Chapter Forty-One

Today was a very special day in the Vernet-Holmes family calendar – Uncle Rudi was getting an award of some sort, for Surfaces to the Crown? Or something like that. Six-year-old Sherlock Holmes was not sure about that bit and, also, didn't really care. He didn't like Uncle Rudi and he especially didn't like Uncle Rudi's house. It was dark and smelled musty and the walls were covered in pictures of horrible people who looked like Uncle Rudi, all with mean looks on their faces. Their eyes followed you, everywhere you went, like they were spying on you. That's what they were – they were Uncle Rudi's spies.

Little Sherlock very rarely came to Uncle Rudi's house. He wasn't often invited, thank goodness. It was usually only Mummy, Mycroft and Eurus who were invited which meant he could stay at home with Daddy. On the rare occasions that Daddy was invited, too, Sherlock was normally allowed to spend the day at Victor's house. Victor's mummy and daddy were very nice. They always made him feel welcome, even when he said things he shouldn't or made rude remarks, which was quite often. He didn't do it on purpose. His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own and would often come out with things that his brain hadn't even thought of. But Mr and Mrs Trevor would just laugh and tousle his hair and not get cross at all.

But, on this occasion, the Trevors were busy doing something else so there was no choice in the matter. Sherlock had to come.

Earlier in the day, it had just been him, Daddy and Eurus at Uncle Rudi's house because Uncle Rudi, Mummy and Mycroft had to go to 'the palace', wherever that might be. they'd dressed up in special clothes that Uncle Rudi paid for because Daddy and Mummy could never afford clothes like that, with a hat for Mummy and new shoes and a bag and everything. And Mycroft had a new suit that made him look like Uncle Rudi, except much fatter. But now, the whole family was here, with some other guests, too - friends of Uncle Rudi and just as boring. They had all eaten a special dinner to celebrate Uncle Rudi's award and now they were sitting in the only room in this house Sherlock could bear to be in, the only room that ever seemed to get any sunlight, the sitting room or 'drawing room', as Uncle Rudi called it, even though no one ever seemed to do any drawing in there.

Sherlock stood by the window, looking out at the garden. It was full of flowers, all different shapes, sizes and colours, and dancing from flower to flower were lots of butterflies, some of which Sherlock knew the names of – Cabbage White (though it didn't look much like a cabbage), Red Admiral (nothing to do with the navy but…), Peacock (though not a bird) Duke of Burgundy (though not a duke, either) and Painted Lady (but not a...oh, never mind.). Lots of big fat bees buzzed from flower to flower, too, fumbling around amongst the stamens, sucking up the nectar and gathering the pollen to take back to their homes. And lots of birds, too – blue tits, great tits, chaffinches, black birds, thrushes, bullfinches and lots, lots more. Sherlock wished he could be outside in the garden not stuck inside this dark, smelly house. He much preferred to be outside, even at home.

And the biggest problem of all was…he was bored.

Sherlock hated to be bored! It was his worst thing ever!

He turned his gaze from the window to glance around the room. Everyone was busy talking. Even Eurus, who had gotten rather snooty lately but could still be relied on, sometimes, for a bit of fun. Not as much fun as Victor, of course, or Redbeard as he preferred to be called. Him and Sherlock - or Blackbeard, though he didn't have beard at all - had the most fun, ever, with their pirate adventures. That's what he needed now – a pirate adventure, a treasure hunt, a raid on an enemy ship… And then he remembered…

Eurus had told him of a treasure, right here in this house, in Uncle Rudi's study, in fact. It was a cabinet full of carved wooden things – masks, spears, knives, shields and drums. According to Eurus, Uncle Rudi had brought them home from Africa, where he was an 'attaché' – whatever one of those was – to various Ambassadors – whatever those were – in lots of different African countries. Sherlock had never seen these treasures but now, with everyone else so busy talking, this was his chance. He slipped out of the room without anyone noticing and his adventure had begun.

