No Place Like Holmes (15 page)
Griffin stared, amazed at what he'd done. Snodgrass walked over to the body and nudged it with the toe of his shoe. Then he glanced up at his nephew and smiled. “Nice shot, lad.”
Griffin stared first at his weapon, then down at the unconscious man, who was snoring loudly. “You're sure he'll be all right?” he asked, worried.
“Of course,” said Snodgrass. “When he wakes, it will be as if he's had a long night's sleep. Of course, it will have been about twenty-four hours by then, and he might have some nasty bruises, but otherwise he'll never know the difference.”
Griffin took another look at the brass pistol. It was a lot more powerful than he'd initially thought! And he was certainly glad that it hadn't hurt the man. He wasn't sure he could handle a weapon that could actually kill someone.
“Come along, Griffin,” his uncle hissed. “And look sharp.”
“I always do,” Griffin quipped. And his uncle flashed him a grin. The boy replaced the pistol in his holster and hurried forward, trying to move as noiselessly as he could.
He hoped that they would find a way out soon.
Time is tick
ing
, he thought as he raced down the ever-descending tunnel.
Suddenly a piercing whistle split the air. Griffin and Snodgrass both winced and covered their ears.
What's that?
Griffin wondered.
BOOOOM!
The stone floor beneath their feet rumbled as if they were in the middle of an earthquake. Several bricks from the tunnel ceiling came crashing down, and Griffin covered his head with his arms, hoping that he wouldn't get hit. Through the rubble he glimpsed his uncle, who looked surprised but otherwise unharmed.
Griffin coughed from the avalanche of dust and debris. “What was that?” he said.
Snodgrass, who was in the middle of a coughing fit, didn't reply but motioned for him to follow. Visions of fireworks accidentally exploding or an experimental mishap with some huge piece of machinery filled his head as he jogged along behind his uncle.
I hope the tunnel isn't caving in!
Then, as they turned down a side passage, they found that the tunnel gave way to a huge, well-lit room. Griffin breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the crumbling, narrow tunnel.
Standing at a big table covered with blueprints was Frederick Dent. The big man's head was lowered in dismay. Behind him Griffin saw train tracks heading down a long, dark tunnel. Dust was everywhere.
A train station?
Griffin wondered.
Griffin walked forward, and as he did his foot accidentally kicked a small piece of debris, scattering rocks across the floor. At the sound, Dent looked up. Griffin was surprised to see that he'd been crying.
“Mr. Dent! Whatever is the matter?” Griffin asked, rushing forward. Dent shook his head and gripped the sides of his head in dismay.
“They've gone! And it's all my fault!”
“Where? Where have they gone?” Snodgrass said. “And what made that infernal noise?”
Dent seemed unable to speak, but raised a shaking finger and pointed at the tracks. Griffin noticed an unusual-looking train car positioned there. It was jet-black and looked like no other steam engine he'd ever seen. He realized that the piercing sound he'd heard had been similar to a train whistle. But he still couldn't understand what had made the booming noise that had shaken the entire cavern.
Snodgrass seemed immediately fascinated by the engine and rushed over to examine it more closely.
“This is solid workmanship,” he murmured. “Top-notch engineering.” He gave Frederick Dent a serious look. “Who is behind all this, Dent?”
Dent gathered his composure and answered, “Someone called Moriarty. He just left with about a dozen of his men. They have the clock tower plans and are putting the final batch of explosives in place as we speak.”
Griffin boggled.
Moriarty!
Could it be the real Professor Moriarty from the Sherlock Holmes stories? If that were true, then Griffin knew they were up against the most formidable criminal mind in the world!
He gulped.
If his uncle were similarly impressed, he didn't show it. “Then we must go after them,” Snodgrass said simply. He turned back to the engine and asked, “Does this machine work?”
“I believe so,” said Dent. “But they seemed reluctant to use it and preferred the other one. I heard Mr. Moriarity mention that he'd designed them both, but he also said something about that one being unpredictable.”
“I never knew that he was an inventor,” said Rupert Snodgrass.
“I thought you said you didn't believe that there was a Professor Moriarty,” Griffin said, but then immediately wished he hadn't. Snodgrass gave him a look of disgust that was similar to the one he'd given him when he'd mentioned the name Sherlock Holmes for the first time.
“I didn't say
exactly
that,” Snodgrass replied icily. “It's just that I personally haven't bumped up against him before. I suppose that there's a first time for everything.”
Griffin had been around his uncle long enough to know that it would be better to leave the subject of Holmes and anything related to him alone for now. He walked over and looked more closely at the engine, his eyes traveling over its strange, gigantic wheels and brightly polished smokestack. They were different than the ones on a typical steam locomotive. This was a strange configuration that wrapped back around the sides of the engine in long, sweeping curves. The only parts of it that weren't black were the bloodred decorative paint lines that swept across its streamlined body, accentuating its curves.
There was something about it that reminded him of the incredible seagull camera he'd seen back at the River Thames. The engine possessed the same sense of artistry and detail. And looking closer, Griffin noticed that there was a small plate with the initials N. M. engraved on it positioned next to the control panel.
“It does look impressive,” said Griffin.
“Yes,” said his uncle. “It certainly does.”
