Andrew Lane - Red Leech

“But why Canada?” Sherlock asked.

“Good land for growing crops, a temperate climate — at least near the border with America — excellent harbours for trade purposes, no army to speak of to resist our advance, and of course it is a British territory, recently confederated. And Britain refused to aid us in our battle against the Union.”

“The British Government will never let Canada go,” Sherlock said, thinking of Mycroft.

“They probably won’t even care,” Balthassar scoffed. “Just think of the logistics of shipping their army three thousand miles for a battle, especially when we control the ports. No, there will be a few years of diplomatic bleating, of course, but we will control Canada.”

“With you as President?” Sherlock asked. “A man in a china mask?”

Balthassar’s head jerked to one side. Sherlock’s words had hit home.

“John Wilkes Booth, perhaps,” he answered tersely. “With the proper guidance and medication, of course. Or perhaps even General Robert E. Lee. There are plenty of candidates. But I will be the power behind the throne.”

The sudden motion disturbed one of the smaller leeches. It fell from his face and hit the table with a quiet plop. Balthassar glanced at it. “Old,” he said, “one of my longest serving partners. I think it’s time to retire you, my friend.”

He picked it up from the tablecloth and popped it into his mouth, then swallowed like a man eating an oyster.

Sherlock noticed that the leech had left a red smear on the tablecloth. He kept his gaze fixed on that red smear. He had a feeling he might throw up if he didn’t fixate on something. Anything.

“I must say,” Balthassar murmured in his fragile, whispery voice, delicately replacing the porcelain mask on his scarred and leech-infested face, “you have demonstrated an uncanny ability to predict my plans from a few scattered facts. Either that, or my plans are considerably more obvious than I had thought. Either way, I cannot afford to delay. If you — a mere child — can work them out then surely the Unionist Government can work them out too. I think that our advance into Canada needs to start within the next few days. Thank you for your assistance.”

“And what about us?” Virginia asked. Sherlock was proud of how level she kept her voice.

“Oh, I have no need of you now,” Balthassar said. There was no trace of anger or vengeance in his voice. There was barely a trace of anything at all. He might just as easily have been discussing the price of tea leaves. “You will be disposed of

“How?” Sherlock asked.

“Ah,” Balthassar’s porcelain face was impassive. “There, I confess, I may have misled you. I have a fate in mind for you which will solve three separate problems I have, but it does involve quite a lot of pain and suffering.” He gestured to the brutal Rubinek. “Captain, please take our guests to the new enclosure. My latest acquisitions need to be fed.” He turned back to Sherlock. “My collectors of rare and unusual creatures made sure they had eaten before they were captured,” he said conversationally, “and it takes them several weeks to digest their food, during which time they are almost comatose, but they have had a long journey from Borneo and their current behaviour suggests they are hungry again.” He paused, and Sherlock suspected that he was smiling beneath the mask. “I anticipate that they will draw huge crowds, when I display them. By feeding you to them I get rid of you, I dispose of your bodies and I also make sure my pets have a decent source of good quality meat to keep them satisfied for a while.” He paused for a moment. “I am told they take their food under water and store it beneath rocks until it becomes... tender. We will all enjoy watching that process.”

Before Sherlock could say anything, two more men had moved from the shadows at a gesture from Rubinek. The three men took Sherlock, Matty and Virginia by the shoulders, pulled them roughly from their chairs and started pushing them along the veranda.

Despair filled Sherlock. Despite everything, it looked as if they were going to die a particularly nasty and painful death. He didn’t know what Balthassar’s latest “acquisitions” were, but he doubted they were going to be anything as innocent as squirrels or parrots. Whatever they were, they were likely to be big and have sharp teeth. More cougars? No, he could get those locally, and not have to hunt abroad for them.

He caught Matty’s eye as they were pushed along the veranda. Matty was looking scared, but he smiled briefly at Sherlock.

The three of them were pushed off the edge of the veranda to the hard-packed earth, and then shoved towards the area of cages, paddocks and fenced-off enclosures that Sherlock had seen from the train. They seemed to be aiming for a walled area off to one side. The wall looked freshly built. Adjoining one side was a balcony with a view down into whatever was enclosed by the walls. Steps led up to the balcony, and Sherlock found himself shivering when he saw a wooden plank that stuck out from the balcony and ended over whatever lay beneath.

Separate stairs led downward, into darkness. Sherlock wondered momentarily what was down there, but his speculations were broken when Rubinek pushed him up the stairs to the balcony. His two followers pushed Matty and Virginia after them.

Sherlock could see down into the enclosure. From that vantage point it looked more like a pit. The area inside the walls was rocky and uneven, with vegetation growing out of cracks between the rocks and a pool of brackish water taking up about a third of the space. There was no sign of anything living in there, but Sherlock didn’t find himself particularly comforted.

Rubinek manoeuvred Sherlock to the start of the plank. The other two men herded Matty and Virginia together a few feet away.

“Go on,” he said. “You know what to do.”

“And if I don’t?” Sherlock asked.

Rubinek raised his hand. He was holding a small pistol, barely larger than his palm, with two barrels, one above the other. “What’s in there don’t particularly mind whether you’re dead or alive,” Rubinek said. “And neither do I.”

Sherlock looked back towards the house. He had expected Balthassar to follow them and watch from the balcony, but the tall man in the white suit was still on his veranda. He had spread a map across the table and was consulting it. He appeared to have forgotten about Sherlock and his friends already.

Reluctantly Sherlock walked out to the end of the plank. It dipped beneath his weight. The drop to the rocky floor of the enclosure was about ten feet.

“Jump,” Rubinek ordered. Now that Sherlock was following orders, Rubinek slipped his tiny revolver back into his jacket pocket.

“I’ll break my legs!" Sherlock protested. “That’s hard rock down there!"

“So?” The man patted his jacket pocket. The threat was clear.

Sherlock glanced into the enclosure, looked across at Virginia, then took two steps back before running towards the end of the plank and jumping into the enclosure.

He used the springiness of the plank to push him out as well as up, angling himself so that he arced towards the pool of water. He hit, sending a massive splash up into the air. The water had been warmed by the bright sun, and Sherlock struck out for the edge before anything that might be living in the water could get him. He scrambled out quickly on to the rocks, dripping wet, and looked around. Nothing was coming for him yet.

He looked up at the balcony. Virginia was at the end of the plank, looking scared. Matty was just stepping on to the plank, but he stumbled and fell back against Captain Rubinek, who pushed him roughly back on to it.

Sherlock quickly glanced around in case something was sneaking up on him. There was a splash from the pool, and then another, as Virginia and Matty joined him. He reached out and pulled them both to the rocks when they surfaced, spluttering.