Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [78]
As Sherlock watched, a rope holding one of the corners of a pallet that was being swung towards the ship snapped. The pallet dropped sideways, and four beehives slid off. They fell, turning slowly, and smashed into wooden splinters on the stones below.
Men ran in from the side carrying tin buckets with nozzles attached. Something inside the buckets was producing smoke, and the smoke seemed to be lulling the bees into a soporific state. A few escaped, but most of them stayed near the smashed hives, weaving around like drunks. Tarpaulins were thrown across the remains of the hives, and everything was slid across the cobbles and dropped into the foaming torrent of the Thames. Sherlock supposed that it was almost impossible to rebuild a hive after it had been smashed.
‘Sherlock?’
A voice called his name softly. He glanced around from his place of concealment. It didn’t sound like Amyus Crowe. Or Matty Arnatt.
‘Sherlock?’ The voice was more urgent now. He scanned the area, and suddenly became aware of another figure, hidden like him behind a pile of crates. A female figure.
‘Virginia?’
She was wearing her riding breeches and a jacket over a plain white linen blouse. She glanced across at him, and her eyes were wide. ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed.
Sherlock scooted over to join her. ‘It would take too long to explain,’ he said.
She looked him up and down. ‘What have you been doing?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Swimming in rats,’ he said eventually. ‘Amongst other things. What’s your story?’
She looked away, unexpectedly embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t going to be left behind while you guys had all the fun,’ she whispered, ‘so I got changed into my riding breeches and followed you.’
‘We went down the river. In a boat. How did you follow us?’
She stared strangely at him. ‘In another boat, of course. I just told the boatman to follow you. He got a bit funny about it, but I had some money that my father had given me, and that seemed to calm him down. While you were watching the warehouse, I was watching you. Then I saw some of the men come this way, and you all seemed to be staying put, so I followed them here.’
‘I saw nothing of you,’ Sherlock said lamely.
‘Dad taught me all his tracking skills,’ she said proudly. ‘If I’m following you, then “nothing” is exactly what you can expect to see.’ She paused, and reached out to touch his arm briefly.
‘What you did was incredibly dangerous,’ Sherlock said, ‘but I’m pleased to see you.’
She shrugged. ‘It was better than waiting in the hotel for you all to come back.’
‘But why follow me? Why not find your dad and tell him what had happened?’
‘I was following you,’ she said simply, ‘not him. I lost track of where he went.’
‘But a girl . . . alone . . . in the East End of London . . .’ He trailed off, not sure how he was going to finish the sentence. ‘There are some very bad people around here . . .’ he started eventually, and then went on to explain exactly what had happened that afternoon, including the stabbing and the fire in the tunnels. It was a relief to talk about it, but at the same time Sherlock knew that his life had been in mortal danger, and that he still didn’t know why.
‘They can’t be allowed to get away with it,’ Virginia said when he had finished. ‘You’re just a kid. They could have killed you.’
‘You’re just a kid too,’ Sherlock protested lamely.
Virginia smiled. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said. ‘I meant we shouldn’t be mixed up in something like this.’
‘But we are,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘And whatever’s going on, we have to stop it.’
‘Well, I’m prepared. I’m in disguise as a boy. I found a hat,’ Virginia said proudly, pulling it out from beneath where she crouched. It was a peaked cloth cap. She smoothed her hair up behind her head with one hand and slipped the cap on with the other. With her hair hidden and her coat buttoned up, Sherlock could see how she might have been mistaken for a boy. And she was wearing her riding breeches, of course. Girls wore dresses, not breeches. Nobody who