Young Sherlock Holmes: Knife Edge (5 page)

‘Sherlock . . .’ Mycroft warned.

‘Your brother is very direct,’ Albano said. ‘I appreciate that. He is right – most people either pretend that
nothing is wrong, or they stare and then stutter when they
try to speak.’ He raised a hand to his left temple. ‘The answer is simple: I was injured when I was young. I was chopping wood with an axe. A chip of wood flew up and penetrated my left
eye. The eye could not be saved. For many years I wore an eyepatch, but when I was in my early twenties I journeyed to India, where I met a holy man. He
told me of a stone, a special stone, that
was the eye of a statue in one of the local temples. This stone, he said, was rumoured to be strong in magical qualities, and had been used in times past to see beyond the veil of this world and
into other planes of existence. I became obsessed with this stone. Eventually, and through circumstances too complicated to relate now, it came into my possession.
I took it to be no coincidence
that the stone was just the right size to be placed into my own, vacant, eye socket. That is how I brought it home – wearing an eyepatch so that nobody would see it and comment on
it.’

‘And was the holy man correct?’ Sherlock asked. ‘Does the stone allow you to see beyond this world?’

‘I believe you are here to decide that for yourselves,’ Albano said,
smiling a thin smile.

‘Indeed so,’ Mycroft rumbled. ‘Now – I believe that refreshments were mentioned?’

‘Silman will take you to the dining room, where a selection of cakes and sandwiches have been prepared.’ Sir Shadrach indicated the severe-faced woman standing behind him.
‘Silman is my butler.’

‘A . . . female . . . butler,’ Mycroft said, raising his eyebrows. ‘How novel.’

‘You will find a great many things about Cloon Ard Castle are the reverse of what you might expect. I have a woman for a butler, a woman for a gardener and women for footmen. My cook and
my maids, however, are men. Why should things not be reversed, once in a while? Shaking up the established order of things can be . . . exhilarating.’

‘As long as we are not expected to sleep on the ceiling
and take dinner before lunch and lunch before breakfast then I am sure that we will adapt,’ Mycroft said diplomatically.

‘Good.’ Quintillan clapped his hands together. ‘You are a man of the world, Mr Holmes. I think that some of the other representatives were taken somewhat aback by my
idiosyncratic arrangement of servants.’

‘The . . .
other
representatives?’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow
questioningly. ‘I was under the impression that I was the
only
representative here. Are there
other departments of the British Government also represented? I can see that the Home Office might have a use for being able to communicate with the dead, given that they are in charge of the
police, but I can assure you that I am negotiating on behalf of the
entire
British Government, not just the
Foreign Office.’

‘That is well understood, Mr Holmes. No, these are representatives of other
nations
, not other government departments.’

Mycroft was so surprised that he took a pace backwards and almost stumbled down the stone ramp. ‘
Other
nations?’ he asked. ‘Sir Shadrach, I was under the impression
that this was an
exclusive
arrangement. I did not – and by “
I
did not” I mean “the
British Government
did not” – realize that we were
in
competition
for Mr Albano’s particular and recondite skills.’ He sounded, Sherlock thought, almost outraged, although Sherlock was sure that at least some of the emotion in
his brother’s voice was faked for effect.

Sir Shadrach shrugged, still smiling. ‘Mr Albano’s talents are highly valued, and highly sought after,’ he said. ‘We would
be foolish, would we not, to restrict ourselves
to just one bidder when there is an entire world out there who could use him?’

‘And who else is here?’

‘The Tsar of Russia has sent a representative, and he has brought a manservant with him. The German Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire have both sent representatives who have travelled
alone – I will provide them with servants from
my own staff. I believe the American President has dispatched a representative as well, but he is still on his way – travelling with
someone else. I hope he arrives in time for the auction.’

‘The
auction
?’ Mycroft shuddered. ‘Dear me, how plebeian.’

Sherlock glanced up at Mr Albano. It struck him that the man’s pale skin probably reacted badly to sunlight, which was why he was standing
in semi-darkness. ‘What about you, Mr
Albano?’ he called. ‘How do you feel about being auctioned off like a Chinese vase?’

