Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty

Molly watched him steadily. “You became a criminal to fight against class discrimination?”

“Of course. I had to do what was right.” He looked away. “I was so naïve in those days. Sometimes I wish I could be that hopeful about the world again.” He sighed painfully and went back to correcting her worksheet. It seemed logarithms were still giving her trouble. He got three problems in before she spoke.

“I think you’re lying to me again, Professor.”

“Good. Then you have an eye for details and you can recognize a pattern. Keep it up and I’ll train you to spot forged artwork.”

She nodded. It seemed like a fair trade. She also thought she sensed another challenge in his words. “Were you ever really a professor, sir?”

Moriarty snorted. “I taught for several years at Durham. That much is public knowledge. Learn to do a little research.”

“But that assumes that Moriarty is your real name.” She spoke reasonably, with only the slightest shiver. No one said the Professor’s name lightly. “If it were me, I wouldn’t go by my real name.”

“Not all of us get the choice, poppet.” He tweaked her nose. A little harder than necessary. He was losing patience. “Now get back to work. I refuse to discuss any more with an idiot whose proofs are this sloppy.”

They worked strictly on her maths for the next three hours. Moriarty’s drive was so fierce, he may as well have had a whip in his hand. It was hardly the best learning environment, but it relaxed his enormous mind just a bit. There was always a comfort that came with the simple logic of numbers and the satisfaction of frightening those around you.

Molly didn’t see Professor Moriarty again for months afterwards. She ran the occasional message for members of the gang. From the snatches she overheard, she knew the Professor was busy. Very busy. With every message, the men who gave and received them looked more and more worried. Business was becoming difficult. The Professor was not pleased.

There wasn’t much more to gather from the gang members. They knew the penalty for not guarding secrets. Still, the air grew quiet and tense around them. Slowly, Molly’s work dwindled until there were no messages to run at all, at least none that she was trusted with.

In the meantime, Molly focused on her reading and did a lot of thinking. Was the Professor really who he claimed to be? True, there was a record of a Professor James Moriarty at Durham University. The dates even lined up with the Professor’s apparent age. But that could be a ruse. There was nothing the Professor wasn’t capable of.

In the end, she decided to dismiss any conspiracy theories. The man obviously enjoyed teaching. The background of the publicly known James Moriarty was probably close enough, if not the Professor’s exact identity. Besides, the question was obviously a distraction from her real enquiry, the one the Professor had challenged her to answer for herself. Why was he a criminal?

Molly pushed herself to understand books on criminal theory and dismissed every obvious answer that came her way. Crimes were committed for money and power or out of passion? They echoed an inherently sinister aspect of the criminal’s bloodline or mind? It was all nonsense. Maybe a common criminal was simply evil by nature, but the Professor was not common in any respect.

Though he wasn’t there to speak to her, Molly could hear the tales he’d weave in her mind all the same.

“I was a poor boy from a poor family. I grew up seeing my own mother starve before my eyes. I began to steal to help us survive.”

“I was an honorable professor, devoting my life to shaping the minds of our nation’s youth. One day, I was framed for an unspeakable crime and I realized my honor meant nothing.”

“You stupid girl! I’m a smart man and crime made me rich and powerful! Why else would I do it?”

Each fantasy was like a fresh phantom that would haunt her for a day or more. One by one she banished them. They didn’t fit the facts. Moriarty was brilliant. Smart enough to overcome any poverty or tarnished reputation. Smart enough to gain riches and power without needing to be troubled by the law. There had to be something more.

She got her first hint of what was causing all the gang’s problems when she snuck into the back room of one of their favorite taverns to get everyone’s lunch orders. She interrupted a game of darts. The gentlemen involved only had a second to glance at her before the game was interrupted far more dramatically. A crashing sound came from the back of the room and suddenly a flood of police officers came swarming in. Within the gang there were many things Molly wasn’t allowed to know. However, one lesson had always been thoroughly impressed on her: when the police arrive, it is time to be somewhere else. She took a quiet step back into the tavern, sat down, and played with a length of string until the fuss died down.

Police filed out. Men she’d worked with for years walked past her in handcuffs. No one looked at her once. She stared, but only because that’s what a spectator would do. A dozen entwined strings of fate were snipped in an instant and no one said a thing. It could be worse, she mused. They might have died. And, although it was dangerous, she allowed herself to be grateful for that much at least.

She heard a chuckle as the last officers left. “It looks like they knew who to be bitter about. Not that it did them any good!”

When they were all gone, life at the tavern continued. The owner had been arrested for harboring criminals, but the barmaid, Antonia, was still taking orders. She came over to Molly. “Anything for you, love? I’d give you tea for your nerves, only you don’t look like you have any.”

“Thank you.” Molly smiled. “Can I have it in back? I think that will be my last chance to see the place.”

Antonia nodded, not so much because she understood as because she’d long since learned not to ask questions about these things. Molly got her tea and walked back into the ransacked room she’d only ever seen for minutes at a time before.

She righted a chair and table and wondered what sort of plans had been made there. Would this room ever host crooked games of cards again? Ever hear the elaborate details of the most nefarious plots in England? Maybe the tavern wouldn’t even be in business by the end of the week.

This was a place he built , she realized. Professor Moriarty had hundreds of secret dens throughout London. As far as Molly knew, this one wasn’t particularly special. But the police had gotten some significant members today: Giles, Crane, Moffey. Men who did good work for the Professor. And now they were gone. Arrests happened sometimes, but the police weren’t normally this lucky.

Or was it luck?

There was an article, almost waiting for her, on the dartboard. The headline read “Consulting Detective Helps Unravel String of Robberies”. The paper was full of holes from the darts. It took a bit of time to piece the story together.

There was a man who helped the police solve crimes. It sounded like he was good at it too. The robberies mentioned in the article weren’t Moriarty’s so far as she knew. They weren’t amateur work either. The detective had put together some very subtle clues to solve the case. He sounded smart. He sounded brilliant. So why was he fighting crime where Moriarty caused it?

Molly’s tea grew cold as she sipped it and pondered.

The detective was more famous than she’d realized. Soon, she seemed to hear his name everywhere. She read his stories. The writing was overly sensational, but it was easy to see why he captivated people. He was like a magician, one who could explain his tricks and still keep the audience mystified. He was a genius and yet he was also loved. Perhaps he wasn’t rich or exceptionally powerful but Molly suspected he could have those things if he wanted to. (Particularly if the rumors about his brother were true.)