~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock Holmes was tired of standing in a corner at parties. Sometimes, he'd rather be in with people or not in a party at all. There were hundreds of people standing and sitting around in close circles, while chatting, laughing, and drinking. He felt faint from the smells of perfumes, alcoholic beverages, and closely packed Homo sapiens.
"Sherlock, there you are. Come with me," Alinere took his arm and literally dragged him toward a more secluded section of the main ballroom.
His first reaction was surprise and confusion, then he realized they weren't alone. There were several young men sitting at a table. Upon their entrance, they all stood up and greeted deferentially, "Lady Alinere."
"You have already met these relatives of mine, haven't you, Mr. Holmes?" Yes, he had, as a matter of fact, always heard their names mentioned in the newspapers and dinner discussions. They were sons of very influential people. One was a first cousin of the Prince of Wales, two were sons of foreign ministers from France and Austria, and of the rest of the five were two sons of peerage and three were peers themselves. "They had all studied fencing under my uncle, and they are just dying to meet you." Of the eight, the oldest was a few years older than Holmes, and the youngest was about Alinere's age.
The youngest, who was introduced as Lord Maurice Hughenfort, a Hughenfort of the Justice Hall, spoke first, "Lady Alinere had mentioned to us about your system of perfect reasoning. I'm very eager to know more about it, Mr. Holmes." He was short and a little on the plump side but had a sharp chin and keen dark eyes.
It had been so long since he belonged to a group. They spoke eloquently and brilliantly. They were all very intelligent young men, and their discussion touched upon every aspect of society. It was not until later that he realized that as the only female of the group, Lady Alinere was actually the leader. It was not until much later that he realized she was their leader, in many senses.
"So, how are the eager young minds of tomorrow?" Lord Wilkins came up to them with Holmes' father, who frowned immensely at Sherlock.
"We are just discussing French literature, Uncle," Edward Rubrius, the young Duke of Hanmel said brightly. No, actually they had been talking about democracy and the makings of government.
"Ah," Lord Wilkins exclaimed in his usual way, "the wonder years, you shan't bother them, should we? Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock's father opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then though better of it, and left with his host.
"That is your father?" Edward remarked as he took a sip from his wineglass.
"Yes, Your Grace," Holmes turned to him, "by the way, does the air of Yorkshire agree with you much better than France?"
The Duke's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, he turned his head to his sibling, "Cousin Alinere, I could not believe what Uncle said about him. I see now they were true." He faced Holmes once again, "just how did you know that, Mr. Holmes?"
He related to him, beside the obvious details, evidences from the boots he was wearing to a scrape of lint on his shirt. Perhaps he was becoming quite a conceited ass, but the others clamored at his amazing ability. Lady Alinere sat at the side, viewed the scene with a tiny smile at her lips. Plan was proceeding as arranged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mycroft, what do you make of it?" he had been reading the newspaper, Holmes' notes, and looking at the sketches for almost an hour now. They had retired to the rooms that Lord Wilkins had prepared for them. Holmes had shown his collection of data, which were tugged safely in his small suitcase among his shirts and trousers, to his much smarter older brother.
He just shook his head, "insufficient data, although I wouldn't be so snappy about confirming the woman done it, at least not by herself." Yes! Yes! That was exactly what he thought.
"Yes, see here," he pointed, "the cuts were done by both left hand and right hand, and the depth were far from being even. It could be a woman struggling, but more likely done by multiple hands and people."
"But the question is," Mycroft said thoughtfully, "who were the murderers and what was their motive?" He looked up with what he was about to say in his eyes, "did the Count had any enemies?"
~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~
He had always had problems sleeping, while with a complicated problem hanging over his head. He turned several times on the bed and shut his eyes real tight, for a while. He placed his hands under his head, and then he tried to bury his face in the pillows. He finally gave up and got of the bed. His feet turned numb and pale on the icy stone-cut floor. Moonlight was peering into a bizarre looking window, which looked like it was about to tilt over. He laid his right hand on the glass pane and blew hot air on it. A blob of steam formed easily. Satisfied, he sat down and crossed his long legs on an ottoman by the desk. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise midst the quietness of night. It sounded like the footfalls of a cat on crisp autumn leaves, or his brother Sherridan eating burnt scones. Without thinking, he opened the window. This took some effort since apparently this room had not been resided for quite awhile. The noise stopped as soon as the windows creaked open. He poked his head out and saw a dark figure, hanging, onto the wall of the mansion. It was so close to him that he could have reached it, right there, right then.
