Andrew Lane - Red Leech

Balthassar gave a curt order, and the cougar reluctantly pulled its head back so that its teeth were no longer pressing into Virginia’s flesh. Her whole body seemed to wilt. It gazed at her for a moment, then padded back to Balthassar’s side.

“I have a question,” Sherlock said.

Balthassar gazed at him, eyes red and black behind the holes in the mask. “Did you not understand the rules? I ask questions and you answer them, and that guarantees you a quick and painless death. That was our bargain.”

“But we only have your word for that,” Sherlock pointed out. “ I think you’re going to get all the answers you can out of us and then torture us anyway, just because you would enjoy it. On that basis, we don’t gain anything by cooperating apart from a short delay before the torture starts.”

Balthassar mused for a while. “A logical analysis,” he conceded. “You do only have my word, and you don’t know how good my word is. What is your counterproposal?”

“We will take you at your word,” Sherlock said, “if you answer our questions as well.”

“Interesting,” Balthassar mused. “I don’t stand to lose anything on the deal, and I gain more information. On the other hand you don’t lose anything, as I still get to choose the manner of your deaths, but you do gain information, and that apparently matters to you. So yes, I agree. Ask your questions.”

“What do you need John Wilkes Booth for?” Sherlock asked. “Why is the fact that he’s alive and here in America important enough that people need to die to keep it a secret?”

“Oh,” Balthassar said calmly, “people need to die for all kinds of reasons, few of them important. But I like you, Sherlock Scott Holmes. You have spirit. So I’m going to tell you.” He glanced at Berle and Rubinek. After all, they won’t understand. They just want their money.”

“Hey—” Berle started, then subsided when Balthassar stared at him.

“I realize you are British, but even you must have heard about the War Between the States,” Balthassar started.

Sherlock nodded. “My brother said it was about slavery” He glanced at Virginia. “Her father said it was more complicated than that.”

“Her father is correct. In the end it was about self-determination. Eight years ago we had an election in which the Republican Party, led by Abraham Lincoln, used as the basis of their campaign a pledge to stop slavery from expanding beyond the states in which it already existed. Lincoln won the election, and that resulted in seven Southern states declaring their secession from the Union, even before he took office — South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas. They formed a new country, the Confederate States of America, with Jefferson Davis as President. Within two months, Virginia, Arkansas, North Carolina and Tennessee had joined them.”

“What’s “secession”?” Matty asked.

“Secession,” Balthassar explained, “is when a state withdraws from the Union of States and declares that it will set itself up as a separate entity. Secession is a right we believe to be guaranteed in the Declaration of Independence, but both the outgoing administration of James Buchanan and the incoming administration of Abraham Lincoln disagreed. They considered it rebellion and declared it illegal.” He sighed. “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether you believe that a man can keep slaves or not. What we were fighting for was our right to set up our own nation, separate from the one Lincoln was leading, and doing things our own way. If slavery hadn’t been the cause then it would have been something else.”

“But you lost,” Sherlock pointed out. “Ulysses S. Grant and William Sherman beat Robert E. Lee in battle. He surrendered.”

“He had no right to surrender,” Balthassar snapped. “He did not have the authority. The war goes on, even if it’s not acknowledged as such. The Government in Exile of the Confederacy still seeks to establish freedom from the oppressive regime of the Union for those states who wish it.”

Sherlock’s attention was distracted by a movement of Balthassar’s hand. No, not of his hand, Sherlock realized, but on his hand. The material of the white glove on his left hand was flexing slightly, just where one of the bumps that Sherlock had noticed earlier was located. As he watched, the bump seemed to move, edging up the hand towards the wrist. What in heaven’s name was it?

“Ah,” Balthassar said, noticing Sherlock’s horrified gaze, “I see you have noticed one of my little companions. Allow me to make a more formal introduction.”

He reached towards his left hand with his right, and took a grip of the top of the glove. With a firm, careful movement, he pulled it off.

Virginia gasped, while Matty made a sound of revulsion.

Balthassar’s hand — minus its little finger — and his wrist were covered with what looked for a moment like boils, but which Sherlock realized were living things, like slugs. Their skin was a reddish-grey and moist, and they seemed to pulse slightly as Sherlock watched.

“What are they?” he whispered.

Balthassar pulled off the other glove. His right hand — this one missing his fourth finger — was similarly covered with the slug-like creatures.

“Meet my doctors,” he said. “An entire medical team, dedicated to my well-being.”

Reaching up with his right hand, he undid a hook behind his left ear and pulled the porcelain mask off with one quick gesture.

The cougars hissed, and tried to back away across the veranda.

Balthassar’s face was gaunt, the cheekbones and nose prominent, but his features were difficult to distinguish beneath the tiny boneless creatures that clung to his white skin like black drops of tar.

Virginia made a choking noise, as if she was trying to stop herself being sick. Matty said a single word that expressed his shock. Sherlock assumed it was a word he’d picked up along the waterways in his travels.

Sherlock himself was fascinated. Repelled, yes, but mainly fascinated. As he looked closer, he noticed that Balthassar’s face was covered in small triangular scars. Whatever the things were that were clinging to his face, he’d been using them for some time.

“Hardly the face of a new country,” he said, trying to disguise his feelings. “I can see why you have to wear the mask.”

“All medical procedures have side-effects,” Balthassar said quietly. “Mercury used to treat syphilis, drives men mad. I consider myself fortunate that my own side-effects are limited to the purely cosmetic’

“But what are they?” Matty whispered.

It was Virginia who replied. “They’re leeches,” she said. “Bloodsucking leeches. They live in streams and ponds in hot climates.”

“Bloodsucking leeches,” Matty repeated. And you’re letting them suck your blood? You’re insane!"

At least I’m alive,” Balthassar replied, unperturbed.“My family has an inherited disease. My father died of it, as did his father. The blood flows sluggishly in our veins. Without treatment our bodies simply start shutting down, bit by bit.” He raised a hand and looked at the obviously missing finger. “There wasn’t a lot left of my father when he died.”

“And the leeches help?” Sherlock asked, fascinated.

“They have a substance in their saliva that stops the blood from clotting. They have to, otherwise they would not be able to feed. With enough leeches attached to my skin, all of them feeding, all of them secreting that substance, my circulation is quicker. The blood rushes through my veins.”