The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(91)

“That’s if he doesn’t play wolf to our dog,” Miss Winter said, “and turn on us long enough to tear us to pieces.”

“Quite right,” Holmes said. His smile was thin and ghastly and very quick, then it was gone and his face grew serious. “As I said, a losing game. That would be the danger I referred to earlier and it is quite serious.”

In the end, it went much as Holmes had feared. We split up into two teams and canvassed the docks as best we might without seeing any sign of where Moriarty might be hiding vampires, or even any sign to confirm that he was hiding them. It was a bright and sunny day, which lay a heavy weight upon me, and twice Holmes left me in the cool interior of a dockside pub to question the inhabitants and recover my strength while he covered more ground.

“Do not engage Moriarty or his minions without me,” I said on the second occasion.

“Fear not, Doctor,” he said, “for we are running out of daylight and I shall need your sharpened senses for what comes next.”

However, he had turned to leave and then spotted Kitty Winter and Somersby coming in the door. He’d taken no more than half a step when a beefy patron of the bar took a long step backwards into Holmes’s path, knocking the detective backwards.

“’Ere now!” the bruiser said, turning and baring his stained and not entirely intact set of teeth. “I ought to teach you a lesson, I ought!” It seemed that this man had a penchant for altercations, perhaps in this very establishment, if the two missing teeth, cauliflower ears, and puffiness around the eyes were any indication. I moved to intervene. Holmes was a formidable fighter in his own right, but there was no sense in taking that risk now, when we had Moriarty to worry about. When I got to Holmes’s side, I noticed the layers of scarring on the bruiser’s knuckles and my estimation of the man’s pugilistic experience went up several notches. Perhaps a prize fighter or the like.

“I’m gonna teach you a good lesson,” the man snarled and reared back.

Holmes had his hands up, ready for anything, but then the bruiser made an anguished face, clapped his hand to the small of his back and collapsed on the spot, revealing Kitty Winter directly behind him.

“Come on!” Miss Winter snapped. “We haven’t the time for that sort of nonsense! We found it, Mr Holmes, or at least we found something that doesn’t smell right. If your man’s not behind it, I’ll eat my hat!” She unclenched the smallish fist that had felled the prize fighter so easily and straightened the tiny hat in question. Her face was still pinched and tight. Likely, mine was the same, for fighting the torpor of daylight took a strain. My struggle came with an ache behind my eyes that made every movement a trifle painful.

“Found it!” Holmes said to Miss Winter, excitement and relief in his voice. “Very good, Miss Winter. Score one for your team.” He glanced down at the ruffian still groaning at his feet. “Or rather, two.”

“Come on!” Miss Winter said again and we followed her out into the street.

A cool wind cut through the street and one didn’t require enhanced senses to taste the salt on it. The sun hung low and heavy in the sky, wreathed in vapour trails of clouds. It was perhaps two hours until nightfall, if that. I could see Holmes’s and Somersby’s breath and had to remind myself to work my lungs a little so as to present a natural appearance. We had exchanged our planned search patterns, so I already had a good idea of where we were heading as Miss Winter led us a short distance along a serpentine path towards the docks.

She stopped suddenly, peering down a dimly lit alleyway in a half-crouch. Ahead of us, two men stood in the gloom under a sign that listed the owners of the warehouse behind them as the Wilson Haberdashery.

“There,” she hissed, so low that I almost couldn’t hear the words. Holmes was immediately behind Miss Winter, with me and then Somersby bringing up the rear carrying a wrapped bundle of shovels and other equipment. We all followed her example and pressed ourselves against the rain-slick brick wall to our right.

“There,” Miss Winter said again. “Posted sentries or I’m a spring chicken and sailors to boot!”

“Wait,” Somersby said from behind me. “How can one person be a spring chicken and sailors?”

“Ssh!” Holmes hissed back at him.

I looked back; the young man looked both horrified and confused.

“The sentries are sailors,” I whispered, taking pity on him.

“Ah,” he said.

“Holmes,” I said, leaning forward. “You said that Moriarty is almost certainly expecting us.”

“Yes,” Holmes said, “of course.”

“Then this is almost certainly a trap,” I said.

“Of course.”

“Perhaps we should think about—”

“We haven’t time for that sort of patience, Dr Watson,” Miss Winter said sharply. “Have we now?” So saying, she stood, brushed down the front of her dress, and started towards the sailors, her boot heels making audible thumps on the cobblestones. Miss Winter normally had a penchant for moving silently, so this time her noise had to be intentional.

“Here now!” she called out. “What’s a couple of rum blokes such as yourself doing out in the cold?”

“Keep walkin’, sister,” the nearest man growled at her. “This is private property.”