“It was amazing, my lord, I didn’t know I had it in me. It was very strange really. But I could get used to this sort of thing, of course,” David snickered.
“Ah-ah, yes. And I must say it was interesting to watch,” Lord Mobius chortled. “But now, I have something else for you to do, which will be far more thrilling than whatever else you’ve been doing until now.” David opened his eyes wide. “I would like to send you through time and give a message to anyone and everyone you encounter. This message will sound strange to you but it is important that you repeat my words exactly as I will say them to you now. If you do not repeat exactly what I say, the result would not be as effective.”
“And what are the words you want me to say?”
“Very simple, my dear boy, but before I pronounce the sentence, I want you to understand that you will need to alert people around this globe of the unavoidable destruction of the world, which will be final and irreversible on December 12, 2012.”
“But, Lord Mobius, how would I be able to convince people of the cataclysmic events that will take place on that day?”
“As I said, the words are simple: Archaic-Archea once more and forever, the world will be at an end on December 12, 2012. The days of the calendar will stop on that day. No one will survive. The Earth will fold on itself, the mountains will crumble into the sea, the waters of the rivers will burst their banks and flood continents, the icebergs of the Arctic and Antarctic will melt and the oceans will engulf the remaining grounds. There will be no place for anyone to run.”
“And how will these events be provoked, my lord?”
“Ah-ah, my son, this is the beauty of it all. The people will have engendered these events by themselves.”
“But how, my Lord?”
“If you plant the seed and you water it well throughout the ages, it will grow, and become a magnificent plant, will it not?”
“Yes, of course, but how will these people create such disasters?”
“Through their carelessness and belief that there will not be a day after December 12, 2012. Faith, my son, is the most powerful instrument in the heart of man. Once a man is convinced that he can do something, he will do it and will provoke anything you desire.”
David didn’t quite grasp the horrifying meaning of Lord Mobius’s intent, but didn’t want to show his ignorance. “And so the message I have to give these people throughout the ages is simply to tell them that the world as they know it will be destroyed on December 12, 2012, is that it?”
“Yes, my son. Archaic-Archea once more and forever, the world will be at an end on December 12, 2012. That is all you have to say. You just need to instil fear, to spread rumours, to plant the seeds of their own destruction.” Lord Mobius then pulled out a cane from under his cloak. “Here,” he said, handing the object to David. “You will need to point the knob of this cane toward the person to whom you tell the words.”
“What will it do? Aren’t the words enough?”
“No, certainly not!” Mobius sounded annoyed. “Words will carry through but they can easily be forgotten or ignored. This cane will ensure that the phrase registers and stays in the minds of those who hear you. Is that clear enough now?” he asked David derisively.
David nodded, took the cane and turned to walk out.
“And don’t come back to this place until the deed is done,” Mobius ordered ominously before David had reached the stairwell of the dungeon.
Landing in 1999 in New York, Professor Moriarty was at a loss for words. The time machine had taken him to an insalubrious place amid the back streets of Manhattan. Another thing that surprised him was that, as soon as he stepped off the time machine, it disappeared! On the one hand, he was very glad that the capsule had found its own way out of sight so unexpectedly, yet, he wondered how he would ever get back to 1891 should he desire to do so.
Looking around him, he was first amazed at the number of houses lining the streets, and the people – the sheer number of them – literally pounding the pavement without visible aim or destination. The next things, and perhaps the most astonishing to Moriarty, were these innumerable vehicles rolling along on four rubber wheels, without horse or coachman, and stopping obediently under the red lights of each intersection.
Ambling along 5th Avenue, obviously in a daze, Moriarty noticed, nevertheless, that his attire was less than suitable. He looked like a costumed man out of the past century, which, of course he was. Looking up at some shop windows, he was surprised by the variety of clothing available. He would’ve liked to enter one of these shops, have the tailor fit him with a new suit and coat, but the money he carried in his billfold, wouldn’t even have bought him a shirt and tie. However, and such as Sherlock had done, Moriarty had taken with him a small sack of gold pieces. Farther down the avenue, he noticed a sign that indicated the location of a bank.
When Moriarty entered the establishment, he was surprised by the number of tellers lined up behind a counter and ready to serve the clientele. Generally shy to talk to a young woman, he decided to approach a man at the end of the counter.
“I am very sorry to intrude on your day, young man,” Moriarty began, “but I have here”—he deposited the sack on the counter—“some gold coins that I would like to exchange for your American currency.”
The teller grabbed the bag, opened it and gasped in shock. “May I ask where you got these, sir?” he asked Moriarty.
The professor chortled. “That would be difficult to explain at the moment, but if you could open an account for me I would be glad to wait for the assessment of the value of these coins.”
“Let me call my manager,” the young man said, getting up from his stool. “I’ll be right back.”
Moriarty watched the teller trot away in the direction of the offices that lined the far wall of the bank. He looked behind him to see that there was no one waiting for him to have his business concluded. His eyes travelling around the large concourse of the bank, Moriarty was amazed not only by the wealth displayed in every piece of furnishings meeting his gaze, but also by the flat typewriting devices and boxed screens facing each of the workers at their desks.
