The Future Door (18 page)
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”
The passage told of constancy, truth, and the persistence of God's love. That it could cross any boundary, including time and space. For Griffin, a boy who loved truth and loved things that made sense, it was a constant reminder that he could trust in one thing that would never fail: Jesus, God's eternal gift of love and salvation. Plus, it was a nice reminder that God was here in the future too.
So it was with a profound sense of relief that he read the familiar and comforting passage. Perhaps he'd been a bit too hasty in assuming that this new and future world was all bad.
Whether on a written page or on an illuminated screen, the words were still here. And they were timeless truths that mankind had trusted for generations.
“Over here, boy,” he heard his uncle call. Griffin replaced the amazing Bible back on the shelf and hurried over to his uncle.
Rupert was standing in line, waiting for a clerk to finish helping other customers. Griffin watched people hand the clerk small, lightweight cards that he slid through a machine. This apparently paid for the item they wished to purchase, for they were given a small, white receipt afterward. Griffin noted that it was exactly the same as the one he'd taken from the Moriartys' lair.
“Excuse me, my good fellow,” Rupert said when it was his turn to move ahead in line.
The busy man barely glanced up, but said, “How may I help you?”
“Perhaps you could text this into your adding machine and tell me what was purchased from your shop?” Rupert said, smiling.
Griffin could tell that he was trying his best to sound like the woman in the motorcar, speaking quickly and trying to use the local language. The man raised an eyebrow at the strange request but didn't reply. Instead, he lifted a small device that had a red light within it and brushed it across a series of bars printed on the bottom of the receipt.
The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
,” he said. “I have “a copy right here, but you can't buy it. It's been reserved for a book club. Would you like to look at it? We may have another copy upstairs.”
“Thank you,” Griffin replied, taking the book. He and his uncle stepped aside to leaf through the large hardback book.
As he and Rupert scanned the pages, Griffin's mind flashed into overdrive. What could Nigel Moriarty possibly have wanted with such a book? He already knew what had happened in all of the casesâwhy not just go back and change them? Why did he need the book?
But then, as he came across the cases after 1903, both Griffin and his uncle realized what the evil man had done. It was so subtle and clever only a criminal artist like Nigel would have ever thought of such a thing! Sherlock Holmes had had more adventures, and by stealing the book, Moriarty knew in advance exactly where he'd be and how to ambush him.
It was how he'd found a way to murder the great detective. And Griffin knew that once Holmes was gone, London had opened up for the Moriartys to take over and establish their terrible empire.
“Ah, too bad it's spoken for,” Rupert said. “Do you happen to know, my good man, where we could GPS such a book?”
The man stared at him for a moment with a puzzled expression. Then, as if figuring out what he was trying to say, he replied, “GPS? You mean where to find it? Aisle thirty-four, second floor. You'll find it in the bargain bin.”
“Thank you!” Rupert enthused. And then, after beaming a triumphant smile at his nephew, the two set off to navigate the maze of bookshelves and find this “bargain bin” the man had mentioned. Griffin wanted to read up on Sherlock Holmes's future cases as much as his uncle did. It could give them valuable information as to the future (or the present or the past, depending on how you looked at it, Griffin thought) plots and schemes of the Moriartys.
They had just emerged from the moving stairway to the second floor when they spotted a man dressed in the same style of clothing they wore, reaching into a large basket of specially marked books.
At first, Griffin wasn't sure it was him, but when he saw the man's angular features and curled, gray mustache, his blood froze. There was a sharp pain in his leg, a cruel reminder of the terrible wound inflicted upon him by the one person he feared more than any other. It was the first time he'd seen him up close since the fateful day he'd almost been killed by the man's sword. And as he stood there, staring at him not forty feet away, Griffin's heart was filled with dread at the sight of his terrible adversary.
It was, indeed, Nigel Moriarty!
Y
OU!” Snodgrass yelled.
Nigel Moriarty glanced up, searching for the source of the shout. His eyes narrowed when he saw Rupert and Griffin, then widened perceptibly at the sight of his old walking stick. His eyes flicked to the teapot that Rupert carried and, with a malicious grin, raised its twin in his other hand.
It was a paradox. The fact that the same object from different times could exist simultaneously in the same world seemed impossible. And yet, here they were, a past version of Moriarty and a slightly more recent version of Rupert and Griffin, both in the future, both carrying time machines.
It was too much for Griffin to comprehend, and there was no time for him to think about it. Pushing away the part of his mind that wanted to wrestle with the scientific challenge it proposed, Griffin instead moved to action, drawing his Scorpion and pointing it at his adversary.
“Put the book down, Mr. Moriarty,” Griffin called.
Nigel sneered in response. “Or what, boy? You'll shoot me with one of your uncle's silly, ânonlethal' inventions? Hardly!”
Rupert, who still had his rifle slung on his back, whipped it over his shoulder in one smooth movement. “ âNonlethal' doesn't mean it won't hurt!” he shouted, then pulled the trigger.
What emerged from the tip of the gun looked to Griffin like a swarm of silver bees. In fact, they were something else, something of so cunning and ingenious a design that even Nigel Moriarty would have had to appreciate the artistry that had gone into creating them.
Tiny flying robots, each equipped with a needle-like stinger, flew toward Moriarty with deadly intent. Later, his uncle informed him that, once released, the missile-like drones would follow their target indefinitely, chasing them to whatever destination they ran to, never giving up until they had delivered their poisonous payload . . . a concoction brewed from poison ivy, stinging nettles, and fire ants! Nasty stuff, indeed!
