Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [79]
‘Amyus Crowe,’ Ives said. ‘Is that the big guy the one in the white suit? Never knew his name till now, but he’s persistent. An’ so are you.’
‘You have no idea,’ Sherlock yelled, but he was scared. He glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Berle or the other man, but the chances of him being able to get away in that direction were slim. They were probably waiting for him at the next couple of carriage junctions, one of them holding Virginia, the other holding Matty.
When he turned back, Ives was holding a gun.
‘You’ve got moxie, I’ll give you that,’ Ives said, raising the gun to take aim.
Part of Sherlock was wondering what ‘moxie’ was, while another part was noticing that the train was just shifting from land on to the bridge that he’d seen just a few moments before. The ground below suddenly plunged away into a chasm of rock with a glittering blue ribbon at the bottom. And a third part of his brain was trying to tell him something.
Ives fired. Sherlock flinched, but the wind and the vibration had knocked Ives’s aim off, as he knew that they would, and the bullet passed harmlessly off to one side.
Ives moved closer, trying to maintain his balance, and Sherlock tried to latch on to the thought that hovered just out of reach. Something he’d done recently. Something he’d bought.
The sling! Desperately he scrabbled through his pockets looking for the leather pouch with the two bits of leather thong attached that he’d bought at the ‘notions’ store. Right-hand trouser pocket – no. Left-hand trouser pocket – no. Ives was getting ready to fire again. Left-hand inside jacket pocket – no, but his fingers brushed against the collection of cold ball bearings he’d also bought. Ives was pointing his gun again, bracing it with his other hand. Left-hand outside jacket pocket – yes! Sherlock pulled out the sling and quickly slipped his right hand through the loop, then closed the other loop in his palm, leaving the leather pouch to hang loose.
Ives fired. The bullet whistled past Sherlock’s ear.
He delved into his pocket with his left hand, pulling out a ball bearing, and quickly slipped it into the pouch. Before Ives could react, he whirled the weighted sling around his head twice, then released the thong he was holding. The ball bearing flew towards Ives, making a gleaming line in the sky. It caught his left ear, tearing a chunk of flesh away. Ives cried out in surprise and shock as blood splattered on to his shoulder. His eyes went wide with disbelief.
Sherlock grabbed the loose thong again and slipped another ball bearing into the pouch.
The train was in the middle of the bridge now, and Sherlock thought he could detect a sideways motion, as the bridge rocked under the weight.
Ives lurched forward and shuffled towards Sherlock, hands outstretched to grab him. He appeared to have forgotten the fact that he still had a gun.
Sherlock whipped the sling around his head again, twice, and let go of the loose thong. The ball bearing shot across the narrowing gap between them, hitting Ives in the centre of his forehead and staying there, in the dent it had created. Ives fell backwards, eyes so wide that Sherlock could see white all around his pupils. His back hit the train roof and he rolled sideways, then vanished over the edge. Sherlock heard a despairing cry as he fell, and then there was nothing but the whistling of the wind and the mournful call of the train’s whistle.
Sherlock fell to his knees, still gripping the guard rail. He let his breathing settle and his heart calm down before he stood again and moved backwards to the junction where he had climbed up.
One down; several more to go; but he had a weapon now.
The track clattered beneath the train’s wheels as it reached the other side of the ravine. The whistle sounded again. Sherlock glanced forward, towards the engine, and saw that the line ahead split into two. One led onward, straight, while the other curved away, along the edge