by F. C. Shaw
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Rollie stiffened. That was Wesley’s signal.
Herr Zilch had arrived.
Up on the House
Rollie planted his feet in the center of the room. He gripped the leather-bound journal and ran his fingers across the branded name on the cover: F. A. Zilch. He trained his eyes on the door and clenched his jaw. He heard the front door open. Euston must have forgotten to lock up after the last time he escorted Rollie and Wesley back home. The door slammed closed.
Thud, thud, thud.
Rollie heard slow but steady footsteps climb the stairs one at a time. And before he had any more time to let the reality of what was happening sink in . . .
Herr Zilch was there.
The man and the boy regarded one another. It had been about two months since they had seen each other in person, and even then Zilch had been disguised as Professor Enches. Rollie had never seen Zilch’s true self, for he had also been in disguise when he had been the neighbor Mr. Crenshaw. For the first time, Rollie saw Zilch’s true appearance, or at least he assumed it was.
Herr Zilch was thinner than Rollie remembered. Fine wrinkles lined his beady eyes, and Rollie guessed he had to be nearing his seventies. He had sprouted a very neat mustache that distinguished him a bit. He wore a long gray wool coat and black leather gloves. A smart fedora hid his silver hair. Rollie was surprised to see Zilch carrying Watson’s Case. Zilch barely glanced at Rollie as he appraised the room.
“Ah, it’s good to be home.” He gave a sardonic smile. “This was always my favorite room in the house. It’s small and cozy, and from that window, I had an excellent view of your house. I see Scotland Yard has confiscated everything here in my study . . . they did not leave so much as a match.”
Rollie licked his lips.
“You’re taller, my boy,” Herr Zilch said in a soft voice. “I suppose that’s what happens when you turn another year older. You are twelve now, correct?”
Rollie nodded, slightly taken aback by Zilch’s conversational inquiries. “Take off your gloves. Show me your hands. Prove that you’re Frederick Zilch.”
Zilch smiled thinly beneath his mustache. “A smart move, lad.” He stripped his gloves to reveal his horribly scarred hands. “It appears these days you are growing into quite the detective. Your great-aunt must be very proud. You are turning out to be exactly who she planned you to be.” He pulled his gloves back on.
Rollie frowned. He remembered what he had read in one of Auntie Ei’s letters: I do not wish him to receive special privileges because of who I am and who he will be.
“Speaking of Eileen, I have some personal items to return to her,” Zilch continued, flinging Watson’s Case across the room.
The small metal lock box landed at Rollie’s feet and sprang open, spilling white lacy undergarments on the floor. Rollie couldn’t hide his smile, for he still thought swapping Watson’s manuscripts for Auntie Ei’s underwear had been one of his more clever ideas.
Zilch scowled. “Surely you must know that if it weren’t for your Aunt Eileen, you would never have attended Sherlock Academy or begun your journey as a detective. Tell me, would you have chosen to be a detective otherwise? Even after my threat?”
Zilch took a few steps nearer, and a few more. He began to slowly pace around Rollie.
Rollie swallowed. This was not how he envisioned the conversation going.
Had he been letting Auntie Ei define him? If not for her, he would never have known anything about Sherlock Holmes and would not have attended the Academy. He would not be standing in this tiny room with this dangerous man if it were not for her influence on him.
After reading those letters between Auntie Ei and Yardsly, he now wondered if her encouragement had been sincere. It seemed there had been a time when she did not want him to be detective. Had her encouragement been a lie?
“I’ve been wondering if she put you up to meeting me today.” Zilch paced some more, very slowly and in control. “Is she still manipulating you?”
Rollie’s eyes flashed. “No, she did not put me up to this. She doesn’t even know I’m meeting you. This was my choice!”
Zilch stopped and studied him, the faintest traces of surprise on his face.
“You’ve been manipulated, too,” Rollie said, his voice finding strength. “Maybe not by another person, but you’ve been manipulated by your regrets and fears. I know all about you.”
Zilch’s eyes darted to his wristwatch. “I gather you’ve been talking with my nephew.”
Rollie’s brow furrowed. “I read your journal.”
For the briefest moment, a hint of panic flashed in Zilch’s beady eyes. It was there and gone almost too fast to notice, but Rollie caught it.
“You have it with you?” asked Zilch.
Rollie held the journal up in his hand.
Zilch nodded curtly. “Did you find my attaché case under the floorboards? I intended you to find it.” He stomped his boot on the floor. “My secretary planted it during her first visit.”
“You wanted me to find that?” Rollie cocked his head to one side. “Why?”
“You should not be so quick to join the Holmes Brigade. Those photographs in the case are former Brigaders. I have eliminated all but a few of those members, and I will not hesitate to eliminate any future Brigaders.” Zilch looked pointedly at Rollie. He closed the study door.
Rollie took a deep breath as panic made his middle flutter. “You’re afraid of me. You’re afraid of what I might become.”
“You are a boy!” Zilch’s face heated. “I do not fear you! I didn’t even bring a weapon today! I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into before pursuing this path Eileen has set you on. My nephew did not know what he was getting himself into when he betrayed me. I am sure he has shared his regrets with you.”
Rollie wracked his brain to make sense of Zilch’s implications. Zilch knew, or at least suspected, that Rollie had contact with his nephew.
Rollie, stalling for time, decided to get a few things cleared up while he had the chance. “Were you a Brigade member?”
Zilch’s mustache twitched. “I do not see the necessity of shedding any light on the past for you. Ask your Aunt Eileen about that.”
Rollie rolled his eyes in frustration but continued with his next question. “Why did your secretary return to paint over the MUS list? Why now? The house has been vacant since you fled five months ago.”
He glanced out the window, watching for help to come. He hoped Cecily and Eliot had found Yardsly.
“My house has been under constant surveillance by Scotland Yard since August. Just two weeks ago, the Yard called off the surveillance. I suppose they’ve found better things to do. I jumped at the opportunity to dispose of my list. I had not had time to do so in August before I left. I wanted my secretary to paint all the walls quickly, but she worked so slowly. She managed to copy and destroy half the list. I assume you have the other half?” Zilch tipped his hat at Rollie.
“Why did you write your list on the walls instead of on paper?”
Zilch smirked. “Never leave a paper trail. I learned that lesson the hard way when you intercepted my letters to Enches.”
“You can have your journal, but first I want to know something else.”
Herr Zilch glanced at his wristwatch. “My time is precious. What is your question?”
“Why did you want to kidnap Wesley? He doesn’t know anything about you or MUS. He has no secrets to betray.”
Zilch paused. “I have my reasons. All you must know is that I will not hesitate to do anything that gives me the upper hand in this game. I warned you to know what you’re getting yourself into by fighting me and joining the Holmes Brigade.” Crossing his arms, he steadily circled Rollie.
“I know what I’m getting into,” Rollie said firmly. “I’ve chosen to be a detec
tive, and I’m going to stop you.” He glanced quickly out the window again when he thought he heard a car.
“You’re more stubborn than I anticipated, but your nerve is only as strong as your comrades. I doubt you would be so bold if your auntie failed to support you.”
Did he know something about that? Did he know the reason Auntie Ei had not wanted him to be a detective at first?
“And I doubt you would be so bold without your comrades—what are their names again? Ah yes, I remember.” He whipped out three wallet-size photographs and held them up. “Eliot Tildon, Cecily Brighton, and, of course, Wesley Livingston.”
Rollie recognized his friends’ faces in the photographs. They had red X’s over them. How did he—
“Yes, I know who they are, boy. Professor Enches discovered more about you and them than you thought. While kidnapping Wesley failed, my message did not. Beware, I will not hesitate to eliminate anyone in my way, especially if they’re your accomplices and members of the Holmes Brigade. You may add these to that collection of photographs in the attaché case.”
Slowly, deliberately, Zilch tore each photograph in half. He tossed the shreds at Rollie’s feet.
Rollie’s stomach churned. He slipped his hand into his pocket and squeezed the whistle for reassurance.
“And when you are alone, your courage will be reduced to nothing, and you will realize you were never a real detective.” Zilch edged nearer until he was so close Rollie could smell tobacco on his breath. “You are nothing more than the expectations of your family and friends. You have no hope of stopping me or my plans.”
Rollie gulped. He tried to imagine life without his friends and family. He imagined being alone, working on a case alone, and fighting Herr Zilch alone. And he felt small. Maybe Zilch was right. Maybe he was not really a detective but was just acting the part everyone wanted him to play. He was just a boy.
“Did you also find the file I left about the Final Problem?” Zilch stepped back and checked his watch. “Under the bricks?” He jerked his head at the little fireplace.
Rollie nodded and checked the window.
“Good. You no doubt gathered it refers to my final plan to destroy you, the Holmes Brigade, and, most importantly, Sherlock Academy of Fine Sleuths. I am afraid there is not much you can do to stop it from happening. If you agree to walk away from the Brigade and your absurd mission to stop me, you have my word I won’t harm you or your family and friends.” Zilch held out a gloved hand.
Rollie glanced at it. He had no idea what the Final Problem was, but for the moment, he doubted he could stop it, especially if he were all alone. What would Zilch do to Cecily and Eliot and Wesley? What would he do to his dad and mum and siblings and Auntie Ei? Was being a detective worth risking their safety? Did he even have a right to call himself a detective?
He no longer felt sure about anything.
“You are wise to consider my offer,” Herr Zilch said quietly. “Sherlock Holmes should have been so wise. He was a fool to challenge Professor Moriarty.”
Hearing that name—Sherlock Holmes—awakened new feelings in Rollie, including a little bit of courage.
He cleared his throat. “Not true—Moriarty was a fool to challenge Sherlock Holmes. Holmes defeated him at Reichenbach Falls.”
Herr Zilch’s face reddened. “Moriarty’s sacrifice was necessary. It spurred on his comrades to form MUS.”
Rollie would not back down. “Moriarty’s death wasn’t a sacrifice. It was his failure. He meant to kill Holmes but couldn’t. There was nothing noble about Moriarty’s death!”
“You should not trick yourself into thinking you are anything like Sherlock Holmes. You will only delude yourself by thinking you can stop me. Sherlock Holmes may have eliminated Moriarty, but in doing so, he strengthened MUS. He was the ultimate failure.”
“No, MUS couldn’t accept that Holmes had won. You should know that you won’t win either.”
“That is still to be decided.”
Zilch grabbed Rollie’s collar and pushed the boy into a corner of the room. He gripped the boy’s coat collar and glared down at him. “You are nothing more than a pawn in this game. They are using you. You’re just a boy. You are not Sherlock Holmes.”
Rollie took a deep breath. He expected that comment to stab him deep. But it did not . . . and that was when Rollie knew who he was.
“You’re right. I am not Sherlock Holmes.”
Zilch nodded.
“I am Rollie Wilson, the detective who will defeat you!”
Zilch pinned him against the wall. Rollie did not break eye contact. Zilch released his grip on Rollie’s collar and stepped back.
“Very well, my little adversary. You have chosen your path. I have warned you of the consequences. My journal, if you please.”
Rollie handed it to him. Zilch took out a silver lighter from his outer coat pocket. He flicked the lighter on and held the small blue flame up to the corner of his journal.
“NO!” Rollie yelled. “Why are you destroying it?”
“Like I’ve said, never leave a paper trail.”
Rollie watched in horror as the journal caught fire, its leather cover shriveling and its pages crinkling in the flames. Zilch tossed it into the empty fireplace, where it continued to burn.
“There is no more to be said between us. Adieu!”
An extraordinary thing happened next. Zilch suddenly leaned back into the wall, which opened up and swallowed him.
Rollie raced to the window and looked out.
Still no sign of Headmaster Yardsly or Scotland Yard. He had to stall Zilch. He could not let him escape.
Rollie charged through the wall opening and hustled up a narrow, steep staircase. To his surprise, he found himself on the roof of the house. He dodged a few slippery puddles of snow and scoured the rooftop.
Herr Zilch stood on the edge and turned back to see Rollie approaching him.
“Do not follow me! I will not hesitate to take drastic action to ensure my escape.”
“No! Not this time!” Rollie neared him.
“What can you possibly do to stop me?”
“Anything I can think of.” Having no weapon of any kind, Rollie could only use a distraction to keep Zilch on the roof until help arrived.
Where was everyone?
Rollie stooped down next to a patch of snow. He scooped some up in his bare hands, crunched it into a snowball, and hurled it at Zilch. His aim was perfect; he knocked off the fedora, revealing a receding hairline. The fedora twirled down over the side of the house. Zilch looked both shocked and infuriated.
Rollie made another snowball and chucked it. This time Zilch dodged it.
Down the street, Rollie thought he heard tires screech. He hoped it was the sound of help coming.
Zilch started climbing over the edge of the roof.
That was when Rollie noticed for the first time an iron-wrought ladder much like those on fire escapes. He dove for Zilch and grabbed his coat sleeve. In response, Zilch grabbed Rollie’s coat sleeve and pulled on it. Rollie dropped to his belly, grabbed the ladder for support, and pulled back on Zilch’s sleeve. They were locked together.
“Let me go, or I’ll pull you over!” Zilch screamed, trying to pry his arm loose from the boy. He took a step down the ladder.
With his bare fingers, Rollie clenched his grip on Zilch’s coat sleeve and tried to pull up. Zilch was stronger. He yanked Rollie’s sleeve, causing him to slip toward the edge. Only Rollie’s legs remained on the roof. Then he heard a few things at once.
He heard tires screech to a halt in the street below.
He heard frantic blasts from a whistle.
And he heard fabric tearing.
His coat sleeve tore free from his arm. Zilch lost his balance, and with a shriek, fell backward off the ladder. Rollie watched in horror as the man fell
into the thick snow with a dull thud. He continued to watch in horror as Zilch rolled to his feet, snatched up his fedora, and ran to the street. Zilch then dove into a waiting black automobile that sped off immediately.
Right behind, another black automobile with blaring sirens sped off in hot pursuit.
Rollie lay on his stomach, leaning over the rooftop, cold and shaken, his sleeveless arm hanging over the edge. Zilch had escaped . . . again.
“ROLLIN! Come down from there!”
He glanced down into the snowy front yard and saw Headmaster Yardsly waving up at him. Ms. Yardsly, Auntie Ei, Cecily, and Eliot crowded around him, all looking up at the roof.
Carefully, Rollie squirmed away from the edge. He scrambled to his feet and trudged across the roof. He found the trapdoor leading back inside. When he reached the study, Cecily and Eliot were rushing into the room. Cecily threw her arms around him, and Eliot patted him on the back.
“Are you okay?”
“What were you doing on the roof?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Where’s your sleeve?”
“What’s that smoke smell from?”
Rollie did not answer their questions that came all at once. He only wanted to talk to one person at the moment. He hurried through the house and out to the porch where the adults were.
“Headmaster! Did you catch Zilch? Did he get away?”
Yardsly rested a hand on his shoulder. “Scotland Yard is chasing after him. Euston is with them. We can only hope for the best now, but something worse has happened.”
“What could be worse than Zilch escaping?” Rollie felt his chest tightening with panic.
“They kidnapped Wesley!”
The Holmes Brigade
Rollie’s head spun. His middle churned.
“What? How? I thought . . . ”
“Two MUS agents snatched him when Zilch fell off the roof,” Yardsly explained. “They forced him into the car, and they all sped off.”
Rollie held his head in his hands. The whistle, their signal—he had heard it. And suddenly everything made sense.
