‘Certainly.’ Sherlock put a huge metal hand on Ed’s shoulder and guided him to the centre of the room, where a crude X had been made on the tiled floor with two lengths of gaffer tape. Bobby attempted to go with them but James raised a hand. ‘No, Bobby, you stay here with Toby,’ he said in a firm tone. ‘This is no job for a wee doggie.’
Bobby stood there, looking up at Ed and Sherlock, a pleading expression on his face.
‘Can’t he come with us?’ asked Ed.
‘How would we ever explain him?’ asked Sherlock. ‘It’ll be tough enough explaining me.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Bobby, you wait here, there’s a good lad. We’ll be back before you know it.’
Bobby looked disappointed but went obediently back to stand with his canine companion. Sherlock moved Ed slightly to the left, so his feet were centred on the strips of tape. ‘Now, I want you to keep absolutely still until I tell you it’s safe to move,’ he said.
‘Er… OK,’ said Ed, warily. ‘It won’t… hurt,
will it?’
‘Not at all!’ James assured him. ‘But you may feel a little dizzy.’ He had now taken a seat in front of the equipment and was slightly to one side of it. Ed noticed that the circular red mirror was directly ahead now, pointed straight at the X. James’ fingers moved across a keyboard and the constant low hum that had been in the background ever since Ed had arrived began to rise rapidly in pitch, mutating from a deep rumble to a high-pitched squeal.
‘You might want to put your fingers in your ears,’ Sherlock advised him and Ed had to admit the sound was starting to become uncomfortable. He noticed that both Bobby and Toby were looking extremely agitated.
‘A slight side-effect that we’re still trying to find a cure for,’ shouted James over the screech. Ed took the advice he’d been given and jammed his index fingers into his ears, blocking out the worst of the noise.
‘All right, I’m engaging the location sensor now!’ bellowed James.
There was a deep crunching sound, like a heavy goods vehicle changing gears and the red light
began to mutate into a fierce white glow. Ed snatched in a breath because, as he watched, a circular opening appeared in the air directly in front of him, a shimmering, rippling band of light – and through that opening, Ed could see into another location entirely, an open space alongside a red brick wall. He was about to ask a question but then Sherlock was stepping decisively forward, one hand still on Ed’s shoulder and there was no option but to go with him. They passed through the circle and for the briefest moment, Ed
felt as though he was actually standing on thin air. James had been telling the truth, it didn’t hurt, but it was a most unpleasant feeling, as though every atom of his being had been rubbed out with an eraser and then replaced by an identical copy. There was a long moment where emptiness seemed to drift around him and he felt as though his stomach was about to give up its contents. Then suddenly, startlingly, solid ground connected with the soles of his shoes and directly behind him there was a brief noise, as though somebody had just pulled a large zip shut. He and Sherlock were now standing in a small concrete-flagged yard, the one that James had picked out on the computer screen. It was a bright, sunny morning, perhaps a few degrees warmer than it had been in Edinburgh and
somewhere nearby, birds were singing.
And then, a voice spoke right behind them. ‘What the blinking flip!’ it said.
Fifteen
The Peveril
Ed turned his head in surprise and saw that a man was standing in the yard, just behind them. He was holding a broom and must have been sweeping the yard as they arrived. He was a tubby, middle-aged fellow, with sandy-coloured hair and a bulbous nose. He was staring at Ed and Sherlock, his mouth hanging open, as though he’d never seen anything so amazing in his entire life. Ed thought about it and realised that he and Sherlock must have appeared to step out of thin air, right in front of him.
The man made a couple of unsuccessful attempts to speak again before he managed to splutter out a single sentence. ‘Where the… where the hell did you two come from?’ he choked.
‘Umm… Edinburgh?’ said Ed, trying to be helpful.
‘But you… you just…’ Now the man’s gaze focused warily on Sherlock, taking in his weirdly pale, makeup-plastered features, the huge black hat, his dark glasses and the sheer intimidating height of him. ‘Are you… are you all right?’ murmured the man.
