The Calling

by Philip Caveney

  ‘Sherlock, are you all right?’ cried Ed.

  The statue looked thoughtful and rubbed at his chest for a moment. There was a sudden clatter as the bullet dropped onto the stage. ‘I do believe the villain’s left a dent,’ he complained. ‘That’ll be hard to explain away.’ He stooped to ensure that Myles was unconscious and then turned to look at Ed. ‘What about our other friend?’ he asked. Ed kneeled and lifted off the man’s wig, revealing a completely bald skull. Skinny was clearly unconscious.

  ‘He’s sorted,’ said Ed.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Sherlock. ‘Well, I would suggest that you put that gun down before it goes off and injures somebody. Then start looking for something we can use to tie these two villains up. There’s no time to waste.’

  Ed was puzzled by this remark. ‘But… we’ve beaten them,’ he cried. ‘Once they’re tied up, surely all we need to do is call the police?’

  ‘Sadly, it’s not going to be quite as easy as that.

  We need to find your father before the rest of the gang realise that something’s gone wrong. Hurry, boy! The game’s afoot and we need to get moving!’

  Eighteen

  Home Sweet Home

  When Myles woke up to find himself bound hand and foot with lengths of electrical flex, sitting on the stage beside a similarly bound and still unconscious Skinny, he was not a happy man. He shook his head until his senses cleared and then his blue eyes focused and shot pure venom at Ed and Sherlock, who were standing a short distance away from him.

  ‘Untie me!’ he snarled. ‘I’m warning you, you’d better do as I say.’

  ‘Oh yeah, we’re really going to do that,’ said Ed. ‘Not.’

  Myles sneered. ‘You think you’re in the clear now? Don’t be fooled. If my people don’t hear from me in the next five minutes, they have orders to execute your father.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Sherlock. ‘The next five minutes, you say? That’s very specific. I mean, you don’t even know how long you’ve been unconscious, do you? You could have been out for thirty minutes and now it’s already too late.’

  Myles grimaced. ‘All right, I take your point. All I’m saying is, if they don’t get a call from me, very soon, saying that I have the diamonds, they know exactly what they have to do.’

  ‘How many of them are there?’ asked Sherlock.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s why I asked.’ Sherlock moved closer to Myles. ‘However many there are, I would suggest it’s time to call off the dogs,’ he said.

  ‘You think I’m going to tell them to stand down?’ mocked Myles. ‘You must be joking. There’s nothing you can do to make me call them.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Sherlock. He clamped a huge bronze hand over Myles’ mouth and then searched his pockets. He pulled out a mobile phone and quickly scanned the contacts. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘This number looks familiar.’ He pressed ‘dial’ and waited a few moments. When somebody answered with a low grunt, Sherlock spoke in a perfect impression of Myles’ voice. ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘We have the diamonds. Stand down and wait for my instructions.’ Then he rang off, dropped the phone back into Myles’ pocket and removed his other hand from the man’s mouth.

  ‘That was amazing,’ observed Ed. ‘You sounded just like him.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve often considered impressionism as a second career,’ said Sherlock.

  ‘You think they fell for that?’ laughed Myles, but somehow his manner was less confident than before.

  ‘Oh, definitely,’ said Sherlock, with a smile. ‘Hook, line and sinker, I’d say, especially as it came from your phone. And I used the phrase ‘stand down,’ which I wouldn’t have thought of if you hadn’t suggested it to me. You know, it really would have been a good idea to put a security code on your phone, though I’ve no doubt I’d have soon worked it out.’ He looked at Ed. ‘Well, that’s bought us a little time to think. Now, the question is, what happens next?’ He thought for a moment. ‘First things first. Myles must have his diamonds. After all, I did promise them to him.’ He opened his hand to reveal the small packet of gems lying on his gloved palm.

  ‘But… I thought you said they were fakes,’ cried Ed.

  ‘Oh, I said that, but they’re actually not. No, these are genuine pink fancies. Worth a king’s ransom.’ He walked closer and stuffed the diamonds into the top pocket of Myles’ overcoat, leaving them hanging out a little so that they wouldn’t be missed. ‘There you are,’ he said.

