Quiet before the storm

„We war, if war be best, or to regain/ Or own right lost: him to unthrone we then/ May hope when everlasting Fate shall yield/ to fickle chance, and Chaos judge the strife."

Paradise Lost

The wind was blowing in my face the very instant I got off the carriage. It was very reviving, and smacked of the sea. It was also very detrimental to my hair-do. Thick strands came loose and fluttered around my ears wildly. I shoved them beneath my hat, and gave instructions for my luggage.

It was a smallish provincial hotel in a smallish provincial town, so Holmes had decided beforehand that a group of three, so obviously mismatched in age, sex and language (he pretended to mean by that the varying degrees to which we were fluent in French, but I knew his true meaning!) would instantly arouse curiosity. Therefore, we had made up our minds to arrive independently, each one an alleged stranger to the other two.

I was second, and spied Uncle John in the lounge as I passed by the open door. Having checked in and making for the stair, I heard Holmes' strident voice and turned my head as if annoyed by the voluble intruder: He walked in as if he owned the whole place, impersonating some nouveau-riche American expatriate. To achieve this, he did quite horrible things to his French pronunciation.

I hid a grin, and proceeded to my room, whence my bags had already been taken. After something more than an hour, there was a secretive knock on my door, and I opened it briefly, just long enough for the men to slip in.

„Fanny! Thank God we did not go for the wrong door." Uncle John sighed, and at my invitation sat down on the bed. He looked worn out, or maybe it was just the fact that he had parted with his good old mustache, because Holmes found him less recognizable without it. And being recognized was not something we were too keen on.

As for Holmes himself, he did not contribute to our exchange, but instead worked his jaw as if to get rid of the adopted accent. He tossed something onto the counterpane - an outdated sightseeing guide of the region. I snatched it up and leafed through it. There was a map of a Norman Castle, close to the adjoining village of Merveille-sur-Terre.

„I take it this page is what we should be lookin' at." I held the page up with both hands, nodding at the map. Holmes restricted himself to nodding. „Well, it don't give too many details. Jus' the location, an' the approximate ground view o' the structure."

Uncle John squinted his eyes. „Why, the grounds must be extensive! Look at the scale!"

„Yeah, an' there's a moat as well. That is, if Mycroft hasn't had it filled up", I commented. „Then we have dungeons of a sort, and a ground and first floor, crowned by a crenellated battlement. The whole thing really ain't that `igh."

Holmes nodded. He was getting on my nerves. „I say, `ave you swallowed yer tongue?" I snapped. „ `cause I daresay we shall need a plan `ow ter get inside these old walls. Maybe it would be `o some help if ya could put that famous brain o` yers to use!"

He seemed surprised first, then a little put out. „Well, maybe I should like to hear your view first, Frances. You must have pondered the question yourself, if you address it in this fashion. Have you devised a strategem that will get us past brother Mycroft's henchmen? Does it involve tunneling underneath the moat, or firing a grapnel across the crenellations?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, looking daggers at him. Watson cleared his throat and hurried to intervene.

„This is not the time for jokes, old boy. Frances is right, we need a plan how to invade this old structure, and I trust the options mentioned by you are outdated by at least a thousand years. Also, Mycroft will be familiar with more or less all the modes of infiltration that have been invented since. You will have to come up with something quite original, I'll presume."

Holmes smiled fleetingly. It passed so quickly that it hardly seemed worth the trouble, smiling at all. „Original, doctor? What sort of originality do you have in mind?"

„Oh, I don't know." Uncle John shrugged, his arms dangling. He looked helpless, and I could have kicked Holmes for letting us twist in the wind. It was obvious he had envisioned some course of action. „We might impersonate insiders, perhaps. Or we could inveigle our way into the fort by concealing ourselves in deliveries that are taken inside…they must require regular supplies …."

Holmes' brow had climbed higher and higher during his friend's suggestion making. I really had to contain myself so as not to allow my anger free reign. He was so full of himself! How had Uncle John suffered this all these years without kicking the man just once?

