Chapter 12 - New Faces
Brussels, Belgium: September 12th

For months, he had hardly had anything to work with. For months, he had been travelling all across Europe, trying to uncover the mystery of the Landmark Flags. It was only now that Sherlock Holmes had put himself in the right place at the right time. Finally, he was able to witness this spectacular event for himself in Belgium.

It was an incredible sight to behold, as well as being quite a numinous experience. It began in the thick of the night, at twenty four minutes past ten precisely. The clouds were steel grey against the moonlight and low set. For all it was so cloudy, it was still dry. London's weather had not followed Holmes across the sea.

For the last few weeks, he had been staying in Brussels, waiting to see if the mysterious event would repeat itself here. With every slow monotonous day that passed, he began to lose faith in his assumption that the Saint Michael Cathedral would lure his target in. Had he misread the pattern? Holmes raised an eyebrow as he mentally disagreed with himself. No, he knew that Belgium would soon be on the list. The detective decided to light his pipe as he mused over the facts again. He left his paper on the wall as he struck a match.

Without warning, the weather began to change and the winds picked up. They picked up so much, in fact, Holmes' paper went flying down the street. He grumbled at his waste of money. The whipping winds forced him to give up on trying to light anything. The matches couldn't last.

Holmes looked up. At first glance, he thought it was a huge storm cloud heading towards him. Then he looked harder. The great coal-dust black cloud did not change its shape as a cloud would when it tumbled across the sky.

That led Holmes to one deduction that, as unlikely as it seemed, could be the only explanation. It was, in fact, a flying object- A flying ship! This is what he had been waiting for all this time! Though now, he felt belittled and intimidated. He couldn't help but furrow his brows as his eyes became transfixed on his target, glinting and alarmed. Just what was this almighty aircraft? The thick clouds and dark sky concealed its full form, much to the detective's disappointment.

The noise of the engine drew tens upon tens of people from their homes. The ship above them sounded like millions of bees, all flying together in a great swarm. The noise seemed to weave its way through the air but barely made it to Holmes' ears. It passed slowly overhead, stressing the ship's pure size and casting a monumental shadow over the gathering crowd. The people were shouting and gasping at one another. Some children buried themselves into their father's sides as they looked out their windows, unsure of what to think of this unusual occurrence. Others begged to follow, asking what it was and what it was doing. It seemed no one knew what to do as the mystifying machine flew overhead. The air was tense, no one fully able to see what this was. But they all watched. They all waited.

Due to the growing crowd, Holmes moved out of the way. He was careful to avoid the few policemen on duty, who were trying to gain control of the situation. He looked around at the people again. A woman near him had fainted and her husband was working on waking her.
"What is it, mama?" a little girl asked.
"What on Earth is it doing?"
"Look how fast it is going!" a young man exclaimed.
"No wait, it's slowing down."
"It's headed towards the cathedral!" someone else cried.
"Was that director of the observatory at Zi Ka Wey right all along? That it is a flying vessel?" an older man said over Holmes' shoulder.

He set off and rounded the corner. Now he could see the entire Cathedral, though he was at the side. The ship finally stopped a few yards above the old building. The dark clouds, the noise, the suspense- what an adventure!

Now that the ship had stopped, the entire capital seemed to grow silent, listening to the humming, waiting to see what the ship would do. The wait was tense and suspenseful. Hushed murmurs seemed to be carried on the winds. The people began to become wary; the silence scared them. Holmes himself was silent. He watched and waited with bated breath.

The silence shattered like glass. A single trumpet blared throughout the air, and it was clear the player knew this harmony off by heart. Many people jumped in alarm and some children screamed. It was a proud and clear song, meant to instil bewilderment and intimidation into the souls of those who heard it. And it was likely the whole area was awakened by its cry.

Holmes kept himself composed throughout. He would not allow himself to be affected by this monstrosity as many now were. A few people fainted and the rest were looking up in amazement, pointing and shouting. Some fled, whilst others hid inside the buildings.

An older Policeman, roughly in his early fifties, approached him and ushered for him to get back. He was quite an unusual man with an egg-shaped head with a moustache curved upwards like buffalo horns. He wore a navy blue uniform which was very well looked after. Holmes assumed he was very proud of his occupation.
"Please, Monsieur, you must keep your distance. The police will see to this situation."
"Merci, Monsieur, but I am Sherlock Holmes- you may have heard of me. I have been following this case."
"Ah, oui, I have indeed heard of you, detective Holmes. My name Inspecteur Poirot."

Holmes nodded to him in recognition and the two watched as the spectacle unfolded. "That song," Poirot exclaimed. "It is the Chant du Dèpart- It is French!"
"Then what is it doing up there in that monstrosity?" Holmes asked as the trumpet continued to blaze away. The song resonated against the warm air, its echo weaving between the large buildings.

From the giant machine, a rope ladder dropped on top of the Saint Michael Cathedral. Two men climbed down, carrying a great roll of material - a flag no doubt. As they were so high up, they seemed only to be two dots. Holmes watched as they secured the flag to the Cathedral and disappeared back up the ladder. For a second, the flag hung limply but then wind caught itself in the material. Everyone gasped as they beheld the sight in front of them. It was a black flag, and as the moonlight reached down for it, Holmes could see it was speckled with stars and bearing a large golden sun in the centre. So the story was true!

"Sacré bleu!" The policeman exclaimed. "Monsieur, can you make out anything about those two men? My eyes fail to serve me at such a distance."
"I'm afraid not," he replied above the noise.

The majority of the people were shouting and arguing. Holmes wasn't quite able to make it out. "What do they say?" Holmes asked.
"They are frightened. They do not know who is to blame or what is happening… Many suspect it is the work of France, believing it to be a sign of war."