  Ed stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re giving him the diamonds?’ he cried.

  ‘Most certainly. They’re incriminating evidence. And I want to be sure that even the most incompetent policeman can’t fail to notice them.’ He took out his own phone and dialled a number. He waited for a moment until it was answered, then adopted the

  voice of an elderly man with a Manchester accent. ‘Hello? Is that the police? Look, I just saw two very suspicious-looking blokes walking into the Hulme Hippodrome. Yeah, that’s right. The Hippodrome. They went in through a side door and they was carrying guns. Big, dangerous-looking weapons. They looked really dodgy. Me? Just a concerned member of the public. Bye for now!’ He rang off and Myles’ face twisted into a mask of fury. He started to unleash a barrage of curses.

  Sherlock gave him a disapproving look. ‘And there I was thinking that you were a gentleman,’ he told Myles. ‘Please moderate your language, there’s a child present.’ He gestured to Ed. ‘Right, come on, we need to go and get your father.’

  Ed stared at Sherlock. ‘But… we don’t know where he is,’ he said.

  ‘Of course we do.’ Sherlock smiled. ‘Oh, come on, think about it for a moment. It’s elementary, my dear Ed. What number do you suppose I just called on Myles’ phone?’

  Ed frowned. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I’ll give you a little clue. It was a number I recognised. One that I phoned earlier today. Come along, you know my methods. Apply them!’

  Ed thought about it. ‘It must have been… the number on the flyer?’ he suggested.

  ‘Correct! And think about that number for a moment. Can you remember what I said about the first four digits?’

  ‘They were… 0161,’ murmured Ed. ‘So…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Is it…?’ A number had just come into his head; a strangely familiar number. Now that he thought about it, it was the same number that had been on the poster featuring Lucky. He recited it, and Sherlock nodded.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said.

  ‘So you think… you think my dad is… at home?’

  ‘Seems like the perfect move to me,’ he said. ‘You won’t remember if this is the case, but I’m guessing your house is a fairly quiet place. I think when you got away from him at the station, Myles ordered his gang to take your father back to his own house. When you think about it, it’s the perfect hideaway! Being away from home, without explanation, would be more suspicious. They had no idea how long it would be until you turned up again, so they settled down to wait for information, or until you turned up. I’ll be very surprised if your father isn’t being held there.’ He looked at Myles. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Am I on the right track?’

  Myles sneered and turned his head away.

  ‘That’s as good as an admission,’ said Sherlock. He lifted his mobile for the third time and rang the speed dial. It was answered almost instantly. ‘James?’ he murmured. ‘Hello old chap. Look, we’re on the move again. Same pick up point. You remember the number I gave you earlier? Did you manage to trace the address? You did? Chorlton-cum-Hardy, you say?’ He smiled, glanced triumphantly at Ed. ‘In South Manchester. Excellent! Well, I want you to patch me through to that address but set me down a little distance away from the actual house. I need to be a bit careful with this one. I want to have a good look at the place before I go in there. Mar
vellous. Talk to you soon.’

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and smiled down at Ed. ‘I told you I had the right accent,’ he said. He started to walk away but then thought for a moment and turned back towards the stage. ‘You know, Myles… or whatever your real name is, I’m quite sure you wouldn’t have revealed that. It’s obvious that the game’s up for you. You’re going to be in prison for a long time, so the very least you could do, before we leave, is tell this boy what his real name is.’

  Myles’ eyes widened in anger. ‘Why the hell would I do that?’ he roared.

  ‘Well, it would be a nice gesture, wouldn’t it? So, can I tempt you? No?’ Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘Some people,’ he said. ‘They’re such bad losers.’ He turned back to Ed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I expect your father knows what you’re really called. No doubt he’ll be able to tell you in person soon enough.’ He walked to the edge of the stage and jumped down to the ground, his heavy frame thudding onto the wooden floor. He turned and helped Ed down.

  ‘You!’ roared Myles, straining helplessly against his bonds. ‘Whoever you are, whatever you are, you are dead meat. You hear me? When I am out of prison, I will track you down and I will kill you!’

