Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror

by Paula Berinstein

  “Now, let’s see what this is about,” she said.

  “You don’t suppose there are wild animals down here,” said Hill nervously.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” said Despina. “But if you like we can use some of this.”

  She dug in her bag and pulled out a jar of purple and black gunk that looked a little like beet puree topped with tar.

  “What’s that? Hill said.

  “You’ll love it,” she assured him. “It’s something Professor Pargeter gave me. Beast repellent.”

  “It looks icky,” said Hill.

  “That’s the point,” said Despina. “Animals hate it. We just smear it on and they won’t bother us.”

  She opened the jar and Hill made a face.

  “Good grief,” he said. “That’s rank.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “The Indians used concoctions like this all the time. If it was good enough for them it’s good enough for us.”

  “England doesn’t have Indians,” said Hill. “That’s vile.”

  But Despina was already applying it to her own skin. She reached out and dabbed it on Hill’s face.

  “Cut that out,” he said. “I’d rather be eaten by a boar.”

  “There are no boars here,” she said. “However, there might be bats. You don’t like bats.”

  “They remind me of Dracula,” he said.

  “Then stay still and let me do this,” she replied, holding up a finger full of the gunk.

  “What I go through for the sake of fighting crime,” he groused.

  “Hillary Edmund Lester,” she said. “You are a Lestrade. As a privileged member of society you have a responsibility—nay, a duty—to live up to your heritage.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “Queen and country and all that.”

  “Exactly,” said Despina, applying generous amounts of the gunk to Hill’s exposed skin. She stood back to survey her handiwork. “Perfect.”

  Hill made a move and began to walk forward again.

  “Wait for me,” she said, closing the jar and shoving it into her bag.

  The pair moved ahead for a few minutes when suddenly the tunnel began to narrow. At the same time the floor became rockier and more uneven.

  “This place could use an upgrade,” said Despina. “It’s not very user friendly.”

  “Can you imagine how long it must have taken to dig it out?” Hill said.

  “Not really, no. Oh my.”

  “What?” he said.

  “This opening is very narrow.”

  It was indeed. They had reached a spot where the corridor was barely wide enough for an adult to get through.

  “What’s on the other side of the opening?” Hill said.

  Despina shined her light through. “Just more tunnel. It appears to widen after this.”

  “I wonder why they didn’t just make this opening a bit bigger.”

  “It is curious. Oh well. Here I go.”

  She stepped through the opening and felt it hug her ample hips. She went to take another step but her body wouldn’t move.

  “Hm,” she said. “It’s a bit tight.”

  “How tight?” said Hill.

  “I’m sort of stuck,” she said.

  “Can you back up?”

  She tried to dislodge herself and move backward but she was wedged in tight.

  “Nope.”

  “Not forward either?”

  “Uh uh.”

  “Can you turn a bit, make yourself smaller width-wise?”

  She tried that too. No luck.

  “Darling,” she said. “This is getting serious. I am well and truly stuck.”

  “All right, love,” he said. “Don’t panic. We’ll get you out of there.”

  He tried pushing her.

  “Ouch! What are you doing?” she cried.

  “Trying to help,” he said.

  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled.

  “You’re breaking my back,” she said.

  “Well I don’t know then,” he said. “Can you exhale deeply? Maybe that will help.”

  “It’s my hips that are stuck,” she said. “I don’t have lungs in my hips.”

  “You need to make yourself smaller,” he said. “Can you take off your skirt?”

  “It’s stuck too,” she said. “And it’s a tunic, not a skirt.”

  “You should have gone through sideways,” he said.

  “Thank you very much. That is so helpful.”

  “Then the only other thing I can think of is lubrication.”

  He reached up to his bald head full of beast repellent and rubbed his hands in it until they were slick, then applied it to the stone next to Despina’s hips.

  “See if you can slide backward,” he said.

  Despina slowly pushed her right hip back against the stone.

  “It hurts,” she said.

  “Take it slow,” he encouraged her. “One millimeter at a time.”

  She tried the other hip. It slid backward against the slippery stone ever so slightly.

  “I think it moved,” she said.

  “Good, good. Now the other one.”

  She pushed with the right hip again. Nothing.

  “It’s useless, darling. You’re going to have to go back and get help.”

  “Are you sure? You started to make progress.”

  “Yes. I think—”

  Suddenly there was a huge great flapping and a flock of bats flew over the couple’s head back toward the entrance. Despina shrieked and jerked forward to get away from them. She was free!

  “Hill, they’re going to kill us—oh. Look at that. I’m through.”

  “Capital,” he said, easily stepping through the narrow opening despite his large stomach.

  “I must say our repellent worked beautifully,” she said. “They didn’t seem interested in us at all.”

  “Agreed,” he said. “Well, all is well now. Onward.”

  “I wasn’t scared at all back there,” Despina said nervously.

  “Never said you were,” said Hill.

  “It’s important for a detective to keep her head,” she said. “Like Jeffrey. He always stays calm in the face of danger.”

  “He was afraid of dogs when he was a child. And turtles, and moths.”

  “Nonsense. He wasn’t afraid of them. He just didn’t particularly care for them.”

