Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [86]
The Paradol Chamber? What was that? As Maupertuis was talking, Sherlock memorized what might have been an important slip of the tongue that Mycroft would want to know about.
Assuming that Sherlock ever got the chance to see his brother again.
‘You want to believe that your brother will continue to be an important man in the British government,’ Maupertuis continued, ‘but he will not. He, like the rest of his colleagues, will be swept away by the tide of history. When this bumptious little country of yours is a mere province of a European superpower that can rival America in its size and power, then Mycroft Holmes and his ilk will be surplus to requirements. Their kind will not be needed in the new world order. They will find themselves at the mercy of the guillotine or the garrotte. They will not survive.’
Maupertuis’s voice had descended to a low hiss by now, so carried away was he with this venomous diatribe directed against a country and a people that he so obviously hated. Why did he hate Great Britain so much? Sherlock found himself wondering what might work best – a reasoned argument, or provoking the Baron into a more emotional state. Either way, the outcome was uncertain. The chances were that the two of them were going to die.
‘He is mad,’ Virginia said quietly but firmly to Sherlock. ‘Stark, staring mad. His plan is obviously nuts, and the outcome he wants is impossible. Like it or not, Britain is a world power. He can’t reverse that.’
‘I am surprised,’ the Baron hissed, ‘that you are defending this country so strongly, girl.’
Virginia looked up as he spoke, surprised at her sudden inclusion in the Baron’s thoughts. ‘Why surprised?’ she asked. ‘I don’t like to see innocent people killed. Is that unusual?’
‘Your country was beholden to this one for over two hundred years,’ the Baron pointed out. ‘Everything in America was ruled from London. You were just another county, like Hampshire or Dorset, only larger and further away. You had to rebel against British control and throw off the yoke of Westminster.’
‘And we did it in a clean fight,’ she pointed out. ‘Not by tricks and schemes and secret plans. If we’ve got to have wars then that’s the way they should be – fair and open and clean. There should be rules for war, like there are for boxing.’
‘Naive,’ the Baron murmured. ‘So naive. And so pointless. You and the boy will die before you ever find out that your precious world order will be overturned.’
‘You like operating in the shadows, don’t you?’ Virginia continued, and there was a hard-edged tone in her voice that made Sherlock glance at her, wondering what she was up to.
‘The successful fighter strikes from the shadows and then hides in them again, so that the bigger, stronger foe does not know where to strike,’ the Baron whispered. ‘That is the warfare of the future. That is how a smaller foe can overcome a much larger one. By stealth.’
‘You prefer the shadows? Then let’s see how you like the sunlight,’ she cried, and leaped to her feet. Sherlock sensed a flurry of activity at the shadowed end of the room as Mr Surd prepared to strike out with his metal-tipped whip, but Virginia darted to one side and the whip sliced into the back of the chair she had just vacated. She grabbed the black velvet curtains that lined the room and pulled on them, hard. Sherlock heard a ripping sound as the velvet tore loose from the curtain rail, and then, with a sound like a distant rainstorm, a whole sheet of material fell to the ground in a slow avalanche of soft cloth, letting bright sunlight spill into the room.
Black-clad and masked figures around the room shielded their eyes, but Sherlock’s gaze was drawn to the figure of the Baron, sitting in an oversized chair at the other end of the table. It was, indeed, the same pink-eyed, white-haired man that he had seen in the carriage back in Farnham. He squinted into the light, shielding his face with one hand while the other hand came up with