Andrew Lane - Red Leech

“Not yet, Doctor. I have been waiting a long time for this particular package to arrive. I want to savour the moment.” He paused, and looked around the table. “I do, however, note the absence of the estimable Messrs Ives and Gilfillan,” he said mildly. “Where are they?”

Sherlock knew that he had two choices: he could either let Berle tell Balthassar that Gilfillan was in custody and Ives was dead, or he could admit it first and take the initiative. He decided to take the initiative. “Mr Gilfillan is in prison back in England,” he said. “Mr Ives I killed just now by knocking him off the train.” He stared at the twin eyeholes in Duke Balthassar’s mask. “Oh, and I also disposed of a steward on the SS Scotia who tried to kill me as well. He was being paid by Mr Ives.”

A silence settled over the table, broken only by the rumbling breaths of the two cougars. They watched Sherlock intently. Somehow they knew that there was a battle for dominance going on between him and Duke Balthassar.

“How very enterprising of you,” Balthassar said eventually. “Why exactly did you kill them?”

“Maybe I wanted to set an example to your other servants,” Sherlock said levelly “To make them fear me.”

Balthassar laughed: a clear, high-pitched sound that made the cougars cringe backwards. “How very enterprising,” he said. “I think I like you, Master Sherlock Scott Holmes. Not enough to keep you alive, but I do like you.”

“Ain’t you goin’ to do anythin’ to him?” the big man, Rubinek, demanded.

“For that?” Balthassar asked. “No. If they were stupid enough to let a child get the better of them then good riddance. They have saved me the trouble of dealing with them myself. No, young Master Sherlock here will not see the sunset, but not because he thinned the ranks of my servants. No, he and his friends will die because I have no use for them here.”

Silence fell across the veranda.

“So,” Balthassar said quietly after a few moments, “now that we have all become acquainted, and now that you’re comfortable and you have refreshments, please be so good as to tell me how much the authorities know about my plans.”

“We don’t know anything,” Sherlock replied.

“You are wrong on two counts,” Balthassar said. “On the first count, you obviously know something, as you have managed to interfere with my schedules and kill two of my staff. Children don’t usually stumble into something this big, or if they do they back away very quickly. You, as I understand it, were first seen in the house in England where Mr Booth was being... kept safe. That, at least, is where Mr Ives and Dr Berle first saw you. The question is, why were you at the house in the first place? Were you there by accident, or were you looking for Mr Booth?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but Balthassar gestured to him to keep quiet.

“On the second count,” he continued in the same level, pleasant tone of voice, “it doesn’t matter what you know. The matter is of no interest to me. I have you all here, and none of you will escape. Within the next few hours, you will all die, and your knowledge will die with you. That I promise. No, the only important question is, what is known by the girl’s father, Amyus Crowe, and what is known by the authorities in England and here, in America?” He paused, and turned the porcelain mask towards Sherlock. “Tell me, and tell me now, before I lose my patience.”

Despite the hot sun shining out of a cloudless blue sky, Sherlock felt a cold breeze blow across the veranda.

“If you’re going to kill us anyway,” Sherlock said carefully, “then why should we tell you anything? It’s not like telling you is going to save our lives. You’ve already said it’s not.”

“A good point, well made,” Balthassar conceded. “This country is built on the principles of trade and negotiation. Very well; let me make you an offer.”

He turned the porcelain mask towards Virginia. “Please, extend your hand,” he said.

Virginia glanced at Sherlock, panic in her eyes. He didn’t know what she should do: obey Balthassar or ignore him? Sherlock didn’t know what the outcome of either action would be. Despite his pleasant exterior, Balthassar seemed to be walking on a knife-edge between civility and madness.

“How tedious,” Balthassar said. “Mr Rubinek?”

Rubinek leaned across from his chair and grabbed hold of Virginia’s wrist, stretching her arm out straight and letting her hand point towards Balthassar.

“Excellent,” Balthassar said. He spoke a few guttural words in a language that Sherlock couldn’t identify.

One of the cougars stood up and padded across to Virginia, skin sliding smoothly over slabs of muscle as it moved. She froze: breath suspended.

The cougar opened its mouth and stretched its neck out until Virginia’s hand was inside its mouth. Rubinek let go and moved back into his chair. The big cat closed its mouth until its teeth were pressing into the flesh of Virginia’s wrist.

“One of two things will happen now,” Balthassar said conversationally. “Either you will tell me what I want to know or my cougar will bite the girl’s hand off.” The porcelain mask remained impassive, but Sherlock could sense a smile behind its smooth surface. “His name is Sherman, by the way. The other one is called Grant. My little joke.”

Virginia’s eyes were fixed on Sherlock.

“I’ll tell you,” Matty said urgently.

“No,” Balthassar said gently. “I want Master Sherlock to tell me. He, I perceive, is the leader of this little group. He is the one who needs to learn to fear me. He is the one who needs to be trained. ” He paused for a moment. “You see, there are various ways to die. A bullet to the head is quick and painless, I believe. Bleeding to death is slow, and painful. You do not have the choice as to whether you will die or not: I have taken that choice away from you. You do, however, have a choice as to how you die: quickly or slowly, in agony or in peace.”

“Very well,” Sherlock said, heart pounding in his chest. “Call the cougar off and I’ll answer your question.”

“No,” Balthassar said. “Answer the question and I will call off the cougar.”

The tension in the air was almost visible. Sherlock knew that he and Balthassar were testing their willpower against one another. The trouble was, Balthassar had all the advantages.

“The authorities know about John Wilkes Booth,” he said. “They know he’s not dead, that he was bought to England from Japan, and that he’s here in America now. The British Government know that, and so does the Pinkerton Agency. I presume they will tell the American Government. They don’t know what you intend doing with him.”

“Good,” Balthassar said. “More.”

“There is no more!" Sherlock shouted.

“There is always more. Do the authorities know about me, for instance?”

“No.”

“So you ended up on that train by accident? I don’t think so.”

“We were following them!" Sherlock said, gesturing towards Berle and Rubinek. “We were trying to get Matty back.”

“And were you with anybody else on the train?” Balthas-sar’s voice was calm but remorseless.

“No. We were by ourselves.”

“How remarkably resourceful of you.” Balthassar paused, and Sherlock got the impression that he was debating whether to tell Sherman to rip Virginia’s hand off anyway.

Sherlock didn’t bother praying. No outside entity was going to help them now. They were on their own, depending on the whims of a madman.

The thought gave him an idea. Maybe he could turn that against the man in the porcelain mask.