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dolorous_ettThis chapter is dedicated to saralinda, who meets all her deadlines!
In which Holmes confronts the sinister Goyle, and takes a walk in the Forbidden forest with Watson and the Hogwarts Irregulars.
Chapter One can be found here.
Chapter Two can be found here.
Chapter Three can be found here.
Chapter Four can be found here.
Chapter Five can be found here.
Chapter Six can be found here.
Chapter Seven can be found here.
Chapter Eight can be found here.
saralinda, who meets all her deadlines!In which Holmes confronts the sinister Goyle, and takes a walk in the Forbidden forest with Watson and the Hogwarts Irregulars.
Chapter One can be found here.
Chapter Two can be found here.
Chapter Three can be found here.
Chapter Four can be found here.
Chapter Five can be found here.
Chapter Six can be found here.
Chapter Seven can be found here.
Chapter Eight can be found here.
Chapter Nine: The Forbidden Forest
We found Weaselby waiting for us in the corridor. As he led us towards the Great Hall through Hogwarts’ maze of corridors, he quizzed us earnestly about our mission, and expressed delight that Holmes had made such good progress. In the entrance hall, we came upon the caretaker, Goyle, mopping the floor. He shot Holmes a look of concentrated malevolence, turned his back on us and was about to slink off when Holmes hailed him:
“Goyle! A word with you, if you please!”
Plainly, Goyle would have given much to ignore Holmes entirely, but this was further than he could go in the presence of a Hogwarts teacher. He reluctantly turned to face my friend, who, to my surprise, addressed him in a firm but distinctly cordial tone.
“Listen to me carefully, Goyle,” said Holmes. “There is something we need to discuss. I believe you have conceived some very wrong notions with regard to our purpose here, and so have come to believe – naturally, perhaps, considering what took place at our last meeting – that I am your enemy. I would urge you to think again, for what you know could be of vital use to our investigation. You are shielding a person you believe to be innocent, and, while you have broken no law, you will find, if you carry on in this way, that you have made yourself some powerful enemies. Whatever your former life might have been, you have acted honourably, and it would grieve me to see you come to harm as a result. So I must ask you, man to man: Where is he?”
Goyle swallowed, visibly affected. He stared at the ground for a long time, before looking Holmes in the eye and slowly shaking his head. Holmes sighed resignedly.
“Then matters must fall as they will,” he said. “That is all: you may go.”
Goyle nodded once, and fled the scene, showing a turn of speed I would have considered impossible for man of his bulk.
Beside me, Weaselby was bristling with indignation.
“The nerve of the fellow!” he spluttered. “What a way to treat an honoured guest! I shall speak to the Headmaster about this, and the scoundrel will be punished!”
“No need for that,” said Holmes with an airy wave of his hand. “Goyle believed he was acting for the best, I daresay, and besides, we can get everything we require by other means – it will just take a little longer, that’s all. Now we had better get a move on: it would be a great shame to upset the Headmaster with our lateness, would it not?”
***
Lunch was a cold collation, with staff and students sitting wherever they pleased, so Holmes and I soon found ourselves at the centre of a huddle of potential recruits for the Hogwarts Irregulars, all eager to help my friend’s enquiry in any way they could. As was his habit when hot on the scent, Holmes took no nourishment, the better (he said) to concentrate his mind, and by the time I had finished a generous portion of cold brisket, oatcakes and salad, he had whittled down the group that was to accompany us to four: Jeremy Stebbins, the boy with the beagle; the biggest and brawniest of the Hufflepuffs, Alfred Kettleburn by name; the oldest remaining Ravenclaw, Alice Hawkes; and the youngest, Lizzie Robinson. The others were instructed to keep the teachers and the main rooms of Hogwarts under close observation, and to send off an owl with a message (wizards, it appeared, used owls in much the same way as our own armed forces use carrier pigeons) at the first sight of anything sinister.
“Watson,” said Holmes, once matters were settled to his satisfaction, and I was approaching the end of a generous portion of splendid gooseberry fool, “be a good fellow and make you sure you bring your medical kit this afternoon. It might be a good idea to have your service revolver handy as well.”
“Medical kit?” I exclaimed. “Service revolver? For pity’s sake, Holmes! There will be children present! Surely you cannot wish to involve these delightful young people in some sort of armed conflict? Whatever happened to protecting the innocent?”