His heart pounded wildly, as he narrowed and focused his eyes. "Lady Alinere?" he said incredulously and was greeted by a grumble and a "what do you want?" "What are you doing over there?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, you imbecile," he imagined her to roll her eyes in the dark, "certainly you don't think I was trying to sleep here, do you?"
"Scaling walls is a most unladylike sport. I assure you. By the way, would you mind telling me where are you going?" he hissed back.
"I'm going to town," she said as if there was nothing wrong with that.
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now. I'm not going to waste the best part of the night engaging in conversation with YOU. I have business to attend to. G'night." She lowered herself a couple of feet, then stopped, "you know what, you can come along if you want to."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~
There were heavy ancient vines that covered the wall, twisting the bricks, choking the old building. It was no wonder that she could climb it so easily. Of course, she must have had a lot of practice since Holmes himself nearly fell several times, and once he actually fell into a nearby bush. She watched as he got up, brushed himself, then walked on as if they were taking a tour in broad daylight. She stuffed her hands in her male attire pockets and whistled the latest popular opera.
"Now, can you tell me where are you going?" he removed a twig from his hair.
"Soon enough," she adjusted her hat, "you can go back if you want to," she saw him looking back at the mansion.
"No, that would be ungentlemanly, leaving you here by yourself." Actually, he would feel sorry for whomever unfortunate enough to try to rob her. With a crude wooden staff as a walking stick in hand, she resembled one of those "green mountain men" in America who could live off the land and obeyed no laws.
"Always the gentleman, even though you are not accompanying a lady?" she laughed. Steam from her breaths was visible under the moonlight. "Why do you want to come with me?"
"What? You asked me to." He couldn't believe he was hearing this.
"No, that's not what I meant," she stopped and looked at him meaningfully, "you want to find out."
"Find out what?" he stopped also and faced her, "is it some sort of joke on your part, Lady Alinere?"
"Don't lie," she turned back and started walking fast ahead of him. Her tone was as if she was reciting a burdensome sentence that she wanted to get rid of as soon as possible, "you want to find out my secret, don't you? You want to know who exactly I am. You have been puzzled with it ever since we first met and you are here right now so I can expose to you my true identity." Her eyes looked black, shiny black, from the shadows.
"Yes, I do know that you are not who you seem to be. That's obvious. And you are right about that I'm curious. So are you going to tell me or not?" Now, he was starting to have serious thoughts about going back.
"Do you believe in destiny?"
"Are you changing the subject?"
"No."
"Well, yes and no. I believe in destiny, but I also think that each person should make his or her own destiny in life."
She nodded and asked, "what if I tell you that my destiny is to rule the rulings?"
"What?"
The reason that the monarchies of Europe had held out for such a long time was that there was a unifying force keeping their world together. The Trinity Order, so named because there were always three prestigious members heading this society, had appointed kings and earls, determined the outcomes of wars, and ruled all. These people ran their paths by bloodlines and inheritances. Their members were of great abilities and brilliant minds. Nevertheless, they still had to swear an oath never to give up their secrecy. A privileged few, whom of strong intellects that set every course of history, was something to be feared and despised by the common people.
"If it is such a special and secret fellowship," he said when she finished, "why are you telling me all this?"
"Because we need a mind like yours among us, we need your help." She came to a halt, "because there is no one else who have a greater gift for observation than you, Holmes." She looked down at her feet, "because we are at an extremely difficult time right now, and because the safety of our order and the entire world is at stake." She looked him in the eyes, "so, you can walk back to your old life, or join my brothers and I in this mission for the greater good. The choice is yours." She held out her right hand.
