The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty

A Good Mind’s Fate Alexandra Townsend

It was a rare man who had the courage to ask Moriarty about his past. It was an even rarer man whom Moriarty would bother to answer. In his opinion, courageous men were most often fools. Not that it made them special. Almost everyone was a fool.

But then there was the occasional moment when the wind blew southerly and the moon was exactly half full, in short when it struck his fancy, that the great Professor could be bothered to answer some questions.

Molly was a charming girl. She was a child on the cusp of becoming a lady. She delivered occasional messages within his criminal network. She was good for work that required a face that would be underestimated. Moriarty liked to tutor her in advanced mathematics sometimes.

“Professor,” she asked one day, as they haggled their way through cosigns and imaginary numbers, “why did you decide to become a criminal?”

It was a bold question, but she asked it without accusation. It was a simple quest for information. Molly didn’t judge morals. She judged facts. Moriarty had hopes that he wouldn’t have to kill her one day. It might actually be a waste.

That night the wind and moon and so forth must have been right. For once, Moriarty was pleased to tell the story. “Molly, have you ever read Crime and Punishment?” She shook her head. “Well, you should. Add it to your reading list. I expect you to finish it by next week.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said with a hint of humor. He glared and she balked. “I mean, yes, sir. By next week.”

“Good.” He watched to make certain she showed no further signs of insubordination, then continued. “It’s an involved story that goes on longer than it should and ends with a compulsory preachy moral. All the same, it quite captivated me as a lad. It’s about a man who commits murder simply to prove that he can, to prove that he is more important than all the morals in the world.”

In his mind, that sentence was filled with qualifiers and footnotes, but he’d said what was necessary to get Molly’s attention. She waited, now seated notably closer to the edge of her chair. Good.

“I believe I was about your age at the time. I was young. I hadn’t given much thought to the future, my career, or the nature of crime. That book opened my mind to many things.

“It taught me that there are ranks of men in this world. And I don’t mean the ones you’re taught about: the rich and the poor, the brave and the cowardly, the saintly and the wicked. No. Those are the simple categories a world of children plays with. The only real distinctions worth noting are those very few who can master the rules of the invisible games of the world, and then rise above those rules themselves. Those, dear Molly, are the only men worthy of respect.”

“And what about women, Professor?” Molly asked, with something dreadfully akin to hope in her eyes.

“Women,” Moriarty said with a severe look, “are governed by the most insipid fluff of all, the scraps that the idiot men of the world leave them. Keep up with your maths, Molly, and perhaps you’ll be able to keep a brain under all that cotton the world will stuff in your skull. Now, no more interruptions.”

Molly looked confused, but nodded solemnly.

“It gave me such ideas, Crime and Punishment. It made me question every rule I’d ever heard. I already knew I was a genius, of course. It’s impossible to have an intellect like mine and not know it. And yet there I was, letting my magnificent brain be constrained by the laws and policies written to herd the masses into line. It was absurd! It was …”

He shook his head. “My work truly began when I was fifteen. There was a book I wanted. An excellent edition of Euler’s De fractionibus continuis dissertatio. I wanted it, but didn’t have enough money for it on hand. All I had was my schoolmate Timothy and the knowledge that he liked to play games of poker with the other boys. Gambling was forbidden at our school. He might have been expelled. It didn’t take much to convince him to steal the book for me.”

Moriarty grinned in that very way that chilled brave men to their bones. Memories could be so sweet. “But I think that is enough for tonight, dear Molly. Now, show me what you’ve learned.”

A week later, they met again, a surprise but not an unpleasant one. The Professor had expected to be in Rome. Pressing matters in Dublin had come up instead. There was an art-smuggling operation that had suddenly spiraled out of control. Moriarty sorted it out within hours, but he was still irked it required his presence at all. Another maths lesson was a good way to soothe his ruffled mind.

Molly’s progress was good. He could see she had a grasp of mathematics in a broader scope than most did. She understood the formulas and theories as more than arbitrary rules to be followed. Anything less would have been a waste of his time.

“Do you speak Russian, sir?”

He paused over a note he was about to make. “I speak twenty-three different languages, child. But yes, Russian is among them. Why?”

“How long have you spoken it?” she asked with an odd insistence. “When did you learn it?”

Moriarty frowned with impatience. “Nearly fifteen years ago. Now stop trying to be mysterious. You aren’t clever enough for that.”

For once Molly didn’t seem stung by the strike against her intelligence. “I read Crime and Punishment like you asked me to, sir. As far as I can calculate, it wasn’t published when you were a boy. Unless you’re much younger than you look.” She glanced at him nervously, but he allowed her to continue. “And it was only translated into English a few years ago.” A pause. “Why did you lie to me?”

