A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(81)

And, of course, rather than drive away, they did what everyone else was doing—drove toward the bonfire. They were by no means the first people there—and the first to arrive soon discovered the three girls standing there like wax dolls. By the time Alexandre got out of the carriage and approached the bandstand, police had arrived.

“What’s going on?” he asked, and got several confused answers. Some people thought the girls had made the fire “as a lark.” Others were sure the girls had boyfriends or brothers waiting in hiding who had started it. Seeing the police taking the three away only cemented this in the minds of the onlookers. Alexandre went back to the coach, in time to be intercepted by a constable.

“’Scuze me, sir,” the man said diffidently. “Is there any chance you saw anyone larking about here before we arrived?”

“I’m afraid not,” Alexandre replied, apologetically. “My man and I were on Battersea Park Road when we saw the flames. By the time we were in the park, there was—” he gestured at the crowd, “—all this. I wish I could help, but we really didn’t see anything, not even someone running away.”

The constable sighed, and pulled on the rim of his helmet. “Thenkew very much, sir. That’ll be all.”

Alexandre didn’t look at Alf; he knew he’d be unable to suppress a snicker if he did. Instead he swung back up into his seat. “’Ome?” asked Alf.

“Definitely. It has been a long day for both of us,” he replied. “You, especially.”

“Yew c’n say that agin, guv,” Alf sighed, and touched the whip to the horse, who moved off, leaving behind the chaos and mystery that they and they alone had the key to.





15





“THREE of them!” Sherlock snarled. “And left in the bandstand in Battersea Park! It’s as if he is mocking me.” He came to the end of the rug, turned, and paced back toward the hearth. Sahib’s study was full of tension right now, but the normally controlled Holmes was producing enough tension all by himself for two men. Grey and Neville’s heads swiveled solemnly, following him as he paced.

Nan nodded in somber agreement. It was extremely rare for anyone to see Holmes lose his temper, but he certainly had for at least this brief moment. Within minutes, however, he regained his usual calm. Outwardly, anyway. He had been here with Sahib when Nan and Sarah had arrived, and he had been pacing even then. “Have you learned anything?” she asked carefully.

“My theory that the chemicals used to turn humans into zombies was at work here is incorrect,” he replied. “I learned that much from the three newest victims. Our foe made the fundamental mistake of releasing his captives in such a way that the police found them almost immediately, and I, of course, was summoned soon after. I was able to test all three of them for blowfish toxin, which is, according to my researches, the most common way to create such slaves. I was also able to examine them for nearly every other toxin known to me. I then checked all three of them for puncture marks in case some agent unknown to me had been introduced by needle, and I was able to employ gastric lavage, to check for any residue still remaining in the stomach. There were no puncture marks anywhere on them, and there was nothing out of the ordinary in their stomachs.” He frowned. “I am now forced to consider, Watson, that you are correct. That these women were rendered mindless by magic.”

The last word was pronounced in tones of extreme distaste. Nan actually felt some sympathy for him. Magic irked Holmes. It violated his sense of a properly ordered world, in which everything could eventually be reduced to scientific principles. He didn’t mind psychic powers, because to him those were merely abilities akin to any other sense. In his shoes, she would have been irked too.

Everyone involved in the case had gathered together at the Harton School—even Puck, which was why this meeting was taking place in the Harton School in the first place. Puck today looked like a man of indeterminate age—not young, but not middle-aged either, unless that middle-aged man was very fit and had “ageless” features. He had been introduced as “Robin,” with no last name, and as a colleague of John Watson’s—which was technically true. Holmes probably assumed Puck was a member of Alderscroft’s White Lodge.

They were all in Sahib’s study once again, disposed in various chairs and the two sofas, with Agansing, Selim and Karamjit leaning against the bookcases with folded arms and Holmes striding restlessly back and forth in the center of the group.

The three sets of parents—all American; was that significant?—had been absolutely hysterical when they discovered the condition their daughters were in. Fortunately for Holmes’ ability to conduct his investigation—particularly the parts about “examining them for puncture marks” and “gastric lavage”—the various parents had not been located until late in the day following the incident in Battersea Park. Their insistence on having the young women whisked away to “the best facility in London!” would have severely hampered his ability to pump their stomachs and strip them naked to examine them for wounds.

So now all six of the victims were together. And no one was any closer to finding out what had happened to them and if it could be fixed—much less locating and apprehending the one who had done this to them.

“Did you find any clues as to the perpetrator’s identity?” Watson asked, as if he was reading Nan’s mind.