Sherlock Holmes was tired of standing in a corner at parties. Sometimes, he'd rather be in with people or not in a party at all. There were hundreds of people standing and sitting around in close circles, while chatting, laughing, and drinking. He felt faint from the smells of perfumes, alcoholic beverages, and closely packed Homo sapiens.
"Sherlock, there you are. Come with me," Alinere took his arm and literally dragged him toward a more secluded section of the main ballroom.
His first reaction was surprise and confusion, then he realized they weren't alone. There were several young men sitting at a table. Upon their entrance, they all stood up and greeted deferentially, "Lady Alinere."
"You have already met these relatives of mine, haven't you, Mr. Holmes?" Yes, he had, as a matter of fact, always heard their names mentioned in the newspapers and dinner discussions. They were sons of very influential people. One was a first cousin of the Prince of Wales, two were sons of foreign ministers from France and Austria, and of the rest of the five were two sons of peerage and three were peers themselves. "They had all studied fencing under my uncle, and they are just dying to meet you." Of the eight, the oldest was a few years older than Holmes, and the youngest was about Alinere's age.
The youngest, who was introduced as Lord Maurice Hughenfort, a Hughenfort of the Justice Hall, spoke first, "Lady Alinere had mentioned to us about your system of perfect reasoning. I'm very eager to know more about it, Mr. Holmes." He was short and a little on the plump side but had a sharp chin and keen dark eyes.
It had been so long since he belonged to a group. They spoke eloquently and brilliantly. They were all very intelligent young men, and their discussion touched upon every aspect of society. It was not until later that he realized that as the only female of the group, Lady Alinere was actually the leader. It was not until much later that he realized she was their leader, in many senses.
"So, how are the eager young minds of tomorrow?" Lord Wilkins came up to them with Holmes' father, who frowned immensely at Sherlock.
"We are just discussing French literature, Uncle," Edward Rubrius, the young Duke of Hanmel said brightly. No, actually they had been talking about democracy and the makings of government.
"Ah," Lord Wilkins exclaimed in his usual way, "the wonder years, you shan't bother them, should we? Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock's father opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then though better of it, and left with his host.
"That is your father?" Edward remarked as he took a sip from his wineglass.
"Yes, Your Grace," Holmes turned to him, "by the way, does the air of Yorkshire agree with you much better than France?"
The Duke's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets, he turned his head to his sibling, "Cousin Alinere, I could not believe what Uncle said about him. I see now they were true." He faced Holmes once again, "just how did you know that, Mr. Holmes?"
He related to him, beside the obvious details, evidences from the boots he was wearing to a scrape of lint on his shirt. Perhaps he was becoming quite a conceited ass, but the others clamored at his amazing ability. Lady Alinere sat at the side, viewed the scene with a tiny smile at her lips. Plan was proceeding as arranged.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mycroft, what do you make of it?" he had been reading the newspaper, Holmes' notes, and looking at the sketches for almost an hour now. They had retired to the rooms that Lord Wilkins had prepared for them. Holmes had shown his collection of data, which were tugged safely in his small suitcase among his shirts and trousers, to his much smarter older brother.
He just shook his head, "insufficient data, although I wouldn't be so snappy about confirming the woman done it, at least not by herself." Yes! Yes! That was exactly what he thought.
"Yes, see here," he pointed, "the cuts were done by both left hand and right hand, and the depth were far from being even. It could be a woman struggling, but more likely done by multiple hands and people."
"But the question is," Mycroft said thoughtfully, "who were the murderers and what was their motive?" He looked up with what he was about to say in his eyes, "did the Count had any enemies?"
~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~
He had always had problems sleeping, while with a complicated problem hanging over his head. He turned several times on the bed and shut his eyes real tight, for a while. He placed his hands under his head, and then he tried to bury his face in the pillows. He finally gave up and got of the bed. His feet turned numb and pale on the icy stone-cut floor. Moonlight was peering into a bizarre looking window, which looked like it was about to tilt over. He laid his right hand on the glass pane and blew hot air on it. A blob of steam formed easily. Satisfied, he sat down and crossed his long legs on an ottoman by the desk. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise midst the quietness of night. It sounded like the footfalls of a cat on crisp autumn leaves, or his brother Sherridan eating burnt scones. Without thinking, he opened the window. This took some effort since apparently this room had not been resided for quite awhile. The noise stopped as soon as the windows creaked open. He poked his head out and saw a dark figure, hanging, onto the wall of the mansion. It was so close to him that he could have reached it, right there, right then.