Albano’s paper-thin voice floated down the stairs: ‘My gifts are intended for the greater benefit of mankind. I do not need such a vulgar thing as money. I leave that to my patron,
Sir Shadrach Quintillan. I just wish to be sure that what I do is bringing benefit to
the masses, and that communication with the spiritual world can enable us all to grow towards a better
understanding of God’s plan.’

‘And I suppose that the nation offering the highest reward will, by definition, be the one that will use spiritualism to bring the greatest benefit to the masses and illuminate God’s
plan the best,’ Mycroft rumbled.

‘You understand us,’ Quintillan said.
‘I am glad. Now, please, come inside. Sunlight fatigues Mr Albano, and we need him to be on top form for his demonstrations. I will have
my footmen fetch your luggage and take it to your rooms. Silman?’

Mrs Silman, the butler – Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to think of her as just
Silman
– pulled the bath chair back inside the castle. Mr Albano slipped into the
shadows like a fish vanishing
beneath a rock. Mycroft turned to Sherlock and shrugged. ‘This is
not
what I wanted, and not what I expected,’ he said quietly. ‘I am sure
that the resources of the British Government can outbid the Austro-Hungarians and the Germans, but the Americans and the Russians are something of an unknown quantity. We will have to tread
carefully, and keep our eyes open.’

Entering the darkness of
the castle behind his brother, Sherlock saw that they were in a massive stone hall. Suits of armour from various periods of history were posed around the walls, beneath
hanging tapestries and the stuffed and mounted heads of horned stags. Of to the left was a stairway that led upward, spiralling around the four walls of the tower with balustrade-lined balconies on
each floor; to either side
and in front of them were arched entrances to other rooms. Oddly, each balustrade appeared to have a section cut out of it, a gap people could fall through if they
weren’t paying attention. In an attempt to prevent this from happening there were velvet ropes hanging across the gaps, attached by hooks, but Sherlock wondered about the point of it all.

In the centre of the hall was a strange
contraption that appeared to be a scaffold made out of wood. Four beams, one at each corner, rose all the way up from the floor to the distant roof.
Cross-beams ran horizontally and diagonally across every few feet. In the centre of the scaffolding was a box, large enough for three or four people, with a glass-fronted door that faced out into
the centre of the hall. Ropes led from the roof of
the box up to a set of wheels half hidden in the shadows of the roof.

‘This building is the castle keep,’ Quintillan announced, breaking into Sherlock’s observations. ‘Most of the rooms are in this section of the castle. There is another
tower, however, a smaller one, where I and Mr Albano have our rooms.’

‘What about the servants?’ Sherlock asked.

Quintillan looked puzzled, as if
it had never occurred to him that his servants had to live somewhere when they weren’t waiting on him, but Mrs Silman stepped forward. ‘I and the
other servants have rooms in the castle walls,’ she said. ‘The walls link the two towers, and run around the outside of the castle grounds.’

Quintillan noticed Mycroft and Sherlock staring at the contraption. ‘You are probably wondering what that
is,’ he said smugly. ‘Allow me to explain . . .’

‘No need,’ Mycroft said. ‘The principle is obvious by inspection. Sherlock – perhaps you would care to elaborate on the details.’

Sherlock assumed that Mycroft wanted him to demonstrate the intellectual capabilities of the British representatives to Sir Shadrach Quintillan. He cast a more careful eye over the wooden
structure, noting the
way the wooden box fitted snugly within the four pillars, apparently with small rollers bridging the slight gap, and the way the door opened outward, into the hall. ‘It
appears to be a device used for reaching the upper floors of the building without having to use the stairs. The box is large enough for several people, and I presume that it is raised by means of
the rope by some outside power-source.
I would suggest that steam or, more likely, compressed air or a hydraulic liquid system would be the best solution.’ He turned to Quintillan. ‘I
presume that the rising room is used because your own rooms are on an upper floor and you cannot use the stairs.’

‘Why compressed air or hydraulic liquid rather than steam?’ Mycroft asked, testing him.

‘Steam power would require a fire to be
kept perpetually burning for the eventuality that someone wanted to use the rising room, which might only happen a few times a day. That would be a
terrible waste of coal.’

