Young Sherlock Holmes_ Fire Storm - Andrew Lane [59]
Folding the map up and putting it in his pocket, he set off for the park. He felt more confident that he could navigate his way around now.
The sun was shining through the clouds, casting beams of light diagonally across the mottled blue and grey as if girders of light were holding up the entire sky. Glancing down side roads as he strolled along Princes Street he caught glimpses of the castle. It no longer looked like a solid grey cloud hanging above the city, but there was something about it that defied geometry and perspective. It looked as if it just shouldn’t be possible that the castle was up there while the town was down here.
As he passed one particular alley, something in the shadows made a scuffling noise. He stopped, intrigued, and looked sideways. He made no move to get any closer to the alley – that would have been stupid – but if anyone was following him then he wanted to know who it was.
For a moment he could only see a pool of shadow, like liquid darkness, where the sun could never penetrate, but after a few moments his eyes got used to the contrast and he could make out something that seemed to be floating in mid-air, like a pale balloon. It took a moment of concentration before his brain realized what he was looking at – the face of someone dressed entirely in black who was standing there, in the alley, staring out.
Sherlock took an involuntary step backwards. The face was bone-white, with eyes set so deep that the sockets were just black holes in the face. The cheekbones stuck out sharply, and the lips – if the figure had any lips – were pulled back from teeth that seemed to grin at Sherlock as if the figure was enjoying some private joke. For a long moment Sherlock was convinced that a rotting human body, something close to a skeleton, was standing there, in the alley, looking at him. Had it been ripped from the ground and left there, propped up against a piece of wood, as a warning? And who would do such a macabre thing?
The figure raised a hand to the side of its face and waved, then drew back into the darkness until Sherlock couldn’t see it any more. Only after it had gone, leaving him cold and shaking, did he remember the man in the tavern, the one who had been sitting alone. Had it been him?This figure had looked even more skeletal, even less alive, but that might have been a trick of the poor light.
What was going on? He thought back to what his aunt and uncle had told him. Was he going mad, like his father?
For a few seconds Sherlock wanted to go further into the alley, looking for the figure – looking for the truth about what he’d seen – but he pulled back. Logically, the most likely explanation was that this was a trap, and the figure was bait to lure him in. But was it random, or did someone know that his curiosity often outweighed his good sense? Rattled, Sherlock walked away from the mouth of the alley and he didn’t look back.
The park was only a few minutes further. When he got there, Matty was already waiting.
‘Are you all right?’ his friend asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sherlock replied sharply. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’
‘All right – keep your hair on.’
‘Did you find anything out?’ Sherlock asked.
Matty shook his head. ‘Most of the blokes and kids I knew around here have moved on. That or they’ve died. I did find a couple of people who remembered me, but they don’t know anything about a big American who’s come through this way. What about you?’
‘I could find my way around the city now.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s something,’ Matty said critically. ‘If we was ever planning on moving here.’
‘Don’t underestimate the usefulness of geographical knowledge.’
Matty stared at him. ‘So what’s our next move?’ he asked eventually.
Sherlock pondered for