“Really, Watson,” said my friend with a laugh, “what do you take me for? I am far more concerned about ministering to the sick – should the need arise, naturally. You forget where we are! Even if I wished to start an altercation – which I assure you I do not – these children are possessed of remarkable powers: the smallest and meekest among them is quite capable of defending himself at need, and some of the rest… well, it is best not to speculate. As to the revolver, there is some tolerably wild territory in the grounds of this school, and we will have to be cautious, since we possess no such powers. Oh, and you would oblige me greatly by bringing along any old clothes you might happen to have in your luggage – one never knows. We will meet outside the main entrance in ten minutes’ time.”
***
Ten minutes later, as I stepped out of the gloom of the entrance hall, clutching a heavy Gladstone bag, I could barely restrain a gasp of delight. This was my first chance to get a proper view of the grounds, and I found myself gazing out over a most delightful prospect. It was a fine day, and the still air – strangely untroubled by the midges that blight the unwary traveller in the majestic Highland region of Scotland – was full of the scents of summer flowers and newly mown hay. To our left were the formal gardens, where roses and beds of sweet herbs bloomed in orderly squares, filling the warm air with their sweetness, and beyond the rose gardens rose a series of dazzling fairy-tale castles of glass, behind whose crystalline walls faint shapes could be discerned thrashing about: Professor Drummond’s greenhouses. To our right a green sward led down to what appeared to be a sports pitch marked out in white, with two triple sets of hoops elevated at an improbable height above the ground, and beyond that the still blue waters of Hogwarts Lake, glittering in the sunlight, lay wrapped in the arms of the looming hills that towered above us on all sides. On the far side of the sports pitch were further lawns and outbuildings, together with a series of paddocks in which creatures I could not quite identify gambolled and frisked in the gentle breeze that was blowing off the lake, and beyond that again lay a dark and surprisingly sombre belt of woodland.
Holmes was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, together with the four Hogwarts Irregulars and Stebbins’s beagle (an amiable but rather excitable creature that answered to Porthos) on a leash.
“There you are, my dear fellow,” he called up to me. “Step lively: you don’t want to miss a moment of this! Now, here we are, doggy – what d’you make of this, then?” He held a dark cloak to the quivering nose of the little dog, which gave a series of eager yaps, cast about a couple of times and then headed off at breakneck speed in the direction of the woods, dragging Stebbins in his wake.
“Come along!” cried Holmes, as he broke into a run, “after them, as quick as you can – and don’t let them out of your sight, not for an instant! The game’s afoot! Tally ho!”
We hurried after them, past the sports pitch, past the store sheds and byres, past the paddocks with their curious occupants, never pausing for an instant until we reached the skirts of the woodland, where Stebbins came to an abrupt halt, with Porthos still straining at the end of his lead.
“Well?” enquired Holmes. “Has the trail gone cold? Porthos seems eager enough.”
“No, sir,” replied Stebbins. “He’s keen as mustard – but, oh, sir, this is the Forbidden Forest! We can’t go in here – it’s not allowed! And there are things in here!”
“Things, eh?” said Holmes thoughtfully. “Well now, this puts a different complexion on the matter, to be sure. Watson and I have given the Headmaster our word that we will recover the Codex, no matter what the cost, but of course that does not apply to any of you. It is my belief that you would do better to return to the castle. You need have no fear for our safety: Watson here has his trusty revolver, and although I am unarmed, I am a student of the Japanese art of Baritsu, and capable of a trick or two that would surprise you very much if you could see them, magical though you may be.”
The children exchanged only the briefest of glances.
“I don’t think you understand, Mr Holmes,” said Alice Hawkes. “We have to come with you. Godfrey is a member of Ravenclaw House!”
“And don’t think you’re leaving us behind!” interjected Alfred Kettleburn. “That’s not the Hufflepuff way. Isn’t that right, Jeremy?” Stebbins and Lizzie Robinson were both nodding vigorously in agreement.
“I see,” said Holmes after a short pause. “Then it would appear that there is nothing more to be said. On we go, then, but we must stick close together at all times, and keep our eyes peeled for any hint of danger. Watson, I think now would be a good time to draw your revolver. Very well, Stebbins, let him go, but don’t let Porthos get too far ahead of the rest of us.”
I took my revolver in my hand and made sure it was cocked and ready for action. Behind me I heard a soft voice say “wands out”. Stebbins released his hold on the dog, which made its way straight down the path that led into the gloomy woods.
