Chapter VIII: In Which Things Get Campy (Oh, Lord, That Was Awful…)
Shenlock Holmes and Dr. Crane had taken a wagon from the harbor out to the commune. Holmes held his head down, eyes closed; to the outside observer, he appeared to be asleep, but Dr. Crane knew better; he was taking in the road. The smells and sounds of the woods around them. The temperature of the air, the breeze between the trees, the feeling of the wagon bumping along beneath him.
With Holmes, "sightseeing" took on a new meaning.
It was late in the afternoon when the wagon was stopped by a pair of French pheasants.
"Arret!" they exclaimed.
"We're here," Crane said to Holmes, flatly.
"Brace yourself," Holmes grumbled. "I believe we are going to be...violated…"
Crane snorted.
"Don't be so cynical, Shenlock," he dismissed, then turned back to the pheasants. "Bonjour! Que nous recherchons Madame Xion…?"
"Oh, oui! Xion! Suivez-nous!" the pheasants said, with beaming, mischievous grins, and darted off.
Crane smiled back, before he and Holmes followed in the wagon…
He wasn't smiling for very long, after the gypsies led the two off the cart, into the camp, where dozens more pheasants greeted them...
"They've taken my luggage…"
"Don't worry, dear Crane, I have her bag-"
"You mean you HAD her bag."
"...Oops."
"Oh, and now they have my hat! Lovely."
"Well, I did try to warn you…"
A pheasant in a floppy hat stopped them, and spread his wings over theirs jovially.
"I am Tamas," he smiled.
"Very nice," grumbled Crane. "Now, please, where is Lady Xion? Ou est Xion?"
"Here!"
The peacock and the crane looked down...at a large rock.
"...Really."
Tamas nodded, smiling hugely.
"...Xion's a rock."
Tamas cackled with laughter stepping in front of both birds.
"Funny, no?"
Neither replied.
Tamas smirked, and tore the scarf from around Crane's neck.
"Nice scarf," he said, smoothly. "I like it-"
WHACK!
Tamas was bowled over, his floppy hat falling from his head at the force of the kick Crane had launched.
The chattering of the pheasant gypsies subsided, and a few of them reached for knives, or furrowed their talons into the ground, glaring daggers at the two Asian birds…
Crane chuckled nervously.
Holmes sighed.
"It's about her brother," he called out.
"Masamune?"
The detective and his friend turned to the source of the voice...as a java blue peahen stepped out, holding her carpetbag.
Her eyes flashed in recognition as she looked at Holmes.
"...You."
"Me."
"...Who are you?"
"My name is Shenlock Holmes. This is Dr. Crane, my associate."
"And what do you want?"
"To help you."
For a while there was silence. It was broken by Tamas rising, picking up his hat, and lunging for Crane...only to be stopped by Xion's wing.
"Are you hungry?" the peahen asked, calmly.
"Famished."
About an hour later, the four birds were all inside Lady Xion's tent, feasting on a curious stew.
"Madam," Holmes spoke up after a while, "this is an exquisite porcupine-needle goulash...I can't remember having had better…"
Crane chortled softly, trying not to choke, then looked up at Holmes.
"Tell me, Shenlock...when was the last time you had porcupine-needle goulash?"
"I told you, doctor, I can't remember."
"Well, perhaps you're too fragile, and have suppressed it…"
"Unlike you, I suppress nothing."
"Oh, I'm sure that's perfectly normal…"
"You know I'm anything but. And I think you ought to be a little more considerate towards Lady Xion. She's invited us into her tent, offered us her...porcupine-needles…"
"Says the detective who throws females off trains."
"Children, enough," smirked Lady Xion, and smirked wider as the two jumped like scalded cats. "Now, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell me why a flamingo was out to kill me back in China?"
"Your brother has become involved with a very dangerous character," Holmes replied.
"He clearly believes Masamune has told you something you shouldn't know," added Dr. Crane.
"I don't know anything," sighed Xion. "I wish I did; it would be better than being targeted for a false alarm. I've been searching for him for over a year now...that's why I was in that club in the first place. I have family in China…"
"I would never have guessed…"
"They were the last people to see him."
"Well, the message contained nothing of obvious significance," Holmes recalled. "And, as he clearly loves you, being your brother, he'd never intentionally put you in harm's way…"
"Has he sent you anything else?" asked Dr. Crane.
Lady Xion shrugged.
"Just a few drawings; Masamune was an artist."
"Really?" Holmes said, eyes widening and head feathers rising. "May we see them?"
Xion nodded to Tamas, who handed a small stack of papers to Dr. Crane, who then showed them to Holmes. The charcoal drawings on the papers were strange in their subject matter...snippets of rooms and corridors, a watchtower, a hospital bed…
"Hmm...interesting choice of paper," murmured Holmes. "Thicker gauge than usual...the same stock used in his letter, in fact…"
"This stuff's used in printing presses," Crane affirmed, and sniffed it. "Ugh...musty. They were stored somewhere dank…"
"A wine cellar," Holmes clarified quickly, noting a small smudge on the edge of one drawing, and licking it. "Mmm...excellent vintage…"
"So, a wine cellar located very close to a printing press?"
"Elementary, my dear Crane," nodded the peacock, and turned towards the gypsies. "Ring any bells?"
Lady Xion blanched, and she and Tamas looked at each other nervously.
"He said he'd never go back," whispered Tamas.
"Go back where?"
"To Sangatsu."
"Who?" asked Dr. Crane.
"A bombmaker," Holmes said. "I know the name from the French police; I sampled some of his work when Dr. Ping was targeted…"
"He's an anarchist. His headquarters is hidden in a wine cellar; they have a printing press there for...obvious reasons," Xion explained, then paused before saying, "We were part of his group for a while, until it got too extreme for our tastes. Sangatsu and my family were close; he didn't go after us. He wouldn't."
"It seems his little band has been put under the iron claws of our darling professor," Holmes groused. "He may not have any other choice."
"Sangatsu knows me, still," Xion said softly. "If Masamune is, or was, ever there recently...he'd know. And he'd let us know."
"Would it be possible to set a meeting with him?"
Xion smirked, and turned to Tamas.
"Fixer un rendez-vous avec notre ami, s'il vous plait."
"Oui, madame," Tamas replied, and left, still wearing Crane's scarf.
"We leave tomorrow," Lady Xion said.
"Marvelous. Anything to drink?"
