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“I believe, Watson, that we may have found the nook by the books where the crook tucked the stolen jewels,” Holmes remarked as we came to a stop by a large chest in the manor library.
The rest of the furniture was quite modern and ornate, but this was older and simpler, made of plain oak, with old, well-worn hinges and clasps. The grain of the wood was deeply carved in, and there were several dents, although none had broken off splinters, so sturdy was the material.
“This? I suppose it’s quite easy to overlook, being so plain, although to me that makes it seem even more out of place in all the extravagance surrounding it.”
“Watson, you observe. Most people do not.”
“That may be true.”
Holmes cracked open the chest, and lifted the green, blue, and brown jewels from it, one by one, into the sparkling light. “Look, Watson, how they glisten. I believe we have found our quarry.”
I could not help but agree. When Holmes bent low to retrieve the next gem, I found myself alarmed as I could no longer see his head. Suddenly, his body began to follow into the dark of a chest that had not seemed cavernous at all before. I immediately ducked my head down to look for him. It occurred to me as I was sucked through some kind of odd vortex, that perhaps I might have thought for a moment before following. But this was Holmes; I would always follow him thus, even if I knew death itself awaited.
It did not, upon this occasion. The vortex brought me to an odd blue-purple sky and dropped me onto an odd orange hillside, covered in flowers entirely unlike any I had ever seen before. Some had quite pointed petals, and others were rounded, and others yet some kind of odd mix. I could feel the leaves of an orange bush poking my sides. It was as though I were in a sea of orange on land.
A realization settled into me as I catalogued all of this. There was something missing: I was alone. Panic seized my chest, as I wondered where Holmes might be. Then, I heard an anguished cry that set my own worries at ease as much as it tugged at my soul. “John!”
Holmes and I did not customarily call each other by our first names, although we had a long and intimate friendship. There were two occasions upon which we did. The first was in our shared bed, where Holmes and I both felt such intimacy appropriate. It did not seem to make sense to me to concern myself with propriety in our bed, and Holmes quite agreed. On many nights, as I settled into his arms to sleep, woke in the night with him from nightmares, or arose in his arms in the morning, he called me John, and I him Sherlock. In public, however, the only time he ever called me by my Christian name was when he was lost in a world of past torment or else quite frightened. Whichever it was, I knew my dear friend was suffering, and I scrambled along the hillside, trying to find the origin of the call.
“Where are you?” I cried out, finally realizing I could try to find him by asking. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Watson, I am on an unfamiliar hillside of flowers and possibly hallucinating if what I see before me is any indication. How am I to tell you where I am?”
“That was enough for me, old man.” I had easily determined the direction of his voice and made for him. It was not difficult to diagnose the injuries I had sustained in my tumble, as walking towards him had been the most difficult part of finding and reaching him, although the odd things I had seen along the way had not helped steady me. “And if you believe you just witnessed a mushroom speaking, then I am afraid I am also seeing visions, or else that neither of us are.”
“That, and more, Watson, that and more. It was not only the talking mushrooms, but the winged bicycles and the bumblebee with an elephant’s ears that have intrigued me in this strange place.”
“I have seen neither of those, but I cannot dispute that those seem to belong as well in a realm of mushrooms capable of speech.”
“Indeed. Perhaps when you have recovered some of your strength, we might investigate what lies above us.”
“That seems quite a sensible plan. I am curious, but as you have already noted, need the aforementioned rest a little longer.”
I rested against a rock, black and gleaming for a moment, trying to regain my strength. I could see that Holmes’ brilliant mind was already working quickly, but I could do little but try to recover my strength and battle my growing dizziness. After a moment, something occurred to me. “Do you think we will also find the thief here?”
“A chest that can pull two men into a world can just as easily have done so before,” Holmes acknowledged.
Suddenly, Holmes raised a finger to his lips, and I quieted without question. Not a moment later, I could hear voices drifting down from above us, at the top of the hill.
The first was high and girlish, with a hint of a croak.“When I was a young fairy, things were different. You wouldn’t see young human things flitting about, doing whatever they so pleased. Of course, we would have, darling, but you can’t deny a fairy her due.”
