Sherlock Sam's Orange Shorts

by A. J. Low

  “That seems to be the extent of their horrific activities, as far as I have observed,” Agent S confirmed. “Also, I see the mission brief team is enacting their revenge on you guys for the prank last week, eh?” Agent S said, grinning at Dad’s bowtie, which was now askew.

  Agent M rolled her eyes and adjusted her high collar. Her will was losing to her sweat.

  Agent M then frowned. She turned to look at Agent D and then touched her left ear.

  “Miss Chief?” Agent M said.

  “Yes, Agent M,” the chief’s voice replied in all their earpieces.

  “What exactly have the Tissue Packet Gang done?” Agent M asked.

  “We…we haven’t quite been able to figure that out yet, Agent M,” the Chief replied. “But they are recruiting members daily. Our agents have spotted an increasing number of seemingly ordinary, everyday people joining the gang.”

  “And by joining the gang you mean that they have been leaving tissue packets on tables during lunch,” Agent M said.

  “And sometimes during dinner as well,” the Chief replied, “but mostly lunch.”

  “And might it mostly be in places like food courts and hawker centres?” Agent M asked.

  “What are you getting at, Agent M?” Agent D asked.

  “Well, Mike, I’m just wondering—could it be possible that these so-called Tissue Packet Gang members are just reserving their seats so that they can buy food and sit down immediately after, instead of wandering around looking for a spot while carrying their food?”

  There was silence over the earpiece. Agent S looked like he was trying to solve a complicated mathematical problem using only the power of his mind. (Or he might be pondering the telenovela that he had watched last night. One could never quite tell what Agent S was thinking.)

  Agent D’s eyes widened and he snapped his fingers, “That’s brilliant, Agent…I mean Kat! You might have cracked the case wide open!”

  “What do you think, Chief?” Agent M asked.

  “Well…that’s certainly an angle that no other agent has brought to me before,” Miss Chief said, slowly. “I shall most definitely take it under advisement.”

  “Meanwhile, it might be time for you to do your Chinese homework, Chief,” Agent Mom replied to the head of the Supper Club.

  The chief’s groan filled everyone’s earpieces.

  THE END

  “Do you remember what I told you?” Nazhar asked, narrowing his eyes at his companion.

  “Yes, Nazhar,” Wendy replied, fiddling with the obi sash that was tied around her waist. The yukata that she was wearing was bright blue and green with large chrysanthemum flowers. “Does this look right to you?”

  “Yes. If-rumpled-is-the-look-you-are-goingfor,” Watson replied.

  Wendy glared at her brother’s robot sidekick. The three of them were in a room that was filled with odd-looking gadgets and thingamabobs that might or might not have been used for time travel.

  “Why are you even here, Watson?” Nazhar asked pushing his glasses up. He was dressed in a plain, dark brown yukata and looked quite neat and tidy, as opposed to Wendy who…did not.

  “I-predicted-that-you-might-need-morethanone-companion-on-this-mission,” Watson said.

  “We’re just going to do some research on the architecture of buildings during the Edo era, Watson,” Wendy replied, attempting to tie a ponytail that vaguely resembled the hairstyle of girls during this period. “You’re just trying to escape from helping Sherlock with his case.”

  “I resent my time machine being used for your homework, Wendy,” Nazhar said, frowning. “And at the last minute too.”

  “It’s not my fault that it was acting up last week, Nazhar,” Wendy said, giving up on her attempt at a neat ponytail.

  “It wasn’t acting up,” Nazhar replied, huffily. “It was recalibrating itself.”

  Wendy wisely chose to remain silent. Everyone knew that Nazhar’s time machine spent a lot of time “recalibrating” itself by sending its occupants wildly into time and space, but not a time and space that they had been aiming for. However, it had been behaving itself this week, so Wendy decided to risk the trip back to 16th-century Japan to view for herself what the buildings and scenery looked like then. She wanted to paint a landscape for her art project, and if she had a friend who had a time machine, why not make use of it?

  Nazhar continued, “Let’s go through the rules once again. No—”

  “No talking to random people. No adopting any stray animals. No falling into any holes.

