Holmes quickly realized Lestrade's organization had not yet reached the bedrooms. Clothes and various other items littered the floor, spilled out of the wardrobe, and formed a strangely shaped pile on the spare bed.
On closer inspection, the pile became a warm nest. Fur lined the edges, and bits of grass littered one side. As he watched, another piece appeared.
He stepped back in surprise, then looked again. Another new blade of grass fluttered into place, creating a small meal waiting for its owner to return. Impossible.
Possible. It happened again, though that piece tumbled down the small pile to land on the bed. How—
If you see something strange, believe it.
He consciously forced away his astonishment. If it meant seeing Watson again, grass could appear in a pile of bedclothes. Of course.
He still found it difficult not to stare when bits of clover joined the grass. Only by turning his back to the bed could he focus enough to sift through the clutter.
Small teeth had nibbled on baseboards, and one rug showed signs of digging, but an empty room met his search. Careful steps took him around the mess to reach the roof hatch.
He heard it before he saw it. Quiet purring directed his gaze to the small rabbit several feet away from the trapdoor, and he moved to sit on the shingles. No animal liked a human towering over it.
The purring grew louder. Cautious hops took a wide berth around Holmes, then the creature stopped in the middle of the roof. One bright eye caught the sunlight as the animal looked back at him.
Did it want him to come closer?
The creature grunted, then nosed something on one shingle before moving to stand on its other side. Wary of spooking the animal, Holmes crawled across the roof. What could it want him to see up here?
Tire tracks, apparently. Rubber tires had left skid marks on the shingles, but how would someone get an automobile to the roof? How would someone get an automobile at all? Benz had made very few yet this year, and Holmes had only seen one by finding himself near one of the long-distance tours.
A lagomorphic chuckle—which he had not known the creature could do—was his only answer. The animal hopped back to the trapdoor. It ensured Holmes watched, then jumped over a foot into the air, fell directly towards the open attic, and disappeared just before it reached the hole. What the blazes—
Another chuckle echoed up the ladder, and a quick scramble across the roof found the creature jumping on the bed, one forepaw lifting in a wave. Lestrade's hearty laugh carried from the doorway.
"I see you found it. Did it show you anything yet?"
"Tire tracks," he answered as he reached the floor, eyeing the rabbit now methodically destroying the nest. "Then it disappeared mid-jump. I suppose you probably cannot tell me why tire tracks are on the roof?"
Lestrade smirked. "Because there's no snow on the ground."
Holmes huffed his irritation. "I thought as much."
"Mr. Holmes." He tore his attention from the rabbit to meet Lestrade's gaze. "That was an honest answer. If there had been snow, you would have found sleigh tracks."
Alright. So Watson's friend owned both a car and a sleigh. While Holmes had no idea how either could be on the roof, that matched Mrs. Hudson's account of his wealth.
"You're trying," Lestrade noted. "I'll grant you that. Are you using the east or west line?"
He directed the question at the rabbit, but Holmes did not catch an answer before Lestrade nodded acceptance. "Figure twenty-four-hours' journey," he informed Holmes.
"How do you know what it said?"
"You'll learn. Its orders are to lead you to a trysting place. The locals see the doctor's friend all the time, and you won't have to worry about his arrival causing problems." He paused. "Seriously?" Holmes saw that nod, and Lestrade released a low whistle. "You're in for a treat, Mr. Holmes. They don't guide humans there often. I expect you to tell me about it when you return."
Lestrade refused to say any more, and the rabbit darted between their feet before Holmes could try again. Lestrade's laughing farewell drifted through the house as Holmes hurried out the door.
The creature bolted across the street and into the next alley, then led him through a series of side streets. The small rabbit occasionally had to climb a pile of debris for Holmes to find it in the shadows, but its destination became obvious when the train sounded on the next block. The creature stopped just around the corner to hop a pattern in the dirt.
THURSO
Thurso. A small town on the extreme north of the island, Holmes would never have considered that area when Watson's childhood home had been near Edinburgh.
Checking once to confirm Holmes understood, the creature vanished, and Holmes hurried toward the ticket station. The many people delayed him by several minutes, but he easily spotted the creature waiting on the platform. It bounced in place then led him toward the final first-class car.
The private car, he corrected as he entered. Lush carpet, ornate decorations, and a strange sort of lighting met his admiring gaze. Cushioned chairs and settees created open compartments along one wall, while the other side held two small tables, a miniscule washroom, and a cordoned-off area containing a single bed. With the rabbit contentedly nibbling something it found on one of the tables, Holmes claimed a settee in the compartment furthest from the door.
"Hey, watch it!"
The cry sent him immediately back to his feet. He looked again, then blinked. The settee's other cushion indented in two places as if someone stood in the center, but the settee remained empty.
If you see something strange, believe it.
He swallowed. "My apologies. I did not see you." A glance found every chair similarly empty, and he turned back to the occupied cushion. "I still cannot see you," he admitted, "but I do not know why."
"Oh, great. A novice!" A short man popped into view, scowling darkly through his thick beard. "Where do you get off using our car?!"
