Baker Street Irregulars:
The Game is Afoot
Edited by
Michael A. Ventrella and Jonathan Maberry
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 2018 by Michael A. Ventrella & Jonathan Maberry
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected]
First Diversion Books edition April 2018
ISBN: 978-1-63576-376-8
Table of Contents
Introduction: My Old Friend Sherlock Holmes
“The Problem of the Three Journals” by Narrelle M. Harris
Sherlock is an Australian hipster
“Six Red Dragons” by Keith R. A. DeCandido
Sherlock is a young girl in modern New York City
“The Adventure of the Diode Detective” by Jody Lynn Nye
Sherlock is a home security system
“Investigations upon Taxonomy of Venomous Squamates” by R. Rozakis
Sherlock is a graduate student at a lab
“Papyrus” by Sarah Stegall
Sherlock is a female librarian in ancient Egypt
“My Dear Wa’ats” by Hildy Silverman
Sherlock is an alien ship’s captain
“A Scandal in Chelm” by Daniel M. Kimmel
Sherlock is a rabbi
“The Affair of the Green Crayon” by Stephanie M. McPherson
Sherlock is a grade school teacher
“A Study in Space” by Derek Beebe
Sherlock is a teenager on a Moon station
“Sin Eater and the Adventure of Ginger Mary” by Gordon Linzner
Sherlock is a “Sin Eater” in rural post-Civil War America
“The Adventure of the Double-Sized Final Issue” by Mike Strauss
Sherlock is a comic book character
“A Very Important Nobody” by Chuck Regan
Sherlock is an investigator on one of Jupiter’s moons
“Ho Ho Holmes” by Nat Gertler
Sherlock is Santa Claus
About the Authors
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Introduction:
My Old Friend Sherlock Holmes
There are a lot of great and enduring characters in popular fiction. Ask anyone to write a list of ten, or even twenty, and it’s a snap. Dracula and Frankenstein, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys—the list goes on.
For me, as a kid, it was Doc Savage; Conan; John Carter of Mars; Aragorn, son of Arathorn; the Eternal Champion, and…
Well, the problem is that we can all build those lists. And, as we grow, the characters on those lists change. In my teens and twenties, Repairman Jack replaced Conan as my tough guy hero of choice. Ben Mears from Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot replaced Abraham Van Helsing. Karl Edward Wagner’s antihero Kane replaced the pure-of-heart King Arthur.
And so on. I’m looking at the age of sixty close enough to read the fine print, and still, that list keeps changing because I keep reading, and in doing so, making new literary friends.
However, since boyhood there has always been one character that has never fallen off my list. Not once. He’s been steadfast, endlessly interesting, and a good companion.
That person is, of course, Sherlock Holmes.
And note that I said “person.” I use the word with precision. Unlike most fictional characters, Holmes has always been intensely real to me. A few others, too—like John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee, and James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux. And a handful of others. But even in the company of other characters, Sherlock remains a lifelong companion and friend.
I’ve spent a lot of time decoding why. At first, I thought that it was the humanity of Dr. John Watson that appealed most to me. He was kinder, more human than Holmes; he had the social graces if not the towering genius. And in the stories, he was no dum-dum, as he was in the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce films I saw on late-night TV back in the sixties. Watson was an appropriately intelligent and experienced man of his times. A cut above the everyman because he was, after all, a medical doctor.
And I like Watson. I really do. But it was not his name on the list.
It was Sherlock Holmes. On every version of that list.
As I got older and became a more discerning reader and, later, a scholar, I gradually decoded my fascination with Holmes.
On the surface, Holmes is wonderfully appealing because he is not an everyman. He’s not even an every-other-man. He is unique because he specializes in very minute and very precise observation, which is then filtered through a great storehouse of personal knowledge—such as the varieties of ash in different cigarettes sold in London at that time or the pigmentation of various kinds of soil. Like that.
Quick side note before we continue: In the stories, this is wrongly referred to as deductive reasoning. Technically, he uses inductive reasoning far more often, and occasionally a blend of both. Deductive reasoning is where the observer starts with a premise and then seeks to prove it. Inductive, on the other hand, is where the reasoner extrapolates information that he has observed in order to arrive at the most logical supposition or, ideally, a firm conclusion. In either case, the collection of forensic evidence and the observation of the crime scene in situ allowed Holmes to make what often appeared to be extraordinary leaps bordering on the magical.
In an era when forensic science was in its infancy, the novelty of the Holmes stories was profound. Granted, author Arthur Conan Doyle took inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe’s earlier tales of C. Auguste Dupin (Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Purloined Letter, and The Mystery of Marie Rogêt), who in turn was inspired by the real-life troubled genius Thomas De Quincey, the noted opium eater. But Doyle expanded upon the method of observation, evidence collection and analysis, evaluation, and inductive reasoning to craft a character who became the world’s first, and greatest, private consulting detective.
Back to why Holmes has been my friend all these years. It comes with a bit of backstory.
I grew up dirt poor, in a neighborhood in Philadelphia best known for alcoholism and gang violence, and in a violent household. My father was a criminal and a member of the Klan. So…fun times.
I knew that I did not want to be like him. I did not want to be a drunk or drug addict. I did not want to be a part of that fractured and polluted cultural landscape. I did not, in essence, want to live in a crime scene. But I was a kid and had no idea how to get out of that world.
Sherlock Holmes helped.
You see, logic is a useful tool to guide you through emotionally challenging situations. Logic, however much it may involve minute details, is really all about big picture—about context on a scale grander than immediate experience. When applied to personal crisis, one becomes both the client going to Sherlock Holmes with a matter both inexplicable and life-shattering, and also Holmes himself, analyzing the data and searching for a reasonable hypothesis. That’s how I saw it. I was eight, I think, when I figured that out. So, okay, I was a bit of a weird kid. My imaginary friend was Sherlock Holmes, and he was trying to help me sort out my bigger life issues.
My life, I suppose, was the scene of an ongoing crime.
A
pplying Holmesian logic, I looked for clues.
I discovered, over time, that there was no evidence at all to support the common and very normal supposition that I was somehow to blame for the things that were happening to me. Hard as I looked, and as much as I believed that to be the case, there was simply nothing to prop up that theory. And so, over time, it collapsed under the weight of faulty logic.
Holmes famously said that, “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” This was a recurring theme that I first encountered in The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet, and—in various forms—in The Sign of the Four, The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier, and other tales in the series.
It is, perhaps, an imperfect axiom because it requires a degree of omniscience at both ends of the logical equation, but…hey, it worked for me when I was eight. It made sense. When I applied it, I came to certain reasonable conclusions.
I saw that the troubles in my neighborhood did not start with my birth. They were an ongoing problem. My existence was not even a factor in their perpetuation.
I determined that the abuse my sisters and I suffered had nothing to do with our actions. No matter how carefully we lived, or how diligent we were to follow the ever-increasing list of house rules, bad things happened. Therefore, the abuse was not any kind of logical consequence of our actions.
I saw that our father was not dissimilar to a few other fathers in our neighborhood. That suggested a pattern of behavior. Holmes talked about that, too. So, I looked for things that might have caused this kind of behavior. Looked, listened, asked. Basically, I investigated in order to solve a mystery. And I discovered that there was a lot of alcohol abuse. Alcohol warps perception and action. There was a lot of poverty. Desperation can warp the quality of the choices we make, and can negatively influence the logic of the risk-reward equation.
I could go on.
This was a process of discovery for me as a kid. It changed me, because from then on, I always tried to apply the Sherlock Holmes method to my outlook. I became more observant. I worked to avoid making assumptions. I also tried to fill my head with information so that the facts I observed would have a place to land.
For the record, no, I did not become Sherlock Holmes. No one ever has. What I did, though, was solve the important mysteries and crimes that were defining my young life. Once I understood that I was not an accomplice, shared no guilt, and was only one of many victims, I was able to look for solutions. Again, Holmes was there with ideas.
His education and knowledge were his primary weapons, but he was selective about what he learned. That process of selection made him an expert in those things that would most benefit him. Since I wanted to be a writer, even at a young age, I focused on that. I learned to write well, looked for ways to do it better, and read deeply so I understood the process of storytelling in ways that exceeded what I was being taught in school. After all, education in public schools is designed for group learning and to provide basic information. Public school education is not designed to help individuals excel in specific areas. College does that, but I needed to get to college. No one else in my neighborhood, and certainly no one in my family, went to college. I had no encouragement to do so—so, I took it upon myself, just as Holmes took it upon himself to develop knowledge in anatomy, chemistry, and other fields that would support his dream of becoming a detective.
Holmes was also tougher than he looked. He could box, fight with a single stick (cane), and knew some martial arts. I launched into all of that. I studied jujutsu. I boxed Golden Gloves. I wrestled. I fenced. I became tough.
Holmes had focus. I learned how to focus my wants and needs.
And I got out of that neighborhood. I bested my abusive father in a fight. I earned a scholarship to journalism school. I figured out the solution to my personal mystery and acted on that solution.
Was it all Holmes? Nah. Of course not. But Holmes was a major part of it. Even now, when I need to solve a problem—and it could be as simple a thing as helping my wife find her misplaced car keys—I use the same process of induction and deduction, of observation and evaluation I’d learned from Sherlock Holmes.
Which brings me to what I do now.
Although I studied journalism at Temple University, I never became a newspaper reporter. Instead I wrote a few thousand feature articles, columns, reviews, and how-to pieces for magazines. Then I wrote a slew of college textbooks for the courses I went on to teach at Temple—Martial Arts History, Personal Defense for Women, etc. In the early 2000s I switched gears and began writing fiction. My first novel, Ghost Road Blues, was published in 2006. Right now, I’m close to wrapping up my thirty-third novel. Along the way I’ve written a lot of comic books for Marvel, IDW, and Dark Horse, as well as more than 110 short stories.
One of the very first short pieces I did was “The Adventure of the Green Briar Ghost.” And, yes, it was a Sherlock Holmes story.
Since then I’ve written other Sherlock pieces, as well as a story featuring Dr. Watson (“The Empty Grave”) and even a story about C. Auguste Dupin (“The Vanishing Assassin”).
I’ve probably watched every version of Sherlock Holmes on TV or in film, and read thousands of Holmes novels and short stories. And comics. I’m so pleased to see that I am far from alone in my appreciation for Holmes and his impact on the lives of his fans. I had a lengthy discussion on that topic with Neil Gaiman and Laurie B. King at one of the black-tie annual banquets of the Baker Street Irregulars in New York. Holmes has helped a lot of us. Saved some of us. Enriched all of us.
But here’s the thing…
It isn’t always the Holmes stories as written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No. I know many people who only know Holmes from TV shows like Sherlock or Elementary. Or from caricatures of him in other mediums. And I know people who love versions of Sherlock Holmes. Like the curmudgeonly doctor on House. Like wacky Shawn on Psych. Like the autistic young surgeon on The Good Doctor. Like…
Well, hell, that becomes a long, long list.
Because the thing that makes Holmes so enduringly effective and appealing has nothing to do with his being a misanthropic nineteenth-century Englishman. Holmes is a concept. The hyper-observant, deeply intelligent, extremely eccentric, and occasionally theatrical solver of baffling mysteries.
That’s why this book exists. It’s why the previous volume, Baker Street Irregulars, exists. The protagonists herein are not white British males in frock coats. They are not anything close to that model. And yet they are shadows cast by Sherlock Holmes. The characters in these stories embody what is essential about Holmes—and about Watson. The desire to solve a mystery. The intellect. The wit. The comradeship between a genius and an enabler of genius. The friendship and mutual tolerance. The intolerance for villains to escape justice.
Holmes is a concept every bit as much as Holmes is a friend. If some version of Holmes, under that name or another, is here to help, then we feel that there are solutions, that there will be answers, that we are safe. And that there will be justice.
The Game is Afoot is filled with original mystery stories that both break the Holmesian mold and yet don’t. They pave new ground while respecting the road from Doyle to here.
And they are a lot of fun.
So, sit back, turn the page, and go hunting.
Something strange and inexplicable has happened. The game’s afoot…
Jonathan Maberry
Del Mar, California
November 2017
The Problem of the Three Journals
BY
Narrelle M. Harris
Sherlock Holmes leaned casually over the counter as two people entered The Sign of Four. New customers. Time for the party trick.
“Soy cappuccino for her,” Sherlock told the barista. “See the T-shirt? ‘100% Herbivore.’ Could drink black, but see her canvas bag? Several froth spots over the flap. You don’t get that from the cream on a long black. She’ll ask for no sugar, but s
he’ll slip a half teaspoon in when the boyfriend’s not looking.”
The barista, John Watson, gave his friend a sidelong glance, mouth tilted in a veiled smile under his well-groomed moustache. “And him?”
“Short black. The single origin. Don’t be offended when he only drinks half of it. He prefers a flat white, but flat white doesn’t go with the image he’s projecting. They’ll be takeaway. They’ve been arguing, and they’re in a hurry now.”
By the time the new customers reached the counter, John had poured the single origin short black and was steaming the soy milk for the cappuccino. The newbies had hardly finished voicing their orders when John served them up with a flourish.
“Short black, single origin—we’ve got the Guatemalan today—and soy cap for the lady.”
The bloke arched an eyebrow. “So it’s true. You guys predict coffee. Not the super power I’d ask for.” He sneered a bit.
“Russ,” hissed the girlfriend, “Don’t be a dick.”
Sherlock smiled benignly at Russ the Dick. “Faint red welts around your jaw under your ears where you scratch at the beard—you don’t like the facial hair but you won’t consider shaving it yet, you know you have a weak chin; the bow tie is a clip-on, which might be just ironic except you’ve made such an expensive effort with the shoes and braces. So you just don’t know how to tie it, and you can’t be bothered with a YouTube tutorial because it’s just for show. Your glasses are plain glass. You don’t need them for anything but window dressing, either. We’re getting past irony and into farce now, all because you decided this is how to get into your girlfriend’s pants. It’s not charming, by the way, pretending to be something you’re not to get a leg over. Ordering coffee you don’t like because you think it fits the persona won’t render you any more authentic, which reminds me…” This Sherlock addressed to Russ’s increasingly irritated girlfriend. “He ate bacon for breakfast—that’s bacon grease above the third button of his waistcoat—so I can assure you the ‘Meat is Murder’ badge on his Crumpler bag is more for your benefit than a personal political statement.”
Baker Street Irregulars Page 1
