Chapter 14

Every bit of Tess Atker's body, from toes to hair, hurt in more ways than she had thought possible. But someone was knocking at the front door to Etta Candy's flat, and as of this morning, when Tess assured Etta and Eve she'd be fine; they should go about their errands and besides, 'probly sleep the whole day', she'd said; Tess was alone. She struggled from the chair and foot-rest Etta had set for her, along with the recently-added side table over-supplied with various newspapers; magazines; books; an extra blanket; a stereopticon with card set entitled 'Travels of the World'; the serving tray Etta kept almost constantly filled with tea and nibbles; and hobbled to the door. Every movement burned or throbbed or ached, but Tess had vowed to manage without any more help than was absolutely necessary, and she was determined not to be an invalid despite how much help she'd been offered.

The rasp of metal against wood sounded three more times just as Tess reached the doorway. "I'm not alone", she called in her strongest voice.

"Miss Atker?" a man's voice returned, full and cultured while edging a bit toward the higher ranges. "It is Sherlock Holmes. Have you a moment?"

Tess unlocked the door and cracked it just enough to peek at her visitor; although if anyone had tried to force their way in, she hadn't the strength the oppose. "Mr. Holmes," Tess smiled as best she could. "Weren't expecting you. Come in" she offered, tugging the door open despite the pain in her shoulder.

"I trust this isn't poor timing" Holmes stated, upon entering immediately deducing Tess was the only person in the house. At some point between Whitechapel and Etta's door-steps, he had removed the false mustache and sideburns; pocketed the eyeglasses; reversed his shirt collar so that it no longer appeared as that of a man of the cloth; brushed his hair; and disposed of the cotton he'd held inside his mouth, returning his cheeks to their usual drawn appearance. He hadn't the time or clothing to change from his plain and shiny suit, but that was of little matter.

"Naw, Mr. Holmes. Just...tidying up the place, ya know." Tess lifted a random decoration and replaced it to almost its same position. "Only time's a body can get anything done. Etta and Eve just stepped out for a moment." From these few minutes of effort she was already tiring.

"Then perhaps I'll soon have the pleasure of their company. But it's you I've come to see; I've a concern I was hoping we would find an opportunity to discuss. Would it be more convenient if we sat?" he suggested, recognising Tess was quickly fading.

"Me? Oh, where's my manners. Yes, please sit" she gestured around the room. "Wouldn't do me any harm to get of my feet for a bit." She eased into her chair with an audible sigh.

"Miss Atker, I'm concerned about your health." Holmes took a seat at the edge of the couch, nearest Tess but still feet away.

"Oh, I'm doing well" Tess answered. "A course, some time's it's a bit worse than others, but we all got our crosses." She painfully inched her blanket around her torso, which Holmes noticed but determined Tess's pride was more important than his gallantry.

"Injuries such as yours; compounded one upon another; should be cared for in a hospital, not a friends sitting room."

"I'm not goin' back into one of them hospitals. People die in hospitals."

"Excellent observation with which I'll not disagree. However, there are many situations in which people may die...nevertheless, it is not only your physical condition which concerns me; but your mental state."

"You're not sayin' I'm goin' batty, 're you, Mr. Holmes?" Tess started to laugh before stabbing pains in her chest and back limited her to an awkward grimace.

"Perhaps that was an inadequate word; not your mental health, as much as your emotional. The female psyche was not intended to endure hardships; although I am sad to state such hardships occur far too often. In my experience, the mind heals far more slowly than the body; occasionally, never. Women, with their greater sensibilities and heightened nature, are particularly susceptible to symptoms of neurosis and melancholia brought about by un-necessary suffering."

"What's it to you?" Tess challenged, seeing Holmes had little knowledge of the amount of pain nearly every woman silently suffers and certainly no idea of the pain and loss she'd known in her life.