His tiptoed along the corridor lined with pictures of mean, ugly people as quickly as he could, being sure to keep eyes and ears open for anyone who might be about. Uncle Rudi and all his guests were in the sunny room but there were still the servants to look out for. His uncle had a housekeeper, who cleaned and tidied, a cook, who made dinner and baked scones, and a man he called his 'vallay' who did just about everything else. He didn't want to be caught by any of them. He also made sure to hide his face from the ugly people, who spied for his uncle.

He arrived, at last, at the door to Uncle Rudi's study and listened at the key hole to check if anyone was inside. When he heard nothing, he applied his hand to the door handle and held his breath as he turned it, hoping against hope that it was not locked. He heard a click and the door fell open. With a silent cheer, he pushed it forward, slipped inside and closed it firmly then turned to face the dimly lit room…

Only to be confronted by a giant head sitting on top of a tall, wooden tower in the far corner of the room. It came as a bit of a shock and he stepped back, flattening himself against the door, staring in fright at the apparition. Then he realised it was a sort of statue, just a woman's head, with a stern, frowning face. Uncle Rudi only seemed to like stern things. Sherlock approached the statue and gazed up at the head with curiosity. The woman had thin lips, thick eyebrows and bushy mane of hair. He decided he didn't like her – mostly because his uncle obviously did. Underneath the head, at the top of the wooden tower, was a shiny metal plate with a name carved into it. He sounded it out.

'Mar-gar-et That-cher.'

Under the name was more writing which he couldn't be bothered to tackle, but a couple of words stood out, including Uncle Rudi's name and 'with thanks'. So, this must have been a 'thank you' present from someone to his uncle. He could think of many things he would rather have, to say 'thank you', than the ugly head of a nasty woman. And, having learned everything he cared to know about the statue, he turned his attention to the thing that had brought him here – the treasure cabinet. And there it was, against the side wall, a huge glass fronted case stretching from floor to ceiling, with eight shelves - he counted them – all full of carved, wooden objects, just as Eurus had said.

He could only really see the contents of the bottom four shelves. The rest were too high up, above his head, so he ignored those and concentrated on the lower ones. Eurus had not really done this treasure justice. The objects were much more interesting than she had implied.

The bottom shelf was full of drums of different sizes – some tall, some short, some fat, some thin – all made from hollow logs and covered with animal skins stretched across the open ends and attached either with metal pins or some sort of cord, running from one end to the other, keeping the skins tight. He wished he could bang them, hear the sound they made, but the cabinet's glass front ruled that out. Instead, he looked closely at the carvings on the outside of the logs. There were patterns and shapes and wavy lines and, occasionally, an animal's head – monkeys, snakes and birds. He was most impressed.

The next shelf up contained the masks – again, of different shapes and sizes – made from curved pieces of wood, heavily carved, with cut-out holes for the eyes, nose and mouth. Sherlock could just imagine himself and Redbeard wearing those masks and running around the grounds of Musgrave Hall, pretending they were in Africa, wherever that was.

Moving up to the third shelf, the one that held the knives and spears, he pressed his nose against the glass front to get a closer look…and then he heard the voices.

They were those of Uncle Rudi and Eurus and they were coming along the corridor, getting closer and closer to the study door.

Sherlock looked around, in a panic, for somewhere to hide and spotted the chaise longue, positioned under the window on the back wall, with the curtains dropping down to the floor at either end. He dived to the ground and crawled underneath the chaise, right to the back, into the gap between it and the wall, where he curled up small and went very still, trying to not even breath…and just in the nick of time. The study door opened and Uncle Rudi and Eurus came in.

'Come in, come in,' said Uncle Rudi, holding the door open. Sherlock watched from under the chaise as Eurus's feet crossed the threshold and entered the room. It was very dusty under here and the curtains were dusty, too. He could feel his skin prickling as the tiny particles of detritus, that had been disturbed by his rapid scramble into the space, settled on top of him. The housekeeper clearly did not clean properly under here.