No country in the world can afford more delightful country rambles than Scotland on a fine summer’s day, and our first few minutes in the Forbidden Forest were no exception. The trees, a pleasing mix of native and foreign species, were interspersed with sunlit glades where wild flowers and grasses grew in lush profusion, and for the first few minutes I found myself wondering if the sinister reputation of the place was not simply another of Professor Black’s many eccentricities. However, as we penetrated further into the forest and turned from one twisting side-trail into another, the trees seemed to close in and crowd out God’s clean light and air, the glades with their lush grasses and flowers were replaced with stands of rank weeds and brambles and then disappeared altogether, and even the birds fell silent. A little further again, and I began to fancy that I could discern strange, dark shapes flitting in the corner of my vision, not man-sized and altogether the wrong shape, and lights were to be glimpsed in the gloom, some like lanterns, others more like giant, luminous eyes. I began to hear things too: whispers and hoarse breathing at the very edge of my hearing, the sound of a twig snapping underfoot, or the sigh of a breeze where no breeze could have penetrated. Whether Holmes was aware of this I cannot say, but more than once I heard one of our young companions pause in their tracks and mutter an incantation.
“Holmes,” I whispered. “This is an uncanny place! Was it wise to come here in such company? What if we are all spirited away by some frightful apparition?”
“My dear doctor,” my friend replied, “I had no notion that you might be prey to such lurid imaginings! You may set your heart at rest – Porthos here is hot on the scent – there, look at him go! – and I fancy the end is nearly in sight… aha!”
Porthos had taken a final turning down a goat-track into a narrow dell, and was straining at the leash, whining in his impatience, his nose pointing towards the end of the valley, at the far end of which the two walls of the dell drew together to form a cave leading back into the wall of rock. My heart was in my mouth as we crossed the last few yards of sandy soil and peered into the mouth of the cavern. In the darkness, a bulky figure was moving about. My finger tightened on the trigger of my revolver, and little Lizzie Robinson’s wand sent out a jet of sparks that went wide of their target and hit the wall, giving just enough illumination to show the moving shape was of more or less human proportions.
Holmes stepped between the students and the cowering figure.
“That’s enough of that,” he said sternly. “We must not fire upon an unarmed man before we are sure of our target! As for you,” he raised his voice and addressed the cowering figure in the cave, “we are six, and armed with both wands and a revolver. My advice to you is to give yourself up before one of my companions becomes carried away in his enthusiasm.”
The figure stood up, slowly and with an effort, revealing himself to be a tall young man with a shock of fair hair, and a frank, open face, not ill-looking despite its ghastly pallor, the dreadful rash that disfigured it, and the fact that he was plainly in the grip of a high fever. He was wrapped in a filthy blanket, and clutched a large bundle to his chest with shaking hands.
“Do not shoot,” he said in a feeble voice, “for I am at your mercy. I, sir, am the unhappy Godfrey Easingwold.”
With these words, his strength failed him and he fell to the ground in a swoon.
TO BE CONTINUED.
We found Weaselby waiting for us in the corridor. As he led us towards the Great Hall through Hogwarts’ maze of corridors, he quizzed us earnestly about our mission, and expressed delight that Holmes had made such good progress. In the entrance hall, we came upon the caretaker, Goyle, mopping the floor. He shot Holmes a look of concentrated malevolence, turned his back on us and was about to slink off when Holmes hailed him:
“Goyle! A word with you, if you please!”
Plainly, Goyle would have given much to ignore Holmes entirely, but this was further than he could go in the presence of a Hogwarts teacher. He reluctantly turned to face my friend, who, to my surprise, addressed him in a firm but distinctly cordial tone.
“Listen to me carefully, Goyle,” said Holmes. “There is something we need to discuss. I believe you have conceived some very wrong notions with regard to our purpose here, and so have come to believe – naturally, perhaps, considering what took place at our last meeting – that I am your enemy. I would urge you to think again, for what you know could be of vital use to our investigation. You are shielding a person you believe to be innocent, and, while you have broken no law, you will find, if you carry on in this way, that you have made yourself some powerful enemies. Whatever your former life might have been, you have acted honourably, and it would grieve me to see you come to harm as a result. So I must ask you, man to man: Where is he?”
Goyle swallowed, visibly affected. He stared at the ground for a long time, before looking Holmes in the eye and slowly shaking his head. Holmes sighed resignedly.
“Then matters must fall as they will,” he said. “That is all: you may go.”
Goyle nodded once, and fled the scene, showing a turn of speed I would have considered impossible for man of his bulk.
Beside me, Weaselby was bristling with indignation.
“The nerve of the fellow!” he spluttered. “What a way to treat an honoured guest! I shall speak to the Headmaster about this, and the scoundrel will be punished!”
