chapter six
the empty house
The
actual trip through the portal was far less dramatic than I had
expected from watching modern science fiction movies. There was no
swirling blackness or sense of movement, but only a momentary
blinding flash and a very slight shock, as if from a bit of static
electricity. The eerie blue light had disappeared, and I saw not the
streets and passers-by of London that I had expected, but only a
dank, absolute blackness. Of course, I thought. Like a fool, I had
imagined that the portal would span space as well as time, and that
we would arrive straight at Baker Street. But we were still under the
foundations of Columbia University, as it was in 1895. My heart sank
a little as I realized how long it would take us, in this day and
age, to get to London. Of course, there was no one else in the world
I would rather take a trip with, but I knew how miserable Holmes
could become when not in the thick of the action, and the thought of
a months-long Atlantic journey, under Victorian sanitation standards
and in the company of a moody, depressed, cocaine-using Holmes was
enough to daunt even the most devoted of fans. But my thoughts
snapped back to the present (or the past, technically) when I heard
Jeanette's voice calling in a panicked tone, "Who's
there?"
"It's me, Shirley," I cried reassuringly,
wishing there was even a chink of light in the Victorian basement.
"And you'll never guess who's with me!" I added, trying to
put a cheerful note in my voice.
"I don't know, Sherlock
Holmes?" asked Jeanette a bit sarcastically.
"Yes,
actually," said that detective, striking a match to light a stub
of candle. "I know this will sound quite fantastic to you, Miss
Jeanette, but I must ask you to believe the little-known fact that I
really did, or do, exist, and that I am here to help you. Now let us
be out of this damp cellar air, for I have heard it is bad for one's
constitution."
"But what just happened to us?"
cried Jeanette. "Where are we?"
"We are in the
cellar of Columbia University in the year 1895. If you'll follow me
we shall soon be in Baker Street."
"So, how long will
the journey take, Mr. Holmes?" I asked as we followed the bit of
flickering light down a long, dark passageway.
"I approximate
it at 37 seconds," he replied, opening a small door to reveal
the strangest-looking device I had ever seen. It was about the size
of a small car, but perfectly spherical and covered with some type of
metal plating. There was a small hatch near the top and little feet
which extended out from the sides to support it, rather like a lunar
module. "This is the second time machine in existence,"
said Sherlock Holmes, gesturing grandly. "The first, of course,
we have just encountered. But, unlike that worthy instrument, this
one has the power to transcend space as well as time. It is the one
technological advantage of my century over yours, ladies. But I fear
that, once this business is cleared up, both machines will have to
quit time altogether. The benefits of such things are incalculable,
of course, but so are the dangers, and inter-dimensional travel is
far too powerful a thing to leave lying about for long in any cellar.
Climb aboard, please." As he spoke, Holmes had entered the
machine nimbly through the hatch and carefully pushed several
switches and levers. Without another word Jeanette and I followed him
in.
"Could this possibly get any more bizarre?" I
wondered as we were zoomed across the Atlantic by Sherlock Holmes.
Like before, there was no sense of motion, only a slight creaking
noise. Even during such a short journey, my mind was bursting with a
thousand questions, but Holmes had slipped into a characteristic
silence, and sat with his eyes slightly closed and his fingers
pressed together. Not a word was spoken until we had apparently
reached our destination, and Holmes flung the hatch open, announcing
triumphantly, "37 seconds on the dot! May I welcome you both to
London."
"Where are we?" I asked, stepping out.
"It's still so dark."
"This place is called Camden
House," said Holmes. "It is uninhabited, and directly faces
my own lodgings. I thought it would be a useful place to store this
machine, for the moment at least."
I realized that we must be
in the famous empty house that Holmes used to keep watch over his own
apartments when he returned to London after surviving the Reichenbach
falls. I bit my tongue to keep from giving a cry of recognition. It
had suddenly occurred to me that Holmes might not have learned about
Reichenbach yet.
"It is but a swift and silent journey to
221B," said Holmes. "And thankfully, it is now midnight in
London and we will be less noticable. However--" He looked at
Jeanette and me with a furrowed brow, and I remembered that we were
still wearing our 21st-century jackets and jeans. How embarrassing! I
knew we probably looked scandalous to Mr. Holmes. But before I could
say a word, he had whisked three long capes out of a compartment in
the time machine. "It is well that I had these with me," he
said. "I did not know everything I was getting into when I
embarked on this adventure, but I thought a basic disguise of some
sort might come in handy. I will get the pair of you more suitable
clothing as soon as possible." Quickly the three of us wrapped
ourselves in the capes, and crept through the maze of back alleys and
hidden passageways until we found ourselves in a silent midnight
Baker Street.
Holmes let himself in as quietly as a cat, and led
the two of us up to his sitting room. After calling up a very
sleepy-looking young Billy and sending the page boy off with a
message, he excused himself to his bedchamber to change.
Jeanette
and I sat in a sort of stunned silence, gazing around the room which
I had seen a thousand times in my imagination. It looked rather
different from pictures of the modern-day Sherlock Holmes museum in
London, but every detail was scrupulously canonical--the Persian
slipper full of tobacco, the letters fixed to the mantlepiece with a
jack-knife, even the patriotic "VR" shot into the wall. I
thought that if this was some sort of elaborate hoax, it was a very
well-constructed one. But when Holmes re-emerged five minutes later,
pipe in hand, sans red goatee, and wearing not a cape and
deerstalker, but, as any decent historian would expect, a very dapper
Victorian suit and cravat, all doubt vanished from my mind. It took
all my strength not to jump up and start capering about the room with
glee, but I did not think Holmes would look very kindly on such
behavior. So I merely sat politely, with my hands folded and my
ankles crossed decently, as Holmes lit his pipe, settled back lazily
in his chair, and commenced the following narrative...