  “I seem to recall a lot of whimpering,” said Hill. “Remember when we took him over to your sister’s and the kids had got that little poodle and the miniature turtle?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “He just thought they were silly.”

  “I distinctly remember him running away and hiding behind your skirts,” said Hill.

  “He was playing hide and seek,” she said.

  “Say, what is that?” said Hill, interrupting their nostalgia session.

  Despina peered ahead. There was a smidgen of light way down the corridor.

  “Could we be coming to the treasure?” said Despina.

  “Oh, jolly,” said Hill. “I’m ready for that.”

  “What do you suppose it is?” said Despina.

  “Something of importance to the detectives,” Hill mused. “A secret weapon?”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “That doesn’t sound romantic though.”

  “A secret facility, with all kinds of whizzy gizmos?”

  “How would they get everything through this narrow tunnel?” she said.

  “Perhaps there’s a wider one on the other side,” he said. “Maybe we’re at the back door.”

  “Why wouldn’t the map have shown us the way to the other door then?”

  “Maybe it’s a detectives’ mausoleum.”

  “Hill! What a morbid idea.”

  “Well then maybe it really is treasure of some kind.”

  “Treasure with a light coming from it?”

  “Maybe it’s guarded by a dragon. I don’t know.”

  “Now you’re
just being silly.”

  “Why don’t we find out?”

  “Good idea. I’ll go first.”

  “You always do, dear. Avanti.”

  Despina crept forward melodramatically. As they neared the light she turned around and put a finger to her lips. Hill nodded.

  The light was coming from underneath an odd-looking metal door. Set into the rock, it was surrounded by what looked like concrete that filled the odd spaces around it. It was very dark and forbidding looking.

  When they got to the door Despina put her ear to it and listened. She couldn’t hear a thing. Hill crept forward and mimicked her. He shook his head. She reached in her bag and pulled out the Swiss knife. She opened it to the largest blade and turned the knob with her other hand.

  The door must have been well oiled because it made no noise whatsoever. She pushed it open slowly and inched her head forward so she could look through. On the other side she saw a good-sized cavern, flooded with light from kerosene lanterns. In the corner were a cot, a table, chair, camp stove. A man was kneeling close by rummaging through a trunk.

  She held the knife steady and pushed the door farther. It squeaked. The man inside turned like a flash, stood up, and faced her. He was about five foot eleven with long sandy hair, a full beard, and bright blue eyes. In his hand was a pistol. It was pointing right at Despina.

  “Who the devil are you?” they said at the same time.

  15

  Cellmates

  Amanda was freaking out. Not only had she suffered another episode but this time she’d awakened to find that she’d killed someone while she was unconscious, and now she was in a dirty, smelly jail cell with only a chamber pot for company. Not for the first time she cursed Blixus, his brothers, Hugh, and even Simon, although she didn’t really hold him responsible.

  She looked down at her dress. It was covered with blood, as were Mrs. Fitz’s silly stockings and beautiful shoes. She desperately wanted to get into some clean clothes, but the police had nothing to give her and Nick was nowhere to be seen.

  Had Lestrade really been the one to arrest her? What irony. The man she’d always hated, then finally learned to accept, bringing her to justice for a crime she didn’t remember committing. He really was loathsome with his rodent face, terrible breath, and thoroughly disagreeable manner. Not that a homicide detective was supposed to be your best friend, but still . . .

  As she attempted to review the events of the evening, she realized she hadn’t a clue as to what had really happened. All she could remember was that disgusting woman hanging all over Nick—which hadn’t pleased her, but they had agreed that if they had to flirt to further their investigation they would. Beyond that she couldn’t recall a thing.

  If only Simon would bring them back. But even if he could, she had no idea where Nick was. Was it possible to transport the two of them while they were separated? She had faith in Simon’s technical know-how, but she was under no illusion that he could control everything. Even Hugh, the little rat, couldn’t do that.

  Had Hugh somehow had something to do with this? If he had, what would he have to gain? Sending Amanda and Nick back to the nineteenth century might disrupt the Moriarty timeline—so much so that Hugh and Blixus might never exist. He couldn’t risk that.

  Where was Nick? Why hadn’t he come to see her? She felt a pain in her chest as she realized what had to be the explanation: Nick was dead, or had been captured by someone—maybe one of those monsters. There was no other reason he’d stay away. She burst into tears.

  “Oh, c’mon now, it ain’t as bad as that,” she heard a man with a Cockney accent say. She looked around. The cell opposite her was empty and she couldn’t see any others. The speaker must have been in another compartment down the row. No one else was around.

  “It is,” she said. “They think I murdered someone.”

  “A young girl like you a murderer?” said the man. “I don’t hardly think so.”

  “How do you know I’m young?” she said.

  “It’s me business to know things,” he said cryptically.

  She wasn’t about to let him get away with that. “Like what?”

  “This and that.”

  She wondered what he looked like. From the sound of him pretty grubby.

  “Are you guilty?” she said. She had no idea why she’d asked that. It was none of her business and he’d be a fool to say yes. But he did.

