Amanda Lester and the Black Shadow Terror

by Paula Berinstein

  “Of course you can,” said Mrs. Hudson warmly. She ran off momentarily, then returned with paper and pen. “You just write here and I’ll give it to your young man if I see him.”

  “Thank you,” said Amanda, and turned to go.

  “Wait,” said Mrs. Hudson. “You really shouldn’t be out by yourself at this time of night. It isn’t safe.”

  But Amanda was already gone.

  At first she just ran. She did not want Mrs. Hudson to keep pressuring her to stay, partly because it was annoying, but mostly because she was afraid she’d give in. But where should she go?

  If Nick had left with Holmes and Watson, chances were they weren’t headed for the crime scene, which was unlikely to be available in the evening, or well enough lit. They might have gone to interview witnesses, but three men ganging up on one witness could feel intimidating. Scotland Yard? Perhaps, except she’d recently been there and hadn’t seen them. Where then? One way or another she’d better make up her mind and go. It wasn’t safe to be wandering the streets in the dark.

  Just then she heard a noise like a whimper. A child in distress? She cupped her ear and listened, determining that it had come from in front of her and around the corner. Slowly she crept forward until she was right at the edge of the corner building and peeked. There, in the glow of a streetlamp, was a man who looked a lot like Blixus Moriarty holding a knife to the throat of . . . Clive Ng? No, it couldn’t be. And there in front of them, wrapped in the fog, was a gigantic stinky shadow, and three other men standing in a row staring at the Blixus lookalike. Professor Moriarty? How could he have got Clive? Had the criminal come through Simon’s history machine and grabbed him? The implications of that were even more terrifying than her visions.

  If Professor Moriarty could travel in time, if he shared the secret of time travel with his descendants or other criminals, if the clan could go anywhere, any time . . . all of reality would be upended. They could shape the world in their own image, destroy everything that had been—all of history—and conquer the universe. Everything, everywhere, forever. The prospect was terrifying.

  No. It wasn’t terrifying. It was infuriating. The thought of those— “losers” was the word that came to mind—ruining everything from Neanderthals to Elizabeth I, Cleopatra to Neil Armstrong, the Tang dynasty to Darius Plover. Her dad, Gaston Thrillkill, Ivy, Nick. No, no, no. She would not have it. None of it. Ever. Not on her watch.

  Suddenly she was so angry—about Blixus and Stencil and Scribbish and Hugh and Bubble and Lila and Waltz and so much more—that she couldn’t control herself. All the demons the Moriartys had implanted in her head came to life in one obscene orgy and, meeting her uncontainable anger, ululated, writhed, multiplied, and grew larger and larger until her head could no longer hold them and they burst forth, headed for the object of her hatred. The monster she created was larger than any that had come before: a hundred feet high, stench like a hundred landfills, a collage of terrors spanning human history. Every disaster, cruelty, and perversion known to man combined into one filthy atomic bomb to make up the worst nightmare she had ever seen. She screamed so hard she lost her voice.

  Moriarty shrieked, dropped the knife, and ran, leaving Clive standing there to face the monster alone.

  “Run!” she yelled, but he held his ground. “Clive, get out of there!”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said.

  She heard someone call her name, then a thud, and then she blacked out.

  When she came to, Nick was holding her. She knew his scent, so she was certain it was him, but why did he look so weird?

  She was hallucinating again. She must be. But as she watched in wonder, the hallucination pulled off his mustache and glasses and she could see the boy she loved under a ridiculous blonde wig.

  “Amanda,” he breathed. “Is it really you?”

  She smiled up at him. “Nick. You look silly but I love you anyway.”

  “Miss Lester,” came a voice. Sherlock Holmes was holding a gray wig in one hand and Moriarty in the other. The criminal was bound and gagged.

  “Mr. Holmes?” she said.

  An odd-looking woman came forward and said, “How’s the shoulder?”

  Amanda’s eyes went wide. “Dr. Watson?”