Some drunken men had begun to sing the Belgian National Anthem, as though to drive the airship away. Many joined in with their singing. The trumpet seemed to boom with anger and the singing intensified in retaliation. Holmes couldn't help but smile as the singing continued. "It is possible Britain and Germany's apparent altercations have prompted France to take action. Yet I doubt that this is France's doing. That flag does not belong to a nation, and France would put up her colours to accompany that song."

The ship began to move again, heading west. The crowd's chanting may have worked; the people certainly believed it as they continued to sing, shout and cheer. Holmes suspected the ship only moved on as its work was done now that the flag was in place. The detective could only admire the courage of the Belgian people.
"Perhaps it is an individual who is of French Origins?" Poirot suggested as the noise began to dwindle, though he still had to shout.
Holmes' gaze remained transfixed upon the flying ship. "I'm not sure, but I fully intend to find out. Will you come with me please, inspector?"

"But of course! It would be an honour."

(*Sometime Later*)

For several hours, the two enforcers of the law followed this magnificent flying machine. It had been dark for a while, and a chill had found its way into the air. The two men had managed to find a carriage with a driver either brave or foolish enough to follow their new lead.

Holmes and Poirot did not speak too often during this journey. The English Detective explained all he knew about the Mystery of the Landmark Flags, but there was not a lot to converse about. Holmes kept popping his head out of the window every few minutes, making sure that the driver kept them on course.

For a moment the winds thinned out the clouds. The moonlight managed to shine on the ship, as though it was a sign from the heavens. With this extra light, Holmes could see the enormous machine was made of what looked to be some sort of wood, which had been varnished. The white glow seemed to illuminate the great ship as the clouds moved out of its way.

As it became clearer to see, he was surprised to see dozens of metal masts. The masts bore no sails, instead, on the very top of each metal pole, there was an enormous propeller. Some were larger than others, though even the smallest was three or four times the size of a man. It was tremendous!

Poirot sat patient and rarely looked out of the window to see where they were. Occasionally he would quietly begin to hum the Belgian Anthem to himself. He trusted Holmes would keep them on the right track. Holmes couldn't help but feel Poirot was quite an unusual little policeman, but he seemed to be good company.

Looking out of the window again, the English detective found that the mysterious ship was beginning to lose altitude.
"Poirot, the ship is landing. Now's our chance to see what's really going on."
"But how, monsieur? You do realise there are only two of us."
"We'll have to use our brains and not our brawn. We just need to give the police and myself a decent lead to follow. Monsieur, Stop the cart! Wait for us here until we return. If we're not back within an hour, contact the police and tell them what has happened." Poirot translated. The driver nodded and a healthy sum of money sealed the deal.

The two climbed out of the cart and hurried after the flying machine, which had landed in a neighbouring field. Holmes hoped that their means of transportation had not been seen. Otherwise, this mission would not have a successful ending.

Holmes and Poirot watched from behind some thickets as a smaller machine was unloaded from the ship. Poirot voiced his displeasure at hiding somewhere so dirty. He expressed what was almost pain at the state his shoes and uniform were in - despite them still being very presentable. Holmes told him to stop fussing.

Both pairs of eyes settled on their target. When the smaller machine was fully unloaded Holmes could see it with far more clarity. It looked a little bit like a metal carriage, painted black with wheels made of rubber. It looked impossible for a horse to be able to be connected to the machine. Perhaps it moved by itself?! Whoever was in charge of the placement of the flags, they looked to be, or have in their employ, the most advanced engineers in the world.

Now they were out of sight of any city, the ship became illuminated with multiple small lamps. One by one, they began to radiate an orangish glow to light the ship. They gave a spectacular and yet eerie appearance to everything that happened. There were nine or ten men above deck. Only half of these seemed to be members of the crew who were hard at work. The rest kept out of their way while they worked.

Holmes and Poirot moved a little closer to the ship but remained well hidden. They paid close attention to who was on board. Both of them could make out who was the leader- or captain rather- of the ship. He was above average height, built like a bull with metallic grey hair and wearing some sort of grey uniform. He carried himself with pride and a healthy amount of vigour. Holmes didn't even need to be close enough to see the colour of his eyes to know he was not a timid man. He stood with a straight back and his hands sitting behind his back. He radiated an air of authority.

The man was speaking to a slightly taller figure. Sherlock could not see the man's face from the angle at which he was standing, but he could see the stranger's black hair colour and his size. This man wore black trousers and a tighter fitting blue long-sleeved shirt. It was obvious to see from the shirt that he was muscular, like one of those men whom you see playing rugby. Even from this distance, he appeared to be a complete athlete.

"Robert, you're with me," the black-haired man said to another stocky figure, who bore bright chestnut- coloured hair. He perhaps possessed greater physical strength than his companion but was a bit shorter. "Rene, Jean, you'd best stay here," he continued. These two men were of medium height, one was thinner than the other and therefore looked taller. He had light blond hair, whereas the other's hair was red.
"Yes, chief," they both replied.

There were a few shouts and calls, at which point the two detectives ducked back down behind the shrubbery, fearful the men were calling out at them and not each other. "It looks like some of them plan to leave by that machine. We're on to them now, Poirot. We just have to follow them," Holmes grinned, watching as four large lights were emitted from the front of the machine. They looked ghostly, like the eyes of a predator.

The machine began to move away at a hurried pace. The two men were quite alarmed at how it moved. It was incredible! "We must still be careful, Monsieur Holmes. We do not know who these men are or if they are a threat. Do not forget, I do not carry a gun. We must exercise all precaution during this chase."
"We will, Monsieur. Let us get back to the cart, where we can follow at a distance."