He resisted the urge to step back. "The rabbit led me to this one."
"What rabbit?" A gesture indicated the creature now staring at them from the middle of a different table, and the man's scowl faded slightly. "Summoned by the big man, eh? What'd you do?"
What did that mean? Had Watson been kidnapped after all?
"My friend disappeared," Holmes answered cautiously. "He left me a note to follow the rabbit."
The man let out a harrumph, though he did uncross his arms. "You must be that crazy detective then. Surprised you came this fast."
"Why would I not?"
He plopped down onto the cushion, feet just hanging over the floor. "I've barely met the human, but even I know he's been hidin' from you for years. Word 'bout the big man's family gets around quick."
A horn announced imminent movement, and Holmes checked the train again. Not everyone can see them.
"Is there a truly empty seat?" he finally asked.
"We're the only ones in the car, human," the man grumped.
Nodding a thanks, Holmes took the settee opposite as they left the station. "Aside from an uncle in Australia, my friend does not have any more relations."
"Who said anything 'bout kin?" the man shot back. "I said 'family.' Those two've been family fer decades." He paused, cynical gaze scanning Holmes as if to look for fault. "Much like th' other human sees you," he added somewhat grudgingly. "No tellin' why."
You must learn to listen.
"Do you always insult people before giving your name?"
The man stared for a long moment, then threw his head back in a hearty laugh.
"Drofelbrek is my name," he said, still chuckling. "Now c'n I insult ye?"
Holmes twitched a grin. Apparently, the frank question had destroyed a boundary he had not known existed.
"If you must, Mr. Drofelbrek," he decided, noting the dwarf's twitched smile both when he said it correctly and at the prefix. "You already know my name."
"'Course I do. The Blind One."
He quickly smothered a flinch. He deserved that, but keen, dark eyes noted what he tried to hide.
"Only th' world's 'foremost detective' could be friends with Doctor John Watson," Drofelbrek continued, "manage to overlook the magical for ten years, and then see it only when it smacks 'im upside th' 'ead. So much fer yer deducin'."
The name had been a reference to the past, not the present. Worried tension fell from Holmes' shoulders as he leaned back in his chair.
"Is that the word?"
"Is what th' word?"
"Magical," he repeated. A gesture encompassed everything from the rabbit to Drofelbrek himself. "I know very little about this. You call me a human as if you are not, and no human can vanish like you did. What are you?"
"A dwarf," Drofelbrek answered. "You lot lost your magic millennia ago. Within a few generations, the rest of us had ta go into hiding. 'Course we can vanish. Keeps us safe from the witch hunts."
A sentient rabbit had guided him to a train, and now he was in the presence of a dwarf. Not a small human as in the traveling shows, but a true dwarf. Incredible.
Stop questioning.
"Are there others like you?"
"I have twelve siblings." He grunted amusement at Holmes' expression. "Th' magical is 'n entire world directly under yer nose, Mr. Holmes. It's about time you decided to see it."
He never would have known if not for his friend. "Can you tell me anything about Watson? Or our destination?"
The rabbit thumped a back paw on its chair. "Nope. I haven't been home in over a week."
"What about your world?"
"What about it?" Drofelbrek asked when the creature returned to its nesting.
"Anything. Are there others besides dwarves?"
"Aye. Too many to list. Elves, nisse, and faeries are the most common, it seems, but I know a few sylphs too."
Holmes paused, fighting to assimilate the new information.
"What are sylphs?"
"Small, winged guardians," the dwarf answered shortly. Two fingers gave about four inches of height. "Near invisible, they specialize in cloaking magic. Th' ones I know mostly protect Th' 'Ndangered Ones."
"What are The Endangered Ones?"
"Children of the magical livin' in the human world. We've a few half-bloods this generation. You're not gettin' more'n that."
Holmes nodded, choosing a new line of questions. Years of mentoring the Irregulars ensured he knew elves and faeries. "What are nisse?"
"Ask him."
The train pulled to a stop—somehow already at the Sheffield station—and Drofelbrek gestured toward the door as another man boarded the train. Shorter than Drofelbrek, his mostly white beard hung in salt and pepper contrast to the dwarf's black. Sturdy farm clothes brightly matched their colorful surroundings, and he dragged a suitcase behind him to scan the car.
"Hey, you old coot! Who let you out o' the nursin' home?"
Holmes killed a smirk. The tone was not as rude as the words sounded, and the newcomer obviously knew that. A wide grin appeared when he spotted them.
"Drofelbrek! It's about time ye wandered homeward. Didja ma finally threaten to skin ye?"
"Nah," came the careless answer. "Yers did. Said her baby boy needed protectin' like as only a dwarf c'n give."
Holmes glanced between them as the newcomer laughed. Both appeared far too old to still have their parents. Did magical creatures not die?
"As if! We both know who'd win a true fight, Dwarf!"
Drofelbrek grunted. "I suppose you could try. I've more th'n a foot on ye."
