The Shadow of Reichenbach Falls - Hardcover

King, John R.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0765318016 ISBN 13: 9780765318015

Verlag: Forge, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

Probably the most infamous story in the Sherlock Holmes canon is “The Final Problem” as it relates the facts of the death/murder of the master detective at Reichenbach Falls. On May 4, 1891, the detective met his archenemy Professor Moriarty on a ledge above the falls; the two became locked in a titanic hand-to-hand struggle before both tumbled over the precipice, presumably to their deaths, as witnessed afar by Dr.Watson. The outcry against the death of such a popular character was so great that in 1901 Conan Doyle was forced to give in to the pressure of his fan mail. He resurrected the detective by claiming that Holmes had managed to grab a tuft of grass during the fall into the “dreadful cauldron” and so had lived to solve another mystery.

But what really happened that infamous day at Reichenbach Falls and why did Holmes disappear in the aftermath? And what of the infamous Moriarty? How did a noble mathematician become the Napoleon of Crime?

The Shadow of Reichenbach Falls provides these answers and more. It turns out that the events were not just witnessed by Watson but by another young detective of the Victorian era—Carnacki the Ghost Finder. Carnacki rescues an amnesiac gentleman from the base of the falls only to find himself and his companion doggedly pursued by an evil mastermind whose shadowy powers may reach from the bloody crime scenes of White Chapel to far beyond the grave.

Filled with Holmesian lore and thrilling encounters evocative of Doyle’s work in the Strand magazine, The Shadow of Reichenbach Falls will undoubtedly join the ranks of such successful Holmesian pastiches as The Seven Percent Solution, The West End Horror, and Murder by Decree.

 

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

John R. King lives in Wisconsin and is a life long Sherlockian. He has written in the paranormal field for various RPG companies.

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The Shadow of Reichenbach Falls

BOOK I

OF MEMORY AND DEDUCTION

1

PLUMMETING

You can't expect a day to end well when it begins in negotiations with a rat.

We stood there, the rat and I, beside a fragrant rubbish heap behind a cheese shop in Meiringen, Switzerland. Both of us eyed a large, moldy chunk of Gruyere that the cheese seller had recently tossed out. I was using a stick to argue that I deserved this breakfast, and the rat was using his front teeth in rebuttal. He was a lean, mangy critter, with one blind eye and a lame forepaw, and he argued that this cheese would be his only meal today.

But the same was true for me--the bit about the meal, not about being blind or lame. I was a bit mangy, though. I was twenty-one and skinny, with a few bits of hay clinging to my black hair from the loft where I had spent the night. When I'd quit Cambridge in 1890, I'd weighed two stone more, but my travels on the Continent had reduced me to skin and bone. My only resources now were a tattered Russian greatcoat and a rucksack with a change of clothes, a matchbox, a slingshot, and assorted tools. For a year, I had lived by my wits, my scientific prowess, and my genial nature--which meant that I was desperate for that cheese.

"What does a rat need with Gruyère?" I wanted to know. "I mean, you want to eat it, of course, but what are you going to do with it afterward? Just waddle back to your nest forsome sleep, yes? I need that cheese to propel me up the Alps!"

The rat blinked its one good eye, unimpressed.

"Look, I'm young. I have my whole life ahead of me. How old are you? Four? Five? Ancient. Maybe it's time you gave up the mortal coil. I mean, what have you to live for, anyway?"

I had my answer a moment later when another rat waddled up--a creature that seemed fat enough already until I realized she was pregnant.

"Oh ... right ..." I dropped my stick, bowed to my new friends, and gestured them toward the Gruyère. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of romance." My stomach growled its protest, but when I straightened back up, my altruism was rewarded.

Beyond the rubbish heap, I glimpsed another sort of feast.

She was leaving the front of the cheese shop, a white bonnet on her head and a blue skirt rustling about her legs ... . Surely that was a bustle under there, not her natural endowment. It was too perfect. I determined then and there to unravel this mystery.

She glanced my way.

I ducked behind the compost heap and waited there, breathless, before chancing a second look.

The girl wandered on down the cobbled road, swinging a small basket in which two wedges of Gruyère gleamed like bars of gold.

What luck! If I played this right, more than one appetite could be sated.

