James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“You know of this cult?”

“I have heard of it,” said Burton warily. “There was an American woman traveling with Nemo who hailed from a seaport town called Innsmouth, its history tangled in this dark cult.”

Burton didn’t tell Mycroft and Abberline the story of her experiences with the cult, but decided it best to keep some things to himself. He didn’t not fully trust this Mycroft Holmes. Not yet.

Mycroft smiled briefly. “Well then, it appears I have chosen wisely. You are just the man to look into this cult and stamp it out before it spreads to the rest of London.”

“What? Stamp it out? And how am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re resourceful. I have confidence you’ll figure something out. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how important this is.”

“I know all too well the power and the danger this Esoteric Order of Dagon represents,” said Burton flatly.

“Good. Then you will act with the utmost haste to see this mission to its only acceptable conclusion.”

“Mission? Am I to take it I’m to be a foot soldier in some sort of war?”

“We are already at war, Captain Burton,” said Mycroft, rising to his feet. He moved to the far corner of the room, which was crowded by a small table and a set of chairs. Sitting atop the table was a wooden box Burton hadn’t noticed when he and Abberline had entered the Stranger’s Room.

“At first,” said Mycroft, “the actions of this cult were little different from the normal crimes in the Cauldron. Disappearances, murders. The usual rot and ruin. Until this turned up.”

Burton rose from his seat to join Mycroft beside the box. Only Abberline stayed put where he was. Mycroft lifted the lid, and what Burton saw inside chilled his blood.

It was a tall, elaborate tiara, worked in a strangely tinged gold and covered in images of marine life. Burton took an involuntary step back from it.

“You’ve seen this before,” said Mycroft Holmes, regarding him expectantly.

“One very similar,” said Burton. “Aboard Captain Nemo’s submarine. I had hoped to never see another one. Where did you get this?”

“In a pawn shop on the edge of the Cauldron,” said Mycroft Holmes. “The gold itself is of a peculiar quality. I’ve had experts from all over Europe and the United States examine it, and none of them have ever seen its like. The only thing we know for sure is that the gold used to create it was not mined anywhere on Earth.”

“Nowhere overland,” Burton corrected.

“What?” said Mycroft.

“When did you first become aware of this cult?” asked Burton.

“Some three weeks ago, during your absence. And through a most bizarre contact. A criminal, the self-described arch-enemy of my brother, one Professor Moriarty.”

“He’s been running most of the East End gangs for many years,” added Abberline. “If it’s dirty and in the Cauldron, Moriarty’s got his grubby hands all over it.”

“He came to my brother shortly after you departed London,” said Mycroft, “filled with a most uncustomary fear. He told Sherlock of strange things taking place in the East End, of people going missing, numerous drownings, and large objects being heaved up out of the Thames late at night and stored in buildings along the wharf. There have also been reports of strange creatures, including fish-like entities and amorphous, iridescent blobs, like an oil slick, but that are said to move as if guided by a cold intelligence. My brother, being too preoccupied with another important matter, told me of his encounter with Moriarty, and I began putting my great intellect toward the problem. The police have scoured the Cauldron but returned with more questions than answers. Chief Inspector Abberline here has been most helpful toward that end.”

Abberline nodded. “This Esoteric Order of Dagon is growing in strength and numbers. Folks in the Cauldron have always been reluctant to talk to the police, but they are afraid to speak a word against anyone part of that cult. I think the ones not in it are afraid of the ones who are. And one of my men saw one of them blobs Mr. Holmes spoke about. And another man hasn’t been seen since Tuesday last.”

“The day I returned,” said Burton absently.

“You must root out the organizers of this cult,” said Moriarty. Because it is spreading. I fear that soon the whole city will be caught up in this madness.”

“I will do what I can,” said Burton. “If the trouble has just started, perhaps it’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard a similar story from the American woman I met on my journey. If what happened there is taking place here, we must move quickly to contain it.”

“What happened there?” asked Mycroft.

Burton considered his words carefully. “Let’s just say the entire town slipped into a state from which it will probably never recover.”

“Sounds like you are the man we need,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Just as I surmised.”

“I’m flattered, but it’s going to take a lot more than just me.”

Mycroft motioned toward the policeman. “Inspector Abberline is at your disposal. You are welcome to recruit anyone else you need for this venture. Discreetly, of course.”

Burton couldn’t think of anyone else he disliked enough to want to drag them into this madness, so he changed the subject. “And how exactly am I to root out the founding members of this cult?”

Mycroft reached into a pocket of his coat, producing a scrap of paper. “Moriarty gave my brother this.”

Burton took the proffered scrap and unfolded it. Scrawled on it was a strange yet simplistic design he had never seen before. It appeared to be a stylized pentagram with a horizontal oval in its center. In the center of the oval was a kind of flourish that put Burton in mind of either the pupil of an eye or, more likely, a burning campfire. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Nor have I,” said Mycroft. “And I can’t find it in any occult text. But this emblem is popping up all over the East End, scrawled on buildings, in alley ways. And there is a pup in the East End called the Elder Sign. This insignia hangs above it from a wooden placard. I want you to go there with Chief Inspector Abberline and get to the bottom of this Dagon cult.”

“I don’t see as we have any other choice,” said Burton to Abberline. “This is our only lead. We’ll need to go in disguise, of course.”

“I’ll leave you two to manage the particulars,” said Mycroft Holmes. “It’s settled then. God speed you on your journey.”

“There’s just one more thing,” said Burton.

Mycroft Holmes arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“My fiancée Isabel is missing. She was last seen in Hyde Park. I’d like you to put your considerable intellect and resources toward finding her.”

The large man heaved a sigh. After a beat, he said, “Consider it done.”

Burton followed Chief Inspector Abberline out of the Diogenes Club and back out onto the street. It was late afternoon, with the sky now obscured by dirty gray clouds, all evidence of the beautiful morning erased.

“Sorry to get you roped into all this, old boy,” said Abberline. “I’m afraid Mr. Holmes can be quite persuasive. My superiors have more or less assigned me to his service for the foreseeable future.”

Burton arched an eyebrow in surprise. “He is quite formidable, isn’t he? Well, I suppose there is nothing for it but to go along. We should probably make our plans for this evening. Not a wise time to go venturing into the Cauldron, but a perfect opportunity to ferret out this weird cult. Though I’m not precisely sure what Mr. Holmes wants us to do about it. I’ve never even heard of such a thing.”