Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [1]
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘That’s what Duke said it would look like. That’s exactly what he said it would look like.’
‘So what do we do?’
Instead of answering, Gimson reached out with his hand and took the thing between his finger and thumb. He picked it up. It drooped bonelessly. Hillager watched, fascinated.
‘Yeah,’ Gimson said, turning it over and examining it closely. ‘Look – there’s the mouth, or the sucker, or whatever you call it. Three teeth, set around the edge. And the other end’s got a sucker as well. That’s how it holds on – it attaches itself at both ends.’
‘And sucks your blood,’ Hillager said darkly.
‘And sucks the blood of anything that passes by slowly enough that it can get a grip,’ Gimson explained. ‘Those tiny elephants, that tapir-thing with the pointy snout – anything.’
The leech was changing shape as he watched, becoming thinner and longer. When Gimson had picked it up it had been nearly circular, but now it was more like a thick worm. His fingers were still clamped about a third of the way along from its head – if the bit with the mouth could actually be called a head.
‘What does he do with them?’ Hillager asked. ‘Why does he send people all this way to collect them?’
‘He says he hears them calling out to him,’ Gimson replied. ‘And as to what he does when he gets them – you really don’t want to know.’ He bent closer to the creature, examining it carefully. The creature waved blindly towards him, aware somehow that there was warm blood in the vicinity. ‘This one hasn’t fed for a while.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘It’s looking for something to attach to.’
‘Should we leave it?’ Hillager asked. ‘Look for another one tomorrow?’ He hoped Gimson would say no, because he really didn’t want to spend any more time in that jungle.
‘This is the first one we’ve seen in a week,’ Gimson replied. ‘It could be longer before we see another. No, we need to take this one. We need to get it back home.’
‘Will it survive the journey?’
Gimson shrugged. ‘Probably – if we feed it before we start back.’
‘OK.’ Hillager looked around. ‘What do you suggest. A monkey? One of those pig-things?’
Gimson didn’t say anything.
Hillager turned back, to find Gimson staring at him with a strange look on his face. Partly it was sympathy, but mostly it was distaste.
‘I suggest,’ Gimson said, ‘that you roll up your sleeve.’
‘Are you mad?’ Hillager whispered.
‘No, I’m a tracker and guide,’ Gimson explained. ‘What exactly did you think your purpose on this expedition was? Now roll up your sleeve. This horror needs blood, and it needs it now.’
Slowly, knowing what Duke’s reaction would be if he found out that Hillager had let his leech die rather than feed it, Hillager began to roll his sleeve up.
CHAPTER ONE
‘Have you ever thought about ants?’ Amyus Crowe asked.
Sherlock shook his head. ‘Apart from the fact that they get all over jam sandwiches at picnics, I can’t say I’ve ever given them much thought.’
The two of them were out in the Surrey countryside. The heat of the sun weighed on the back of Sherlock’s neck like a brick. An almost overpowering aroma of flowers and freshly mown hay seemed to hang in the air around him.
A bee buzzed past his ear and he flinched. Ants he was relatively ambivalent about, but bees still spooked him.
Crowe laughed. ‘What is it with the British and jam sandwiches?’ he asked through the laughter. ‘I swear there’s a nursery aspect to British eating habits that no other country has. Steamed puddings, jam sandwiches – with the crusts cut off, of course – and vegetables boiled so long they’re just flavoured mush. Food you don’t need teeth to eat.’
Sherlock felt a stab of annoyance. ‘So what’s so great about American food?’ he asked, shifting his position on the dry stone wall he was sitting on. Ahead of him the ground sloped down to a river in the distance.
‘Steaks,’ Crowe said simply. He was leaning on the wall, which came up to his chest. His square chin was resting on his folded arms, and his broad-brimmed hat