Philip Farmer - The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - The Peerless Peer

“Your Grace is most generous,” Holmes said quickly. Greystoke put the knife back into the scabbard.

“I don’t happen to have a cheque on me,” he said. “You will trust me until we get to Nairobi?”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Holmes murmured. “Your family was always the most open-handed in my experience. Now, the king of Holland...”

“What is this you said about Zu-Vendis?” I broke in, knowing that Holmes would take a long time to describe a case some of whose aspects still rankled him.

“Who cares?” Holmes said, but I ignored him. “As I remember it, an Englishman, a great hunter and explorer, wrote a book describing his adventures in that country. His name was Allan Quatermain.”

Greystoke nodded and said, “I’ve read some of his biographical accounts.”

“I thought they were novels,” Holmes said. “Must we discuss cheap fiction...” His voice trailed as he realised that Greystoke had said that Zu-Vendis was a reality.

Greystoke said, “Either Quatermain or his agent and editor, H. R. Haggard, exaggerated the size of Zu-Vendis. It was supposed to be about the size of France but actually covered an area equal to that of Liechtenstein. In the main, however, except for the size and location of Zu-Vendis, Quatermain’s account is true. He was accompanied on his expedition by two Englishmen, a baronet, Sir Henry Curtis, and a naval captain, John Good. And that great Zulu warrior, Umslopogaas, a man whom I would have liked to have known. After the Zulu and Quatermain died, Curtis sent Quatermain’s manuscript of the adventure to Haggard. Haggard apparently added some things of his own to give more verisimilitude to the chronicle. For one thing, he said that several British commissions were investigating Zu-Vendis with the intent of finding a more accessible means of travel to it. This was not so. Zu-Vendis was never found, and that is why most people concluded that the account was pure fiction. Shortly after the manuscript was sent out by one of the natives who had accompanied the Quatermain party, the entire valley except for this high end was flooded.”

“Then poor Curtis and Good and their lovely Zu-Vendis wives were drowned?” I said.

“No,” Greystoke said. “They were among the dozen or so who reached safety. Apparently, they either could not get out of the valley then or decided to stay here. After all, Nylepthah, Curtis’ wife, was the queen, and she would not want to abandon her people, few though they were. The two Englishmen settled down, taught the people the use of the bow, among other things, and died here. They were buried up in the hills.”

“What a sad story!” I said.

“All people must die,” Greystoke replied, as if that told the whole story of the world. And perhaps it did.

Greystoke looked out at the temple, saying, “That woman at whom you two have been staring with a not-quite-scientific detachment...”

“Yes?” I said.

“Her name is also Nylepthah. She is the granddaughter of both Good and Curtis.”

Great Scott!” I said. “A British woman parading around naked before those savages!”

Greystoke shrugged and said, “It’s their custom.”

“We must rescue her and get her back to the home of her ancestors!” I cried.

“Be quiet, Watson, or you’ll have the whole pack howling for our blood,” Holmes growled. “She seems quite contented with her lot. Or could it be,” he added, looking hard at me, “that you have once again fallen into love?”

He made it sound as if the grand passion were an open privy. Blushing, I said, “I must admit that there is a certain feeling...”

“Well, the fair sex is your department,” he said. “But really, Watson, at your age!”

(“The Americans have a proverb,” I said. “The older the buck, the stiffer the horn.”) [15] The parentheses are the editor’s, indicating another passage crossed out by Watson.

“Be quiet, both of you,” the duke said. “I permitted the Zu-Vendis to capture you because I knew you’d be safe for a while. I had to get on up-country to check out a rumour that a white woman was being held captive by a tribe of blacks. Though I am positive that my wife is dead, still there is always hope. Mr. Holmes suggested that the Germans might have played a trick on me by substituting the charred body of a native girl. That had occurred to me previously. That I wear only a loincloth doesn’t mean that I am naked of intelligence. [16] Apparently, Watson forgot to describe Holmes’ comment. Undoubtedly, he would have inserted it at the proper place in the final draft.

“I found the white girl, an Englishwoman, but she was not my wife...”

“Good heavens!” I said. “Where is she? Have you hidden her out there?”

“She’s still with the sultan of the tribe,” he said sourly. “I went to much trouble to rescue her, had to kill a dozen or so tribesmen getting to her, and a dozen on the way out. And then the woman told me she was perfectly happy with the sultan and would I please return her. I told her to find her own way back. I detest violence which can be avoided. If only she had told me beforehand.... Well, that’s all over.”

I did not comment. I thought it indiscreet to point out that the woman could not have told him how she felt until after he had fought his way in. And I doubted that she had an opportunity to voice her opposition on the way out.

“I drove the Germans this way because I expected that they would, like you, be picked up by the Zu-Vendis. Tomorrow night, all four of you prisoners are scheduled to be sacrificed on the temple altar. I got back an hour ago to get you two out.”

“That was cutting it close, wasn’t it?” Holmes said.

“You mean to leave Von Bork and Reich here?” I said. “To be slaughtered like sheep? And what about the woman, Nylepthah? What kind of life is that, being confined from birth to death in that house, being denied the love and companionship of a husband, forced to murder poor devils of captives?”

“Yes,” said Holmes. “Reich is a very decent fellow and should be treated like a prisoner of war. I wouldn’t mind at all if Von Bork were to die, but only he knows the location of the SB papers. The fate of Britain, of her allies, hangs on those papers. As for the woman, well, she is of good British stock and it seems a shame to leave her here in this squalidness.”

“So she can go to London and perhaps live in squalour there?” Greystoke said.

“I’ll see to it that that does not happen,” I said. “Your Grace, you can have back my fee if you take that woman along.”

Greystoke laughed softly and said, “I couldn’t refuse a man who loves love more than he loves money. And you can keep the fee.”

At some time before dawn, Greystoke entered our hut. The Germans were also waiting for him, since we had told them what to expect if they did not leave with us. The duke gestured for silence, unnecessarily, I thought, and we followed him outside. The two guards, gagged and trussed-up, lay by the door. Near them stood Nylepthah, also gagged, her hands bound before her and a rope hobbling her. Her glorious body was concealed in a cloak. The duke removed the hobble, gestured at us, took the woman by the arm, and we walked silently through the village. Our immediate goal was the beach, where we intended to steal two boats. We would paddle to the foot of the cliff on top of which was the bamboo boom and ascend the ropes. Then we would cut the ropes so that we could not be followed. Greystoke had come down on the rope after disposing of the guards at the boom. He would climb back up the rope and then pull us up.