered saying what he actually thought, that the great detective looked ‘really weird,’ but decided that wouldn’t be helpful. So instead he just nodded thoughtfully and said, ‘Hmm. Yeah…’ Bobby wagged his tail, but even he seemed puzzled.
‘Hmm, yeah? Is that all you’ve got to say?’
They were in a huge department store called Jenners (just one more place that Sherlock happened to have a key for.) They were in the menswear department and Sherlock was demonstrating his ‘disguise’ – or at least, his attempt to pass for a human being. For a start, he’d managed to find what must have been the biggest grey raincoat ever made, which he was wearing on top of his bronze clothing – and he’d also found a wide-brimmed black hat, which fitted neatly over the top of his deerstalker. His huge hands were enclosed in leather gloves, though to actually get them on, he’d had to take a pair of scissors and cut them open from the wrists to the middle of his palms. Of course, the colour of his bronze ‘skin’ had proved to be a real problem, so he’d picked up some cosmetics on the way up here, a large tube of foundation makeup and some rouge, both of which he’d plastered onto his face in an attempt to make him look more ‘human,’ though the corpse-like pallor he’d achieved just looked really strange. The outfit was completed by a pair of aviator-style sunglasses, because there was no way in the world he was ever going to be able to make his metal eyes look real.
‘You look… different,’ said Ed.
Sherlock scowled. ‘That isn’t a proper answer. The question is, can I pass for a human, looking like this?’
‘I… I suppose so,’ muttered Ed. ‘A really… odd-looking human. It’s just that you’re so… big.’
‘I can’t do anything about my height,’ reasoned Sherlock. ‘But there must surely be some tall people around Manchester?’
‘Maybe… basketball players?’ offered Ed.
‘Well, it’ll have to do. We don’t have an awful lot of time at our disposal.’ Sherlock reached under the real coat and pulled out his pocket watch. ‘We need to be going,’ he said. ‘We’ve already wasted enough time on this.’ He slipped the makeup into the pockets of his raincoat and led the way back through the departments and down the stairs to the entrance. He let Ed and Bobby out onto the street and they watched as he locked up and reset the burglar alarm.
‘How does it work with the keys?’ asked Ed. ‘I mean, you surely can’t have one for every building in Edinburgh.’
‘No, but between us, we have keys for all of the useful places,’ said Sherlock. ‘Sometimes, if we need one for a particular place, we can simply borrow it from somebody else. And on certain occasions, we have even been known to make duplicates.’
They soon found themselves walking alongside Princes Street Gardens again and heading across Waverley Bridge. They passed a couple of white stone statues walking the other way, two elderly men in wigs and frock coats who had been deep in conversation as they approached, but who stared in open amazement as Sherlock and Ed went by.
‘Morning,’ muttered Ed self-consciously but Sherlock just ignored them. He appeared to be deep in thought. Once again, Ed wondered what people in the real world were going to make of the enormous shambling figure beside him.
‘So tell me more about this machine you’ve built,’ he suggested.
‘Hmm?’ Sherlock looked down at him as though annoyed at the interruption. ‘I can assure you, I have had nothing to do with its creation. It’s James’ invention. I merely inspired him.’
‘James?’
‘James Clerk Maxwell. He’s Edinburgh’s most famous…’
‘Physicist. Yes, David Livingstone mentioned him to me. So, how did you inspire him exactly?’
‘Well, I happened to mention an idea to him at one of the Callings and by the following year, he’d pretty much worked out how to make it a reality.’
Ed nodded. ‘What was the idea?’
‘Well, if you really want to know, I merely said how dreary travel must be for humans and wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could just step through a door in Edinburgh and arrive instantly, anywhere else in the world.’
‘Wow! And that’s what this machine can do?’
‘Hopefully.’ Ed couldn’t help noticing that Sherlock kept his gaze fixed on the way ahead. ‘That’s… pretty much the gist of it…’
Ed sensed that he was being vague. ‘Hang on a minute. Didn’t you tell Queen Victoria that it hadn’t been tested yet?’
‘Erm… well, actually, I wasn’t completely honest with her. We did er… have a bit of a test, only two years ago.’
Ed felt suddenly rather suspicious. ‘What do you mean? A bit of a test?’
‘Well, we erm… we sent a statue through the door. Just a little statue of a… a cherub. Silly little creature, really, of no great importance. He happened to mention that he wasn’t enjoying his life in Edinburgh any more and he fancied a change of climate, so we er… offered to give him one. Of course, it isn’t an actual door, you understand, it’s more of a portal. An opening into another dimension.’
‘Right… and where did you send this… this cherub?’
‘Well, we sent him to India, actually. He said he’d always wanted to see the place, so we thought “Why not?”’ That’s as good a test destination as any.’
Ed was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.
‘And… did he get there?’
‘Oh yes, we’re fairly sure he did. Of course, we did warn him before he left to make sure he was back by midnight… it’s a bit like Cinderella when you think about it. You know, the glass slipper and all that? Only… well… it could be that he got confused by the time difference, and…’
‘And what?’ Ed prompted him.
‘Well, he… he’s not actually back yet.’
