The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(104)

The air was brisk as we went between cars, whipping by quickly, for we had already picked up enough speed to be going at least twenty miles per hour and were accelerating still. I thought we headed west, but was by no means certain of that prognosis.

The next car had been outfitted to hold a king, it seemed, so sumptuous were the surroundings. Mahogany tables and stuffed brown leather divans and armchairs all crowded in together, the latter two littered with scarlet cushions. Rich curtains covered the windows on the right side, but the left was covered completely with bookshelves fitted with carved rosettes, corner blocks, medallions, and plinths, as well as decorative guardrails to hold the books in place. The books themselves seemed to cover, at a brief glance, a wide variety of topics, though I noticed mathematical subjects dominated. Several small brass chandeliers hung from the railcar ceiling, and glittered opulently as they swayed slightly to the movement of the train. The carpet was rich and soundless, a deep and dark chocolate colour. There must have been further soundproofing custom-built into the room as well, for the sounds of the rails and the engine were soft and distant. Even the motion of the car seemed subdued, and I had to wonder if some kind of shock reduction had been engineered into the wheels and undercarriage. Never in any visit to the train station before had I experienced the like.

At the far end was a brass ladder that led to a trapdoor in the railcar ceiling and a man was poised several rungs up with his hand reaching high.

He wore a black suit, cut in the continental style, with plain buttons that somehow did not quite fit the magnificent room around us. He was mostly bald, with a grey-haired fringe remaining, neatly cut, but a cranium of portentous proportions. I had no doubt whatsoever about who he was. He glanced briefly down at us with cold, reptilian eyes that held no warmth in them at all, and flicked dismissively away from us in the same motion. His hand finished the motion we’d interrupted with our entrance and pushed back the trapdoor in the ceiling. It fell open with a thump and a sudden rush of air and noise.

I lifted my revolver as an explicit threat, but Moriarty – for I was filled with certainty it must be he – gave us one more dismissive glance and leapt, in one shockingly swift motion, out of sight and onto the roof of the car. I never even had a chance to aim. He certainly did not move like an elderly person. If I had needed any reminder of the supernatural nature of our quarry, that sudden, swift motion confirmed it completely.

“He’s on the roof!” I said, somewhat needlessly. Mina and I gave immediate chase.

I was first to the ladder and went up it as quickly as I could, Mina right behind. Again, I chafed at the unfortunate circumstances that had left Holmes and Dracula behind. I dearly yearned for my friend’s cool and decisive manner in times of action. The motion of climbing the ladder with a drawn pistol was, by necessity, a slightly awkward one that did not leave me a free hand, and so I lost my bowler hat the moment I poked my head up into the cool night air.

The moon was out, a pale lantern in the city sky, and the dark shadows of buildings and open fields were sliding by on either side. We were going fast now, and clearly out of the city proper. I crouched on the rounded roof, still awkwardly holding onto the pistol while I braced myself with my other three limbs. Not seeing anything toward the rear of the train, I craned my neck around to view the cars in front of us, and saw the figure of Moriarty scuttling on all fours with inhuman alacrity along the top of the train toward the engine. Mina joined me and I inclined my head in Moriarty’s direction and we stood, swaying, and gave chase.

Before Moriarty had taken another dozen rapid steps, he froze, then stood up, slowly backing away from the gap between the second and third railway cars, which he had been about to reach. Moriarty’s figure blocked our view, so it took half an instant for me to realize that he had stopped because someone climbing up the outside ladder had thrust a pistol into his face.

Moriarty continued to back away, very slowly, from the figure that moved, somewhat unsteadily on account of the train, to stand in front of him. The figure had to struggle with his top hat, too, lest it suffer the same fate as my bowler. The train’s engine spewed gouts of smoke and soot into the air which made visibility poor and brought a great reek to my nose and throat. I found that even with my slightly heightened vampire reflexes, it took some concentration to adjust myself to the motion of the train, as well as to the slippery roof of the train car, for there was now some slight rain flying into my face and the surface made for a very slippery one.

Holmes! He hadn’t missed the train at all, but had somehow managed to infiltrate it before it had left the station. I still hadn’t seen any sign of Dracula, however, and wondered if they’d separated.

Mina and I reached the same rooftop as Moriarty and Holmes now, though they were on the far side. Moriarty between Holmes and us, with his back in our direction.

“You have won, Mr Sherlock Holmes,” Moriarty said, lifting his voice to carry over the ramshackle rhythm of the train. “Will you kill me in cold blood?”

Holmes moved in a slight crouch, stepping away from the ladder, and gestured to it for Moriarty to descend.

Then the train made a slight shift, perhaps crossing the points, which jolted us slightly. Holmes stumbled, which was all the opportunity Moriarty needed.

Moving with that blinding speed I had seen him demonstrate before, Professor Moriarty slapped the pistol easily out of Holmes’s hand. They were still a dozen yards away and I cried out, but it was no use. Moriarty had Holmes by the neck and twisted him around so as to present him to us as a human shield. A great swath of dirty smoke billowed around them, making them briefly indistinct, before clearing away. Holmes’s hat, dislodged by the Professor’s sudden manoeuvre, flew into the wind and was gone. Holmes gasped, soundlessly, as the Professor held him.