  No messing up the timeline,” Wendy repeated. “We know, Nazhar. You’ve told us a million times, already!”

  “Four-hundred-and-eighty-two-times-to-beexact,” Watson added.

  “Well, after that last journey we took with Jimmy and the ducks, I cannot be too careful,” Nazhar said, crossing his arms across his chest. “It took me ages to get all the ducks back to their proper places in time and space.”

  “That-was-quite-unfortunate.”

  “The world almost ended,” Wendy said, nodding. “Who knew ducks held the key to everything?”

  “And Watson, you’ll have to be invisible if you’re coming with us,” Nazhar instructed. “Okay. Are we ready? Does everyone have their language translators on?”

  Wendy and Watson nodded. With the translators, they would be able to understand both the spoken and written languages around them. Plus, when they spoke, the gadget would automatically translate what they were saying into a language that the person they were speaking to understood. It was all very hightech and Wendy didn’t ask Nazhar too many questions.

  Watson’s form shimmered, then vanished. “I-have-a-lot-of-practice-hiding-from-Sherlock. I-can-be-discreet.”

  Nazhar sighed and said, “Okay then, let’s head out. I’ve set the destination date as 12 June 1555. It will be a Tuesday morning and it should be around 8am when we arrive. Hopefully, there won’t be too many people about.”

  But as they emerged from the machine, they discovered that it was not, in fact, 8am.

  It was 8pm.

  “I think you set the time incorrectly,” Wendy murmured. It was quite dark all around her. “I can barely see anything.”

  “Argh. The AM/PM dial must be acting up again!” Nazhar groaned. “I thought the rubber band would work, but it clearly hasn’t.” He fiddled with a contraption on his wrist that was linked to the time machine. “At least it’s still 12 June 1555, Edo, Japan.”

  “I-see-lights-from-that-village-nearby,” a disembodied voice said. It was Watson, who was still invisible—not that anyone would have been able to see him clearly in the dark.

  “No, it’s too risky,” Nazhar said. “There’ll be too many people about.”

  “Oh, come on, Nazhar,” Wendy pleaded. “We’ll stay in the side streets. I’ll grab a few photographs, then we can leave. There’s no point in wasting the trip!”

  Nazhar thought for a moment, then nodded. In truth, he was also eager to find out what a Japanese village had been like in olden days. Plus, it was the peak of summer and the fireflies might be out. He had always had a fascination with fireflies. They were so beautiful—

  “Urgh!” Wendy suddenly exclaimed, spinning around in a circle and slapping her arms and legs. “Seriously? Mosquitoes? I can’t even escape mosquitoes in 16th-century Japan?!”

  “Hahaha, is that a new dance?” a voice from behind them said.

  Nazhar, Wendy and Watson spun around, but of course no one could see Watson do it because he was invisible.

  A young man, who looked about 13 or 14, stood in front of them with his hands on his hips, and a bright, cocky smile on his face. He was dressed in a dark blue tunic and pants. He was carrying a katana and had two blades that were strapped to a sash around his waist.

  “Erm, yes,” Wendy said, “I’m…I’m practising for the festival!” She figured that as it was summer, there should be tonnes of festivals taking place so the young man wouldn’t ask too many questions. She was right—he no
dded.

  “But it is late. Why are you out here practising?” the young man asked, his hands coming to rest on the handles of his blades.

  “We…we were heading to the village for some food,” Nazhar quickly said.

  The young man was silent for a moment. Nazhar and Wendy held their breaths. Finally, he said, “You should be careful, the roads are not safe for two as young as you, and especially not at night. In fact—”

  Suddenly, Wendy shrieked and flailed about, smacking the air around her. Everyone was startled. The young man immediately moved into a fighting stance right as Wendy smacked him right in the nose with a loud THWACK.

  Nazhar looked at Wendy, his dark eyes filled with horror.

  “Mosquitoes!” Wendy wailed, looking just as stunned as Nazhar.

  They both looked at the now semi-conscious young man lying flat on his back in front of them.

  “Oh-no,” Watson said, still invisible. “Whatarethe-chances-that-he-might-be-an-importanthistoricalfigure?”

  Nazhar glared in the general direction of Watson’s voice. He crouched down and gingerly poked at the young man. Nazhar then gasped.