‘Yet? But that was two years ago!’
‘Umm… true. We’re not sure what happened. It could be that he just preferred it there, or… maybe he didn’t get back to the portal in time and sort
of… froze. But James has made quite a few adjustments since then, so…’
‘Wait!’ Ed stopped in his tracks. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ he said. ‘It sounds dangerous.’
‘Not at all!’ Sherlock paused and turned back to look at him. ‘Do you really think I’d be offering to go with you if I thought it was dangerous?’
‘You might. You’re supposed to be quite brave aren’t you?’
‘Well, yes, but I’m not foolhardy. Besides, I have complete trust in James. His is one of the greatest minds of the nineteenth century. Oh, if they’d had your kind of technology back when he was alive, who knows what he might have accomplished? Every year the Calling comes around and he’s there with another amazing idea, all ready to go.’
Ed got the impression that Sherlock was deliberately trying to change the subject, so he didn’t pursue the point but he couldn’t help feeling worried. He wondered what had happened to the cherub. Was there now an unexplained little statue in the middle of a high street in Mumbai? And was he still able to come alive for just one day of the year?
He and Sherlock had stepped off the main street now and were wandering along a wide, straight avenue with a row of trees on either side of them. The way ahead was divided by a white line along its centre, half for pedestrians, half for bicycles. Ed was astonished to see that a human on a bicycle was slumped asleep in his saddle, right in the middle of the track, his front light still flashing rhythmically, even though it was now broad daylight. More weirdly, his bike had somehow remained upright, supported by nothing more than fresh air. Ed stared in disbelief. ‘How is that even possible?’ he asked. ‘Why doesn’t he lose his balance?’
‘Just another of the wonders of the Calling,’ said Sherlock. ‘You see, from midnight, human time simply freezes. That chap was probably on his way home from a party. At midnight tonight he’ll just carry on pedalling to his destination.’
‘It’s incredible,’ observed Ed.
‘It is, but we statues take it for granted now. The real mystery to me is that you are able to move and talk and breathe at all. It’s against all the laws of reason. If we had more time it’s something I’d like to investigate in more detail. What is it about you that makes you different to every other human in Edinburgh?’
Ed shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘The Colonel reckons it’s something to do with me losing my memory.’
‘He could be right, I suppose. I expect James will have a theory about it. He’s good at that kind of logical thinking.’
‘Better than you?’ asked Ed, surprised.
‘Oh no, not better than me. Nobody’s better than me.’
Ed laughed at that and Sherlock allowed himself a smile. ‘I know it can come across as arrogance, but I feel I’m merely stating facts.’
‘So how do you stand it?’ Ed asked him.
‘How do I stand what?’
‘Being stuck on that plinth, all year round, not able to move. Just waiting for the one day when you can do some stuff. I… I can’t imagine what that must feel like. Doesn’t it make you want to… scream and shout? What if…?’ He thought for a moment. ‘What if you get a really bad itch and you need to scratch it? That must be awful.’
Sherlock shrugged. ‘It is simply the statue’s lot in life,’ he said. ‘We all have the same limitations. Think what it must be like for the other statues around the world! They never get to move. As far as I am aware, they don’t even have thoughts and feelings, like we do. And at least we have the whole year to anticipate the Calling. You know, I suppose it’s a little bit like being a butterfly. All that time they spend getting ready for their big day. They are eggs, they are grubs, they are locked in a cocoon… until finally, finally the time comes and they have just that one summer’s day to spread their wings and fly. And then, almost as soon as it’s begun, it’s all over for them. At least we get to spread our wings again and again.’
‘But if you had the chance… I mean, if somebody could make it happen… wouldn’t you prefer to be human?’
Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but broke off as an abrupt hissing sound rent the air. He reacted instinctively, grabbing Ed, twisting around and pulling him close in behind him. An instant later something hit Sherlock full in the stomach before shattering noisily into fragments and flying off in all directions. Ed looked down in astonishment to see scraps of splintered wood falling to the ground and then he saw a sharp metal object clatter onto the tarmac and he realised what it was. An arrowhead! It dawned on him that somebody had just tried to kill him and that if Sherlock hadn’t intercepted the shot, that arrow would now be sticking out from Ed’s chest. He was aware of Bobby crouching by his feet, his little teeth bared, his ears flat against his head, an angry snarl coming out of him.
‘Stay behind me,’ snapped Sherlock, looking frantically this way and that. Ed peered fearfully out from under the detective’s arm and caught a glimpse of something moving in the trees, a metal figure
standing half-concealed by foliage, some twenty feet away.
‘There!’ yelled Ed, pointing, and now he could see the figure in more detail: a naked bronze statue who, even as Ed stared in horror, was pulling back the string of a wooden bow for another shot.
‘I see you, you coward!’ roared Sherlock and an instant later a second arrow careened off his shoulder and went spinning end over end, behind him.