“Indeed not.” Her companion let out a tinkling burst of laughter. “Of course, those velocipedes might not care, as long as they can migrate where they please, but a charpy agrees.”
Holmes and I were not left to wonder for long what charpies were, as we could see this one now flying overhead, looking as though a chariot and a harpy had bred a hybrid. I first noted the charpy’s birdlike and womanly features, reminiscent of the harpy, but I could also see her chariot’s wheels and the wooden parts that connected her legs and axle. With her small wings, she seemed quite powerful to me, and I could see Holmes observing the same in her.
Small wings may often bear large creatures aloft, when they are well-designed for such tasks. In some respects, I found myself completely unsurprised to see it happen before me. Do not we all find ourselves faced with challenges that seem insurmountable for our limited, human frames, and do we not occasionally face them bravely and win? I myself supported an entire body with one leg, when my other was too unwell to contribute, and before I had started to chronicle Holmes’ career, I had never believed that I would become an author, much less write something so grand as Holmes’ exploits. To his occasional chagrin, I had borne us aloft on the small wings of my pen.
When I considered matters in these terms, the charpy was no longer such a wonder. She flew back down to her friend, and I returned my eyes to Holmes, to watch the shifts in his curious expression and glean what I could from them.
“Good Queen Mallow,” I could hear the mocking disdain in the fairy’s voice, although I could not see her face. “Good for whom? Certainly not for us fairies.”
“Nor for charpies. The trolls like her well enough, I suppose.”
“The trolls,” the fairy repeated, with even greater scorn. “They like everyone.”
“I can’t say you’re wrong.”
The two of them took to the sky again, and I could see the fairy and the charpy, looking like an incredibly odd amalgam of creatures. It was as Holmes had thought when we arrived, this world was very strange indeed. When I judged it safe to speak, I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had so many thoughts, and no idea where to begin.
“It is unlikely that the thief is on the hilltop, I perceive.”
Holmes’ words surprised me. I realized, with a shock, that I had not at all considered the thief in all of my marvel at this strange new world, but evidently, Holmes had not forgotten our quarry for long if he had done so at all. As I adjusted to this new information, I readied myself to take in more of it, for once Holmes had returned us to our task, surely we would continue to hunt down the thief.
“I hadn’t been thinking of the thief,” I confessed.
“Yes, Watson, that much has been quite obvious to me. It is no surprise, as this marvelous world is quite the shock, but we must not let ourselves be dissuaded from our task. Surely, if the thief is here, he must have already been deposited and had his chance to begin moving. Now, I do not think the thief is up at the hilltop, since there would likely have been some kind of encounter with the fairy and the charpy if so. Therefore, it is only logical that the thief is either between our place and the hilltop, below us on the hill, or has already traveled past the hill.”
“But surely, the thief cannot have made it past the hill! We arrived in the library just after him.”
“Watson, what if there is an element of time change in the chest? We cannot know if we are in the time we entered from.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Holmes was right. If this chest could take us to a place so odd and magical as this, it might just as easily move us through time as well. This was the stuff of novels and children’s stories, and I was only beginning to appreciate the implications of the experience. Suddenly, a thought occured to me, and I turned to Holmes, alarmed.
“Holmes!” I cried. “Do you think that the chest might have deposited the thief somewhere else, rather than on this hillside? After all, it left the two of us some distance away, and you and I entered almost immediately together.”
Holmes furrowed his brow. “Perhaps, my mind is finally failing me, Watson, as I had not thought to consider this.”
“Nonsense, Holmes, you have had as much a shock as I, arriving in this place. Although, as your friend and medical doctor, I should ask: are you injured? Have you hit your head? I know I took a bit of a hit on the way down, but I believe my head to be uninjured.”
“I appreciate your concern, Watson, but I do not believe I took a blow to the head when I landed. Of course, any sufficient shake of my body might leave me concussed, but I do not feel nearly as poorly as you do, and it was only the odd visions before me that led me to deduce I might be suffering from concussion as we arrived. I assure you I am well and able to continue, and that the lapse in my judgement is just that.”
“Alright, old man,” I told him, smiling easily.