But one thing that the drones couldn't do was follow their prey beyond the present time, and Moriarty was nothing if not quick-minded.
Griffin watched at first with exultation at his uncle's shot but then in horrified despair as Nigel threw the switch on his time machine and the lights around him began to swirl.
Perhaps a few of the drones got there in time, because as Moriarty vanished, Griffin fancied that he could hear cries of pain. But in seconds the man had disappeared and the silver drones, now robbed of their target, fell harmlessly to the ground.
The entire floor of the bookstore had gone from a hive of activity to utter silence. Stunned faces stared at Griffin and Rupert, unable to believe what they'd witnessed. Then suddenly, someone in the crowded store came to his senses and pointed a shaking finger at Rupert, shouting, “He's got a gun!”
“Run, boy!” Rupert exclaimed.
Moving as fast as they could, the two of them shot through the screaming crowd and made their way out the door. Griffin could hear the chaos behind them and soon after heard a terrible wailing alarm. It was a noise that in any time meant the same thing.
The police were coming!
Much about London had changed since 1903. But, thankfully, many of the streets were exactly the same. Griffin and his uncle charged down an alley they recognized, twisted and turned through two others, and emerged on a very familiar street.
As they ran, Griffin's leg felt like it was on fire. He tried to use the cane as much as he could for support and knew that he couldn't keep up the frantic pace his uncle set. But as they turned the corner, he counted down the addresses until he found the one they'd been looking for.
The apartments at 221 Baker Street looked very similar except for two very important details. The first was that 221B, Sherlock Holmes's apartment, now had a sign outside of it that read Sherlock Holmes Museum.
But the second was far worse. Through the years, someone had changed the architecture of Griffin's uncle's residence. For now, right where 221A used to be, was a restaurant.
“What the deuce?” cried Snodgrass. He stared back and forth between the entrance to his apartment and the Sherlock Holmes museum. Griffin could tell right away that the years of hoping that he, Rupert Snodgrass, would someday be famous like Sherlock Holmes had suddenly disappeared in a disappointed
POOF!
Without a doubt, the legacy of Sherlock Holmes would live on throughout history, and the names Rupert Snodgrass and Griffin Sharpe definitely would not.
And knowing that fact made Griffin breathe a sigh of relief. For him, it meant that his plan for remaining the World's Most Secret Detective was working. There would never be a sign, a museum, a monument, or a statue commemorating the place where he'd lived with his uncle. His detective work would forever be a secret.
And that thought gave him a thrill equal to his uncle's disappointment. For if the criminals didn't know who he was or what he looked like, they would never see him coming. Not only that, but he never wanted to be tempted by fame or glory. The work he did, he did simply because it was a gift that the Lord had given him. Nothing more, nothing less. If there was any glory to be had, he wished it to go to God.
“Come along, Uncle,” Griffin said sympathetically. “We need to hide, and I can think of no better place than in here. Somewhere where nobody knows who we are.”
Rupert's face clouded, and then, quite unexpectedly, he chuckled.
“Quite so.” He laughed. Then, placing his arm around his nephew's shoulder, he said, “Oh, dash it all, I'm starving anyway! Who cares about a moldy old museum.”
Griffin stared at him for a moment, amazed that he'd gotten over what had to be a great disappointment so quickly. Then, as they walked inside the merry restaurant, Griffin smiled.
Sometimes his uncle Rupert could still surprise him.
A
fter sitting down in the restaurant, they'd been about to orderâGriffin's hunger getting the better of his resolution to never eat food from the future againâ when Rupert took one look at the prices listed on the menu and let out a gasp.
“Fourteen pounds for fish and chips!” he exclaimed.
Griffin was astonished too. After doing a quick conversion of British pounds to American dollars in his head, he realized that the price of the meal was close to twenty dollars! It was a small fortune in 1903.
He whistled softly. Of course, neither he nor his uncle had brought such an extravagant amount with them.
Rupert proposed that they order and then just use the time machine to go back to their present, but Griffin reminded him that that was stealing and forced his grumbling uncle to reconsider.
They decided they needed a new plan of attack. They'd tried to stop Moriarty from stealing the book in the future and failed. “The only thing to try now is to journey to the past. If we could arrive right here at our apartment on the night that Miss Pepper stole the time machine, maybe we could stop her!” Griffin said.
Rupert looked doubtful. “What you continually fail to realize, dear nephew, is that this machine is inaccurate. As I've said before, I was about to create a regulatory system for it so that a date and time could be specifically calibrated, but I became consumed with other things,” he said pointedly.
Griffin remembered that the other “things” his uncle was talking about were his own arrival and the last case they worked on.
“But what if we tried pushing the knob back just a little into where it says âPast' and not all the way?” Griffin said, indicating the lever on the side of the teapot that pointed to “Past,” “Present,” and “Future.”
Rupert scratched the side of his nose. “I don't know. It might work, but it still could be way off. Remember, you're wanting to arrive at a very specific date and time. It's nearly impossible.”
Griffin smiled at his uncle. “But, Uncle, like you said, we have all the
time
in the world. We can keep trying as long as we want, and when we finally hit it, no time will have elapsed.”
Rupert smirked. “Good point,” he said. And then, just as the waitress was approaching to take their orders, the two clasped hands and Rupert firmly gripped the teapot's handle.
“Ready . . . one, two, THREE!”
And with a flash, the two disappeared from the year 2012 and hurtled back into the past.
