A/N: Hey, everybody. It's been a while since I last posted. I've been dealing with straight-A's on a report card I got on my birthday, writing a novel and failing to figure out where to publish it, and fixing a fully broken computer while trying to type this up on the other one.
You? Nothing of the sort, I figure.
I solved the Six Napoleons before I read it through! My mom is getting me the full Grenada set of shows for Christmas (read: one hundred fifty dollars normally), and I was watching them on her TV, with the working VCR, until it broke last week.
Now, after months of silence, I have decided to upload this crossover. I like to say it comes from a journal, written by one of Doyle's childhood friends. Here is the first story, a story of survival and sadness, of happiness and pure terror. Here is...
An Introduction to Crime
"Come on, Art! Hurry, before this storm gets worse!"
I, Richard Thomson, had only one chance at survival—convincing my evil friend, Arthur Doyle, to get his crazy horse to speed up. But of course, not many dreams could come true.
As the two of us reached the peak of the hill, rain pelted down on us, drenching our dirty clothes and sweaty horses that we'd stolen after arriving in New York as stowaways on a cargo ship. We knew what was going on. We'd been taught about who we were just after running away from boarding school to my aunt's farm. At least, I always thought she was my aunt.
You see, the two of us were told we were demigods.
Aunt Iva had met my father far before I was born, when he fancied her. With just one glance at me, she knew I was his son. So she sent the two of us in cargo, as stowaways, to New York. Wait a minute… didn't I tell you all of this already? Well, anyway, we'd gone to the road she told us to, and had started the long trek to safety, when a summer thunderstorm started up.
Art was having the time of his life in this downpour. Me? Not so much. I couldn't handle all the water getting in my eyes and nose, and my horse was clearly feeling the same way about my bad riding. But I couldn't help it—I'd never learned.
As we finally set off on a gallop down the hill, a streak of lightning cracked through the clouds to reach the ground just a few feet from Art. I knew he was worse at riding than even I could ever be, so I wasn't at all surprised when his horse reared. He fell off, tumbling down the hill and nearly getting trampled by the horse multiple times.
Eventually, I approached the spooked horse, taking its reins. A couple of people advanced upon us, one of them a girl with slacks, as if she was working. She bent over Art, carefully lifting him, then carrying him back to a large building behind her.
"Do you know anything?" the other one sneered at me. He grabbed the reins of both horses, holding them still so I could finally dismount. "That's no way to ride. I can't believe you kept from falling off for that long." He snickered. "Go follow Abby to the house, but watch out if you see her sister Gail. I'll warn you now—never get the two of them confused if you value your life."
I ran after the girl, catching up with her as she entered a large building in the center of the valley. "Abby?" I called, my voice raw from the cold of night and torrential rain.
The girl turned, looking at me. She seemed younger now than when I first glimpsed her, a year or two younger than me.
"That's me, alright. Abby Porter. Are you the other one who came with him?" she asked quietly, looking me in the eye.
"Yeah. Richard Thomson." I met her gaze, unable to divert her fierce eyes.
"Go upstairs, Richard. Bring him with you. I've got to get someone." She carefully shrugged my unconscious friend's weight over to me, then took off, heading back into the storm.
I lifted Art, then went up the staircase one step at a time. I finally made it to the top, setting him down against the wall and stopping to catch my breath.
"He's upstairs, Chiron. Not of age yet, but smart enough to survive." It was Abby, I knew it. I heard her footsteps, along with more, sharper than hers. They sounded… they sounded like horses.
A head peeked over the top of the staircase. "Richard?" The question came from a middle-aged man, with brown hair and a thin beard. But as he climbed the last few steps, something else became apparent.
"You're a centaur," I whispered, shocked, before sealing my lips tighter than ever before.
The centaur smiled, looking me up and down. "Britain, I can see. Farm work—probably when you were taught your mythology." He saw the smile on my face, and knelt down, shifting Arthur onto his back. "We'll get you both somewhere to sleep for tonight. Come on."
I followed him down the hallway to a small room with a couple of beds. "It's a good thing we have an extra spot in the infirmary for the two of you. I just hope you're both alright after the storm. But of course, which one of you made it?"