"In many ways, I feel responsible for your injuries. I had attempted to warn Miss Prince of the dangers and difficulties of her proposed actions, but to no use. Actually, having only been introduced, I had little faith she'd follow through with her intentions. At the time, I didn't realise she is of such a...willful personality. Still, if I had been more perceptive and less prone to assumption, I could have foreseen both the efforts of you and your companions and taken steps to lessen the dangers. And for my failures, I am sorry."

"Tweren't nothin', Mr. Holmes. Diana said she didn't want you 'round, anyways."

"I see. One day, perhaps, she and I will have the opportunity to come to an understanding. But I know, Miss Atker; too well; the tolls of trauma and nerves. I admire and respect your desire to, as is the physicians creed 'heal thyself'; a point upon which Watson and I ironically disagree." Holmes pulled from the interior pocket of his jacket a small black leather box; not much wider or longer than a cigarette case but twice as thick, secured with a small brass clasp. "And that is why I've found this quite helpful in overcoming those occurrences of...greyness."

He opened the lid and turned the container toward Tess, revealing compartments fitted with a metal and glass syringe and set of needles and series of small glass vials, all innocently enfolded in velvet.

Tesses' eyes blinked in disbelief and her body involuntarily shuddered. "Is that the cocaine?"

"Of the same family. Processed to my own specifications to remove the more undesirable components one might find in a typical formulation. I trust you are not familiar?"

"Ah, no, Mr. Holmes. Seen some on it, 'n it leads to no good. Got the devil in it, I've heard."

"I doubt any supernatural being would confine itself to such rudimentary influence. The Devil, as it were, is as much in the application as in the product. It is true that if taken to extremes, either in quantity or frequency, a man can find evil in most anything. But under my direction, I believe you will find its abilities to calm and heal of far more worth than any potential harm."

"You're sayin' that will help...me get back to myself?"

"Under the proper direction."

Tess was hesitant, but knew; or believed she knew; Sherlock Holmes would suggest only with the best intentions and he assured her only a few dosages would make a world of difference. Under his instruction by word and example, she tied the handkerchief around her upper arm; paused no more than a second and drove the needle through flesh, pushing the plunger until the syringe was empty. She would have liked to have closed her eyes and turned her head away, as she did years ago when the doctors had told her the medicine would keep away the smallpox, but there were no doctors near and she had to do this herself, Mr. Holmes had said.

Even as he tucked the blanket around her and made certain she was comfortable, Tess began to doze away, her pains of body and mind fading; but this wasn't like sleep, she thought; the pains didn't fade as much as they floated, still present but slightly removed as if her body had been loosened and became something she could choose to occupy or not. She knew Sherlock Holmes had stepped onto the front steps, pulled the door closed behind him and rattled the latch to confirm it had locked; but Tess held no care. She felt as though she could sleep like this for days.

Chapter 15

"A body would think you boys hadn't eaten in weeks" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she replaced the second tray of biscuits; butter; jam; tarts; and sandwiches that she'd arranged on the initial platter as delicately constructed layers of spread and filling between crust-less bread but by this third serving had evolved into pieces of meat and cheese stuffed between the halves of any roll that had been in the kitchen.

"Naw, we eat all the time" Stinks explained. "Jus' nothin' as good."

"Once you've completed your banquet," Holmes announced, now dressed in creased pants and house-jacket with no traces of costume remaining, "we must proceed with our work. Time grows short."

"With ya in a minute" Jack replied, stuffing two tarts into his mouth which he started to wipe onto his shirtsleeve until Mrs. Hudson unceremoniously pushed a napkin into his hand. Around the table, the other boys took the clue and grabbed at nearby linens, two dipping the cloths into their water glasses before rubbing their faces and others letting out loud burps of satisfaction, which was too much for Mrs. Hudson who replied with a shocked "Hrumpph!" and retreated to the kitchen.

"Gather 'round the fire" Holmes announced, un-folding a map of London on a low table between six chairs he'd arranged in a circle.

"There eren't no after-dinner smokes?" Pockets suggested.