“No need for that,” said Holmes with an airy wave of his hand. “Goyle believed he was acting for the best, I daresay, and besides, we can get everything we require by other means – it will just take a little longer, that’s all. Now we had better get a move on: it would be a great shame to upset the Headmaster with our lateness, would it not?”
***
Lunch was a cold collation, with staff and students sitting wherever they pleased, so Holmes and I soon found ourselves at the centre of a huddle of potential recruits for the Hogwarts Irregulars, all eager to help my friend’s enquiry in any way they could. As was his habit when hot on the scent, Holmes took no nourishment, the better (he said) to concentrate his mind, and by the time I had finished a generous portion of cold brisket, oatcakes and salad, he had whittled down the group that was to accompany us to four: Jeremy Stebbins, the boy with the beagle; the biggest and brawniest of the Hufflepuffs, Alfred Kettleburn by name; the oldest remaining Ravenclaw, Alice Hawkes; and the youngest, Lizzie Robinson. The others were instructed to keep the teachers and the main rooms of Hogwarts under close observation, and to send off an owl with a message (wizards, it appeared, used owls in much the same way as our own armed forces use carrier pigeons) at the first sight of anything sinister.
“Watson,” said Holmes, once matters were settled to his satisfaction, and I was approaching the end of a generous portion of splendid gooseberry fool, “be a good fellow and make you sure you bring your medical kit this afternoon. It might be a good idea to have your service revolver handy as well.”
“Medical kit?” I exclaimed. “Service revolver? For pity’s sake, Holmes! There will be children present! Surely you cannot wish to involve these delightful young people in some sort of armed conflict? Whatever happened to protecting the innocent?”
“Really, Watson,” said my friend with a laugh, “what do you take me for? I am far more concerned about ministering to the sick – should the need arise, naturally. You forget where we are! Even if I wished to start an altercation – which I assure you I do not – these children are possessed of remarkable powers: the smallest and meekest among them is quite capable of defending himself at need, and some of the rest… well, it is best not to speculate. As to the revolver, there is some tolerably wild territory in the grounds of this school, and we will have to be cautious, since we possess no such powers. Oh, and you would oblige me greatly by bringing along any old clothes you might happen to have in your luggage – one never knows. We will meet outside the main entrance in ten minutes’ time.”
***
Ten minutes later, as I stepped out of the gloom of the entrance hall, clutching a heavy Gladstone bag, I could barely restrain a gasp of delight. This was my first chance to get a proper view of the grounds, and I found myself gazing out over a most delightful prospect. It was a fine day, and the still air – strangely untroubled by the midges that blight the unwary traveller in the majestic Highland region of Scotland – was full of the scents of summer flowers and newly mown hay. To our left were the formal gardens, where roses and beds of sweet herbs bloomed in orderly squares, filling the warm air with their sweetness, and beyond the rose gardens rose a series of dazzling fairy-tale castles of glass, behind whose crystalline walls faint shapes could be discerned thrashing about: Professor Drummond’s greenhouses. To our right a green sward led down to what appeared to be a sports pitch marked out in white, with two triple sets of hoops elevated at an improbable height above the ground, and beyond that the still blue waters of Hogwarts Lake, glittering in the sunlight, lay wrapped in the arms of the looming hills that towered above us on all sides. On the far side of the sports pitch were further lawns and outbuildings, together with a series of paddocks in which creatures I could not quite identify gambolled and frisked in the gentle breeze that was blowing off the lake, and beyond that again lay a dark and surprisingly sombre belt of woodland.
Holmes was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, together with the four Hogwarts Irregulars and Stebbins’s beagle (an amiable but rather excitable creature that answered to Porthos) on a leash.
“There you are, my dear fellow,” he called up to me. “Step lively: you don’t want to miss a moment of this! Now, here we are, doggy – what d’you make of this, then?” He held a dark cloak to the quivering nose of the little dog, which gave a series of eager yaps, cast about a couple of times and then headed off at breakneck speed in the direction of the woods, dragging Stebbins in his wake.
“Come along!” cried Holmes, as he broke into a run, “after them, as quick as you can – and don’t let them out of your sight, not for an instant! The game’s afoot! Tally ho!”
We hurried after them, past the sports pitch, past the store sheds and byres, past the paddocks with their curious occupants, never pausing for an instant until we reached the skirts of the woodland, where Stebbins came to an abrupt halt, with Porthos still straining at the end of his lead.
“Well?” enquired Holmes. “Has the trail gone cold? Porthos seems eager enough.”