Again, he appreciated the lack of hurt in her voice. It acknowledged where they both were in the pecking order. He had the right to lie to her at any time about anything and they both knew it. Whether he answered her now was merely a matter of courtesy.

“There was a time when I saw crime as a sort of charity, you know,” he said. He leaned back in his chair with a small smile on his lips. “I was more religious then. I had a sense of my actions bearing importance in a larger cosmic game. To my mind, both nobles and stable boys deserved the chance to climb up in the world. But the laws of men are imperfect and so often hold that poor stable boy back. The only option was to break those laws.”

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.)

Why one thing and not another? Why become any one thing with a mind that could choose and pursue any fate in the world? What would she choose if she could have and be anything?

She pictured kingdoms kneeling at her feet. She saw visions of herself revolutionizing any field, no, every field of science. She imagined having the chance to vote, to go to university.

But the Professor didn’t worry about such common things. He would always want what was bigger, what was impossible. So, for his sake, no matter what fantasy she brought before herself, Molly pushed past it to ask, But what next?

And eventually there was no next. Molly’s mind was too small to realize the grandest possibilities.

She wandered home in defeat, barely noticing how barren her flat was. She usually lived with two women. They were card sharps at a local gambling den, known for their high-pitched laughter and their low-cut dresses. Both things were distractions. It made them good at cheating drunkards out of their money. They too were part of Moriarty’s wide-spread network. And now they were gone. The flat was empty of all their possessions. Molly had a fleeting thought of hope that they were alive and not arrested, then used the opportunity to sleep in the largest bed for once.

What comes after having everything? Molly thought in a dream-like state. In her mind, she saw the Professor. She saw him reading Crime and Punishment as a boy, saw him convince a classmate to steal, saw him weep at the evils of the world then laugh just as hard. He was a professor and a gentleman. He was a criminal and a monster. Her final vision was of the sneer he always gave her when she became tedious. Then she awoke and he was gone altogether.

Police were questioning other tenants of the building when Molly left the next morning. They saw her, but didn’t say anything. Why would they? She was just a young girl. She didn’t mean anything. Coming from a neighborhood like this, she probably never would.

She wove through the streets of London, dodging traffic as adeptly as she had her whole life. She knew where she was going, though she had only ever been there once. That had been an important day, when she had delivered a very important message. Molly still didn’t know what the message had been. She only remembered handing it over as she had taken a look at the great Professor Moriarty for the first time.

It was a public office. It had his name on the door and everything. That was why few members of the gang were ever allowed here. Molly didn’t expect him to be there. The Professor could be anywhere in the world right now. Still, she knocked and was somehow not surprised at all when he answered the door.

His face was red. His clothes were dirty. He looked like he wasn’t sleeping properly. Molly had never seen him look so uncomposed. He stared at her blankly for a moment like he didn’t recognize her. Then her face snapped into place and he scowled. “Molly. What the devil are you doing here?”

“I … I figured it out,” she stammered. He was more frightening than usual, like an animal in a cage. She cleared her throat and made her voice steady. “I think I know why you’re a criminal.”

He stared at her even longer, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. The weeks must have been long for him indeed. The Professor never forgot anything. “I don’t have time for this!” he snapped. He turned away and went back to throwing things into a large suitcase.

But he didn’t tell her to leave and that was as good as an invitation to come in where the Professor was concerned. Molly stepped inside and kept speaking. “I kept thinking about what I know about you. You’re incredible, a genius. I think … I think you can do anything. And then I realized how awful that must be.”

He kept moving. It was impossible to tell if he was even listening. Molly took the chance that he was. “I think you had to become a criminal. Because if you can have everything, what’s the point of anything? You had to become the best villain so that the best hero would come out to find you. It was the only way you could ever find your equal. The only way you could ever be challenged. Maybe—” she said the last part quietly “—maybe if another villain had come first you would be the hero.”

James Moriarty was quiet. He filled his suitcase and shut it with an audible click. “Is that it then? Thank you, Molly. I’d been wondering why I did it.” He looked at her and his face made a twitch. She decided it was a smile. “Goodbye, dear Molly. Keep up with your studies. Don’t become a waste of my time.”

And he left. Somehow Molly knew she would never see him again. She turned to the bookcases of the office. They were filled to bursting. In a few minutes, she found what she had come for in the first place: an excellent edition of Euler’s De fractionibus continuis dissertatio. It was still in pristine condition. Molly took it under her arm and left the office, ready to see just what her meager mind could accomplish.