Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [67]
“Think she needed some privacy,” he winked without the usual humor. “Headed off toward those reeds. Give her a few minutes.”
I did as he suggested, but grew anxious as time wore on. Finally I found her sitting on a fallen log. Tears glistened on her exquisite cheeks in the blue moonlight. Silently, I sat down next to her and patted her soft cool hand.
“We never got on together, you know,” she almost whispered. “He was never supportive of my education. Never believed women could be as clever as men. Father and I always argued, even when I was a little girl. From the pronouncements of Darwin, to my refusal to eat Mother’s awful omelets, we fought about everything. He was always gone — distant — even when he was home. Brilliant as he was, he never really knew me. Now he never will.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a dirty sleeve and somehow the effect was quite elegant. Gazing at her, torn and bruised from the adventures of yesterday, quietly weeping in utter heartbreak, I knew I was looking at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She regained her dignity with a purposeful shrug, her unpinned golden hair draping her shoulders.
“What would Father say if he saw me now, eh, Dr. Watson?” She managed a lovely, if sardonic, smile.
I smiled back, more gently.
“I’ve no doubt that he’d be very proud of that same little girl, who wouldn’t eat her mother’s omelets.”
Jessica’s lips dropped suddenly, but her sad eyes gleamed with tenderness as she leaned forward and kissed my rough old cheek.
Suddenly, it seemed the sky was falling.
From out of the dense jungle canopy, shaggy black hulks fell all around, surrounding us. An iron-gripped hairy paw snatched my revolver from my hand the very moment I stood, taking some of my skin away with it. The two of us were hopelessly, horribly outnumbered by a savage tribe of what I can only describe as subhuman ape-men.
Jessica managed one frantic shot with her rifle before the weapon was wrenched away, nearly tearing her arms from their sockets. Two of the devils leaped upon my back, crashing me to the fetid filth and decay of the jungle floor. I kicked and struck back like a madman, with no effect upon the beast-men at all.
Through the dim shadows I watched in horror as one of the larger brutes snared Jessica with a single long hooked arm, bounding back toward the trees. Fighting furiously, I was a mere child against monsters. I could do nothing, but die.
Abruptly, the ogre carrying Jessica shrieked then, limp as a puppet, flopped dead to the ground. The remaining horde paused, sniffing the air. Suddenly another one dropped dead. And another. There was no sound of a firearm, no indication at all of what was causing the mute, invisible slaughter happening inexplicably before my eyes.
The surviving ape-men fled back into the trees, screaming in terror as two more of their number were struck dead as they ran. The entire horrific incident had lasted probably less than a minute, yet we saw the lanterns of Holmes and Lord Roxton already rushing to our defense.
After rapidly establishing our safety, Lord Roxton scanned the branches with his rifle at the ready, while Holmes bent to examine one of the fallen fiends.
“Watson,” he indicated the hideous creature in the lantern glow, “You’ve just witnessed the most mysterious assassination in history.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
“Observe for yourself,” he smiled grimly as Jessica drew nearer, also fascinated. “We heard only one rifle report — presumably from one of you — and yet each of these creatures has been expertly shot through the skull, without noise or sufficient light in which to properly aim a weapon. Quite a puzzle. How do you explain it, my dear fellow?”
The magnitude of the weird circumstance suddenly