Sherlock started towards the Gormley, but then wheeled around with a curse as a clatter broke the
silence from somewhere behind them. Now
Ed glimpsed a second Gormley, armed, like his companion, with a bow. He had just popped up from behind the cover of a metal litterbin and his elbow had accidentally made contact with the lid. He had the bowstring pulled back as far as it would go. There was another hiss and Ed was horribly aware of a blur of colour right in front of his face – but then Sherlock’s gloved hand actually snatched the arrow out of thin air and dashed it to the ground, seconds before it could hit its intended target. Ed’s heart seemed to stop momentarily in his chest and his skin crawled with terror.
The full reality of the situation finally dawned on him. The Gormleys were trying to kill him! But why? What had he done to deserve it? There was a moment of deep silence as he and Sherlock
stood there debating what to do, unsure now which way to face; then Sherlock pushed Ed towards a narrow alleyway, leading off the main thoroughfare to their left, and he shouted, ‘Run, boy! I’ll be right behind you.’
Ed needed no second bidding. He took off along the alley with all the speed he could muster and Sherlock followed right on his heels, keeping as close as he could to provide some cover. Bobby scampered after them, barking excitedly. A third arrow hit Sherlock square in the back and this time it actually managed to pierce his bronze skin, but he and Ed kept on running for all they were worth and when they finally dared to glance back, the already distant mouth of the
alley was empty and nobody appeared to be following them.
‘All right,’ said Sherlock. ‘I don’t think they’re following us.’ They slowed to a walk. Ed was already out of breath, but Sherlock showed no sign of that and it occurred to Ed that if a statue didn’t need to breathe, running wasn’t going to be a problem for him. Bobby, too, seemed unaffected by the race. He trotted along behind his companions, his tail wagging.
‘What… what was that all about?’ gasped Ed. ‘They… they were trying to kill me.’
‘It’s exactly as I feared,’ murmured Sherlock. He reached around behind himself, grabbed the end of the arrow and pulled it free with a grunt. He looked at it for a moment and then dashed it to the ground with a curse. ‘Those two Gormleys work for Charlie. He must have sent them after you.’
‘But… he… he pardoned me!’
Sherlock looked unconvinced. ‘Then he’s clearly changed his mind. Was it his idea in the first place? To pardon you?’
‘Well, no… not really. David kind of tricked him into it, so…’
‘David?’
‘David Livingstone. Charlie wanted to… well, he wanted to have my head chopped off but… David made the others vote on it and…’
‘Well, there you are then.’ Sherlock brushed scraps of splintered wood from his coat with a huge gloved hand. ‘Charlie’s not a man to take being bested lightly. He wants you silenced. He’ll have instructed those two minions of his to come after you.’ He studied the top of the alley in silence for a moment, his expression grim. ‘All the more reason to get you away from here before those two have a chance to regroup.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Ed. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone about all this.’
Sherlock reached down to place a huge hand on Ed’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter what you promised,’ he murmured. ‘Charlie dances to a different drum.’ He glanced quickly around. ‘We’re not far from the lab now. But, we’re going to have to take a roundabout route. The last thing we need is for those Gormleys to work out where we’re headed. I shudder to think what might happen if they ever reported back to Charlie about the Anomaly.’ He had another look around and seemed satisfied. ‘Come on,’ he said and started walking. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for those two villains. If you see anything, just shout.’
They hurried along the alleyway and Sherlock started to make a bewildering series of changes to the route, cutting left and right, doubling back on himself, unlocking doors to pass though entire buildings, then locking another door behind them, occasionally stopping to look and listen for any signs that they
might be followed. Finally, when they had been doing this for more than half an hour, he produced a key to an innocuous-looking little doorway and opened it up. He led Ed and Bobby inside, pausing to lock the
door behind him and keeping watch for a moment through a small glass panel before he was entirely satisfied.
‘All right,’ he said, at last. ‘I think we’ve lost them. This way.’ He led Ed up a long flight of stairs to the first floor, then along a corridor where they passed a whole series of glass-fronted rooms, each of which appeared to be fitted with lab equipment of all shapes and sizes – test tubes, Bunsen burners, microscopes and computers. After they had gone some distance, Sherlock paused outside a frosted glass doorway and rapped upon it with his knuckles, in a curiously complicated pattern. They waited in silence for a few moments and finally there was the sound of several bolts being drawn and the door creaked slowly open. A tall bronze statue stood in the opening, gazing out at them, a look of mild irritation on his heavily
bearded face. He was slightly silhouetted against a pulsing red glow coming from behind him. He registered the detective’s odd appearance and stared at him in bewilderment.
‘Sherlock, what in the name of mercy have you done to yourself?’ he cried in a Scottish accent. ‘You look ridiculous.’
‘It’s a disguise,’ Sherlock assured him. ‘So I can pass for a human.’
‘Really? Let’s hope the humans have a sense of humour,’ muttered James Clerk Maxwell. He took a pocket watch from his waistcoat and held it out so that Sherlock could see the time displayed on it.
‘You’re late,’ he said. ‘You know I can’t abide tardiness of any kind.’
Sherlock smiled. ‘Sorry, but I do have a good excuse.’ He stepped aside, revealing Ed, who had been standing behind him.
‘Galloping gravy!’ said James. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Sherlock.
‘Well, don’t just stand there! The two of you had better come inside.’