“My injuries are not worth mentioning, Watson.”
“Injuries?” Holmes had made a habit of injuring himself without telling me, and it set me on edge to know he might have indulged this particular practice again, especially in an unfamiliar land and when I too was injured, and lacked medical supplies to treat him.
“It was no large matter,” Holmes smiled, holding up a thumb with a pinprick of blood on the outside. Printed on his hand, in a fine, blue ink and a princely serif, was the following: there must be blood.
“Well, I suppose that doesn’t look too bad,” I acknowledged. “Although the text is rather ominous.”
“Indeed, but who can know the origin or meaning of such a text. Perhaps, it refers to the blood that has already been drawn, and is left by these particular bees upon whomever they sting. After all, one of the bumblebees with elephant’s ears bestowed this upon me.”
“You are right, Holmes. We do not have enough information to cause fear, yet. Of course I would prefer to be able to clean it, Holmes, but this is far less than I was expecting when you disclosed injuries.”
“I am glad you think so, dear fellow, for there is quite a bit to do.”
“Then what do you think we ought to do next? Do you think the fellow came here with us?”
“I think we must assume so, Watson, for if he was deposited by the chest elsewhere, we have no better information to find him there; this is our best lead. Perhaps we might go up the hill first, and then down, so that we needn’t climb twice if he is nearer to the top.”
“I would far prefer to avoid such a thing as well, Holmes. Very well, let us check the upper reaches of the hill.”
Holmes peered down at me, concerned. “Perhaps I ought to check on my own, Watson. Your injuries must be troubling you. Surely, you could use a little more rest.”
“And let you go it alone on the hill?” I could see this wasn’t about to sway him, so I added. “Besides, here I am quite unprotected if you go off gallivanting on your own in search of the thief. I should prefer to face any dangers of this odd place by your side.”
Holmes only smiled at my naked attempt and accepted. “Very well, then, Watson, you may climb the hill with me. At least take my arm, it seems quite steep here towards the top. I would not have the danger of the slope befall you.”
The offer of support didn’t seem a bad idea, actually. I allowed myself to lean on Holmes’ arm as we climbed the hill. A short way into our climb, Holmes and I came upon a pack of wolves, snuggled close and sleeping in the orange flowers. On second glance, I noted that a girl was with them, head buried in one’s fur. I couldn’t hear much of what she said about them, except that it was very much the type of thing a girl might say to a beloved dog and that she called them wairwulf, rolling the r slightly.
Holmes and I took a short detour away from the group, and made to check the rest of the top of the mountain, finding only more and more flowers, and walked around it from one end to the other. I was breathing quite heavily from the exertion of it, and Holmes had to support me carefully by the time that we had circumnavigated it. “I’m afraid I might need quite the rest, my dear fellow. Perhaps I am slowing you down too much in your search for the thief.”
“Nonsense, Watson. I see him halfway down the hill. Surely, you can rest up a little before we pursue him. We have the advantage of vantage, my dear, after all.”
The wordplay made me laugh in spite of myself, coughing a little bit from the laughter. I attempted to curtail my coughing as quickly as possible, and Holmes waited for me with a far greater patience than he typically possessed as I collected myself. Soon, I urged him on. I could see the thief beginning to quicken his pace, and I didn’t want him to get away for my sake.
“Holmes, surely we must go after the thief now, or else we shall fully lose his scent. I will be fine, I promise.”
Holmes nodded his assent and eyed the path down the hill, before offering me assistance in getting up.
“There is no reason to expend energy you needn’t,” Holmes spoke mildly, and I returned his casual tone with my own, grateful for his quiet support.
We made for the thief, taking what Holmes had deemed to be the easiest path down the hill, although I could not make anything of the difference in terrain from place to place. Eventually, I noticed that our pace was beginning to outpace the thief’s, and I thought we had a decent chance of catching up, should he be flagging.
We nearly ran through the path of orange, until we finally came to a halt near the thief, only to find that he was on the other side of a wide river from us.