Quintillan clapped his hands together. ‘Very good,’ he said, although his tone of voice indicated that he was slightly miffed at being denied the opportunity to explain the
contraption to his guests. ‘The device is
known as an “ascending room”. It was built especially for me by a team of American engineers – such ascending rooms are becoming
more and more common in New York, I believe. The air is kept under pressure by an ingenious system which uses the local tides as a source of energy. We have strong tides at this part of the coast,
and the cliff on which the castle is built is riddled with natural and
man-made tunnels through which the waters rise and drain away. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to rest for a while before
dinner.’

Silman indicated the room off to Sherlock and Mycroft’s left. ‘Please, help yourselves to refreshments in the dining room. I will return later to show you to your own rooms where you
can prepare for dinner.’

Mycroft bowed slightly in Quintillan’s direction.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘I look forward to speaking with you later, and convincing you that the British
Government can best meet your requirements.’

Mrs Silman pushed Sir Shadrach Quintillan towards the ascending room. Mr Albano, still half hidden by shadows, nodded to Mycroft and Sherlock, and followed them. Mrs Silman opened the door and
backed in, pulling Quintillan with her.
Mr Albano slipped in beside the bath chair. Mrs Silman closed the glass door and pulled on a lever on the side of the box. With a loud
hiss
and a
shudder, the box began to rise into the air. To Sherlock it looked like some magical trick, and he had to remind himself that it was powered entirely by water under pressure. The box continued to
rise in a stately and slow manner, passing the first
and second balconies, and Sherlock suddenly realized the purpose of the gaps in the balustrades that he had noticed earlier. There must be an
equivalent door on the far side of the box, he realized, through which the occupants could gain access to the balconies. Indeed, when the box shuddered to a halt on the third floor, Sherlock could
distinctly hear the sound of a door being opened, although
the one that faced out into the emptiness of the hall remained mercifully shut. Fortunately, a wooden brace between two of the pillars
would have stopped anyone falling out if it had been opened.

‘I can understand how proud Sir Shadrach is of his box of tricks,’ Mycroft said, ‘but there are several such devices already in London. I am lobbying to have one fitted in the
Diogenes Club.’

‘Why?’ Sherlock asked. ‘There are only two floors to the Diogenes.’

‘Exactly,’ Mycroft huffed. ‘And they expect me to walk up the stairs every time I wish to take lunch or dinner. Outrageous.’ He frowned. ‘And talking of food, are
you hungry?’

‘After the meal we had back in Galway?’

‘It would be rude not to take at least
some
refreshments, given that our host has been so gracious
as to point them out. I must admit that a small snack before dinner would go
down very well, just at the moment. I have expended quite a lot of energy today.’

Mycroft led the way into the dining room. It proved to be twice the size of the hall, high-ceilinged, and with a massive oak table in the centre. Plates of cakes, sandwiches and other
comestibles were scattered along its length.

A footman – a
female
footman in tails, trousers and a striped waistcoat, Sherlock noticed – stepped forward. ‘Can I offer you some tea, gentlemen?’ she
asked.

‘That would be most acceptable,’ Mycroft rumbled.

Another man was standing on the other side of the table, staring at them with interest. He walked around the table and approached them, a hand extended towards Mycroft. ‘You
must be the
British representatives,’ he said in a strongly accented voice. ‘I am Herr Doctor Holtzbrinck. Six months ago I would have been representing Prussia; now I am representing the unified
German Empire.’ As Mycroft delicately shook his hand, Herr Holtzbrinck stared at the two of them with his head held to one side. ‘Mr Holmes, I believe?’ he said to Mycroft.

‘You know me?’

‘I have seen your file,’ Holtzbrinck said. ‘It is very thick. Very comprehensive.’

‘Holtzbrinck, is it?’ Mycroft said dismissively. ‘I do not believe we
have
a file on you.’

‘That,’ the German said quietly, ‘is exactly as it should be.’

The footman–foot
woman
, Sherlock corrected himself–returned with a tray containing a pot of tea, cups and saucers, and a jug of milk. She placed it on
the table near them and
commenced pouring two cups of tea.