‘I’m fine and dandy, thank you,’ said Sherlock. ‘Thank you for asking.’
‘Only you look…’ The man’s voice trailed away. He was either unsure or unwilling to continue. ‘You’re not from round ‘ere,’ he added at last.
‘No, as my young companion just stated, we’re from Edinburgh. I’m sure you’re familiar with Scotland’s capital city? Am I to take it that I am speaking to the proprietor of this fine establishment?’
‘You what?’ muttered the man.
‘I think he means, “Are you the landlord of the pub?”’ suggested Ed.
‘Oh! Er… yeah. Yeah, I am.’ The man was still staring at Sherlock as though thinking about making a run for it. ‘We’re not open yet,’ he added. ‘If it’s money
you’re after, I’ve already dropped off last night’s takings at the bank.’
Sherlock looked outraged. ‘We’re not after money,’ he said. ‘Do we look like a pair of villains?’
The man left the question unanswered but the look on his face said that yes, they really did.
‘We… we come in peace,’ offered Ed and felt rather stupid for saying that.
There was a short silence and then the man said. ‘I don’t understand. One minute I was on my own, brushing the yard and the next minute… you were just… there.’
‘Well, we took the fast train,’ said Sherlock, as though this explained everything. ‘Now, please be reassured, we’re not here to rob you or harm you in any way. But I would like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.’
The man seemed to consider this for a few moments. ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he said. ‘Please, I’m not a well man.’ He tapped his chest. ‘My heart. I’m not supposed to get over-excited.’
‘There’s absolutely no need for concern, I can assure you.’ Sherlock tried what he probably thought was an encouraging smile but on his pale, makeup-caked features it looked downright creepy, mainly because his teeth were completely black. ‘Perhaps we might venture inside your delightful premises,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll surely be more comfortable there.’
‘Um… all right. Whatever you say.’ The landlord propped his broom against a wall and turned towards the half-open back door. ‘This way,’ he said and with evident reluctance, led them inside.
It was like stepping back in time, Ed thought. The interior of the pub was a jumble of leaded glass panels and heavy wooden fittings, antique fireplaces and cast iron tables. Ed didn’t know anything about pubs but he got the distinct impression that this place hadn’t changed its look in a very long time.
The landlord indicated a table in one corner and invited his two visitors to sit down. Ed took one chair and Sherlock lowered himself gingerly onto another, but clearly the cast iron legs of this chair were made of sterner stuff than the one he’d tried in Starbucks. The landlord stood looking at them uncertainly. ‘Can I offer you gentlemen a… drink?’ he asked nervously.
‘Nothing for me, thank you,’ said Sherlock.
Ed slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a can of lemonade. ‘I brought my own,’ he said and set it down on the table.
‘I think I’ll get something,’ said the landlord. He slipped in behind the bar and poured himself a large glass of amber liquid. Then he came out, sat in the vacant seat and took a large gulp from the glass. Ed noticed that the man’s hand was shaking slightly as he drank.
‘Isn’t it a little early for that?’ murmured Sherlock.
‘Yes,’ said Sherlock. ‘First of all, I want you to have a good look at my young companion here. Does he seem familiar to you?’
The landlord stared blankly at Ed for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Never seen him before in my life. Who is he?’
‘That’s just the problem. He doesn’t know.’
‘Ah.’ The landlord took another gulp of his drink. ‘I can see that would be awkward.’
‘You’re familiar, no doubt, with amnesia?’ continued Sherlock.
‘I’ve seen it now and then,’ said the landlord. ‘In films and that.’
‘Well, let me assure you, this is no film. This young man is actually suffering from the condition. And
I’ve been sent here to try and find out a bit more about him.’
‘Sent from where?’ asked the landlord.