When the young man came back, he was accompanied by an older gentleman dressed in a grey suit with thinning white hair, and a gentle smile crossing his lips. The latter addressed Moriarty saying, “Would you mind coming to my office, sir, I would like some clarification about the account you wish to open with us.”
Visibly glad to receive so much attention, Moriarty followed the manager’s extended arm in the direction of his office.
It was spacious and afforded a view of the city from two bay windows meeting at the corner of the room. “My name is Stillman, Robert Stillman,” the manager said, extending a hand to Moriarty for him to shake.
“Moriarty. Please to make your acquaintance, sir,” the professor replied, taking the hand in a firm, gripping shake.
“Have a seat, Mr. Moriarty,” Stillman said, disengaging his hand and indicating a visitor’s chair opposite his desk.
“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Stillman, but it is Professor Moriarty, Professor John Moriarty.”
“My apologies, Professor,” the manager said perfunctorily, lowering his behind slowly in his seat. “Mr. Nelson tells me you want to open an account with us, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct, Mr. Stillman, and I wish to deposit the American currency equivalent to the value of the gold coins contained in the pouch you have in your possession now.”
“And may I ask where you got these coins, Professor?” The manager pointed to the little sack that he had just placed in the middle of his desk.
Moriarty switched position in his chair. “They were passed down through generations… , a family heirloom you understand,” he tried explaining without much success.
Mr. Stillman wasn’t convinced of the veracity of what he had just heard. Upon taking a cursory look at the coins prior to inviting Moriarty to his office; Stillman knew these coins were authentic a
nd extremely valuable. In fact, he knew a thing or two about rare coins, and these were not only rare, but had not been seen anywhere in Europe or the States in the last 75 years.
Stillman leaned against the back of his chair, joined the tips of his fingers in front of him and said, “Tell you what I’m going to do, Professor, I suggest we place these coins in a safety deposit box until such time that we can determine their exact value and therefore the amount that you could deposit in your account. How’s that?”
“I suppose that would be all right,” Moriarty agreed somewhat hesitantly. He had no idea what a safety deposit box was, yet he needed to trust someone and Mr. Stillman appeared to be that person.
“Come with me, Professor,” Stillman said, getting up from his chair and, with a small wave of the hand, inviting Moriarty to follow him.
“Where are we going?” Moriarty asked, watching the manager as he took the little sack of gold from atop the desk.
“We’ll just go down to the safety deposits’ room where I’ll have you fill out a card to get your own box.”
Not wanting to appear inexperienced in the matter, Moriarty followed the manager without a word. They went down a set of stairs at the far end of the concourse, and entered the room in question, Moriarty stopping in awe. Every square-inch of each of the three walls facing them was covered with small vault-like coffers. Stillman went directly to one of the boxes, extracted the protruding set of keys from it, and turned toward a filing cabinet along the wall near the door. He opened one of its drawers, pulled out a small case and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. As if frozen in time and space, Moriarty was observing the man carefully and cautiously. His eyes did not leave the sack of gold, still in the manager’s hand, wondering if and when he would ever see his money again.
Placing a small card and a pen in front of the professor, Stillman asked, “Would you mind signing this card and give us your address on the back of it, so that I could give you the key to your box.”
Moriarty approached the table, took the pen and signed his name quickly. However, when it came to write down his address, his hesitation was well noted by the manager. He did not want to give his London address, nor could he give any address in New York since he had no idea where he would be residing yet.
“And we will need two pieces of identification before we could release the key to you, Professor,” the manager said, seeing that Moriarty was still hesitating.
Beads of sweat pearling over his brow, Moriarty put the pen down and looked up at the manager. “I must apologize, Mr. Stillman, but I seem to remember that I have left my billfold at home and thus would not be able to give you any sort of identification proving my residence in New York. So, if you wouldn’t mind giving me back my coins, I’ll be on my way and returning as soon as I have retrieved my documents from my home.”
There was no way Mr. Stillman was going to let this man out of his bank with these coins. He had no doubt the coins were genuine, but he also had no doubt the man facing him was a thief. He took the card from atop the table and led the way out of the room – Moriarty in tow. The latter would have fled immediately if it weren’t for the fact that Stillman still held a firm grip around the sack of gold.
“All right, Mr. Stillman,” Moriarty said somewhat aggressively as soon as the two men had reached the top steps and were in earshot of everyone in the echoing concourse. “You have been very helpful, but I have no time to waste at this point. So, if you wouldn’t mind handing my money back to me, I will leave and return at the first opportunity.”
The professor knew that Mr. Stillman was not about to start an argument or make a scene in front of his employees and clients. He extended a hand into which the manager placed the sack of gold reluctantly.
“Thank you!” Moriarty said before he turned on his heals and strode towards the main door.
Stillman looked after him until the revolving door swung around to let another client through. He shook his head and walked back to his office. He wondered if he should call the police or just forget about the whole incident.