My clear confusion puzzled him. "Oh dear. You don't understand it?" I shook my head. "Then it would have to be your friend who caused it. I just hope it's not an omen, like it normally is…."
He quietly set Art down on one of the beds, lifting his shirt somewhat to check him over. Just the sight of the wound scared me. The horse clearly landed on him more than once, leaving cuts and bruises and one bad gash.
Chiron kept calm, reaching over to a small table to grab something as I settled down in the other bed. Even I had to admit, the storm had taken its toll. I could feel myself drifting off within seconds, and by the time Chiron finished with Art, I was fast asleep.
As light filtered in through the sole window the next morning, Chiron came by to check on me. I was fighting back a cough, but it threatened to break free any moment. And as soon as he went over to make sure Arthur was comfortable, that it did.
He turned around, concerned. "Richard, have you been sick lately?" I shook my head, knowing what it was. Even in the middle of summer, it could kill.
Chiron ordered me to lie down as he came back over. After just hearing my uneven breaths for a few seconds, he shook his head. "Can you fight it?" he asked, clearly worried about my chances. I nodded, determined to prove it was possible to survive. He smiled, taking a canteen from my bedside table and offering me a sip. I quickly took another, shocked that it was hot cider when the metal was cold.
"Nectar. One of the miracles of being a demigod. But don't have too much, now," he commented as I took one last drink. "That stuff is just as dangerous as it is good."
I nodded, handing it back over to him. "My aunt told me. She knew my father." At his curious look, I continue. "All she said about him was the number eleven, but I look just like him."
"Eleven. She must have known." He let me relax as another coughing fit came upon me. I finally calmed down, resting as he made sure Arthur was alright.
"I'll probably be too busy to come by for most of the day, but some of the others should be by. Violet's nearly guaranteed to be happy to help, so you've just got to wait for her." I nodded, then curled up into a ball to attempt to fight against the cough.
He comforted me for a minute before slipping outside again. I could see him talking with a group of teenagers, occasionally pointing back to me through the open window. One of them nodded, but before they came close to the building, I was back into a fitful dream world.
After a few hours, I woke up again. A girl was sitting on the window ledge, talking to Arthur.
"Hey," I forced out before another coughing fit interrupted me. The girl came over, pressing lightly on my chest with her hand. It stopped my coughing, but nothing like that would have kept it from starting up again.
"Violet. Cabin seven. Keep still for a minute," she commanded, grabbing the canteen once more. I gratefully took a drink, then relaxed as she talked some more with Arthur.
"So then, you really didn't make that storm?" she teased, giving him a small amount of food before she sat down again.
He grinned at her. "There's no way that was me. I have no clue why the horse did that, either, Violet."
She smiled, finally giving him a break as she got a small bowl of soup for me. "What about you, Richard? What do you think—did Art make that storm hit?"
I stopped eating for a moment to think. All of a sudden, I came across a memory I'd missed before. "Well, right before the clouds gathered, his horse got all crazy. He got really mad about it. It was right when he said 'stop it' that I heard the first thunder." I shrugged, very nearly setting off another coughing fit.
Violet came back over, doing the hand trick again. "It's a good thing my brother just arrived. He's the best at camp with this kind of thing. Can you handle it for a few minutes while I find him, guys?" she asked us once I calmed down again.
I nodded, and Art smiled. "Definitely. I saw how you did that thing with your hand, so if he needs it, I can help." Violet nodded before stepping out of the room and closing the door.
"Boy, those Americans are insane."
I stared at Art, waiting for an explanation. "Well, after all, they actually think I can control when a storm hits! And have you seen the dirt on their shoes? Using their best clothes for farm work—I don't believe it!" I laughed quietly at his powers of observation.
"The centaur did the same thing last night, Art. I think he's like you with that." Art had always shown an uncanny knack for interpreting the smallest details as part of the major problem. I had a feeling Chiron was able to do the exact same thing.
As another coughing fit came on a few minutes later, I heard footsteps approaching with all the speed they could. A man carefully opened the door, coming in with Violet right behind him.