  Watson looked down at himself. “Oh, this. I told you it wasn’t convincing, Holmes.”

  Then she saw Clive. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Being an idiot,” he replied.

  “You tried to play the hero, didn’t you?” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I guess I was a little foolish.”

  “No more than me,” she said, smiling.

  “Sweetheart,” said Nick, kissing her. “We can fix you now.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Among the five of us we’ve got enough mental power to force Moriarty to remove the demons from your brain. It should be straightforward.”

  Amanda took his hand and brushed her lips against it. “Oh, Nick, my love. Didn’t you see what happened? I just did.”

  21

  The Bailiwick Wiffle Personal Papers Collection

  Gwendolyn Airedale was not on duty when Scapulus, Diamond, and Mrs. Bipthrottle arrived at the British Library Rare Books and Music Room. Mustache Man, however, was, and when he saw Mrs. Bipthrottle he just about went ape.

  “Circe!” he screamed. Everyone in the room looked up, some with daggers in their eyes. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

  “Hello, Jacko,” she said. “How’ve you been?”

  “Oh, Circe, you wouldn’t believe it,” said Jacko. “I’ve been having the funnest time. I’m doing this cataloging project focused on the rare papers of the Bronze poets in their yellow period. Just like you taught us about in library school. You’d be so proud. Wait, I’ve got some examples here. I’ll show you.”

  He began rummaging on the shelves behind the desk, still speaking as he searched.

  “Do you remember that assignment you gave us comparing and contrasting how petals and leaves are treated in the Botanica and Florissima classification schemes?”

  Mrs. Bipthrottle threw Scapulus a look Jacko didn’t catch.

  “It wasn’t petals and leaves, Jacko. It was flowering and non-flowering plants.”

  “Same thing,” said Jacko. “Now where did I put that?”

  Mrs. Bipthrottle rolled her eyes. “We’d like to see the Dickens letters. Can you please let us in?”

  Jacko turned around and eyed his guests. “Two minors and one adult. It’s kind of busy right now, Circe. You’ll have to come in by yourself.”

  “Now, Jacko,” said Mrs. Bipthrottle in a voice like honey. “I think you can make an exception for me.”

  He broke into a grin. “Of course. What was I thinking?’’ He opened the door to the special room. “Go right in. Gloves, children, at all times.”

  “We’ll be good,” said Mrs. Bipthrottle.

  When they entered the room, Scapulus was astonished to see that no one was there. “I thought he said it was busy.”

  “He says a lot of things,” said Mrs. Bipthrottle. “As you can tell, he’s completely out of his mind. Now, where did you say those keys were?”

  Scapulus pointed to a drawer. “In there.”

  Mrs. Bipthrottle opened the drawer. “I don’t see them.” She lifted up various items: a clipboard, a pair of gloves, some papers. “Nope, not here.”

  “That was where they were when we were watching Blixus,” said Diamond.

  “I can’t ask Jacko for them,” said the librarian. “Let’s look around.”

  The three detectives searched all over the room—in drawers, in cupboards, on tables and chairs—but no keys were to be found.

  “He’s probably got them at the desk,” said Mrs. Bipthrottle. “He’s very forgetful, as you can imagine.”

  “No worries,” said Diamond. “I’ll get us in.”

  She removed a set of picks from under her skirt and went to the Bailiwick Wif
fle cabinet at the far side of the room. Scapulus stood in front of her to shield her. Mrs. Bipthrottle kept watch at the door.

  After about a minute there came a click. “I’m in,” said Diamond.

  Suddenly the air filled with a loud ringing and the door opened. Jacko sprang into the room followed by Gwendolyn Airedale, Hugh, and Blixus.

  “Hello, Circe,” said Blixus from behind a pistol. “Scapulus, Diamond. How lovely to see you all again.”

  Scapulus wanted to kick himself. The British Library had been a trap all along. How stupid he’d been to let himself fall into it. He pushed Diamond behind him and stood his ground.

  “Hello, Blixus,” he said. “We thought you were dead. Point to you.”