  Sherlock studied him for a moment. ‘You’re most welcome to try,’ he said. ‘Though I feel I must warn you that I’m not really alive in the usual sense of the word. Enjoy prison, old boy… and while you’re in there, do try and mend your wicked ways.’ He looked at Ed. ‘Come on,’ he said.

  Sherlock led the way out of the theatre and back to the exit. Pushing aside the wooden board, he and Ed emerged onto the alleyway, blinking in the bright sunshine. As they came out onto the street, Ed spotted the Anomaly portal shimmering and swirling just above the tarmac. Once again the area was deserted. As they came closer to it, Ed looked through the aperture and saw in the near distance, a white-painted cottage, framed by trees. The image struck a chord with him. He knew this place. He knew it really well.

  He and Sherlock stood for a moment, looking through the portal.

  ‘Familiar?’ asked Sherlock, at last.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ed. ‘That’s my home.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it. Let’s see if anyone’s in, shall we?’ He turned his head at the sound of approaching sirens. ‘Ah, here come the boys in blue,’ he said. ‘Good response time, too. I rather wish we could hang around to watch Myles and his friend being arrested for possession of those stolen diamonds, but… as ever, time is against us.’

  He placed a bronze hand on Ed’s shoulder and together they stepped through the portal.

  *

  They were standing in a small copse of trees that edged a quiet stretch of road. On the far side of it, Ed could see the house, a little, white-painted two-storey cottage, set a short distance away from its neighbours. It was so familiar to him that he longed to run across to the gate, open it and wander up the path to the front door. He reached into his pocket and took out the single Chubb key he had carried with him all the time he’d been away. He somehow knew that it would fit the lock on that door. He looked hopefully up at Sherlock.

  ‘Hold your horses, old chap,’ murmured the detective. ‘We need to be circumspect.’

  ‘I don’t even know what that means,’ whispered Ed.

  ‘It means we can’t go stampeding over there like two prize bulls in a china shop.’ Sherlock reached into one of his pockets and took out what looked like a small pair of binoculars, but Ed noticed that they had a small button on the side of them. When Sherlock pressed it, the glasses lit up with an eerie glow.

  ‘Another of James’ inventions?’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes.’ Sherlock lifted the glasses to his eyes and trained them on the house. ‘Dashed useful, actually. They allow me to see through solid walls and detect body heat. James doesn’t really have a name for them yet, though personally, I favour “X-Ray Specs.” Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’ He trained the glasses on the cottage and swung them slowly from side to side, then let out a sigh. ‘This is going to be trickier than I thought,’ he said. He handed the glasses to Ed. ‘Have a look and see how many you can count.’

  Ed lifted the glasses to his eyes. Now, incredibly, he was looking straight through the walls of the house and he could see the ghostly red shapes of people moving around in a room on the ground floor. One figure was seated on a sofa and had his hands held in front of him, as though praying. Sitting on the floor beside him was a dog-shaped blur. Lucky, Ed thought and felt grateful that nothing bad appeared to have happened to him. He moved the glasses left and right and saw why Sherlock wanted to be cautious. There were another three red shapes in the same room and when he tilted the glasses up to the first floor, he saw that there was another shape standing at a sink in the bathroom and a fifth lying on a bed at the back of the house, apparently reading a newspaper.

  ‘What can we do?’ he murmured. ‘There’s only two of us.’

  Sherlock nodded. ‘I’m beginning to think we might need some reinforcements,’ he said. ‘I generally prefer to work on my own, but sometimes one has to make an exception. At all costs, we can’t allow any harm to come to the hostages.’ He seemed to be thinking frantically. After a few moments he took out his phone and hit the speed dial. ‘James, I’m sorry to bother you again, old boy, but we have another complication,’ he murmured. ‘You remember what we discussed before − the possibility of sending chosen statues to certain locations? I’m wondering if this might be the perfect time to try it out?’ He paused, listened for a moment. ‘Well, yes, I appreciate that, but we have to test it eventually and I’m in a bit of a tight corner here. Yes!’ Another pause. ‘Well, I’d say, two ought to be enough. Mind you, it would need to be fellows who don’t mind a bit of rough stuff. I know you’ve devised a programme that allows you to track individuals and transport them to… Yes, of course I know it could go wrong! But this is rather desperate, so we’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it.’

  There was another lengthy pause. Ed was aware of James’ voice talking frantically at the other end of the line. ‘Yes,’ said Sherlock. ‘Of course I’ll take full responsibility.’ Another pause. ‘I don’t know, I’ll have to leave the choice to you, I’m afraid. I’m a little preoccupied. Just make sure it’s two fellows who don’t mind getting their hands dirty. You know, military types. Yes, send them to the same location you just sent us. Leave all the explaining to me. I know it’s a tall order, but… well, see what you can do, all right? And time is of the essence, my friend, so please act quickly. Splendid.’

  He rang off and looked at Ed. ‘We’ll just have to cool our heels for a moment while James sorts things out at his end.’

  Ed, meanwhile, had lowered the binoculars and was staring intently at the house. It was the strangest thing, but as he looked at it, memories were beginning to come back to him. It was as if his family home was the key he’d needed to break through the fog that had clouded his mind for the last two days. He could feel it lifting out of his head, revealing the phantom shapes it had been hiding.

  Sherlock noticed that something was wrong. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  Ed nodded and turned to look at him. ‘I’m starting to remember,’ he said. ‘I remember… what happened to me.’

  Sherlock smiled. ‘That’s excellent news,’ he said. ‘Well, it would appear we have a little time to kill. So why don’t you tell me what happened? Tell me everything.’

  Nineteen

  The Ransom

  The boy had never been so scared in his entire life. His mouth was dry and his heart was hammering in his chest as he hurried away from the Peveril of the Peak and made his way towards the nearest tram stop with Lucky walking beside him. The dog was wagging his tail, delighted to be reunited with his owner and completely unaware of the awful situation in which the boy had suddenly found himself.

  When he reached the stop a tram was just
sliding in beside the platform, so he ran forward and managed to scramble aboard with only a few moments to spare before the doors slid shut. Luckily he’d already purchased a return ticket that morning so at least he didn’t have to worry about an inspector getting on and arresting him for travelling without one, though right now that seemed the least of his worries.

  On the slow, halting journey back to Chorlton, a thousand thoughts crashed and collided in his head like a major motorway accident. What if he couldn’t get the safe open? What if the diamonds weren’t in there? How did he know the grey-haired man would keep his promise and release Dad when he had the diamonds? He felt sick with worry and desperate to talk to somebody about his plight, but he didn’t know anyone on the tram and wouldn’t have known what to say to them even if he did.

  When they finally got back to Chorlton he jumped out and ran all the way home, not daring to pause for breath. Once inside the house he removed Lucky’s lead, filled a bowl with water for him and opened a tin of dog food, which he threw carelessly into another bowl. Lucky started eating as though he hadn’t been fed in days and the boy hurried to his father’s study and pulled back the carpet under his desk where he knew the safe was hidden. He lifted the hinged section of the floor, revealing the electronic keypad on the door of the metal box within. He pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket and keyed in the six digits, holding his breath as he did so. The safe emitted a harsh, metallic beep and for a moment he thought something was wrong. But then the latch clicked and he was able to pull open the heavy door. There were various things packed into the opening – padded brown envelopes, small gift boxes, reams of rolled paper encircled by elastic bands – but he soon identified what the grey-haired man had told him to fetch; a clear plastic bag containing a handful of tiny, glittering gems. He reached in, lifted the bag to the light of the window and saw that they were indeed pale pink in colour. This had to be them.

  He closed the safe and stood up. He was about to stuff the diamonds into the pocket of his jeans then thought better of it. He imagined himself reaching in there for coins or something and inadvertently dropping the packet in the process. That would be a mistake he couldn’t afford to make. Instead, he went to his bedroom and found the chunky metal whistle that he kept in his bedside locker. He had discovered years ago that it was possible to prise one side of the metal casing open to reveal a little hiding place within, where he could keep something small and precious. He took out the tiny metal locket that had belonged to his mum, the one with a tiny photograph of her inside, and placed it carefully in a drawer. When he pushed the plastic packet into the opening, the diamonds fit perfectly. He popped the side panel back into position with a soft click and hung the whistle around his neck. For extra safekeeping he tucked the whistle under his T-shirt.