"Richard, this is my older brother, Timmy. Best when it comes to this stuff, just like I told you." Timmy nodded, carefully pressing me back against the bed.
"Don't worry, Richard. It'll be alright. It's not as bad as it could be if it was winter, that's for sure. Shh." He kept me calm as he went through his bag. Eventually, he gave up, just intent on having me stay still for as long as possible.
"It's not too bad, Violet. It was probably just waiting to get worse when the storm hit. But you've got to stay in bed," he said, once more looking at me. "There's no other surefire way to keep you safe." I weakly nodded as he moved over to Art.
"As for you, I just hope you can manage to stay in bed, too. It might not be as long, though, depending on what helps you most." He searched his bag once more, producing a single vial. "Richard, this is just to make sure you can stay asleep for long enough to have some effect, alright?" He looked over at my wide eyes, and smiled. "Don't worry—it doesn't hurt or anything." I nodded, biting my lip. He carefully poured some of the liquid onto a cloth, and as I lay back down, he placed it over my nose. After breathing it in a few times, I was somewhat drowsy. Just a minute later, I was fast asleep.
After a few more days, Art was able to get up for a short time while the sun was shining. I still needed to stay in bed, but luckily, most coughing had stopped.
Finally, Timmy let me go. "No running, and if it gets cold, go inside. It could still come back if you're not careful." I smiled, happy to be done with the medicine he insisted I take each day.
Well, almost done, at least. "Just make sure you take this every night still, Richard. Just one spoon of it. I'll have someone check on you tonight, at the campfire, and you'll be good to go." I nodded, happy to escape the building and explore my new home.
Violet brought Art and me down to the cabins. "You'll be in Cabin Eleven, Richard. I've brought your belongings in there already. But we've got one more thing to do before we go in there. Come here." She waved us over to a huge arena, and we went inside through a small tunnel.
Chiron looked over from a small group he was in the middle of teaching. "Arthur, Richard. Why don't you come join us?" I could tell he wanted to see Art's power with the storm, but my friend was hesitant. Violet grabbed three spears, giving us each one and keeping one for herself.
"You first, Violet. You know how to do this." She nodded, lifted her spear and tossed it a good twenty yards with seemingly no effort.
"Very good. Abby, you next." Everyone took turns throwing, some more successful than others. When it came my turn, I managed to heave the thing and toss it ten feet before my muscles started burning.
"Now that's skill, Richard. That's no beginner's luck. You may have gained some skills on the farm, of course. Arthur, your turn."
Art bit his lip, adjusting his hands. He finally lifted the spear over his shoulder to release it. As he did, a previously cloudy sky opened up once more, drenching everyone but him. In mid-flight, a bolt of lightning cracked down on his spear, nearly setting it on fire. Everyone took a step back, looking at Chiron for an answer.
He grimaced, finally kneeling down in the wet sand. Everyone else followed his example. "Hail, Arthur Conan Doyle. Son of Zeus, master of the skies, guardian of the eagle. Hail, child of thunder."
Being claimed never changed my best friend a single bit. He moved into Cabin One the following night, while I always remained in Cabin Eleven. We had about half of our schedules together during the week, and our free weekends were awesome for preparing our chariot.
But Art was worried about me, since I was still sick. "Richard, just stay here. I'm getting Timmy," he said nervously a few weeks later. We'd been spending some of our free time in the arena, practicing swordfighting, when another one of my old coughing bouts had struck. I did as he asked, unable to move.
He ran off, coming back soon enough with one of the other Cabin Seven kids. "Timmy's just finishing up with something, Richard," Art said as he knelt down by me. "He'll come over to help after he's done." I weakly nodded, spurring on yet another cough. I started feeling dizzy, deciding quickly to remain still while I waited.
Soon enough, I was unconscious.
Art shook me until I was alert. "Timmy's here, Rich. Just stay awake for him." Timmy bent down, and quickly realized I wouldn't be able to handle moving.
