Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [71]
‘Exactly,’ Crowe said approvingly.
Sherlock was about to ask how long they ought to fight for when Matty shoved him hard in the chest. ‘I told you!’ he shouted.
Sherlock suppressed the sudden urge to punch Matty in the jaw, and instead hit him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he yelled, feeling slightly embarrassed.
Matty launched himself at Sherlock, bringing him to the ground. Within moments the two of them were rolling around, clouds of dust rising around them. Sherlock got a grip on Matty’s arm, but Matty’s fingers closed in Sherlock’s hair and pulled his head back.
Sherlock was on the verge of forgetting that it was a pretend fight when Amyus Crowe’s huge hands closed on his and Matty’s shoulders and hoicked them upright. ‘All right you two, break it up,’ he said, using his ‘English’ voice again, but gruffer this time.
The two boys stood facing each other, trying to suppress smiles despite the danger of their situation. Sherlock glanced down at himself. His jacket was torn at the sleeve, and everything was covered in dust and horsehair and stuff that he didn’t even want to think about.
‘Don’t worry,’ Crowe said. ‘It’ll wash off. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just buy more clothes. Possessions can always be replaced. A good hunter knows that anything material can be sacrificed in pursuit of the prey.’
‘What kind of animals did you hunt?’ Matty asked.
‘I didn’t say they were animals,’ Crowe murmured.
Before either of the boys could ask him to clarify his statement, he walked off. They followed, exchanging uneasy glances.
Crowe stopped at a corner and glanced round it. ‘Warehouse is across there,’ he said quietly. ‘Sherlock, you stay here. Hunker down on the ground an’ play with somethin’ – some stones if you can find ’em. Remember – don’t make eye contact, but watch what’s goin’ on out of the corner of your eye. Matty, you come with me. You can cover the back, an’ I’ll move back and forth between the two of you.’
‘What are we looking for?’ Sherlock asked.
‘Stuff that’s out of the ordinary. Somethin’ that might tell us what’s goin’ on here.’
Crowe and Matty walked off, Crowe’s hand on Matty’s shoulder, and Sherlock followed instructions, settling down on his haunches and pulling one of the cobbles from the mud. He rolled it back and forth. It was a boring game, but it was enough to make him look like part of the scenery, and he found he was still able to see what was going on around him out of the corner of his eye while ostensibly playing his game.
The warehouse was a brick building with a front made up almost entirely of a large pair of wooden doors, hinged so that they opened outward on to the street. There was nothing obviously suspicious about it, and Sherlock wondered whether they were actually watching the right place, or just a randomly chosen building.
Amyus Crowe wandered back after what seemed like hours, but was probably closer to half an hour. Although he was wearing the same clothes as before, and he hadn’t dirtied them as noticeably as Sherlock and Matty, he looked dishevelled. His jacket was buttoned up wrongly, giving him a lopsided appearance, and his shirt was hanging out of his trousers. He was weaving slightly, and staring at the ground directly in front of his feet. He stopped near Sherlock and slumped against the wall.
‘Everythin’ OK?’ he murmured.
‘Nothing’s happened,’ Sherlock replied, equally quietly.
‘You all right?’
‘I’m bored.’
Crowe chuckled. ‘Welcome to the hunt. Long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of exhilaration and terror.’ He paused, then went on: ‘I think I might wander into that there tavern for a while, see what’s bein’ said.’
‘Fine. Couldn’t send me out a glass of water, could you?’
‘Son, you’re prob’ly better off drinkin’ out of the Thames than the water from any tavern around here. If you’re hungry or thirsty just register the fact an’ then push it to one side. Don’t dwell on it.