Chapter Two - Into the Deep

Molly picked up her basket and headed through the trees and around the thickets to the abandoned wood cutter's hut she had been calling home for the past several days. No one had lived here since old Callum Woodsman had stumbled into the village one early spring ten years before. More dead than alive, his dying tale of ghosts and attacking wolves put fear into the bravest villager. That's what came of living so close to the deep forest everyone said, and no one would go near the place from that time on. She had hoped to be able to stay here and even make it her permanent home until the potion wore off to the point of being able to return to the village again. Molly had even started making rudimentary repairs in the hope of making the hut more weather resistant. Well, that was all for naught now. Either Bodrin would return or someone would take his story seriously and come to investigate. She would need to leave first light tomorrow morning if she were to escape. Molly sighed in frustration. She had no choice, it would have to be the deep forest. Any other direction would put her into the territories of other villages. She didn't relish the thought of what would happen to her if she were captured by strangers.

- ะค -

Molly awoke early the next morning. First she wrapped what was left of the two rabbits she had roasted over the fire in the hearth the night before in a small cloth and placed them at the bottom of her basket. Next, herbs she had managed to dry were carefully rolled into small pieces of rag, placed into a leather pouch and put on top of the rabbits. Next, her small knife for cutting herbs was added. Finally, she folded her few pieces of spare clothing neatly and placed them in the center of her one ratty blanket. Checking the pouch that contained her sling and several stones and the small book which had belonged to her father which she was never without, then attached it to her skirts. She was ready to leave. When she had fled the village, with six love-lorn men chasing her, she had only the contents of her basket, her walking staff, and the clothes on her back. Since that time she had added a blanket, three pair of knickers and an extra dress complements of Mistress Duncan's washline. It wasn't much, but it would do. Picking up the walking staff, she opened the door and stepped out into the misty morning where she abruptly stopped and stared into the trees.

She wasn't alone. There, leaning casually against a tree trunk, was the tallest man she had ever seen. Not only was he tall, he was difficult to see clearly. His dark brown cloak blended well in the surrounding forest. Only his pale face was easily discernable beneath a shock of curly black hair topped with a pointy hat that matched the cloak.

"Who ever you are, go away!" Molly cried in frustration. "Don't come any nearer, I don't feel like dealing with the likes of you this morning so just go away and leave me in peace."

"Whom." A deep voice corrected.

"Wh-what?" Molly stuttered in a confused tone.

"It's 'whom ever you are, go away,'" corrected the deep baritone voice of the man as he pushed away from the tree and took a step closer.

"St-stop right there! Don't come any closer." Molly warned as she dropped her blanket bundle, balanced her feet and maneuvered her walking stick across her body. Holding it in both hands, she revealed its true purpose of actually being a quarterstaff.

" Interesting. Do you know how to use that thing?" the stranger asked in a rather indifferent tone.

"Yes I do." Molly said bravely as she watched him come a few steps toward her.

He was now close enough for Molly to engage with her staff. He didn't threaten her or move closer. He simply stood and gazed at her with cool blue eyes as if he were making up his mind about something. He took a deep breath and began to speak rapidly.

"You are Molly Hooper." It wasn't a question, he was simply stating a fact. "I can see from your basket you are an herbalist and potion maker. Your shoes indicate you have been near a bog recently, gathering mallow I suspect. The only bog in the area is some distance on the other side of the village, therefore you have been traveling for a time. This hut you have been staying in has been repaired, but not extensively, so either you don't plan to stay here long or you have just recently arrived. You have been living rough for several weeks yet your body is healthy and well conditioned. Therefore you must be adept in foraging, and the cooking odor coming from your hut last night indicates you must be at least a fair game hunter. I suspect you have a sling in the pouch at your waist. Your clothing is loose and ill fitting. Judging from outdated and frankly matronly style, I'd say you nicked them somewhere. Am I right?"

Molly's mouth fell open. "It wasn't mallow, it was slipperwart." Molly said as she stared at the stranger in amazement. He shook his head and mumbled something about always missing something.

"That's incredible!" she breathed.

The man smirked and preened a little but said nothing.

"How did you know my name?"

"It was a calculated risk," he admitted. "but a logical one. There aren't that many herbalists about and your name was mentioned several times as I passed through villages in the area. You are quite famous you know, you are known far and wide as the herbalist who saved everyone who fell to the dreaded sleeping sickness three years ago. And if that is not enough, you are especially famous since your recent - ah - accident." He smirked openly this time.

Molly jumped. She had been so enthralled with the stranger's story she had temporarily forgotten about her problem. The man just stood there looking at her. By this time he should at least be declaring his undying love. Was the potion finally worn off? She sniffed her hand. No, it was still there. The stench of rosemary and honey was very distinct. Why wasn't he reacting?

The stranger just stood watching her, the smirk still obvious on his face. It was if he was watching her mind process her thoughts.

"The potion," Molly asked gently, "why aren't you affected? Are you an eunuch?"

The tall man gave her a highly offended snort. "Indeed not!"

"Sorry." Molly said. "Are you a woman in disguise?"

If she thought he was offended with her first question her last one left no doubt as to his ire.

"No!" He growled loudly in his deep voice. His face changed rapidly and the smirk reappeared as he asked in a rather dangerous tone, "Would you like me to prove it?

"No, that won't be necessary." Molly hurriedly assured him. The man was so thin see could easily see his adam's apple, and no woman could match that deep voice. "I'm sorry, that was a quite stupid question. Please forgive me. It's just, well, all men are affected by this particular potion. How is it that you are not?"

Watching his expression change yet again, Molly hastened to add, "I don't mean to offend you in any way, I just don't understand. Why aren't you affected?"

"I," the stranger informed her haughtily, "am not just any man! I do not succumb to ridiculous fantasies, I am above such pitiful expressions of emotional slavery! I have divorced myself from degrading acts of sentiment and have dedicated myself totally to my work!"

"Besides, I am immune to all love potions." The last remark was added as an afterthought.

"Oh." Molly said in a small voice. She was overwhelmed. The man's rapid speech echoed in her head as her brain struggled to keep up.

"Who are you?" she finally asked. "What do you want?"

"I am Sherlock of Holmes," the man rather importantly announced. He seemed rather disappointed when she gave no reaction.

"Was he supposed to be famous or someone important?" Molly wondered.

"As to your second question, I came here to fetch you. You are needed in the Kingdom of Holmes. An herbalist is needed, and as you are the best, that means you are required."

"Don't you have herbalists in Holmes?" Molly asked in confusion. Why had he come all this way just to get her?

"They all died of the sleeping sickness." Sherlock said grimly.

Now Molly understood. Only the best herbalists could make the draught that would cure the dreaded disease.

"There's a problem," Molly said quietly. "I won't be able to do my work if the love potion is still in effect."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "It will probably be worn off by the time we get to Holmes." He paused for a moment and then rather grimly continued, "if it hasn't, I know a way to neutralize it."

"Okay..." Molly said hesitantly, looking the man in the eyes. What was going on? Whatever his method to fix the potion, he didn't appear eager to try it.

"Where is Holmes?" she asked, changing the subject. If she was going to go there, she would like to at least have a general idea of where she was headed.

Sherlock looked at her solemnly. "It is a long journey," he said at last. "The Kingdom of Holmes is on the far side of the deep forest. He pointed to the foreboding horizon in the distance.

Molly swallowed. Perhaps it was for the best that they were going together. At least she wouldn't be alone. She nodded to him, picked up her bundle once more and said, "Lead on Sir Luck"

"It's Sher - lock," his voice floated back as they headed across the clearing.

What kind of name is that? Molly wondered as she followed her new companion into the deep.