John and Molly are probably going to be a little annoyed at me, I think. Reboot. Actually, it`s pretty certain they are going to be furious. Mycroft too. They keep on trying to save me and I – well, I keep on needing to be saved.
I check my phone and read the text again.
"Meet me at the maze. You have something I need. Your life, and mine, depend on it."
Everyone was at the station when I received it. The explaining would have been tedious and I knew time was of the essence. So I left. And here I am, back at Tregennis Lodge, in the darkened garden, to meet a man who wants me – out of the way. I turn the memory stick around in my hand and shove it deep into my pocket. Leverage.
I remember little of the Professor`s liaison with me the previous night. Just a vague and sinister horror – a foreboding of evil which has stayed with me, and makes me shiver.
Something else, too.
Love?
How bizarre. Meeting with a sadistic serial murderer and criminal mastermind leaves me with such diametrically opposed feelings. Snippets of memory swirl around my head, especially just before sleep, and I try to snatch them down and store them. Very tricky. Mycroft tells me this will improve and memories could gradually return. That would be interesting. I would especially like to know what happened to John in the swimming pool that night.
I turn passed the rhododendrons and take the steps down towards the maze entrance. The house is completely unlit and only the full moon gives illumination. An eerie lunar glow to the dark shapes jostling for space in the garden and the distant ssshhh of the surf, dragging across the shingle on the beach below. Then I see the huge Leylandii hedge, rising above my head like a sheer, black, living, cliff face. A torch would have been judicious, had I actually planned tonight`s little venture.
I consult my Mind Palace: `How to travel safely through a maze`. John Watson and myself did appear to have a little trouble getting out. At least, he thinks we did. I just wanted to work it out - to play.
"But, I do like to PLAY…"
Follow a wall (either left or right) from the beginning.
Simple mazes can be worked backwards by following just one direction.
For a more complex two directional maze, find a Turning Point, where the maze will change direction. Trace a wall inwards and find a place where there is only one point to cross the intertwining walls. You must pass through this, then work backwards and forwards from the point. You should then discover the root of the maze.
Logic (my favourite) tells me there are a certain number of ways to all intersections, as I travel through the maze. This maze has four, which I counted last time. Just need to count the intersection passed before turning. Use a constant and create an algorithm.
I am suddenly struck by the thought that the Professor probably designed the Tregennis Maze. Of course he did.
But, it isn`t Professor Moriarty who is meeting me here. He always signs his texts "B.M." This one wasn't signed, and the Professor is nothing if not consistent.
The smell of the shrubbery seems more intense at night. Darkness blocks out one sense and intensifies another. A slight breeze ruffles the dark branches and moonlight cannot fully penetrate to the bottom. I feel as if I am wading at waist height through a sea of black treacle – a treacle of shadows – as my lower body is invisible.
Luckily, as I reach the centre of the maze, the hedges become wider apart, and a silvery-white sheen coats the hedge, grass, gravel - and the darkly hunched form of Sebastian Moran.
He turns to face me, and there is enough light to make out a badly bruised eye and split lip. He has the unspoken wince of a man with a fractured rib. Or two. A small part of my brain considers that I may have been involved – in some way – with these injuries. The hatred in his eyes seems to corroborate this.
"I need it back," is all he says.
"I may need to keep it," is the reply he gets.
I deduce immediately that the Professor is unaware of the carelessness of his favourite employee in losing this memory stick. If he wasn't, Moran wouldn't be alive.
"You must be very worried. I, however, feel that one less drug-led organisation in South America would be a good thing." I decide to show him the memory stick, so I pull it out and toss it in the air a few times.
Playing with fire, Sherlock? Shut up John.
In the semi-darkness, I see Moran lick his lips and clench his fists. He is wondering when to leap out at me.
Another telegrapher.
"I think you will find I am slightly less pliable than I was last night. This is just you and me – no audience or drug addled brain. Maybe a fairer fight?" I am watching him carefully as I speak.
Moran pulls a gun from his inner pocket, and points it at me.
Well, what did you expect?