  “But of course,” said Blixus pompously. “It’s so easy I don’t know why I even keep score. A mere flesh wound, but obviously one that bled a lot. We were lucky our doctors retrieved us quickly, but then we plan for such contingencies.” He leaned down and looked between Scapulus’s knees. “Hello, Diamond, you little traitor. How are you keeping?”

  “Shut up,” said Diamond, stepping out in front of Scapulus. He pushed her behind him again and flashed her a warning look. “What do you want?”

  “What I always want,” he said. “Power.”

  “How sad,” said Diamond. “That you’re never enough just as you are.”

  “Stated like a true twerp,” said Blixus. “As usual you fail to understand. I want power so I can demolish you detectives once and for all. Now that, I think, is a worthy goal.”

  “It will never happen,” said Scapulus, folding his arms.

  “Oh, but it’s already started,” said Blixus.

  He nodded, and Airedale and Jacko tied the detectives’ hands.

  “How could you, Jacko?” said Mrs. Bipthrottle.

  “I’m going to have my own library,” Jacko sneered. “With the rarest of rare treasures. Imagine, the Queen Mary Psalter, the Codex Alexandrinus, the Basilikon Doron autographed by James I.”

  “I beg to differ,” said Airedale acidly. “It’s going to be my library.”

  “It is not,” said Jacko.

  “That’s what he promised me, isn’t it, Blixus?” she said.

  Jacko stared at Blixus. “You didn’t.”

  “Now, children, stop fighting,” said Blixus with a grin. “There’s enough for both of you.”

  “But I want the Queen Mary Psalter,” said Airedale. “You promised it to me.”

  “Shut up.” Everyone looked at Hugh. “They’re being babies,” he said, eyeing his father.

  “Yes, they are,” said Blixus, his blue eyes boring into Hugh. “Learn something from it.”

  Hugh looked as if he was about to say something but didn’t.

  “What are you going to do with us?” said Scapulus.

  “Why are you asking me?” said Blixus. “You should be talking to my son.”

  Scapulus was horrified. Hugh was a little sadist. Not that Blixus was exactly a saint, but he didn’t have that same blood thirst. Well, mostly he didn’t.

  “Oh goody,” said Hugh. “All mine. Perhaps it should be my library then. Not that I’d want it. Boring.”

  “I asked you a question,” said Scapulus.

  “No you didn’t,” said Hugh. “You asked my dad.”

  Scapulus sighed. “Very well. Hugh. What. Are. You. Going. to. Do. with. Us?”

  “You’re an idiot,” said Hugh. He thought for a moment. “I think I’ll trade you for Nicky’s little sister. That little minx hit me over the head. She hasn’t been punished yet.”

  Basilica! Nick’s half-sister had indeed knocked Hugh on the head with a vase and got away with it. But there was no way Scapulus was going to let him hurt her.

  “No,” he said. “She’s off limits.”

  “You don’t decide that,” said Hugh.

  “Basilica isn’t a detective,” said Diamond. “You wouldn’t be playing fair.”

  “Neither are you, shorty,” said Hugh unkindly. “You don’t see me letting you go.”

  “I’m trained,” said Diamond. “She isn’t.”

  Hugh looked unsure for a moment. “Daddy?”

  “It’s your decision,” said Blixus.

  Hugh looked completely lost for a moment. Then a smirk came over his face. “Fine, no Basilica.”

  Scapulus breathed a sigh of relief. Basilica was a tough kid but she had absolutely no experience as a detective. For once Hugh had done the right thing.

  “Thank you,” said Scapulus.

  “You’re welcome,” said Hugh. “That was a silly choice anyway. There is something I want much more than that.”

  A chill came over Scapulus. “What is that?” he said.

  Hugh grinned. “Ivy Halpin.”

  Simon felt terrible about what he’d done to Binnie but he had to see Ivy. He darted around the castle looking everywhere and finally found her sitting on a bench outside with Nigel. She said his name before he’d even got close. He sat down next to her and put his arms around her.