The brow, meanwhile, had reached the topmost elevation. „My dear doctor, assuming a character to get to otherwise inaccessible places is a trick now so often played by me that Mycroft would not only not be taken in, he would anticipate it. As to being bundled up somewhere inside provision packaging destined for the fort, I can warm neither to the debasement nor the asphyxiation aspect. No, no, no, none of that is very feasible, I'm afraid."

„Then what is?" Uncle John asked patiently. „To delude Mycroft, it would have to be a very inventive ruse."

His comrade nodded his agreement. „Indeed. I have pondered this problem extensively. And I have come to the conclusion that we will walk up to his door and ring the bell, or, for lack of one, use to door rapper. Now, is that original enough for you?"

I felt myself mirrored by Uncle John, whose mouth had fallen open.

„Is that all?" I finally managed, and „But, Holmes! Wherefore have I shaved my moustache, if we appear just as ourselves?" The doctor spluttered.

„Because I don't want to give him notice of our arrival!" Holmes snapped, suddenly impatient. „I want the advantage of surprise, and I mean to make full use of it. Mycroft will expect me to trespass - to attempt to burgle him, as I have burgled many lesser foes in the past. My undisguised appearance, however, will unsettle him. He will not know how to react. I may be able to talk him into a bargain…trade myself for the freedom of Madame Zhao, if possible."

The doctor shook his head slowly, chagrined lines burrowing into his forehead. „No, this is not a clever plan, Holmes. It is a suicide mission."

„I agree." I stood beside Uncle John, as if to enhance the power of his argument with our united physical bulk. „Mycroft will kill you."

„Then that can't be helped!" He threw his arms up in the air. „If it means that he will finally be content - that no more evil will come from the warfare of two brothers, that no more innocent lives will be endangered - maybe it is just as well. We've discussed this before, and my point of view is unaltered."

And he turned eyes at us that, quite changed from their usual aspect of a mellow winter sky, gave an impression of steel, or granite. I swallowed, and lowered my eyes. Yes, we had discussed this before, and we had reckoned on danger. Only, we had expected him to devise a clever plan that would give us at least a slim chance. Now what he envisaged sounded like the unconditional surrender he had promised was not his intent. He had wanted to give Mycroft his due, which was certainly something different from delivering himself into his hands voluntarily. Next to me, Uncle John hesitated. It sounded painfully close to pleading when finally said:

„Holmes…old boy…listen…"

„No, no, my mind is quite made up." He gesticulated his annoyance, as though we were fighting about the choice of a new evening suit. „If you decide to still come with me, you can do so, in my opinion, with comparatively little risk on your side. Mycroft bears you no grudge, and neither has he any interest in you. However you, Watson, might be of great value to Madame Zhao, who, if she is still alive, will probably need the ministrations of a physician. You, Fanny, as somebody she knows and trusts, will also be quite indispensable. Together, you must find her and set her free, whilst Mycroft's attention is focused on me."

„But…" Uncle John had not quite given up. „How can you be sure he will even let us in, Holmes?"

„Well, I can. I am what he wants, and I have what he wants." He indicated the pocket of his waistcoat, which bulged slightly, only just enough to inform us that the gem was still in place. „He will admit me, and accept you into the bargain. That is, if you are willing to come."

I traded a glance with Uncle John, and instantly felt that further council was superfluous. The old soldier's determination had crept into his eyes, and his whole expression, brow, mouth, chin and all, advertised his will to follow an old friend into the lion's den - to hell, if necessary. Next, I felt the gaze of both men on me, and realized they were less sure about me. I raised my head, and as a result, they lowered both of theirs, as if ashamed of doubting me.

We remained silent for a moment. Without lifting his eyes, Holmes finally spoke. He only said two words. „Very well." And the tiny, fleeting smile that was his trademark, always touched by a suspicion of pain, swiftly played around his lips.

oooOOOooo

The November wind was blowing darkly at the corner of the small municipal park that I had been told to wait at. Although I had wrapped myself thoroughly, it seemed like a long time before the shadow of a hansom cab emerged from the dusk: Uncle John's cab, hired to pick us up along the way, so that we should not be seen together.