  “Yep. Guilty as sin, I’m afraid.” He sounded a little sad.

  “What did you do?” She hoped he wasn’t a murderer.

  “Just a little fraud. It seems I can’t help myself. Temptation and me, we’re pretty good friends. Or enemies. I ain’t sure which.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It ain’t so bad,” he said. “I commit a little crime, serve a little time, get back out and do it again. I guess that’s a Splunk’s lot in life.”

  Amanda started. “What did you say?”

  “I said it’s just the way we Splunks are. My daddy was that way, and his daddy was that way, and his daddy was that way.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, “what is your Christian name?”

  “Oh that,” he said as if it were a nuisance. “Micajah.”

  Amanda just about fell over. The famous Micajah Splunk, Lovelace Earful’s business partner and Ramon’s ancestor, was here at Scotland Yard with her? What an opportunity.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps and Lestrade appeared.

  “I didn’t do it,” she said despite her uncertainty. When in doubt plead not guilty. That was what you were supposed to do. Her dad had taught her that long ago.

  “Tell it to the magistrate,” said Lestrade. He produced a ring of keys and unlocked the cell. “Come with me.”

  “What’s happening?” she asked as he cuffed her.

  She heard more footsteps and a man came into view, and what a man he was! Long shining dark hair, doe eyes, chiseled face, cleft chin. He was positively dreamy. She could see that much even in the state she was in.

  A bolt raced through her as she heard Splunk in the cell down the hall say, “Lovelace! Ya took yer time gettin’ ‘ere.”

  The man who’d come to see Micajah Splunk was none other than Lovelace Earful, the founder of the Legatum Continuatum Enduring School for Detectives? Wow. As Lestrade pulled her out of the cell she turned to look at him. There he was toward the end of the hall, three-piece suit, six foot one at least, a vision to behold.

  Lestrade dragged her away but she kept turning her head to look at him. Finally he seemed to see her and faced her with a perplexed look on his face.

  “Mr. Earful!” she called out.

  “Who the devil are you?” he said.

  But Lestrade had pulled her around the corner and she wasn’t able to explain.

  As the inspector led her to a shabby interrogation room she felt her heart do a flip flop. Lovelace Earful was every bit the babe she’d thought he was. His pictures didn’t do him justice. No wonder that Triunfo woman had fallen in love with him.

  But then she remembered what a scoundrel he’d been. What a shame that was. He’d ruined his life, his family, and in a way, the detectives, not to mention the Triunfo Indians, whose secrets he’d stolen and used for his own gain. What drove a man to behave that way? Desperation, perhaps. Or just plain greed. It was so sad.

  She wanted to run to him and warn him not to do it, tell him that his detectives would he just fine without The Detective’s Bible. But he’d never believe her. He’d think she was a nutter escaped from Bedlam. All she’d accomplish would be to freak him out.

  Lestrade dragged her to an interrogation room, shoved her into a chair, and stared at her with his beady eyes. “You’ve been nabbed red-handed, Miss Lester. We know why you killed Mrs. Parrot and how you killed her. I’m afraid it’s looking very bad for you. However, if you confess you may avoid execution. I’ve written up this document for you to sign.”

  He handed her a pen. She scanned the
paper. It was dirty and rumpled. It claimed that she’d stalked the victim because she was jealous.

  “I’m not signing this,” she said.

  He stuck his stinky face in hers and gave her what felt like the evil eye. “Are you saying you weren’t jealous of Mrs. Parrot? Because numerous witnesses saw her canoodling with your young man and said it distressed you.”

  “I was not jealous,” said Amanda, pulling away. “I trust Nick.”

  “I have half a dozen witnesses who say otherwise,” he said.

  She placed her hands on the table and leaned toward him. “I didn’t kill her.”

  “You were found clutching the murder weapon and kneeling over the body.”

  “I can’t explain that. I have blackouts. I had one then.”

  “Blackouts, is it? Sounds mighty convenient,” he said, getting up and walking around the little room. His boots made thwapping sounds on the hard floor.

  “I don’t care what it sounds like. It’s true.”

  “Easy enough to fake,” he said. “There ain’t no point in having a doctor examine you. Anyway, if you didn’t do it, who did?”

  “Moriarty,” she said.

  “Professor Moriarty?” he scoffed. “No one saw him on the premises.”

  “Just the same, it was him,” she said.

  “It’s easy to blame a famous criminal,” he said. “People do it all the time. They always lose.”

  With that the seriousness of her plight hit her like a freight train. Her heart began to pound and her breath became ragged.

  “I want a lawyer,” she said.

  “Very well,” he said. “But you’re wasting everyone’s time. Who do you want?”

  Amanda looked at him blankly.

  Lestrade sat back down and sighed. “Why not come clean? You can’t afford a solicitor. Sign the confession and save everyone’s time.”

  Amanda shook her head.

  “Very well then. You can go back to your cell.”

  Amanda felt like screaming. She was starting to panic. Where was Nick? Why wasn’t he helping her? Was he dead?

  By the time she got back to her cell she was shaking. As soon as Lestrade left she burst into tears.

  “Not again,” said Splunk from the other cell.