"Which one of us's a born protector?" Drofelbrek could not form a retort quickly enough, and the newcomer held a hand to his ear as if struggling to hear. "What's that? Oh, me! That's right. I've never seen you take down a polar bear. You're too busy drawin' that battle ax o' yours. It'd eat ya 'fore you got ready!"
A polar bear? Why would he have defeated the most dangerous land carnivore?
"We got a novice!" The man finally noticed Holmes' confusion. He shoved his suitcase under a chair and disappeared, reappearing in the seat to stare at Holmes. "Who're you?"
"Tor!" Drofelbrek interjected before Holmes could reply. "Don't tell me you've gone daft this early!"
Tor glanced between them several times before confusion became understanding. "You're Mr. Holmes! Ha! Take that, Torsten!"
A wide grin became an impromptu jig in the chair, and Holmes aimed a questioning glance at Drofelbrek. The dwarf merely shrugged.
"I never said nisse were sane."
"Oi!"
Drofelbrek ducked a large ball impacting the settee, turning an amused glare at the smaller nisse. "I thought you left those with your brother."
"He doesn't need 'em." Tor hefted another large marble. "Care ta repeat that?"
The dwarf harrumphed but settled back in his seat. "I'd druther ye tell me yer bet with Torsten. What trouble did 'e find now?"
"A human." The marble dropped back into a pocket much too small for the projectile. "His human."
Drofelbrek raised his eyebrows. "Your brother claimed a human?"
"Sure did." Tor's smile widened. "Saved 'im, too, even 'fore learnin' 'is name. Never thought you'd hear that, didja?"
"No," Drofelbrek admitted gruffly, "but what does that have ta do wit' yer bet?"
"He thought yon blind detective would never head north," Tor said impishly. "Owes me a week's pay now."
"Until yesterday, you thought he was dead, too."
Tor tilted his head in affected confusion. "Do ye have a point?"
The dwarf harrumphed again but made no other answer, and Holmes could hold his question no longer.
"You have seen Watson?"
"No," Tor said simply.
Tor knew of Watson, knew where he was even if he had not seen him, and Holmes groped for another question, something that would convince Tor to talk to him. Anything was better than this looming unknown.
The words refused to come, but Drofelbrek saved him from stumbling through something.
"Tor."
You do not need to speak aloud for them to hear you.
Dwarf and nisse maintained eye contact for the next minute and a half, but as far as Holmes could tell, even their expressions did not change. Tor's mischief dropped away just before he looked back at Holmes.
"A nisse's a protector," he started, the playfully relaxed accent all but gone. "We guard families—usu'lly children but adults too—from danger. Evil. My brother swore years ago ta never help another human, but 'e happened ta be outside the door when your friend fell asleep too close t' tha fire. He put out the flames, and when he saw how…thin the doctor is, he decided the doctor needed a protector and stayed." Tor cast a pleading glance at Drofelbrek, who nodded. "Do ye know your destination?"
"No," Holmes answered, his worry growing. Where was Tor going with this? "He told me to follow that rabbit, and a friend informed me that the creature leads me to a trysting place. What is it? What is wrong?" What else is wrong, he really asked, and sadness in Tor's eyes said he understood.
"You might be waiting at that trysting place for a while, Mr. Holmes. I'm a doctor, too, and Torsten wired me because your friend fell sick last night. He's doin' better than he was, but the big man won't be able to come for you until your friend starts to recover."
The train car gained a touch of grey, all his color and focus on the small, elderly man in front of him. Watson…was ill. Watson was so ill that a guardian had wired for help, and "the big man," whoever that truly was, could not leave him. Unless Watson's mystery friend could pull him through this, Holmes would never see him again. He might still be too late. Watson might leave him while Holmes waited for a ride.
"Mr. Holmes!"
Small hands roughly shoved his shoulder, and he refocused to find Tor standing on the settee beside him.
"He's yer brother, ain't he, laddie? Just as Torsten is mine."
Yes. He was, but Holmes could not voice as much. Tor did not wait for him to try.
"Torsten's first note said 'e was real bad, that he couldn't even wake 'im, but the second, th' one that found me at th' Sheffield station, was better. He's still not good, but he's respondin', and that's a start."
Worry still lumped in Holmes' throat. He swallowed once, twice, before giving up to nod.
"Is there another way I can reach him?" he finally managed. "No one has yet told me the man's name or the name of the town, but is there another way I can get there?"
"No, laddie. Humans can't take the train past Thurso, and your ferry doesn't go half as far as it needs ta. Ye'll have ta wait. Th' rabbit'll tell 'im you're there 's soon 's ye arrive."
"What about names? Can you at least tell me who you reference? Where is Watson?"
A whine drifted from the rabbit's nest. Tor took one glance at the mound before looking back at Holmes.
"When ye get off in Thurso," he directed, "look at this car. The train line's name will provide a clue."
That was better than nothing, and a quiet 'thank you' acknowledged the tip. Drofelbrek changed the topic, opening a conversation about an event the month prior as Holmes got up to pace. More bickering than true conversation, Holmes found himself silently listening—and occasionally enjoying—but that did nothing for the worry twisting his chest.
Would he ever find Watson?
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