The precaution seemed facetious to me now. The odds did not appear to be in favor of our survival, so why bother with this game of hide-and-seek? But the knowledge that now, I was quite close to Madame Zhao, that I would be able to see her before long, made me abide by every silly order Holmes was pleased to issue. Of course, the possibility that she wasn't alive had crossed my mind - but even though, to gain certainty on that point was infinitely preferable to the current state of ignorance.

I entered the cab in a huff, and remained silent until we had reached the point where Holmes was to embark. Uncle John seemed not disposed toward talking, either. However, as we went around a kerb, and I was suddenly pressed against his side, I distinctly felt a firm, lengthy outline in the pocket of his ulster. So, we were not thoroughly without protection, after all. That gave me an impulse to revive my hopes.

The vehicle stopped and Holmes got on, muffled in a thick coat and scarf that came up to his ears. He gave us a quick nod which Uncle John returned, but I preferred to remain silent, and just stare at him as he sat opposite to us. Was it possible that, apart from my childhood experience of him, I had known this man only a few months? And yet, I was prepared to go toward almost certain destruction with him - whatever he said, I was not convinced Mycroft did not pose a danger for Uncle John and me, though he might well foster illusions. But I had not forgotten this voice, an ineradicable acoustic accompaniment to the visual stimuli of the back of a stair, and patent leather shoes.

Then again, I went not solely for Holmes' sake, of course. There was my friend to consider, and I could hardly allow my foster father to put himself in jeopardy while watching from a safe distance. But! What had not happened between Mr. Sherlock Holmes and me during a short span of time! We had been bitter antagonists, burdened with reciprocal resentments. We had argued, negotiated, circled each other with the deepest distrust. We had finally joined forces. We had become allies. Confidantes. Lovers. Friends.

If it were not for Madame Zhao, if it were not for Uncle John, would I then still be coming along on this abstruse endeavour, would I still put my life at a risk so he would not be alone in this? I knew it would mean self-deception, were I to deny that yes, I still would. I peered at him, into the face beneath the tilted hat, and an intense series of impressions, harvested from our brief time together, flooded my memory. The two of us, locking eyes across the pit at Aunt Mary's burial. Our unexpected confrontation at the Sûrété. He, lifting me from the ladder that led from the church St. Laurent down into the bowels of Paris. Dining together at the Hôtel le Meurice. Holmes balancing on a foot stool to repair the blind of my window. Holmes thrashing the ruffians that had come to threaten me. Holmes, holding me, trying to comfort me as best he could. Holmes. Holmes. Holmes.

Was this to be the very last of nights?

What if it was?

And what if it wasn't?

He could not have heard my thoughts. His faculties, extraordinary as they doubtlessly were, did not extend into the realm of the supernatural. And yet, he seemed to know my feelings as his pupils slowly shifted to capture my gaze, and firmly, but not unkindly, return it. Maybe my sentiments were not very complicated, or original, it is true. Maybe people's sentiments in general aren't. He would know, he'd seen it all before. The guess at my cogitations possibly was an easy one for him.

Could the same thing hold true the other way around? Could I presume to know what moved him at this present instant, could I guess his thoughts as we silently gazed at each other in this state of enforced inaction? I hardly know, and certainly, there has not yet been anyone to claim that his train of thought were anything less than intricate, intransparent, and even inhuman. But then again, I had known him to be human, very human, and outspoken to the degree of bluntness. He was a man, and thought the thoughts of man, my thoughts. Maybe it was just that easy.

The cab halted again, and he broke contact with me. In a low voice, he asked of Watson: „Are you ready, doctor?"

His friend nodded, consenting, as it where, for both of us. We alighted from the cab, and Uncle John put his arm around my shoulder, for the sharp wind was blowing still. From the warm, comforting crook of his elbow, I lifted my gaze to look up at the towering silhouette of a large, formidable castle-like structure, looming before an evening sky that grew darker by the second.

Hey Hey! Its getting dangerous now! Within a moment, our heroes shall be within Mycroft's reach. But how will he react to his younger brother's appearance?

Can the trio possibly do any good, or are they just hurrying to meet their doom?

Everything is possible, so stick around and you shall know soon!

Love, Mrs. F