“Watson! What on earth are you doing here?”
“The same thing you are, I suspect,” I spluttered, “breaking and entering. So perhaps we could keep our voices down? Or have this discussion inside?”
He grabbed me by the front of my jacket, pulled me in, and slammed the door behind me.
“You know what I mean, John! By the Twelve Gods, after all the trouble I’ve taken to keep you safe… and the very moment I look in on you, what do I find? You’ve been scouring London for every piece of magical mischief you can possibly get yourself into!”
“No, I haven’t!”
“Ha! These occurrences are rare, John! Very rare! It is beyond the scope of probability that you should find yourself entangled in so many such events, merely by chance.”
“But I have.”
“You just happened to stumble into ‘The Adventure of the Man with the Twisted… Everything’?”
“Yes! If you recall, Holmes, I was there to help Isa Whitney. I was quite surprised to find you there.”
“Oh… yes… but that man with his thumb off…”
“Came to me as a doctor, Holmes, because his thumb was off. I did not seek him out.”
“All right, but in the case of Culverton Smith—”
“You summoned me and tried to fool me. You did that.”
“Oh… right. But do you expect me to believe that you just happened to bump into a human sacrifice, wandering the streets of London?”
“No. He came to one of Mary’s parties and I could not help but realize something was wrong. Look here, I haven’t done anything dangerous yet, Holmes. And I made sure to inform you before I did. Though, I must say, you’re making me rather regret that decision.”
Consternation crossed his brow. For a moment it looked as if he could not decide whether to be angry, worried or confused. Finally, he asked, “Well then, why do you continue to come across these things? Remember how many magical events you encountered before you met me? None, probably, which is the average number for most fellows. Why so many now?”
To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that. Why, indeed? I let the question roll about my mind, in search of an answer. At last, I mused, “I don’t know, Holmes. Although… remember, long ago, you told me of the brimstone thread? How your life ran right along with it, and how you were therefore likely to encounter strangeness and mysticism? Perhaps in my time with you, my own life became closer to that thread, too.”
Holmes recoiled as if I’d struck him. “But… no, no, no! What do we do, Watson? How do we save you? Egads, what if simply living with me has doomed you beyond all repair?”
“Don’t worry about it, Holmes.”
“Don’t worry? How can you say that, John? Are you hearing yourself? Just look at that portal!” He thrust one finger towards the doorway, drawn upon the far wall.
“I know. It’s rather disconcert—Oh! Look! It’s changed! Holmes, it wasn’t like that before!”
Its basic shape was the same. And yet, somehow, it was more evident, more real, than it had been. The twin suns visible in the realm beyond had more warmth in the lines of their carving. A soft light radiated from them—one in purple, one in orange. The alien landscape seemed to have more depth to it. And if one stared too long, one began to get an idea of the wind that must have swept it—a xenogenic miasma of toxic gases in which nothing mortal might endure. I marveled a moment, then wondered aloud, “Why is it like that?”
Holmes rolled his eyes. “Because something bad is about to come through it, Watson. Something powerful. And something smart. I can feel the strength that’s been pushing from the other side—pushing to make that door real. And not recklessly. Not battering its way through. Whatever is coming has been exerting impossible pressure against that doorway for years. It is patient. It is calculating.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Holmes shook his head. “Something capable of causing the death of thousands, I shouldn’t wonder. Anyway, something capable of chewing through you and your little pistol pretty quick, and here you are, traipsing in to face it alone. Well done, by the way.”
I gave an uncomfortable little shift and mumbled, “I… er… I thought, if I could stop the summoning ritual…”
“No, you aren’t listening, John. Maybe there will be a ritual to feed it once it gets here—to keep it strong, or to keep that portal open—but there is no need to call it. It is coming. Nothing will prevent that.”
“What should we do?”
Holmes raised an eyebrow at me. “We? Nothing. I shall face it. You shall go home, where you belong.”
“Oh, come on, Holmes!”
“No. Nothing shall dissuade me!”
This latest prognostication proved to be false, as at that moment the doorknob rattled. In an instant, every vestige of the masterful commander was gone from Holmes’s features, replaced by the panic of a misbehaving schoolboy. “Agh! Quick! Hide!” he hissed. He disappeared behind one of Garrideb Grub’s larger curio cabinets.
I ran to join him, but had taken only two steps before I realized I had another deed I must accomplish first. I turned back to the very door that must momentarily open to reveal Winter and the three Garridebs. Drawing Mr. Grub’s keys from my pocket, I slipped them onto the pedestal, then hastened back to Holmes’s side. I threw my back up against the curio, reached into my pocket and withdrew my Webley-Pryse.
From beyond the door, I could just hear the tones of the housekeeper, who sounded fairly displeased to be called to this task for the second time in only three days. Finally, the door gave way and I could hear her saying, “—erfectly ridiculous! They shall be on the pedestal, where they always are!”
“But no,” came Mr. Grub’s voice. “I tell you, they were missing!”
Yet his protestations were cut short by his landlady’s triumphant “Ha! Ha! Look!