"No," Holmes answered, somewhat surprised although hardly shocked. "Mrs. Hudson shall be spared any further indignities. Now," he began as the boys jostled for places, each perceived as slightly preferable to another although all were basically the same, "you are aware of the series of crimes and inexplicable occurrences which have befallen London in the past weeks: Women assaulted and jewels thieved; attacks suffered by citizens who hold no connections or association. Suspects, when apprehended descending into mental collapse and those who evade arrest appearing free in body while behaving as if mesmerized. Un-explained deaths of people and animals; and reports of a child, or child-sized person, near at hand during many such events."

"Yah, but it eren't no boy that's doin' all that" Arthur offered. "Pockets and Lil and me think it's some kinda goblin."

"Ur maybe a elf but they aren' usely alone."

"Be that as it may, this afternoon I chanced upon information concerning an individual long known by the police as having engaged in colorful but rather harmless crimes, who, as my contacts state, is now 'onto something big'; rumour that this something involves the accumulation and manipulation of large quantities of gemstones; that he has secured the assistance of numerous crooks, cons, and riffraff engaged toward this goal; that, within London's criminal underworld he is known for outrageous claims of mental acuity and 'physic manipulation'; and..." Holmes paused, glancing from boy to boy who hung on his every word; "...this person can be readily-identified by his embodiment of dwarfism."

"Ya' mean he's a runt?" Jack suggested.

"I've always believed that manner of nonspecific colloquialism results in unfair categorization. Watson, whom I've cabled to confirm the symptoms and effects of such a condition, affirms 'dwarfism' is the accepted medical term, however until I am corrected otherwise I prefer to refer to 'a person of unfortunate deformity'."

"Then this, uh, cripple, you think he's the one behind it all, Mr. Homes?" Arthur asked. " 'N all we gotta do is stop 'im?"

"At cause? So the evidence suggests. Preventing his further actions is another matter. You see," he drew the boy's attention to the map, "if he, or any other, is the centre of an elaborate scheme, he must operate from an established position; a 'base of operations', if you would. I have uncovered no information as to such a location, however we can easily deduce the most likely probabilities based upon previous crimes. In these three areas," he circled each in pencil, "have occurred the majority of assaults. Here," he identified, "is the location where Miss Prince and her companions encountered and detained three suspects; in addition to reporting having seen a 'small boy' lurking about, which has also been reported here; here; here; and here" each he marked with a large 'X'. "And the sudden and temporary sequence of mysterious deaths, largely of pigeons, stray dogs and alley-way cats but also resulting in the deaths of at least two humans, occurred within this radius."

"That's all 'bout the same place" Lil observed.

"Yea, other side atha' Thames, where all those factories're." Stinks noted.

"And what other do you see?" Holmes asked.

"Well, there's the tracks" Pockets added.

" 'N streets 'n streets 'a flats" Arthur said.

" An' just opposite, Westminster, an' all them governm't buildings, an' the King's house" Jack recognised.

"That's correct" Holmes affirmed. "While centered at Vauxhall, virtually every point we've specified is within two miles of Buckingham Palace; Parliament; Number 10, Downing Street; Westminster Abbey; and the centre of London. The heart of the Empire."

"Then we gotta go to Vauxhall, Mr. Holmes. We can find'im, and you can stop 'im."

"If only it were so simple, Jack. Vauxhall is a large area filled with circuitous routes, impasses, and blind corners. We will, of course, reconnoitre to the best of our abilities and seek out whatever information we may, factual or hearsay, the plans of which we will discuss forthwith; but without personal witness we can only hope our work is completed with sufficient haste to prevent additional deaths; or before the main objective of these foul crimes, whatever that may be, is accomplished."

"Yu' ain't heard nothing more, Mr. Holmes? Jus' he's a little fella with big ideas?"

"If one is at the right place, listening more than talking, there are names bandied about, the accuracy of which I am uncertain but include the honorifics 'Bossman'; 'the Doc', which I have been unable to determine refers to medical credentials or vanity; and the most distinctive clue, the name 'Cizko'."