"Give me the memory stick and I won`t shoot you in the head. Does that sound fair?"
I strongly suspect I will be shot in the head, regardless. I stretch out my hand and open my palm, allowing him to see the thing he seeks. Moran lowers his gun as he steps forward, reaching with his other hand towards mine. I swiftly grab his wrist, pulling his arm behind his back and spinning him around. The gun falls to the ground, landing in a crunch of gravel. Moran is a seasoned fighter, however, and he manages to tip me forward, sending me off balance. We both land in the gravel, in a tangle of limbs. My knee connects with his broken ribs which results in a scream of agony piercing the stillness of the night. The after effects of the Devil`s Flower have left me slightly dizzy and my head is spinning as he twists us both around and lands on top of me; pining down my chest and knocking the breath out of me.
"Give…me…the…stick…" Moran`s face is inches away from mine. His brow is drawn down in fury and spittle collects in the corners of his mouth. His fear of his employer must be very great indeed.
I do not have the breath to answer and my head is swimming. On reflection, this situation is not looking too good for me.
Then, bursting out of the night with a crashing and snapping of twigs and branches, comes a force of nature.
A huge figure erupts behind Moran and blocks out the sky. Shoulders like boulders and arms like tree trunks catch him in a deadly and powerful embrace and wrench Moriarty`s right hand man from my chest. And I can breathe again.
The huge man and Moran are locked in a furious struggle; rolling around the centre of the maze like one giant, human tornado. I roll over to where the gun landed and close my hand over its cold metal.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I fire three shots into the air and the maze wrestlers freeze, mid-assault; heads spinning round to look at me. I look into the roughly hewn face and amber eyes or Dr. Leo Sterndale, and I am far too late to try to stop him as he snaps the neck of Sebastian Moran.
"It was you, on the beach the other day, watching us."
"It was. I followed you. From London."
"I saw no-one."
"I am a born tracker. That is what you should expect to see when I follow you."
We sit opposite each other, by the maze entrance. The body of Moran still lay in the maze and I knew time was limited. Even in the deepest and darkest reaches of the countryside, law enforcement will eventually find you.
"I know you tried to help my beautiful girl, Mr. Holmes, but, in the end, none of us could save her. After the shame of her father, her mind wasn't – level. A scandal of this type was more than she could bear." He places his head in his giant hands; hair standing from his head like a wiry corolla. Even to me, his grief is tangible and raw – an open wound which may never heal. Truthfully, I regret the death of Brenda Mortimer more than any other I have encountered. This kind of loss is so cruel; so pointless, I have no words for Leo Sterndale – except an ache in my throat which will not stop. This – this is caring. How does anyone bear it?
"I have watched for days. I know Detective Inspector Lestrade was here, and I know why. You and Dr. Watson visited that Pie Maker – I saw that too. The man I killed – he wasn't the one, was he?"
"He was as close as you can be. This man you seek – I seek – is beyond anything you have ever hunted, Dr. Sterndale. He is the very highest degree of dangerous and sly – the jackal with the lion. He has evaded everyone for a very long time. His very existence is hazy. I don`t think we will see him again for quite a while. It would be better for you if you gave up all idea of tracking him further. Brenda would not wish that kind of danger for you."
Leo looked at me and gave a wavering sigh. He clearly hadn`t eaten or slept properly for days and was utterly exhausted.
"You are, perhaps right. I will wait here for the police. My time is over. Nothing is worth anything without my girl."
I sit for around thirty seconds in silence.
"What were your plans?"
"I had intended to bury myself in Western Africa. My conservation work there is only half finished."
"Then, go and do the other half," I said. "I, at least, am not prepared to prevent you." I turned the memory stick around and around in my hand.
"One man has already lost his life for this. It`s best no-one else does. Go, Doctor Sterndale. Go to Africa." I could, by now, see headlights on the road in the distance; headlights and blue flashing ones.
Leo Sterndale and I stood and he held out his hand. "I knew you were the man for the job the moment I met you. Thank you. I am forever in your debt."
He turned, and was almost instantly swallowed up by the night.
And I sit down and wait for the law.