  “Do you really love me?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

  He kissed her lips gently. “You know I love you. More than you can imagine.”

  “You’ve been so patient. I’m so sorry I put you through all that.”

  He kissed her hair. “Never mind. Everything’s all right now.”

  She removed her glasses and lay her head on his shoulder. “What are we going to do? We’ve hurt them badly.”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before.”

  She snuggled closer. “Amanda has.”

  He laughed. “She’s hardly a paragon. Anyway she’s stuck in 1890.”

  “No progress?”

  “Nope. Worse than no progress. Now Clive is stuck too.”

  She took his hand and kissed it. “Tell me what you’ve tried.”

  The feel of her lips on his skin was so distracting it took her request a moment to register. When it finally did he listed every step he’d taken, some multiple times. She addled his brain so much he could barely think.

  She listened attentively and said, “Can you play it for me?”

  “The history machine log?”

  “Not just the history machine. The history machine and the interference.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that,” he said, the sweet smell of her filling his brain.

  “You’ve got a camera set up in the common room, right?”

  He nuzzled her hair. “Yeah. But you can’t see the video.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Just play it for me. I’ll get what I need from the audio.”

  They went back to the common room, where thankfully they were alone. There was no sign of Dreidel or Binnie. Still addled, Simon began the video at a point ten minutes before Amanda and Nick had disappeared. When it had reached a point about three minutes after the incident Ivy stopped him.

  “Let me get my tablet, and I want you to slow it down,” she said.

  Simon did as she asked, or at least he thought he did. He played the video ever so slowly while she made notes. He could not figure out what she was up to.

  Finally she said, “Okay, stop.”

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  She shoved her tablet at him. The screen displayed musical notation.

  “This is a sound map of everything that happened during that time,” she said. “We need to figure out what phenomenon each of the notes corresponds to and then execute the sequence in reverse order.”

  Simon sat there with his mouth hanging open. “Reverse the process.”

  “Yes, whatever combination of instructions and forces converged to grab Amanda and Nick, all you need to do is reverse them. I’m certain that will bring them back.”

  Simon lunged for her, buried his hands in her hair, kissed her beautiful face. “I can’t believe how much I love you.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and held on for d
ear life. “You took the words right out of my mouth.” Nigel sat there watching the two of them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

  “The problem is that the machine is still broken,” said Simon in between kisses. “Or blocked. For all I know this is down to Hugh.”

  “Who may or may not be alive,” said Ivy.

  “Ramon says he is,” said Simon.

  “You know he has a thing for me,” said Ivy.

  “Ramon? I’ll break his pretty face,” said Simon.

  “Not Ramon. Hugh.”

  Simon looked at her blankly. “Hugh has a crush on you?”

  Ivy laughed. “Oh, it’s more than that. I made sure of it.”

  Simon felt his face get hot. “I don’t understand. I thought you loved me.”

  She kissed his nose. “Silly, I do. I just worked a little magic on him for my own purposes.”

  “Like what?”

  “A little spell, if you like. So I can get him to do what I want.”

  “A spell? You’re beginning to sound like Ramon.”

  “I might say the same about you,” she said, grinning. “Ramon says Hugh is alive indeed.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You did. Anyway, my method is just in the experimental stage but I think it will do nicely. Believe me, there’s nothing supernatural about it.”

  “Me, sound like Ramon? Never.” But he didn’t take offense at the implied criticism the way he normally would have. This was Ivy after all. “‘Method’ sounds better than ‘spell’. How does it work?”

  “It’s voice activated. Live is best but recorded will do.”

  Simon could not imagine what she was talking about. Hypnotism perhaps? “Could you get him to fix the machine?”

  “If he’s capable of it and alive, yes, I think so,” she said.

  Simon pulled her close and kissed her deeply. “Just as long as he doesn’t get to do this.”

  “Oh he won’t,” she said coming up for air.

  “What do we do?” said Simon after a long moment. “How do we find him?”