"Stay still, Richard. I've got some medicine. I just hope you can handle it all over again." I knew I could—weeks of swordfighting and training had strengthened my body. Even with all of my bruises, I thought I could handle anything.
This medicine? Not so much.
Even after I took it, I was feeling far too sick to attempt moving. Timmy carried me to the side of the arena, but he couldn't stop my next coughing fit, even with his trick. The summer rainstorms had taken their toll, and I was sicker than before.
Art made sure I was alright before daring to search for Chiron. But just after he left, a single cough started tickling at my throat. That one cough turned into my worst fit yet, where Timmy had to stop it from very nearly choking me.
Chiron came in just as I settled down again. "Timmy, how is he?" he asked as he took the canteen out. Art came in right behind him, staying a few paces away.
"Worst one yet. I'd prefer to have him back in the infirmary for a week or two, before I even consider letting him go." Timmy carefully readjusted my position, making sure I could breathe well enough. "But of course, given the fact that he is unable to move on his own, we'll need to help him." Slightly raised eyebrows asked the silent question that very much could have saved my life.
"Get on."
Timmy lifted me, gently setting me down on Chiron's horse body before vaulting on behind me. Chiron took off, running with all his might, and we arrived back at the main building within a couple of minutes. By then, though, I was very nearly unconscious—again. I fainted before we got inside.
After a few days, Timmy was pleased to see that I was finally alert enough to understand him. My breathing was somewhat better, though still ragged. With minor coughing only occurring once every half an hour, I was able to make it through the day without incident.
The next two weeks passed in much the same way, with occasional setbacks. Finally, Timmy was happy enough that the cool fall weather wouldn't harm me, and I was allowed to go outside.
Art and I took a walk through the forest, where he was setting up defenses for the night's game. We would be on the same team, if only I was strong enough to fight again. But I was happy with hearing stories of my friend adjusting to his new life. Having so many famous people as your siblings only went so far in the demigod world. You were expected to create your own path, somehow or other, which Art loved.
"I fancy writing, Richard," he admitted as we hiked back along the trail. "Writing mysteries, just like the one my whole cabin's involved in now."
I stared at him for a few seconds before he realized I didn't know about it. "My little sister, Lucy, just received a warning. She's begging us to bring her back to her grandparents' home in Kansas. There's someone from nearly every cabin involved. Even Chiron thinks something is going on."
As we arrived at the edge of the woods, we saw Timmy standing there, holding something. At first, I thought it was for me. But when he looked Arthur in the eye, I can tell it's more serious.
"What are these?" he asked quietly, holding something in the palm of his hand.
I count five of the things. Five orange pips.
Arthur quickly took them, examining their size, shape, and practically everything else about them. "Where did you find these?"
"Violet. She gasped and took off running when she opened an envelope at breakfast. Those were inside."
I knew what was coming next—the rational minded Arthur, quick to think of other options. "Is there any chance it was a reminder of some sort of event? It could be anything." But I know the look on his face all too well.
"Arthur, you might not believe it, but…somehow, someone just tried to kill her. And by now, they very well may have succeeded."
As soon as it became clear that Violet had a small chance at surviving with care, Arthur went to check on his little sister. Luckily, she was unharmed, though extremely scared. "Art, I don't want to be alone now." At seven years old, Lucy was one of the youngest at camp. I couldn't understand how anyone could ever try to harm her.
"Don't worry, Lu. I'll find Chiron, just for you, alright?" She nodded, and we headed over to the arena to drop her off. Afterward, we went over to the scene of the crime to look around.
Given the fact that so many people had been by the area since, Art didn't bother with his famous ten-minute footprint check. He went straight for where the blood stood out against the dry grass.
"Multiple wounds, from the pattern. One head, most likely with the hilt. One slash to the stomach. Go tell Timmy." I ran over to where the exhausted man was preparing to enter his cabin.
"What?" he asked when I relayed the news. "That head wound would be impossible. Unless it was done first, and it dried up somewhat when we found her. Hopefully, they'll figure it out. Gail decided to focus on the scene of the crime, and Abby on the victim, so you two won't be alone." I nodded, but as I turned to leave, Abby ran up.