Still in London and a day or so before Moriarty landed in New York, Mohammad had directed one of his technicians in that city to find Dr. Nebo’s capsule and examine the possibility of networking its computer with the time machine he presumed was now in 1891 in London. It took more than the technician’s brain to accomplish the task, but once the geeks had figured out how they could re-capture Sherlock’s time machine; the networking provided an opportunity to grab the capsule as soon as it would land in the States.
“Your time machine is back, Mr. Holmes,” Dr. Bahareth said to Sherlock as soon as one of his techies had called him with the news. “But tell me, how did you know it would come back to New York?”
“Simple, Doctor. Fascination is the answer.”
“Fascination? What do you mean by that?”
“In 1891, New York was part of the “New World” – a land born out of progress and daring ideas – the people of that era were fascinated by it. They wanted to know what they had lost a century earlier. Therefore, fascination would be the reason for anyone landing in New York.”
“The only thing we can’t tell is who took the machine and the year it landed.”
“I could perhaps help you with the first part of your query, Doctor,” Sherlock said, smiling. “I have little doubt that you only need looking at three people.”
“Three? Why three? I would have thought your David Penny was the one who had brought back the machine…”
Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I agree he is one of the three people who could have brought the time machine back, but I would be more inclined to think that either Professor Moriarty or Mr. Wells would have travelled to New York.”
“And who would be your favourite?” Mohammad asked as if speaking of a race horse.
“The professor is my bet, Doctor.”
“Why?”
“Again, elementary. If David Penny was in cahoots with our professor in the past century, as I suspect they were, David may have given him the opportunity to continue the chase in the 21st century.”
“But why then not land in 2010 or even on today’s date?”
“Ah-ah, very good question, Doctor, but one you may not be able to answer unless you knew Professor Moriarty as well as I did. You see, the man is impulsive and if David Penny wanted to raise the ante in this game, he probably told our professor to go searching for me on a date other than the one in which I am living at the moment.”
Mohammad pondered Sherlock’s deduction for a moment before he said, “There is one thing that appeared missing from the capsule we recovered…”
“Oh? And what would that be?” Sherlock asked.
“The dating recorder.”
“You mean the dates of my landing were recorded?” Sherlock blurted, suddenly agitated.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Holmes,” Mohammad said somewhat ruefully, realizing the implication of the discovery. If Professor Moriarty was really chasing Holmes through time, and knew his landing dates, he may have landed on November 29, 2010 as Holmes did in the first instance.
“But there again,” Holmes went on, “If our David Penny is as cunning as I expect he is, and given that he was aware of the approximate date of my landing, he would not have revealed that information to the professor.”
Both men were sitting in one of the lounges of the hotel and relaxing – if that could ever be said of Sherlock – in front of a cup of tea. Irene had arrived from Washington two nights ago and had taken Sarah on a shopping spree at Harrods that afternoon.
When both came bouncing into the lounge, arms dropping under the strain of shopping bags, Sherlock’s face met her gaze with a broad grin. Standing up, he said, “Now, my dear, have you forgotten that we have only one wardrobe in Wellington?”
Irene sat down and so did Sherlock and Mohammad, and replied, “These are not for us alone, Sherlock”—she nodded at the bags beside her chair—“they are for Sarah. This poor child
had only two dresses and her school uniforms. We couldn’t let her go on to become the best advisor in town dressed in rags, now could we?”
Sarah burst out in a string of giggles at the tease and went to sit beside Mohammad – the two of them having developed a very interesting friendship in the short time since they had met.
“You must see my new shoes,” she said, pulling a pair of patent leather shoes out of one of the bags. “See, Mr. Mohammad, they look beautiful don’t they?”
“I’ll say, they are,” Mohammad exclaimed, taking one of the shoes in his hand. “You are a very lucky young lady, indeed.”
“I know I am. And Daddy will be so pleased – he hates when I ask him to go shopping, you know?”
All the while, Sherlock was observing the wondrous child with untold admiration. For the little contact he had with children when he lived in London, he could never appreciate children for their intellect, astuteness or their capacity for learning. Most children were street urchins, as far as he could tell at the time. But now, Sarah had opened his eyes to the freshness of mind and the innocence of children.
“Talking of Doctor Watson,” Mohammad said, looking at Irene, “We have just learned that the time machine is back and we were able to re-capture it as soon as it landed in New York.”
“New York? How extraordinary,” Irene said in surprise. “I would have thought Professor Moriarty would have returned to London in this century – not New York.”
“What made you say that, Mrs. Holmes?” Mohammad asked.
“Well… .” Irene shook her head. “I’ve known the professor for some time, you understand, and he is not an adventurous person. He’d rather stay home and direct operations from his comfort zone – as you call such a thing these days.”
“And why would you assume that it was Moriarty who brought the capsule back?” Sherlock asked.
“Elementary, my dear Sherlock”—Irene batted an eyelash teasingly—“Presumably David Penny took the machine back to Professor Wells – where else could he have stored it?” She shrugged. “And then he advised Moriarty of the capsule’s availability, tempting him into travelling to the future and chasing you down once more.”
Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING Page 12