“No, sir,” replied Stebbins. “He’s keen as mustard – but, oh, sir, this is the Forbidden Forest! We can’t go in here – it’s not allowed! And there are things in here!”
“Things, eh?” said Holmes thoughtfully. “Well now, this puts a different complexion on the matter, to be sure. Watson and I have given the Headmaster our word that we will recover the Codex, no matter what the cost, but of course that does not apply to any of you. It is my belief that you would do better to return to the castle. You need have no fear for our safety: Watson here has his trusty revolver, and although I am unarmed, I am a student of the Japanese art of Baritsu, and capable of a trick or two that would surprise you very much if you could see them, magical though you may be.”
The children exchanged only the briefest of glances.
“I don’t think you understand, Mr Holmes,” said Alice Hawkes. “We have to come with you. Godfrey is a member of Ravenclaw House!”
“And don’t think you’re leaving us behind!” interjected Alfred Kettleburn. “That’s not the Hufflepuff way. Isn’t that right, Jeremy?” Stebbins and Lizzie Robinson were both nodding vigorously in agreement.
“I see,” said Holmes after a short pause. “Then it would appear that there is nothing more to be said. On we go, then, but we must stick close together at all times, and keep our eyes peeled for any hint of danger. Watson, I think now would be a good time to draw your revolver. Very well, Stebbins, let him go, but don’t let Porthos get too far ahead of the rest of us.”
I took my revolver in my hand and made sure it was cocked and ready for action. Behind me I heard a soft voice say “wands out”. Stebbins released his hold on the dog, which made its way straight down the path that led into the gloomy woods.
No country in the world can afford more delightful country rambles than Scotland on a fine summer’s day, and our first few minutes in the Forbidden Forest were no exception. The trees, a pleasing mix of native and foreign species, were interspersed with sunlit glades where wild flowers and grasses grew in lush profusion, and for the first few minutes I found myself wondering if the sinister reputation of the place was not simply another of Professor Black’s many eccentricities. However, as we penetrated further into the forest and turned from one twisting side-trail into another, the trees seemed to close in and crowd out God’s clean light and air, the glades with their lush grasses and flowers were replaced with stands of rank weeds and brambles and then disappeared altogether, and even the birds fell silent. A little further again, and I began to fancy that I could discern strange, dark shapes flitting in the corner of my vision, not man-sized and altogether the wrong shape, and lights were to be glimpsed in the gloom, some like lanterns, others more like giant, luminous eyes. I began to hear things too: whispers and hoarse breathing at the very edge of my hearing, the sound of a twig snapping underfoot, or the sigh of a breeze where no breeze could have penetrated. Whether Holmes was aware of this I cannot say, but more than once I heard one of our young companions pause in their tracks and mutter an incantation.
“Holmes,” I whispered. “This is an uncanny place! Was it wise to come here in such company? What if we are all spirited away by some frightful apparition?”
“My dear doctor,” my friend replied, “I had no notion that you might be prey to such lurid imaginings! You may set your heart at rest – Porthos here is hot on the scent – there, look at him go! – and I fancy the end is nearly in sight… aha!”
Porthos had taken a final turning down a goat-track into a narrow dell, and was straining at the leash, whining in his impatience, his nose pointing towards the end of the valley, at the far end of which the two walls of the dell drew together to form a cave leading back into the wall of rock. My heart was in my mouth as we crossed the last few yards of sandy soil and peered into the mouth of the cavern. In the darkness, a bulky figure was moving about. My finger tightened on the trigger of my revolver, and little Lizzie Robinson’s wand sent out a jet of sparks that went wide of their target and hit the wall, giving just enough illumination to show the moving shape was of more or less human proportions.
Holmes stepped between the students and the cowering figure.
“That’s enough of that,” he said sternly. “We must not fire upon an unarmed man before we are sure of our target! As for you,” he raised his voice and addressed the cowering figure in the cave, “we are six, and armed with both wands and a revolver. My advice to you is to give yourself up before one of my companions becomes carried away in his enthusiasm.”
The figure stood up, slowly and with an effort, revealing himself to be a tall young man with a shock of fair hair, and a frank, open face, not ill-looking despite its ghastly pallor, the dreadful rash that disfigured it, and the fact that he was plainly in the grip of a high fever. He was wrapped in a filthy blanket, and clutched a large bundle to his chest with shaking hands.
“Do not shoot,” he said in a feeble voice, “for I am at your mercy. I, sir, am the unhappy Godfrey Easingwold.”
With these words, his strength failed him and he fell to the ground in a swoon.
TO BE CONTINUED.