'Sit, sit,' Uncle Rudi instructed, as he closed the door, then his feet moved around the desk and disappeared. Sherlock heard his chair scrape on the floor and knew he had sat down. Eurus's feet approached the winged chair in front of the desk and disappeared, too, as she climbed up to sit there.

'How are you getting on with our little project, child?' Uncle Rudi enquired. 'Have you been practicing?'

Eurus was always practicing her violin, Sherlock knew. She never needed to be reminded, unlike himself, who would much rather be outside, playing in the funny graveyard or paddling in the lake.

'Yes, Uncle Rudi, I've been practicing really hard,' Eurus declared.

'Alright, let me hear it,' Rudi replied.

Sherlock was confused. How could he hear Eurus play whatever it was she was practicing? She hadn't brought her violin.

Then she began to sing.

'I that am lost, oh, who will find me

Deep down below the old beech tree?

Help succour me now; the East winds blow.

Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go.'

She stopped there and said,

'That's a funny word, 'succour'. What does it mean?'

'Oh,' Rudi replied, 'it means to look after, to care for, to feed and to clothe. It's what people do for those they love.' He paused there, just for a moment, and then added,

'You will always find succour with me, my dear. I will feed you and clothe you and give you a place to live, always, as long as I have breath in my body.'

'Oh, thank you, Uncle Rudi!' Eurus gushed. Then, 'So, the person in the song… Are they asking someone to look after them?'

'Yes, in a way they are, my dear. In the song, you are asking your brother to help you.'

'So, why don't I just say, 'Sherlock, will you help me, please?'?'

'That would be no fun at all!' Rudi exclaimed, laughing light-heartedly. 'It's a puzzle, you see. You know how Sherlock loves a puzzle. But it has to be difficult, otherwise it wouldn't be a good puzzle, would it?'

Rudi laughed again and Eurus joined in, with delight.

It was a great surprise for Sherlock to hear his uncle and his sister planning some kind of treat for him. It wasn't his birthday or anything so why were they doing this? He listened closely, hoping to find an answer to that question.

'Please go on, child, sing the next part,' Rudi prompted.

'Be not afraid to walk in the shade

Save one, save all, come try

My steps - five by seven, Life is closer to Heaven.

Look down, with dark gaze, from on high.'

'Excellent, my dear, excellent,' Rudi enthused. 'You have been most diligent in your rehearsals! Now, the next part, please.'

'Without your love, he'll be gone before.

Save pity for strangers, show love the door.

My soul seek the shade of my willow's bloom

Inside, brother mine – Let Death make a room.'

'What a clever girl you are; you're doing so well!' Rudi enthused, full of praise. 'Just one more verse. On you go.'

'Before he was gone - right back over my hill.

Who now will find him? Why, nobody will.

Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen.

Lost forever, nine by nineteen.'

'Beautiful, beautiful,' Rudi cooed. 'Well done, my dear.'

'Thank you, uncle', Eurus replied, 'but what does it mean?' She seemed quite confused.

'Ah, that's the clever part. It's a code. When Sherlock breaks the code, he will know what to do. But you mustn't help him. He has to work it out himself.'

'Do you think he'll be able to work it out?' Eurus queried. 'Sherlock isn't very clever, you know.' She sounded dubious. 'Can't I even give him a clue?'

'Oh, no! No clues! That would spoil the game completely! Promise me, Eurus, that you will not give him any clues at all, even if he begs!'

She seemed reluctant and took a long time to answer but, eventually, said,

'Oh, alright, Uncle Rudi, I promise.'

'And you know what a promise means, don't you?'

'Yes, it means you have to do the thing you said you would do.'

'Or not do the thing you said you wouldn't?'

'Yes, and that as well.'

'Good girl,' Rudi declared.

Sherlock felt his nose begin to itch, from inhaling the dust in the air, but he dared not move, even to rub it, so he just tried to ignore the tickling and concentrate on listening.