I brushed the hay from my hair and from my almost-beard (I called it a Vandyke, or at least that was what the fashionable set called it back at university), and followed her.

Though I was behind the young woman, I caught glimpses of her face and assembled them into a mentalcollage: She had blond hair that circled her head in long braids, wide blue eyes above freckled cheeks, a mouth just small enough to seem prim, and lips just round enough to seem luscious.

Could she really not have noticed the young man in the tattered greatcoat who followed her so worshipfully? Really?

The girl headed to a bakery and bought a baguette, and then to a vintner to buy a bottle of wine. A picnic, then! All she needed was company ... .

Occasionally, she glanced behind her as if she knew I followed. If she did know, she proved unable or unwilling to escape ... until she came to a bridge. It arched over the engorged Aare River at the edge of town. I could not follow her onto that span without being seen, but neither could I give up my quarry. My decision was made: Bridges are fine places for proposals.

As I approached from behind, the girl quickened her steps, but I caught her at the top of the arch and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Excuse me, miss."

She stopped and pivoted toward me, her cheeks flushing.

I gave a small bow and a large smile. "Do you speak English?"

Was that a tiny reflection of my smile on her lips? "English and French and German and Italian," she said, and her voice musically blended these languages.

She would be a one-woman tour of Europe. "Thank goodness. I'm a traveler, and I was wondering if you might know a place to stay."

"I'm sorry, monsieur," she demurred. "I'm a traveler, too."

"Then, surely you're staying ... somewhere?" I pressed.

Her lips clamped together for a moment, and then she said, "Well, yes. The Englischer Hof, up the hill, at the foot of the mountain." She daintily lifted her nose, indicating thespot, and I saw a grand chalet tucked up beneath the rocky face of a cliff.

If I had had a pocketbook, it would have fallen out of my pants. I couldn't even afford to stay in the stables. I'd have to work fast. "Would you mind if I accompanied you there, Miss--?"

"Schmidt." She said the name precisely, like a pair of scissors snapping together. "Anna Schmidt."

I bowed again. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Anna Schmidt. I am Thomas Carnacki." I took her basket of food and extended an arm to her. She tentatively laid her fine fingers on the ragged coat I wore.

"Are you traveling with anyone, Miss Schmidt?"

"I appear to be traveling with you."

I blushed. "Not just now, but in general."

Her eyes wandered my figure, taking my measure. "No. I am traveling alone."

I nodded gravely. "Hmm ... a quandary ..."

Anna looked at me, her eyes so wide and guileless I felt like a cad. "What quandary?"

"Well, you see, I too am traveling alone," I replied. "But if we travel alone ... together, well, we shall no longer be alone--"

"A quandary," she said.

"Yes. A quandary for the head," I said, daring to touch one of her braids, "but not for the heart."

She gazed at me, and for a moment her face was unmasked. More than that--it seemed made of glass so that I saw directly into her soul. Something was broken inside her.

"You're a learned man, aren't you?" she asked.

"Cambridge," I said, but added quickly, "and Paris and Rome. I'm really a student of the world. And you?"

"Student of the world," she echoed with a hint of sadness.

"Well, my collegial friend," I said, "what place around here holds lessons for folks like us?"

"Reichenbach," she murmured distractedly.

"Reichenbach?"

"The falls." She gestured up the mountainside. "A half-hour trek by carriage. Great black stones and ten thousand gallons of churning water in a thousand-foot drop." She nodded at the basket in my hand. "That's why the cheese and bread and wine."

"To think a girl like you would picnic alone beside the Reichenbach Falls," I said, lifting my hand in mock dismay.

Anna ignored my theatrics, even waiting for my hand to drop before she said, "I wouldn't have been alone."

"No?"

She leveled her eyes at me. "I'm going to the falls because ... because that's where my father died. He was hiking above the falls, five years back, when I was just fourteen, and he ... fell. They never found his body."

"Oh, Anna," I said. "I'm terribly sorry."

I couldn't press on now: Grief trumps seduction.

I decided to make a clean breast of everything. "You've been candid with me, Anna, and I'll be candid with you. You're the loveliest woman I've ever seen, and so, I had hopes of, well--"

"Seducing me?" she...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Forge
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2008
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0765318016
• ISBN 13: 9780765318015
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 359
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar