Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise

by Paula Berinstein

  “Then perhaps you would be my nurse,” said Holmes meeting her eyes. They looked positively ancient.

  “Oh, but I do not know herbs and cures,” she said.

  She did and he knew she did, but it didn’t matter. That wasn’t why he’d come. “You can help me nonetheless. Would you, good mother?”

  “I don’t—”

  He produced the note. “Would you take this to her?”

  She regarded the note, then looked deep into his eyes as if warning him. “If I am to do that I must read it.”

  He bowed low. “Do then.”

  She took the note from him and read. She gasped and he could see tears in her eyes.

  “You do love her,” she said.

  He nodded. “I do. Would you then? I am your servant.”

  “I would and I will. Would that I were forty years younger. I would love you myself.” She looked him up and down admiringly. “Yes, I surely would. But then I suppose I would lose your love to her.”

  “Never,” he said tactfully. “I would behold you and all thought of her would disappear.”

  The woman smiled. She reached out a hand and stroked his face. “In another life. Now, let’s have that note.”

  Holmes thanked her and bowed, and the woman was off. He took the opportunity to make himself a cup of tea and some breakfast in his mother’s kitchen and settled in to see how his suit would fare.

  When he returned to the game after refreshing himself a man approached him. He was to come to the castle at midnight, at which time he would be shown to the princess’s wing. He must take care to camouflage himself and bring a gift.

  Holmes smiled. Apparently he had impressed the programmer. He just hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

  After classes and a nap Holmes entered the game again. He had decided to bring the princess a feather bouquet, small but elegant, composed of owl and peacock plumes. He climbed the precarious stairs, flight after flight, thankful not to meet obstacles. When he arrived at the entrance a man appeared. He put his finger to his lips and beckoned Holmes inside. Then he led him to a secret passage, and with a brief explanation of how to get to the princess’s wing left him.

  As this castle was much larger than the other one it took quite a while for Holmes to navigate the circuitous route, but he finally arrived at the door to the princess’s chambers. Something wasn’t right though. There were no guards, no ladies in waiting. He tensed his muscles and prepared for an ambush, then pushed open the door and peered in. It was dark and he could barely see. He imagined the princess might be asleep, although that would be odd if she were expecting him. He groped his way forward until he saw a door with a sliver of light underneath. The way it flickered implied candlelight. The princess’s boudoir?

  There were still no guards or ladies. Perhaps that was a good sign. She had cleared the way for him. Yes. She had been so impressed with his note that she had planned for an intimate evening. He opened the door and walked through, and then he saw something that turned his blood to ice. The princess was lying on her opulent bed in a pool of blood with a dagger in her breast.

  Nick’s avatar burst out from behind a screen, cackled, and raced past him and out the door. Holmes let out a ululating cry and took off after him.

  The fiend was wearing night vision goggles—an outrageous anachronism. He’d obviously hacked the game again. As a result he soon disappeared into the darkness, leaving Holmes wondering which way to go.

  Holmes groped his way along the wall of the passage through which he’d come, but it was slow going. He’d never catch up to Nick this way, and he desperately needed to. The devil had flouted the rules of the game—fine, he always did that, Holmes expected it—but cold-blooded murder, that went way beyond the pale. He would pay for this, both in the game and in real life. And Holmes would be the agent of vengeance in both places.

  He was so angry he couldn’t think of a way to illuminate his route. Had he caught sight of a light anywhere he would have strayed from his path long enough to grab it, but there was none. The entire castle seemed to be asleep. Surely his cry would have wakened someone, but it didn’t appear so. Were they lying in wait for him, preparing an ambush? Probably. He couldn’t worry about that though. He had to keep pushing forward.

  It took forever but he finally arrived at the front door. Nick was nowhere to be seen. Whether he was still hiding in the castle or had escaped Holmes couldn’t tell. He took a risk. He ran through the door and looked down the hill.

  There was Nick still in his night goggles running down the stairs, his footfalls the only sound to break the silence of deep night. But Holmes’s steps must have echoed too, because as he reached the top of the stairs Nick turned around and laughed again.

  “You’re pathetic, Holmes,” he yelled up. “Now three people have died because of your incompetence. If you don’t believe me check the news. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  He saluted and resumed his descent. Holmes was beyond furious. He raced down after him, the sliver of moon guiding his way. But Nick was too fast, and by the time he reached the bottom he was gone. Holmes had lost again.

  Even though he had spent the past few hours in his chair rather than at a real castle, Holmes was exhausted. All his planning, all his maneuvering, and Nick had still outsmarted him. He lay down on Okimma’s bed and fell asleep. His dreams were filled with images of Amanda lying dead with a dagger in her heart, and when he woke he found himself tangled in the bedclothes, sopping wet.

  He stumbled to the bathroom and threw water on his face. What had Nick meant when he’d told him to check the news? Was there some kind of gaming newswire that covered what happened in virtual worlds? Of course not. The guy had just said the first thing that popped into his head. Anything to get his goat.

  But something was nagging at him. If Nick wanted to hurt him he wouldn’t cite some stupid gaming site. That was kid stuff. Could there really be something in the news he should know about?

  He grabbed his phone and skimmed through the Times. Wait a minute. There was something about those two MI5 agents who had been knifed to death, and what was this? A Hungarian princess had been found stabbed through the heart in her London penthouse.

  No. It was impossible. Nick couldn’t be mirroring what he’d done in the game. It was unthinkable. He was bad, but that was sick. As much as he knew about his rival he’d never seemed mentally ill. It was all business with him. This eejit enjoyed what he was doing. It was obvious from the hysterical laughter, the taunting, the sadism.

  And then, as he pondered his opponent’s behavior, he realized that he wasn’t facing Nick Moriarty at all. He had been playing cat and mouse with someone else, someone very disturbed and much more dangerous. But who?

  It could be Hugh Moriarty. He was sadistic enough. But could he hunt down MI5 agents and princesses and murder them? No. He’d be caught in two seconds. Plus he wasn’t a killer, at least not a hands on killer, although he might engage in such a sport if he were teamed up with Blixus. But would his father go along with that? It didn’t seem his modus operandi. Blixus didn’t kill people for fun.

  Banting Waltz? It didn’t seem his style either. Anyway he was too busy with the Moriarty cartel. He didn’t have time for games.

  He couldn’t imagine who would have the skills, the motivation, and the time to do such a thing, not to mention the knowledge about him and his mother.

  And then it dawned on him. There was only one person who fit every criterion: Eamon Augustus Moran, the assassin his mother had been tracking. Despite her precautions she must have given herself away somehow. It was unthinkable—she was so careful, so adept—but it had to be. There was no other explanation.

  If it was indeed Moran, Holmes had to cut him off at once. He would withdraw from the game immediately. No game, no murders. He raced to his computer, logged in, and sent Moran a message telling him it was over. A few minutes later the reply came: “You leave, the assassinations continue. You’re stuck, Holmes. You may as well en
joy the competition. And by the way, whenever you lose another one dies so you’d better start winning.”

  Holmes couldn’t believe his eyes. The man was trying to make him responsible for the deaths of innocent people. Well he wouldn’t have it. He typed, “I’m not going to play your game, Moran.”

  This time the reply was instant. “Oh, so you figured it out, did you, Sherlock? Took you long enough. Sorry to inform you that you can’t quit. You leave and I’ll kill your precious Amanda. What do you think of that?”

  Holmes pounded the desk. “No!” He hit the computer so hard it spun and fell to the floor. He picked it up and typed another message: “You so much as look at her and you’re a dead man.” Then he cradled his head in his hands and sobbed.

  20

  Salvation

  One day Nick saw something that disturbed him more than he would have thought. A man stole a rucksack a careless hiker had left on a bench. Filled with an outrage he couldn’t explain, he followed the thief and grabbed the thing when he wasn’t looking, then returned it to its original location. When the frantic owner returned and discovered it intact, Nick felt a sense of accomplishment, or was it justice? He didn’t know but whatever it was it made him feel good.

  Soon after that he came upon a little girl crying. As children will do she had lost her parents, or so it appeared from her actions, since he couldn’t hear her. He put a finger to his lips and said in that voice that could calm wild animals, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Nose red, face a mess, she looked up at him and stopped her blubbering. Soon after that he located her parents a short way away holding off a badger. He pointed in the girl’s direction and they ran to her. As the father held her in his arms she gave Nick a look that melted his heart. The mother smiled at him and he went on his way.

  He didn’t think much of these incidents until the dream. A little girl was caught in a whirlpool, being pulled down, down, down beneath frothing water, eyes wild with fear. Nick dived into the center of the eddy, stretched his arms around her, and threw her into the air. Then he fought the water as it circled toward something bottomless and evil. Suddenly he was in the sky, as if he’d been shot out of a cannon, taking flight like a bird and gliding to safety. He woke then with a feeling of lightness and wonder he’d never known. And he knew what he would do.

  From that day on he began to seek out opportunities to right wrongs—little things that he’d see in the mountains or the towns that dotted them. No superhero stuff, just small deeds that cost him nothing but made all the difference to someone in distress. And little by little the nightmares became less frequent and the silence easier to bear as he eased into his new life.

  But fate had other plans. One day at twilight he saw a man point a gun at a woman on the edge of one of the towns he frequented. Her eyes were wild with fear. He motioned to the woman to keep silent, crept up behind the man, and knocked him to the ground. The gun skittered away and he kicked it into the bushes as he screamed for the woman to run.

  The man got up and faced him, punching him in the stomach so hard he couldn’t breathe for a moment. Nick flew into karate mode and sliced, whipped, and chopped at the culprit until he lay there panting. Certain that he was alive and well, he grabbed the gun and took off. Later he threw it into a loch.

  He never found out what happened to the man or the woman but he knew he’d crossed a line. He’d not merely restored someone’s possession or found a lost parent. He’d marshaled the power within him, the power of his anger and his anguish and his all-consuming love, just the way a detectives focuses his mind. And he knew this new way of living was right for him, this fight for justice and truth. He might not be a detective but he could do this. He could give the world a gift, and he would, as much and as often as he was able, whatever it took.

  But if he was going to be a vigilante, which was pretty much what it boiled down to, he would need to avoid the limelight. He’d have to find a way to move around without being noticed. And so he began to assemble a collection of disguises, practice different walks and gestures, and create a cast of characters to fall into at different times. Actor that he was, his new role came naturally and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

  And then one day he felt confident enough to turn his phone on, and he saw that weeks before, Amanda had found his real mother, and a sister. And for the second time in weeks he cried.

  Nick relished every one of Amanda’s messages, which dated back to the morning he’d left Legatum. She’d written him every day, often at hourly intervals. Not once did she rail at him, or even plead. She just loved him.

  He read her texts over and over until he’d memorized every word.

  My love, I understand why you left. I didn’t realize at first but now I do. Don’t feel guilty for doing what you had to do. Please stay safe. I am yours and you are mine.

  Ivy and I went to London today. We met your mother and sister! Their names are Sasha and Basilica. They are wonderful. You would really like them. They want you to come live with them. Please think about it.

  Your mother is beautiful. She looks exactly like you. She’s very tall. I think you are going to be a giant. To me you already are. I love you.

  Your sister is a model and guess what! She’s Darius Plover’s daughter. Your mom used to be his girlfriend. Is that crazy or what?

  I miss your beautiful eyes.

  I am making a movie about Ramon’s ancestor, Micajah Splunk. He was even weirder than Bailiwick Wiffle (no offense). Ramon refuses to believe it. He’s such a loser.

  Every night I imagine you holding me and it helps me fall asleep.

  Simon made an app with virtual pets and is selling gobs. I asked him to make a peacock for you.

  Buck is such a turd.

  I wish you could send kisses through a phone. Since I can’t I kiss your picture instead. Can you feel it?

  David has decided to become a great detective. He has really changed. I think he will be a good brother. His mom is being really nice too, thanks to you.

  I got an idea for a film. It’s sort of a time travel thing with detectives. I was thinking maybe you could be in it and meet your great-grandfather Bailiwick. Would that be cool or what?

  Remember when you kissed me after the spider bit you? I can’t stop thinking about that, about the way you held me so tight. I’d never felt anything like that before. I wish you would do it again.

  I’m getting really good at cyberforensics. You’d be proud of me. We should do a project together. Maybe we could hack Hugh. What do you think?

  Help! Despina is driving me crazy.

  Owla told me she might transfer to another school. She really hates Buck. That would be a real loss for Legatum. He’s an eejit.

  If you were here right now I’d meet you in the top floor stacks and kiss your lips off.

  Your mom sent me a beautiful scarf. Isn’t it cool? Oh, did I tell you she runs a gallery? I haven’t seen it except online (here’s the link) but she invited me and Ivy to an opening. La di da.

  Nigel just had his fourth birthday! Doesn’t he look silly in this hat? We had a good time at his party. Mr. Peeson made him some special dog biscuits.

  Have I told you I love you today? Well I do. I’ll tell you tomorrow too, and the day after that and the day after that times infinity.

  I found this picture your dad painted in an art book! Isn’t it the coolest thing? And guess what else: Professor Browning wants to organize an exhibit of his work!!! Stay tuned.

  Here are some of Basilica’s magazine shots. Isn’t she gorgeous?

  I found one of Professor Stegelmeyer’s awful novels on Amazon! The ranking is something like 6 million. Guess it isn’t selling too well. Ha ha!

  When no one was looking I put on lipstick and kissed the window in the common room twenty times. These kisses are for you. Whoops. Need to clean the window before Professor Also walks in.

  I felt your soul touch me last night. My heart will always be yours.

  Nick wasn’t in the habit of
kissing his phone but he did so now. He ran his fingers over every text, then raised the phone to his lips as if it were Amanda herself. When he came to a picture of her looking at the camera with love in her eyes, he caressed her face, her hair, her lips. He wished there were a way to send her his touch but for now this would have to do.

  So she had found his mother—and a sister. He wasn’t sure what to feel. Despite Amanda’s enthusiasm, he couldn’t forget that this was the woman who had given him away to Blixus and Mavis Moriarty. Had she known what they were, or had they managed to fool her? Perhaps the transaction had been conducted anonymously and she hadn’t known anything about them. Even so, why had she given him up at all? Had Wink even known he existed? If he had, why hadn’t he kept him?

  There was a part of him that felt glad his mother wanted to see him, wanted him to come and live with her, and yet he couldn’t get past her selfishness. She might have been saying these things merely to assuage her own guilt. If she knew anything about him she couldn’t possibly want him, not for himself. So it had to be that.

  Still, he did like the sound of his sister, Basilica. She hadn’t rejected him. Amanda said she was nice. He wondered what it would be like to have a sister. It was too bad he would never know.

  He switched off his phone. He hoped those few moments it had been on hadn’t been enough for Hugh to trace him. He’d almost thrown it away a thousand times but for some reason he just couldn’t. Despite the fact that he never used it it was his one link to Amanda and he couldn’t bring himself to part with it.