‘From Edinburgh,’ said Sherlock, sounding slightly exasperated.
‘I’ve been there a few times,’ announced the landlord. ‘Never saw anybody like you, though.’
‘Oh, there’s a huge family of us,’ Sherlock assured him. ‘We’re all…’ He thought for a moment.
‘…basketball players,’ he added, clearly remembering something that Ed had said to him earlier. ‘All right, may I enquire if you have seen a certain man in here?’
‘What man?’ asked the landlord. ‘We get a lot
of ‘em.’
Sherlock glanced at Ed. ‘Give him the description,’ he suggested.
‘Description?’
‘Of the man you saw. You know, in your vision.’
‘Oh, OK. Well he’s fairly average-sized and…’
‘Just a minute,’ said the landlord, lifting a hand. ‘Sorry. Did I ‘ear that right? Did he just say “in your vision?”’
Ed nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I saw a man coming into this pub. He was about average size with sort of scruffy hair over his collar. And he was wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans and white trainers.’
The landlord looked insulted. ‘What about his face?’ he asked. ‘The colour of his eyes, whether he had a beard or not…’
‘I only saw him from the back,’ said Ed.
‘Oh.’ The landlord drained the last of his drink and sat there, looking at the empty glass as though considering topping it up again. ‘That could be any one of hundreds of men that come in here,’ he said. ‘Probably thousands over a year.’
‘He may have brought you a flyer featuring a picture of a dog,’ suggested Sherlock. A border collie.’ Sherlock waved a huge gloved hand at Ed. ‘Show him,’ he said.
Ed rooted though his pockets until he found the folded A4 sheet. He opened it up and slid it across the table. As soon as the landlord saw it, his expression changed dramatically.
‘That means something to you, doesn’t it?’ Sherlock prompted him.
‘Yes, it does. It’s quite strange, really, only happened a week ago. A chap came in here with one of these flyers and asked me if he could put it on the community noticeboard over there.’ He pointed to a cork pin board on the far side of the room that was filled with a jumble of flyers, adverts and notes. ‘Of course, I said yeah, no problem.’
‘Was it the man the boy described?’
‘No, this was a respectable-looking chap. One of my regulars, actually, though I don’t know his name. He usually stops in for a swift half on his way home from work, but he didn’t bother with a drink that day. He went straight over, pinned the flyer to the board and then left.’
‘He works locally then?’
‘Somewhere close by, I reckon. Always very smartly dressed, wears a suit and a tie, carries a briefcase. And once or twice…’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve noticed that he has the case handcuffed to his wrist, as though there’s something valuable in it. I don’t like to ask questions, mind. I think that’s one of the reasons he comes in here. He seems the quiet sort.’
‘A week ago, you say. You’ve seen him since?’
‘No, I haven’t, now I come to think of it. Which is odd, because like I said, he generally drops in three or four times a week. Always has just the one drink though. Careful sort of bloke. Keeps himself to himself.’
Sherlock scanned the board hopefully. ‘I can’t see the flyer,’ he said.
‘No. That’s the funny thing and it’s really why I remember it. Two minutes after the first chap left, another fellow arrived…’ He looked at Ed.
‘… somebody more like the bloke you was describing, you know, scruffy type and… yeah, I think he was wearing a leather jacket. Big staring eyes, he had. He went straight over to the board, ripped down the flyer, shoved it in his pocket and walked out again. I thought maybe somebody was offering a reward, you know, maybe that’s why he was so interested in it. He didn’t stop to talk or have a drink or nothing. He just walked right out.’
Sherlock considered for a moment. ‘So you did see his face?’
The landlord frowned. ‘Yeah, just for a moment or so. It struck me then that there was something odd about him. Like I said, he had these big eyes but there was something else about him and I can’t really remember what it was…’ He stared into his empty glass as though seeking inspiration. ‘It was something…’ Then his expression changed. ‘Oh yeah, that was it.’ He looked up at Sherlock. ‘He had no eyebrows.’