'Now, tell me again about the game,' Rudi said. 'How are we going to make it work?'

Sherlock heard Eurus change her position in the chair and pictured her crossing one leg over the other and folding her arms, as she did when she was thinking. Then, she spoke again.

'Next time Redbeard comes around, I'll ask him if he want's to bury some treasure for Sherlock to find.'

'Yes…good…go on.'

'I'll take him to the Secret Place…our Secret Place.'

'Yes, our special Secret Place. And then? What will happen next?'

At that point, the tickling in his nose reached a critical point and Sherlock knew he was going to sneeze. He tried to stop it by quickly pinching his nostrils together between his fingers and thumb but the sneeze still made a sound, even though it was a small sound.

'Oh! What was that?' exclaimed Eurus.

There was an ominous pause and Sherlock held his breath, frigid with apprehension, wondering what he should do. Should he make a run for it, and try to get away? Or should he sit tight and hope that Rudi hadn't heard him? He was old, after all. And old people sometimes don't hear as well as younger people. He really hoped that was the case with his uncle.

Then Rudi stood up and his feet reappeared from behind the desk.

'It was nothing, child, absolutely nothing. But it's time for you to go back to Mummy and Daddy now.'

Sherlock watched Rudi's feet move towards the door and Eurus's appeared, again, as she slid down from the winged chair. The door opened and Eurus exited into the corridor.

'Off you go, my dear, back to the drawing room. I'll be along in a moment.'

Eurus skipped off, along the corridor, and Rudi closed the door then walked, slowly...strolled, even…towards the corner of the room where the statue of the stern lady stood. Unfortunately, that part of the room was outside the range of Sherlock's vision but he listened very hard, desperate to keep track of where his uncle was and what he was doing.

He was so scared. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could barely breath as he waited, rigid with fear, not knowing whether Uncle Rudi had heard him or not. Whether he was just attending to some important business and would then leave the room or whether he was plotting an ambush. And then he got his answer…

A hand reached under the chaise, grabbed Sherlock by the ankle and dragged him, unceremoniously, from his hiding place, dumping him in a heap on the rug, from where he stared up at his uncle, in terror.

'Well, what have we here?' Uncle Rudi hissed and his eyes, as well as his voice, reminded Sherlock of a snake. 'A little mole, I think! Are you spying on me, boy?' Rudi roared.

'No! No! I just came to see the treasure!' squealed Sherlock.

Uncle Rudi, who had been looming over him, suddenly stood up straight, looking mildly surprised, and Sherlock saw his chance. He rolled over, jumped up and ran for the door. Grabbing the handle, he turned and pulled…but nothing happened. He pulled again…and again…and then again. The door remained resolutely closed. Turning slowly, he pressed his back to the wooden barrier and gazed in trepidation at his uncle, who stood in the middle of the room, smiling a wicked smile and swinging the door key from the end of his finger. Sherlock was at his mercy and a sense of doom descended upon him.

'Come over here, boy,' Rudi growled, slipping the key into his pocket and clasping his hands behind his back.

Sherlock hesitated, really not keen to approach this dangerous man, but he realised he had no choice in the matter. He stepped forward, cautiously, until he stood on the rug, feeling small and exposed, quaking under his uncle's malevolent stare.

'What treasure did you come to see?' Rudi asked, his voice softer and less threatening…friendly, even.

'The wooden things,' Sherlock replied, in a timid whisper, extending a hand to point at the glass-fronted cabinet.

'Oh, those old things?' Rudi enquired, inclining his head towards the cabinet.

Sherlock nodded, rapidly.

'Come, come, then,' Rudi invited. 'Feel free.'

Sherlock was hesitant. Could he trust this man? Was he being honest or was he trying to trick him? He couldn't be sure but, since he was at the man's mercy anyway, he felt he must comply. He walked towards the treasure cabinet, his eyes sliding sideways, keeping tabs on his uncle, on the lookout for any sudden movements as he passed. But, when it came, the attack was so swift, so sudden, he was helpless to resist.