Then, we were taken up by a flying sword-drawn carriage, with wings and wheels of iron, and brought across the river, which seemed altogether too good to be true. It was just our luck that the carriages didn’t stop, and that Holmes wouldn’t hop down from them, knowing that even in my current condition, I would follow him. Instead, we remained aloft. We passed by what appeared to be a wild herd of winged bicycles, a vast sky pond of flying singing fish, and what seemed to be an entire hive of the bumblebees with elephant ears.
“They really are quite odd,” I remarked to Holmes.
“Quite,” he echoed.
The sword-drawn carriage cut, quite literally, through a formation of cotton candy clouds, and continued until we arrived at a very odd city, stacked tall with the oddest of buildings, made as if by a sewing needle and fabric.
“Welcome to Pandemonium,” an ethereal voice sprang forth from our sword-drawn carriage. “We hope you will enjoy our stay. Please exit the vehicle with all of your limbs.”
I wondered if it was common for people to leave their limbs behind, for such an announcement to be made. Perhaps the swords were more enthusiastic with some of the customers? Either way, I was rather surprised that we had not been charged a fare, but I wasn’t sure what I would have paid with, if we were.
Holmes stepped down from the carriage onto the cobblestone first before turning back to help me. I was nervous about accepting his touch in public, and looked at the city around me warily first, only to note that there seemed to be fairy men everywhere holding hands and not a single objection. I had never seen the like of it, and I thought I might weep if I looked at the sight before me any longer.
I allowed Holmes to help me down, and to assist me as he investigated the city and I wondered at it. As we walked through the city, I overheard a few of its denizens, many of whom seemed to dislike humans a great deal.
“Back in my day, we had tithes and we liked it. I should have been honored to offer up one of my children, or even myself, to the good Queen, but she wouldn’t have it. Not that little good girl,” a fairy in a top hat and monocle cried scornfully.
“Stumbled, that one is,” another added.
“The humans that stumble in will meet their end,” a third one nodded. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized, Cherise, they don’t die. They simply return to their world when their clocks here run out.”
“Well that’s alright,” the one I could only assume was Cherise said hesitantly. “I don’t know that I should have liked to be the one tithed though. I rather like being alive, and not a monarch’s food.”
The others began to boo Cherise, and she shrank back on herself.
For my part, I agreed with the little jackal girl. She deserved, I thought, to live a life free of the threat of being eaten. It was, in fact, something I believed everyone had the right to, and so I found myself quite partial to the Queen who had put an end to the practice. It took all of my strength not to blurt it out to the hostile crowd. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have stopped myself, but I could see Holmes was already distracted by our chase, and I didn’t know what exactly we ought to fear from these beings.
I also found myself quite relieved: I hadn’t considered our adventure might keep us here, but it was a comfort to assume we would be returned home.
I quickened my pace to keep up with Holmes. He made long strides, and with my injuries, I found it quite difficult to keep up with him.
The more he tried to find answers, the more tightlipped the residents of Pandemonium were. I could hear his growing frustration when he was rebuffed, time after time, by those he interviewed. He was kind to them, but his voice grew more pained and rough, as if he had been counting on these strangers to be kind enough to direct us to the place we had come from. It hadn’t worked, and I had learned enough about their scorn for humans to understand that it likely would not.
“Most of the locals here don’t seem too fond of humans, at the moment.”
“I can see that, Watson, but we have no one else from whom we can find information.”
“I believe we can learn plenty by listening,” I suggested. “The locals are sure to have plenty of conversations. I have already heard, for example, the likely manner of our return home from this odd place.”
“Have you now?”
“I have. We are what the locals call stumbled. We have a clock that will run out.”
“Stumbled,” Holmes remarked. “How odd. Watson, supposing the term originates from the manner of entry, you and I did stumble through the chest that brought us here, in a manner of speaking.”
“Perhaps,” I said, a little doubtful. Such an etymology seemed to make altogether too much sense for all of the confusion we had experienced already, but it was as good an explanation as any. Do not all of us stumble sometimes, into new and exciting places, alone or after a friend? It is a comforting thought that every time we stumble, so too our clocks will right themselves. “First, we have a thief to apprehend. After all, his clock runs too.”
“Let us away, then.”
And we did.