Ed looked at Sherlock, puzzled by this latest piece of information.
‘That sounds weird,’ he said.
Sherlock shrugged his massive metal shoulders. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Quite startling to look at, I grant you, but more common than you might suppose. He was probably suffering from Alopecia Areata.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Ed.
‘It’s an auto-immune deficiency. Hair loss is usually restricted to small patches on the head, but in severe conditions, all hair is lost. Severe alopecia is often linked to people who have a thyroid condition.’ He looked at the landlord again. ‘I believe you said something about big staring eyes. Do you mean that they were prominent… bulging, perhaps?’
The landlord considered for a moment. ‘Well, yeah, first thing I noticed about him. But… alopecia don’t make sense, surely? I mean, if it’s severe enough to make him lose his eyebrows, wouldn’t he be bald on top as well?’
Sherlock smiled. ‘He may have been wearing a wig,’ he said. ‘Some people can be sensitive about their looks and disguise it that way. I believe that they also make false eyebrows for such sufferers, but I would doubt that many would be bothered to apply them every day. Hence the lack of any.’ He glanced at Ed. ‘My hunch is that we’re looking for a wig-wearing alopecia sufferer with a thyroid condition,’ he said.
The landlord gave a snort of amusement. ‘Proper little Sherlock, aren’t you?’ he observed.
Sherlock looked disappointed. ‘Is it that obvious?’ he murmured. ‘I was hoping the disguise was better than that.’ He reached up a hand and lifted the broad brimmed hat he was wearing, revealing the metal deerstalker beneath it.
The landlord’s eyes bulged and for a moment it looked as though he was the one suffering from a thyroid condition. ‘I think I will have that other drink,’ he murmured and got up from the table. Sherlock replaced the hat.
‘So you have no idea where this fellow was headed?’ he asked.
The landlord was at the bar now, refilling his glass. ‘None at all. He came in the front door and went straight out again. Could have been going anywhere.’ He paused for a moment and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That hat…the one you’re wearing under the other one. It… it looks like metal.’
‘Bronze,’ said Sherlock, matter-of-factly.
‘I see.’ The landlord came back to the table a
nd sat down again. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why would anyone wear a metal hat?’
‘It’s for protection,’ said Ed, hastily. ‘In case… somebody drops something heavy onto his head.’
‘Right. And that… that’s something that could happen, is it?’
‘You can never be too careful,’ Sherlock told him. ‘There’s a lot of building work going on in this area. It would only take one workman to drop his hammer and that could be the end of me.’
‘Right. And… the other hat? The one that goes over the metal one.’
‘Well, one doesn’t want to give an open invitation,’ explained Sherlock. ‘A workman up on some scaffolding could look down, see the metal hat and think of it as a challenge. He might think to himself, “let’s see how effective that is.” And then he’d just let go of his hammer. Which would be both dangerous and profoundly irritating.’
The landlord took a generous swallow of his drink. ‘Makes sense I suppose,’ he murmured, but Ed could see that he was barely managing to stop himself from running out of the pub, screaming for help. ‘So, Mr… I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.’
‘I don’t think I threw it. But the name’s Holmes.’
The landlord stared at him in evident dismay. ‘As in… Sherlock Holmes?’ he murmured.
Sherlock gave an unconvincing laugh. ‘No, no, of course not! It’s er… William Holmes! But you can call me Bill.’
‘Right. Well… Bill. And…?’ He glanced at Ed questioningly.
‘Ed Fest,’ said Ed.
‘And Ed… Fest. Unless there’s anything else I can help you with, I really should be getting ready to open up. Time’s moving on.’
‘Indeed it is.’ Sherlock reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a black metal watch on a black metal chain. The landlord looked at it and then drained the rest of his glass.
‘Well, if you’ll excuse me,’ he said. ‘I’ll be…’
The Calling Page 11
