Sherlock Holmes: The Army of Doctor Moreau

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I travelled with Kane in one cab while the rest followed on behind. I was unwilling to let him out of my sight and it gave the others a chance to converse more openly. In actuality this probably meant that they had to listen to Challenger talk at them. I wondered if I might be fortunate enough to discover that Johnson had been forced to throttle him before we reached our destination. It would certainly allow the rest of the evening to pass more peacefully. Sadly, this was not to be the case.

Once we arrived at King’s Cross, Kane led us behind the station and into the warren of backstreets that huddle around the railway tracks.

Shortly, we descended to the track itself, walking carefully beside the rails. Every few minutes a train would pass, pistons hammering in a percussive, chaotic row.

“Mind yourselves,” Kane said, as if we needed warning. “It gets darker along here where the cut deepens and the trains will rip you from your feet without their drivers even noticing. We are nothing but flies buzzing around an elephant’s ear.” He had a rather poetic turn of phrase when he turned his canine mind to it.

“I saw a man lose his arm once,” Johnson said. “Had too much to drink hadn’t ’e? Fell down next to the track, stuck his arms out to stop his face from hitting the ground. Boom!” He mimed a train sweeping past. “Bad timing and the 13.14 to Colchester had it off just below the shoulder. Didn’t even slow down, probably had no idea it had happened. The bloke in question was a bit slow on the uptake himself, mind you, only noticed a problem when he shook his fists at the driver and found himself one short.”

Wiggins laughed at that just as another train made its deafening way past.

After a few more minutes, Kane halted the party and pointed at a drainage cover in the ground.

“Our entrance,” he announced, pulling a short crowbar from a pocket inside his coat.

“Allow me,” said Challenger, taking the crowbar from him and flipping up the drain cover as if it weighed nothing. He handed the crowbar back to Kane, smiling. “It’s not just my brain that’s powerful,” he said.

“No,” Kane agreed. “Your personality is just as indomitable.”

“Now then,” said Wiggins, “let’s try and keep this as friendly as possible, shall we? No doubt there’s enough down there waiting to do us harm without our fighting amongst ourselves.”

Kane didn’t reply just gestured towards the uncovered hole. “After you.”

Wiggins looked to the hole, and the top of the ladder just visible within it, and sighed. He glanced at me, looking for the confirmation to go ahead. Naturally I gave it.

Mann followed Wiggins, then Johnson, then Challenger— somewhat irritated at having to wait his turn. Finally there was only Kane and I left on the surface.

“I think you should go next,” I said to Kane, “just so you can tell them which way we should be walking.”

“Still don’t trust me, eh?” Kane replied.

“Naturally not,” I replied. “I’m not an idiot after all.”

Kane offered that disturbing grin of his, a smile that spoke of animal hunger rather than humour. “We’ll see about that,” he replied, and began to climb down the ladder.

I descended after him.