Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [95]
“When I look up to the red sun the memories of my life here disgust me. Everything seems so weak and lonely, devoid of purpose or companionship. But when I am here the memories of the other world horrify me, such cruelty and wickedness. You see how I am trapped, don’t you? There is a choice to be made. I cannot exist between such extremes. I must be one thing or another. I am not large enough to encompass both. So when my rider commanded me to murder those men, I did so eagerly. I knew it would solve my unendurable riddle.”
“Solve it how?” I asked.
“I should think it obvious.” Catherine Drayson explained pleasantly, her brown eyes captivating as she spoke to me of murder. “If I have indeed killed men from this world then it proves the other world is more than a delusion. It follows then, having spilled the blood of living men, I no longer belong here. Knowing this I am free to commit myself to the world beneath the red sun. Oh, I admit I shall miss the compassion and independence of my life here but one cannot deny one’s nature. Besides, if I am truly a murderer, I cannot harbor any expectations of continued kindness on my behalf. Then again, if Mr. Holmes can prove my innocence, I shall abandon the other world. While I will miss my rider and — how shall I put it? — my savage half, it will be a relief to know such frightening deeds are nothing but a delusion.”
“I see,” I spoke with a confidence I did not entirely feel.
Holmes’ frown deepened as he listened to Miss Drayson’s explanation. “These men you claimed to have murdered, how did you learn their names?”
The question seemed to puzzle her. For a moment she was silent as she considered her answer. “Yes,” she said. “I can see where that might trouble you. In truth I know their names only because I tasted their lives. You see, in the other world, when creatures such as I feed on our prey we gain a sense of our victims. Perhaps it would be more correct to say we gain a sense of who our victims were, for it is only in the last swallow of blood the knowledge appears. I knew their names because I tasted their names. Can you understand that Mr. Holmes? No, I see you do not but I have no better explanation to offer. However I came to know their names, you must admit I did know them. These men did exist and each of them was recently murdered.”
“That has not yet been proven,” Holmes said.
“It hasn’t?” Catherine Drayson’s childlike voice betrayed an adult note of hopefulness. Yet even as it built I could see it fade. “Oh, of course, Mr. Pursey was aboard a ship, wasn’t he? I should have recognized that I suppose. The small room with the ocean all about. Have you been able to contact him?”
“Not as of yet,” Holmes admitted with ill grace.
“And the other names I gave you?” Miss Drayson asked.
“Mr. Mulchinock has been reported missing,” Holmes said. “His fate has not been determined. I should remind you that India is a savage land, full of perils for unwary travellers.”
“Those are but two names from my list of five,” Catherine Drayson reminded him. “Nor have you disproved my contention they have been murdered. What of the remaining gentlemen on my list?”
Holmes scowled, his expression answering her question more eloquently than words could have. The remaining gentlemen had been murdered and Holmes did not wish to admit it to her. Instead of answering her question, Holmes countered with an argument.
“You could not have murdered any of these men,” Holmes insisted. “You were confined here, in the asylum.”
“In the other world, Mr. Holmes,” Catherine Drayson said earnestly, “I have wings.”
“Like an angel, Miss Drayson?” I asked.
She smiled an ironic, humorless smile. “No, Dr. Watson, not in the least like an angel. You see Mr. Holmes? I doubt the guards who watch over us are prepared for inmates who sprout wings and disappear into other worlds.”
Almost against my will I nodded as she said this, feeling she had spoken the simple