There was no other way to describe the train engine but to say that it looked fast. Griffin watched as Snodgrass climbed aboard and into the driver's seat.
“We've no time to waste,” he said abruptly. “Are you coming?”
Dent looked worried. “Are you comfortable piloting that thing? Moriarty said it was unreliable. Maybe it's going to fly apart as soon as we set off.”
Griffin shared a look with his uncle. Then, turning back to Mr. Dent, he said, “I'm afraid that's a chance we're going to have to take, sir.” Then, with a grim smile he added, “When you shake up a hornet's nest, you're bound to get a few stings.”
A
s the engine's wheels screamed to a stop, sending sparks flying behind them, Nigel Moriarty checked his pocket watch. It was 10:15 a.m.
“Excellent,” he murmured as he stepped from the luxurious cabin of the powerful black engine and surveyed his elegant invention. Billows of steam rose from the streamlined smokestack, and the wheels practically glowed with friction.
This Rocket Engine was perfect, unlike his previous design. It had traveled from the underground compound, switching tracks at Charring Cross precisely at the time he'd scheduled it to, missing all the other major trains before switching back to a set of secret tracks that led underneath Westminster Palace in just ten point two minutes. And that was even with two cars filled with explosives trailing behind it! It had been tricky, especially designing the secret tracks so that they would be sufficiently camouflaged. The whole plan would have crumbled if anyone had noticed the extra tracks and removed them.
“Shall we begin unloading the cars, Guv?” asked one of his hired goons.
“Yes,” Nigel replied. “And be careful!”
The man slouched off to the rest of the waiting thugs and ordered them to begin moving the piles of fireworks from the waiting train car.
Huge crates filled with gigantic rockets were carefully placed on handcarts. Just one of the rockets could blow a hole the size of a hansom cab in the side of the clock, so Nigel watched the unloading carefully. It wouldn't do at all to have an accident now. There were over two tons of fireworks strategically placed inside the clock's mechanisms already, so it was a miracle that there hadn't been any mishaps thus far.
“Go slowly, you dolt!” Nigel hissed at one of his workers who was wheeling a cart recklessly forward. This was no time to get sloppy.
He placed his silk top hat on his head and adjusted his tie. It truly was a momentous occasion. For so many years, his cousin had been trying to defeat Sherlock Holmes. And now, with clever planning and his use of the very latest scientific advancements, Nigel was about to do something the great Professor couldn't do.
Nigel thought about the chaos and destruction that would follow this afternoon's surprise and grinned. He reminded himself that it would be more than just Sherlock Holmes's life that would be forfeit. He'd also be stripping England of her beloved monarch and probably killing countless others.
He sighed in anticipation. By this time tomorrow, he'd be in his secret villa near the Reichenbach Falls, enjoying an expensive feast with all of his favorite dishes and setting his sights on his next goal: the elimination of his cousin and seizing control of his criminal empire.
Professor Moriarty might have been brilliant once, but Nigel knew that he'd never been the same after his encounter with Sherlock Holmes in Switzerland. The two had plunged off the falls, but neither had died. Holmes had survived by his own wits, but the Professor had only survived because of Nigel's ingenuity.
It was he who had invented the machine that had given his cousin life once more. But since the accident, James Moriarty had grown paranoid and had made, in Nigel's estimation, several seriously flawed decisions.
Perhaps it's his wounded pride
, Nigel mused. After all, being confined to a steam-driven wheelchair was bound to make someone feel helpless. Maybe the reason his cousin's brilliance had faded was the fact that Holmes had emerged from their battle intact, while he had not.
As a boy, Nigel always looked up to his cousin James. The Professor was much older than he was, but had shown Nigel respect from the time he'd been young. Nigel had always been ruthless and ambitious, even as a boy. He liked to think that his older cousin had recognized him as a kindred spirit. There may have been another reason too. Maybe Professor Moriarity knew that, given enough time, Nigel might become even more evil than he was, and it would be better to have him as a friend than as an enemy.
Nigel smiled to himself. He followed the workers and the explosives into the huge mechanical lift he'd designed and pulled the switch that initiated their ascent. As the lift rose directly beneath a secret entrance in the clock tower, he removed a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. His eyes darted over the copy of Frederick Dent's plans, checking the placement of his electronics and the explosives. He couldn't afford to miss a single flaw in his diabolical scheme.
But he couldn't find a one. Not one. It was perfect.
B
OOOM!
Thunder echoed around Griffin as the steam engine roared to life. Then the same piercing whistle they had heard before blew from a hidden area on the train, giving Griffin goose bumps. Suddenly the train lurched forward and rocketed down the tracks.
Griffin had never traveled so fast in his life. The cavern walls passed by in a blur, and he gripped the seat in front of him with white-knuckled terror. He was somewhere between complete exhilaration and total panic!
“I say, Snodgrass! Slow this thing down!” shouted Mr. Dent. But Snodgrass, who sat in the seat in front of them, didn't respond. He was so busy pulling cranks, watching gauges, and twisting switches that he didn't have time to speak.
With the wind blasting through his hair, Griffin inched forward and leaned over the seat so that he could see better what his uncle was doing. He saw a gauge marked Water Pressure and noticed that the indicator arrow was all the way up into the red. Snodgrass was focused on the gauge, trying to lower the pressure.