George Mann - Associates of Sherlock Holmes

And I am thirsty.

“Come on in,” she says. She’s a grown-up, but her voice sounds young, sort of childish without being weird or immature. “Rest your feet. You look as though you’ve been running for ages.”

“I have, miss.”

She smiles, and it’s so nice and calm and it makes me feel like maybe the whole world isn’t horrible after all. So I follow her into the teashop. And barely as soon as I’ve sat down, there’s a cup steaming in front of me and a pair of sugary biscuits shaped like flowers on a fancy plate.

“Is this your shop, miss?”

“Mm.” She shrugs. “I’m here a lot, let’s say.”

I can see someone moving about behind the counter, but they’re staying sort of out of sight. So it’s as good as just being me and the lady in the show for now. She goes and picks up a teacup from another table and sits down with me.

“So, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

I tense. Is it happening again? It’s happening again. “You… mind if I don’t say, miss?”

The lady makes these big eyes at me, sort of pinching her mouth up, like she’s confused, but then she smiles. “Of course. It’s completely your own affair. I do apologise for prying.” And she sounds like she means it. No, doesn’t sound like – she does mean it, no doubt in my mind.

It’s nice, this. I’m sitting, and it’s comfortable, and there’s hot, strong tea that’s milky and sugary just the way I like it, and the biscuits taste like cherries and flowers and shortbread. I’ve eaten both pretty quickly, and the shopkeeper – a small, pale girl in a black dress and white apron – comes right out with two more.

“You like those? The shopkeeper makes them herself every day.”

“They’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, miss.”

“Please, call me Maria. Surely we’re friends now, right?”

“Right, then, Miss Maria.”

She waves her hand, and the shopkeeper brings her over some biscuits too. So there we are, the pair of us, sitting there like old chums, eating our biscuits and drinking our tea, not talking at all. Best part is, I’m not scared for my life anymore. My heart’s feeling a bit less like a hummingbird rattling about in my chest.

“Ah.” It’s Miss Maria, and she sounds a bit surprised. “Could you light the lamps? It’s getting a bit dark out.” At first I think she’s talking to me, but then I see the shopkeeper start moving through the shop lighting all the lamps. I look out the big front windows and…

It’s getting dark.

I still haven’t gotten my letter to Dr Watson!

I jump out of my chair, nearly spilling my tea.

“Something wrong?”

“I just remembered, I have somewhere I need to be!” I’m stammering, and there’s crumbs all over my face. I pat my jacket to make sure the letter’s still there. It is. That blasted letter that’s going to be the death of me. “So sorry. I have to dash.”

Miss Maria frowns. “But we were having such fun.”

“I know. It’s great, really. And maybe I can come back sometime? But right now I need to finish this job I’m on.”

“Oh. Yes. You were running somewhere.” All the smiles are gone from her face now. She’s frowning, like suddenly she’s bored with me and the shop and the whole situation. It’s more like the sort of look you’d see on a world-weary old lady.

“Exactly. So I should get back to that.”

The door to the shop slams, and all the lamps go out.

It’s happening again. It’s happening again! I knew it! I should’ve listened to myself.

“You really shouldn’t be out after dark, you know. A little boy like you.” All of the childish sound is gone out of her voice. She sounds strangely old, even though she doesn’t actually look any different. “Something could happen. You know. You’ve heard there’s a murderer on the loose, surely.”

I’m starting to get proper scared now – more than I had with any of the others. “I… may have, miss.”

Miss Maria is examining her fingernails all casual-like. “Oh, you’re a clever boy. You’ve heard. You’ve got that look about you – so proud of how clever you are.” Then she’s looking straight at me and she’s smiling, and it’s such a calm smile I’m not sure why I’m suddenly twice as terrified.

“Shall I tell you about the occult murders? Would you like to know more?”

The occult murders… all the people who’ve been killed and had the sigils carved in their skin. Like the butler mentioned earlier.

“N-No, Miss Maria. I don’t think I would.”

“Hm.” She chuckles, but she’s not smiling. “That’s wise of you. I could easily tell you everything anyone could hope to know. I could give you enough to spare your employer weeks of work. Of course, I’d have to make sure you never leave this shop alive.”

“No!”

“Just another victim. What would it matter?”

I’ve run for the door, but my hands are shaking too much to open it. Either that, or somehow it’s locked itself tight. “I thought you were being friendly! We were eating biscuits together! You were nice!”

“Mmmmm, well, I’d thought I could keep being nice.” Miss Maria walks towards me with a hand out. “Come, now. Hand over the letter, and I’ll let you go.”

“This blasted letter… It really is more trouble than it’s worth. I’m about tempted to let you have it.”

She smiles. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

“I said about tempted.” And I grab the letter out of my jacket and wave it in front of me. “But I’ve a job to do, don’t I? Why do you even want it so badly? How do you know it’s about you?”

Miss Maria folds her arms and gives me this sort of rotten, scoffing look. “Honestly. My maidservant heard your employer through the window clear as day as she was walking down the street earlier: ‘Sensitive information of the utmost importance’. Loud as you please. I’m shocked the entire city didn’t hear.”

Oh. “I’m starting to think it did…”

“Regardless, what else could be of utmost importance to London’s finest detective save for the recent rash of unsolved murders? So hand it over. There is still a great deal yet to do.”

I stick the letter back in my jacket and shrink away towards the door. “You do know that I know you’re connected now, right? I don’t need any letter. I could tell Scotland Yard myself!”

“Oh, darling, who would believe you?” She laughs, and the worst part is it’s not even a malicious laugh. She really is just laughing at me, like I’ve said the stupidest thing in the world. She reaches out her hand to make a grab for my collar–

And then she pulls her hand away and shrieks.

I look up and see her gripping her wrist and making the most horrid face. And I would be, too – she’s got a bone-handled dagger sticking out of her hand. I cover my mouth and look away.

What? I can’t stand the sight of blood. Yes I know I’m in the wrong line of work for that… I’d like to see you deal with it, though.

I hear a voice from the back of the shop yelling at me to run – is it the shopkeeper? I can’t tell, and I’m in no mood to find out, so I start kicking at the door ’til it gives way, and I’m off.

No more stopping. No more waiting. No more nothing. If anyone even tries to stop me, I’ll bite ’em. I swear I will.

And no one does. I make it to Dr Watson’s practice, all out of breath and terrified and likely pale as death. That’s what I’m figuring, at least, given how he’s looking at me. He’s packing up his kit for the day, and he stares at me like he’s just gotten a surprise patient.

“Billy?”

I gasp. I grab the letter. And finally, finally , I hold it out to him. “Message for you, sir.” Then my head feels a bit wobbly.