  “What?” Wendy asked, gulping. “Why… why are you gasping?”

  “That’s the Iga family crest,” Nazhar said, pointing frantically at a crest that was sewn on to the youth’s inner clothing.

  “And the blade tied to his sash, that’s the Hojo family heirloom! I recognise it from my history books! Do you know what this means?” Nazhar asked, looking up at Wendy, panic in his eyes.

  “No?” she replied, already knowing she was going to be lectured.

  “This is Hattori Hanzo! He’s on a mission to return the stolen Hojo family heirloom back to its rightful place at the clan’s castle! If he doesn’t complete his mission, the peace treaty will fall apart!”

  “I only understood about a third of what you just said,” Wendy replied, sighing. “Isn’t Hattori Hanzo an anime character? He’s a ninja, right?”

  “Ninja are not real!” Nazhar almost shouted, before he caught himself. Wendy winced. It was well known that Nazhar was on a personal quest to eradicate the myth of the magical ninja with supernatural powers. If allowed, he could go on and on about how the true ninja were masters of espionage, but did not actually have powers, unlike how they are depicted in anime and folklore.

  “He doesn’t look like he’s in any state to do anything though,” Wendy continued, looking down at the now-pale boy who was flat on his back between then. “Blast those dreaded mosquitoes! Causing trouble for everyone through space and time!” Wendy paused for a moment and looked at her hands. “Also… Wow! I’m really strong.”

  Nazhar glared at her and she immediately looked down nonchalantly, pretending to examine her geta-clad feet instead.

  “We’ll have to do it in his place,” Nazhar finally said, standing up and pushing his glasses firmly on his face.

  “What-happened-to-we-cannot-change-thetimeline?” Watson asked.

  “Think about it. Historically, the treaty was signed, correct? All we’re doing is making sure it happens. If we don’t help, that might change history. So, really, we have no choice,” Nazhar said.

  “You just want to be able to tell Sherlock you helped his favourite anime character,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.

  “Well, there is that too. But history stands in the balance! As a protector of history, I cannot allow this to happen.”

  “So, what are we going to do?” Wendy asked. “We can’t exactly just leave him here.”

  “You and Watson head back to the time machine with Hattori Hanzo. He doesn’t look like he will be waking up any time soon. I’ll take the blade back to where it belongs.”

  Nazhar carefully removed the blade from Hanzo’s sash. It was exquisite.

  “I’ll use the time machine’s GPS system to locate the Hojo clan’s holdings and…er… knock?” Nazhar scrunched up his face. Clearly, he had not planned that far ahead.

  “You’ll need to put it back where it originally was,” Wendy added. “If not, they’ll know it’s missing, if they don’t already.”

  “The head of the Hojo clan is away but he will be back tomorrow…” Hattori Hanzo murmured weakly. His eyes fluttered open. “The blade needs to be returned to the room filled with family antiques before he arrives. Red…door…guards…”

  And with that, he lost consciousness once again.

  “It-is-really-interesting-how-he-justmanagedto-give-us-the-right-information-atjustthe-right-time-to-move-this-story-along,” Watson said.

  “What does ‘red door guards’ mean?” Wendy asked.

  “One can only presume that the room where all the antiques are stored has a red door and guards,” Nazhar replied.

  “Or that a red door is guarding the antiques,” Wendy said.

  “I don’t think it’s plausible that there is a red door that is alive and is guarding the Hojo family antiques, Wendy,” Nazhar said.

  “You don’t know that,” Wendy replied, not looking at Nazhar.

  Nazhar sighed. “Okay. I’m going to have to break into the heavily guarded Hojo clan castle and get past the guards to return the blade to its original location.”

  “I think you’re going to need help,” Wendy said.

  “I-am-busy,” Watson immediately replied.

  “Watson can help,” Wendy added. “Or I’ll tell Sherlock about his secret hiding place in the kitchen.”

  Watson stayed silent for a moment, then turned to Nazhar and said, “I-can-help.”

  “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea,” Nazhar replied hesitantly.