"Timmy, she's a goner."
Two days later, we still had no clue about the murderer. Gail had been injured when she saw him, but she refused to say who it was, so everyone else was at a loss.
All we knew was a new rule had been created, allowing no one to go around camp alone. Specific times were set up for meetings, that way we'd be safe, but a couple of people had run from camp. It was clear why they did, too—another attack had been made. This time, Cabin Ten had received a warning hours before. The victim, a friendly young girl, exemplified the need to search for clues during her fight for survival. Arthur had moved from the off-limits scene to the victim herself. The pattern was extremely similar to the previous attack, a crushing head blow and a slash to the stomach. But there was less blood, so everyone knew she had a much better chance.
As Art considered his evidence while sitting with me during our free time, his little sister came running up, sobbing. "What is it, Lu?" he asked, prying a thin envelope from her hand. Inside were, yet again, the five orange pips.
"Oh, no," he muttered, shocked. "Lu, let's go. I'm having Chiron keep an eye on you now." But as he handed her the seemingly empty envelope, something else fell out. "What's this? Oh," he whispered. I could tell—his final puzzle piece had just slipped into place.
He stalked off, clearly violating rules, but no one cared. As he rounded the side of his cabin, he started yelling, suddenly cut off by a sharp blow. "Jesse James, member of the Ku Klux Klan and Knight of the Golden Circle—oh!" I ran over, but Lu got there moments before me, receiving a stunning blow to the head before I could fend off the attacker. It was the boy from the night we arrived, as I could see from the eyes, but he seemed different now. He was willing to do anything to have his way, but I had been practicing disarming maneuvers. After a few seconds of combat, he lost his weapon and galloped off on Art's old horse.
I quickly checked on Art, who had faked unconsciousness after being slashed a couple of times. The two of us hurried to aid little Lucy, and while Art kept her still, I ran for help.
A small group was preparing their weapons for an approach, but when they saw me, they ignored their fighting instincts to try and save the little seven-year-old. I went back with some of them to guard the area and fend off any other attacks. A few of them went toward Timmy, who hurried forward, and the rest went off to search for Chiron. Soon enough, quite a crowd had gathered.
Timmy immediately set to work, knowing that he didn't have long before a tiny girl like her would give in. He was able to help her enough so that, by the time Chiron arrived, she was ready to go into the infirmary. She was fine, though for all eternity, she distrusted those who dared to hurt her brother.
As for Arthur, he was able to get over the wounds after just a few days of rest. The hard work would sometimes bring it back on, but he never had to stop to make sure they weren't worse again.
Me? I'll always be the story-telling prankster in Art's mind. No matter what we do, I'm the one who tags along behind him.
A few weeks after Jesse James escaped punishment, Art finally agreed to explain his reasoning at the campfire.
"When I found out that two people had been injured after receiving the pips, I asked Chiron about it. He admitted that the symbol was used by the Ku Klux Klan, giving me my first clue.
"The next step in my deduction came when I realized injuries were only dealt to those people who, after receiving the pips, were entering their respective cabins alone. This told me that it mattered to the person who they targeted, since they would be attacking from behind if the person was leaving, and could not be sure of the identity of their victim before fleeing. Combining that with the Ku Klux Klan secret, I deduced that only Yankees and pro-abolitionists' children were likely to be targeted. The evidence supported the claim, pointing me south.
"That's when I worried for Lucy, since her mother is from New Hampshire. When she gave me her envelope, I knew she'd be next if she was ever allowed to enter our cabin alone. But what I hadn't thought is that Jesse James would put his name on a paper in her envelope. I knew, then, that I had missed out on one detail—none of the boys, the fighters, had been targeted. Jesse had probably expected that the boys would join his cause once they were weakened through their sisters' deaths. After all, he was one of the first people to join the Knights of the Golden Circle- the KGC."
A good number of the boys gasped when they heard this, purely through recognition. The KGC had raided camp, year after year. After Jesse James disappeared, they never came again. Our mission was a success.
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Another update in a couple of weeks, hopefully, and a 221B to start in the meantime.