His heart pounded wildly, as he narrowed and focused his eyes. "Lady Alinere?" he said incredulously and was greeted by a grumble and a "what do you want?" "What are you doing over there?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, you imbecile," he imagined her to roll her eyes in the dark, "certainly you don't think I was trying to sleep here, do you?"
"Scaling walls is a most unladylike sport. I assure you. By the way, would you mind telling me where are you going?" he hissed back.
"I'm going to town," she said as if there was nothing wrong with that.
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now. I'm not going to waste the best part of the night engaging in conversation with YOU. I have business to attend to. G'night." She lowered herself a couple of feet, then stopped, "you know what, you can come along if you want to."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~
There were heavy ancient vines that covered the wall, twisting the bricks, choking the old building. It was no wonder that she could climb it so easily. Of course, she must have had a lot of practice since Holmes himself nearly fell several times, and once he actually fell into a nearby bush. She watched as he got up, brushed himself, then walked on as if they were taking a tour in broad daylight. She stuffed her hands in her male attire pockets and whistled the latest popular opera.
"Now, can you tell me where are you going?" he removed a twig from his hair.
"Soon enough," she adjusted her hat, "you can go back if you want to," she saw him looking back at the mansion.
"No, that would be ungentlemanly, leaving you here by yourself." Actually, he would feel sorry for whomever unfortunate enough to try to rob her. With a crude wooden staff as a walking stick in hand, she resembled one of those "green mountain men" in America who could live off the land and obeyed no laws.
"Always the gentleman, even though you are not accompanying a lady?" she laughed. Steam from her breaths was visible under the moonlight. "Why do you want to come with me?"
"What? You asked me to." He couldn't believe he was hearing this.
"No, that's not what I meant," she stopped and looked at him meaningfully, "you want to find out."
"Find out what?" he stopped also and faced her, "is it some sort of joke on your part, Lady Alinere?"
"Don't lie," she turned back and started walking fast ahead of him. Her tone was as if she was reciting a burdensome sentence that she wanted to get rid of as soon as possible, "you want to find out my secret, don't you? You want to know who exactly I am. You have been puzzled with it ever since we first met and you are here right now so I can expose to you my true identity." Her eyes looked black, shiny black, from the shadows.
"Yes, I do know that you are not who you seem to be. That's obvious. And you are right about that I'm curious. So are you going to tell me or not?" Now, he was starting to have serious thoughts about going back.
"Do you believe in destiny?"
"Are you changing the subject?"
"No."
"Well, yes and no. I believe in destiny, but I also think that each person should make his or her own destiny in life."
She nodded and asked, "what if I tell you that my destiny is to rule the rulings?"
"What?"
The reason that the monarchies of Europe had held out for such a long time was that there was a unifying force keeping their world together. The Trinity Order, so named because there were always three prestigious members heading this society, had appointed kings and earls, determined the outcomes of wars, and ruled all. These people ran their paths by bloodlines and inheritances. Their members were of great abilities and brilliant minds. Nevertheless, they still had to swear an oath never to give up their secrecy. A privileged few, whom of strong intellects that set every course of history, was something to be feared and despised by the common people.
"If it is such a special and secret fellowship," he said when she finished, "why are you telling me all this?"
"Because we need a mind like yours among us, we need your help." She came to a halt, "because there is no one else who have a greater gift for observation than you, Holmes." She looked down at her feet, "because we are at an extremely difficult time right now, and because the safety of our order and the entire world is at stake." She looked him in the eyes, "so, you can walk back to your old life, or join my brothers and I in this mission for the greater good. The choice is yours." She held out her right hand.