Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [96]
And if it worked for flour, it might just work for pollen.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said a voice behind him.
Sherlock turned, knowing what he would see.
Mr Surd, Baron Maupertuis’s faithful retainer, was standing in the shadows. The leather thong of his whip spilt from his hand and curled around his feet.
‘Never mind,’ Surd said, advancing on Sherlock. ‘If the Baron wants to know what’s in your head, I’ll just give him your head and he can pull it out himself.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sherlock stepped to one side. Mr Surd swung around to track him. The metal tip of the whip scraped along the ground as the man moved.
Surd’s face was a mask of polite indifference, but the scars criss-crossing his scalp were red and inflamed with anger.
‘Did the Baron give you a hard time?’ Sherlock taunted. ‘Letting us escape like that couldn’t have done much for your reputation. I’ll wager the Baron discards useless servants like any other man throws away a used match.’
Surd’s face remained impassive, but his hand flicked and the whip lashed out. Sherlock jerked his head to one side a split second before the metal tip would have sliced his ear off.
‘That’s a neat circus trick, but there’s any number of better tricks out there,’ Sherlock went on, trying not to let his voice waver and betray him. ‘Perhaps Maupertuis could hire a knife-thrower next time.’
Again the whip flickered out, its tip snapping past Sherlock’s left ear with a crack that momentarily deafened him. He thought it had missed, but a sudden warm splatter of blood on his neck and a growing icy pain at the side of his head suggested that the metal tip had made contact. He staggered to one side, holding his hand to his ear. The pain wasn’t that great, not yet, but he wanted to change their positions and he wasn’t quite there yet.
‘Every taunt that you throw in my direction is another strip of flesh I’ll peel from your face,’ Surd said calmly. ‘You’ll be begging me to kill you, and I’ll just laugh. I’ll laugh.’
‘Laugh while you can,’ Sherlock said. ‘Perhaps I can persuade the Baron to employ me in your place. At least I’ve proved I’m more competent than you.’
‘I’ll keep you alive just long enough for the girl to see what I’ve made of you,’ Surd went on as if Sherlock hadn’t said anything. ‘She won’t want to look at you. She’ll scream at the sight of you. How will that feel, boy? How will it feel?’
‘You talk a good fight,’ Sherlock said. He took another step to one side. Surd moved as well.
The wooden boxes containing the trays of pollen were directly behind Sherlock now. He reached behind with his right hand, and let his questing fingers close around the edge of one of the trays. It was cold from the ice beneath it.
‘What are you doing, boy?’ Surd asked. ‘You think there’s anything there that will save you? You’re wrong. Wrong.’
‘The only thing that will save me is my brain,’ Sherlock said, bringing the tray around in front of him. Pollen spilt from it, yellow and powdery, making him cough. Surd struck out with his whip again, aiming for Sherlock’s right eye, but Sherlock held the tray up like a shield and the whip curled around it, the metal tip sinking into the wood and sticking. Sherlock tugged hard, pulling the handle of the whip from the grasp of the surprised Surd and throwing it to one side.
Surd bellowed like a bull and rushed forward, arms spread wide. Sherlock grabbed another tray from the box and smashed it over Surd’s head. The man reeled back, enveloped in choking yellow powder. If Surd survived, he would have even more scars on his scalp.
Of course, if Surd survived then Sherlock would probably be dead.
He stepped forward and grabbed Surd’s ears. Bringing his knee up, he banged Surd’s face down on to it. Surd’s nose broke with a crack just as loud as the one from his whip. He staggered backwards, blood waterfalling