Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [44]
A small pack of scruffy dogs was following them along the riverbank, watching in the hope that they might throw some scraps of food away. Sherlock smiled briefly, thinking how much like Matty they were in that regard. He glanced forward, to the back of Matty’s head, and the smile faded from his face. He had put the boy’s boat at risk – the only real home that Matty possessed. Worse, he had put the boy’s life at risk. And for what?
People were beginning to appear at the side of the river now. Some were obviously on their way into or out of town, using the riverbank as a convenient route, while others were sitting on boxes and dangling makeshift fishing rods into the water, hoping to catch some fish for their breakfast. Smoke was rising into the sky ahead of them, as Guildford’s occupants set about their cooking for the day. Buildings began to line the banks: some makeshift shacks formed out of wood that had been nailed together at various angles and some more substantial affairs of brick. Stone paving slabs appeared, patchy at first but eventually forming a pavement of sorts along the edge of the water.
After a while, as they approached a collection of warehouse-like buildings clustered together on the riverbank, Matty began to pull on the rope. The horse slowed, and the narrowboat coasted gently into the bank. Matty had timed it well: they ended up coming to a rest just by a large iron ring that had been set into one of the slabs. Sherlock expected him to wrap the rope about the ring, but instead Matty reached into the bows of the boat and pulled out a chain which appeared to be fastened to an eyelet sunk into the wood. He threw it to the bank and jumped after it. Winding the chain about the iron ring, he took a large old padlock out of his pocket and slipped it through several links of the chain.
‘Can’t trust anyone round here,’ he muttered, still not looking at Sherlock. ‘A rope they could cut, but a chain and padlock’ll take them a pretty time to get through. More time than the boat’s worth, I reckon.’
‘What about the horse?’ Sherlock asked.
‘If he can find someone who’ll treat him better than me, he’s welcome to go,’ Matty said. He took a step on to the grass, then looked back at Sherlock. His expression wasn’t exactly apologetic, but at least he was willing to make eye contact now. ‘He’s too old and lame to pull a plough or a cart,’ he explained. ‘A boat’s about his limit, and even then he’s slow. He’s not worth stealing.’
‘I’m sorry about what happened,’ Sherlock said awkwardly.
‘S’not your fault,’ Matty said, wiping a sleeve across his mouth. ‘You’ve fallen into something, and it’s got hold of you. I’m just caught in it as well. Best thing to do is try and get ourselves out as quickly as we can, and move on.’ He looked around. ‘This is Dapdune Wharf,’ he said. ‘If we get separated, which is likely, then just remember to meet back here. I won’t go without you.’ He looked critically at Sherlock. ‘An’ I’m pretty sure you can’t leave without me. Now, what was the name of that cove you was lookin’ for?’
‘Professor Winchcombe,’ Sherlock said.
‘Then let’s go and find him. And maybe we can get some breakfast on the way.’
Together, the two boys headed away from the river, along a path that promised to lead them out on to a larger thoroughfare. It took them an hour of walking, and asking several passers-by, before they discovered that Professor Winchcombe’s house was in Chaelis Road, which led off the High Street, and then another half an hour to find the High Street, which led uphill away from the river and was lined with two- and three-storey shops constructed out of black wooden beams with white plaster infill. Signs hung outside: wooden plaques with paintings of fish, bread, vegetables and all manner of other goods. The people walking up and down the street and looking in the windows were, for