Just as Sherlock had almost passed him by, Rudi's arm shot out with the speed of a striking cobra and grabbed him by the neck, fingers closing around his throat. Sherlock yelped in alarm and grabbed Rudi's wrist with both his hands, staring up at him in shock.

'What did you hear?' Rudi hissed.

'N-n-n-nothing!' Sherlock squeaked, his ability to speak constrained by the grip on his throat.

'Don't lie to me, boy! What did you hear?'

'A song! A song! Just a silly song!'

'What was the song about?'

'I don't know! It was silly! It didn't make sense!'

Rudi narrowed his eyes and his gaze bored into Sherlock like a drill.

'Listen to me, boy, and listen well.' Rudi leant forward, bringing his face very close to Sherlock's. His breath stank of garlic from the roast lamb they had eaten for lunch…which Sherlock had left on his plate because it tasted disgusting.

'If you ever breathe a single word of anything you have heard in this room, today,' Rudi growled, emphasising certain words with increasing pressure on Sherlock's windpipe, causing him to gasp for air, 'I will take you to the lake at Musgrave Hall. I will put you in the water and I will hold you down until the very last breath has left your puny little body. Do you understand?'

Sherlock nodded, franticly, making maximum use of the minimal amount of movement he could make with his head.

His uncle pursed his lips and held his gaze for several seconds more and then, suddenly, released him, at which Sherlock dropped to the floor, coughing and spluttering and holding his throat, utterly petrified.

'Now, get out!' Rudi hissed, from over by the door, to where he had miraculously moved while Sherlock was recovering his breath. He took out the key, slowly, for dramatic effect and fitted it into the lock, turned it and opened the door, then stood, holding it open, inviting Sherlock to pass…which he didn't dare, at first, too afraid that his uncle might grab him again. But, in the end, the way to freedom beckoned and he advanced, nervously, his eyes fixed on Rudi like a frightened rabbit.

Just as he got to the door, his uncle put out a hand to bar his way. Sherlock looked up into those penetrating eyes.

'Remember…Not. One. Word.'

Sherlock nodded, the hand moved away, and he bolted from the room, down the corridor and back to the sitting room, where his parents were still sat around, chatting as though absolutely nothing had just happened. When Sherlock burst in, looking wild eyed and dishevelled, Mycroft glanced across, gave a bored tut and looked away again. Mummy was deep in conversation with some woman or other and didn't even notice her son's sudden arrival. Eurus gave him a quizzical look but nothing more. Only his father seemed to notice that something was not right.

'Sherlock, come here,' he entreated, opening his arms, invitingly.

Sherlock ran to him and threw himself into those arms, trembling with fear.

'What is it, son?' his father asked. 'What's the matter? And…you're covered in dust! How did you get so dirty?'

'Can we go home now, Daddy?' Sherlock whimpered. 'I don't like it here.'

'Soon, son, soon,' his father moued, clearly not enjoying himself much, either. 'Just a bit longer and then we'll escape, hey?' His father winked at him and Sherlock threw his arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

'Sherlock? Sherlock? Can you hear me?'

Sherlock's eyelids flickered and then opened slowly.

He was lying on the floor, in his parent's kitchen, his cheek resting on the cold stone flags of the 17th Century cottage, and his father's face swam into view, looking anxious and concerned.

'Can you hear me?' his father asked again.

'Yes,' Sherlock murmured, very disorientated. 'What am I doing on the floor? How did I get here?' he mumbled.

'I think you fainted, son,' his father replied.

'Really?' Sherlock didn't remember ever fainting before.

'Yes,' his father confirmed. 'One minute you were standing there and the next, you were on the ground. Gave us all a bit of a fright.'

Sherlock turned his head to look around and saw two more faces peering down at him – Mycroft and his mother…and, on locking eyes with her, his expression changed to one of great consternation.

'It was him!' he gasped. 'He planned it all. He put her up to it. He did it.'

ooOoo