  “He’ll remain invisible; it’ll be fine. And he has GPS so he can lead you to the castle,” Wendy said. “C’mon, let’s get Hattori Hanzo back to the time machine where I will make sure that he remains unconscious for the duration of your mission.”

  Nazhar looked startled but decided not to question her on her methods. Ignorance was bliss in some situations.

  As quickly and as carefully as they could, they carried the young Hanzo back to the time machine and laid him on the sofa in a dark corner. That way, even if he woke up, he still wouldn’t be able to see where he was and that would give Wendy some time to figure out what to do next. Preferably, that would be something that didn’t involve her knocking him unconscious again.

  “You’re going to need a disguise, Nazhar,” Wendy said, looking at her friend. “You know, you’re actually the same height and size as Hattori Hanzo. Hmm…I think I might have something that’ll fit you. Give me a second!”

  Wendy dashed away and scrambled back in carrying a bundle of black cloth. She held it up for Nazhar and Watson to see.

  “Is that a…ninja costume?” Nazhar asked, looking outraged.

  “It’s for the school play!” Wendy said in as innocent a voice as she could muster. “It’s… er…for the stagehands! So that they can blend in the background. Just like the stagehands for the kabuki plays!”

  Nazhar still looked suspicious but accepted Wendy’s explanation. He pulled on the outfit, which was complete with a cloth mask to cover his face—only his bespectacled eyes could be seen.

  “You could totally pass for an awesome ninja,” Wendy said, beaming.

  Nazhar glared at her.

  “If ninja were real, that is,” Wendy added, coughing. “Anyway, you guys had better get going before Hattori Hanzo wakes up and finds himself in a real-life time machine.”

  Nazhar and Watson left the time machine with Watson still invisible and leading the way to the Hojo clan’s castle, which turned out to be closer than expected to where they were. Clearly, Hattori Hanzo had been on the way there himself before he was attacked and then knocked unconscious by Wendy.

  As they approached, they saw that the Hojo clan holdings were protected by a tall stone wall.

  “You’re going to need to fly above that, Watson,” Nazhar said.

  “Sherlock-will-pay-for-giving-me-theabilityto-fly-one-day,” Watson said as Nazha
r climbed on to his back. “Fortunately-you-donoteat-as-many-fried-chicken-wings.”

  With Watson still invisible, it appeared as if Nazhar, who was clad all in black, was flying! At least that was what it looked like to one of the maids who had just happened to be looking up at the stars that night. But Nazhar was gone in a flash. The maid blinked furiously and rubbed her eyes. When she looked up again, the mysterious flying figure in black was gone. Not sure if she had imagined it, she didn’t tell anyone…at least not yet.

  “Do you see a room with a red door, Watson?” Nazhar whispered.

  “Moran-has-the-X-ray-vision-not-me,” Watson replied. “But-my-normal-eye-doesspota-red-door-straight-ahead.”

  Watson flew straight and landed as quietly as a flying robot could on the roof above the room.

  “Okay. You stay here. Just dangle your arm so I can use it to rappel down to the room without falling off the roof and breaking all the bones in my body,” Nazhar instructed. He carefully tucked the blade in his tunic and gestured at Watson to hurry up.

  “I-did-not-realise-you-were-so-bossy,” Watson said, but he did as he was asked.

  Using Watson’s extended arm, Nazhar carefully made his way down the roof and swung himself onto the balcony where the antique room with the red door was located. He looked around—there didn’t seem to be any guards. Perhaps Hattori Hanzo had been mistaken (or delirious) after all!

  He quietly opened the door, entered the room and immediately saw the empty spot where the Hojo family blade must have rested. It was in the centre of the room, raised above the rest of the antiques. Miraculously, no one had noticed that the blade was missing. Nazhar inched his way forward, careful not to bump into any of the priceless antiques. Just as he laid the prized blade on the intricate setting, the doors opened. Nazhar froze. Two samurai guards with katana strapped to their waists peered in. Seeing Nazhar, they exclaimed and swiftly drew their swords!

  “Thief! Thief!” they shouted as they rushed towards him. Nazhar ducked to avoid their swinging blades and, by sheer accident, tumbled and rolled his way out of the room. The guards were hampered by the antiques around them and were not as quick to give chase.