Read Online The Adventure of the Skittering Shadow: Sherlock Holmes in Space by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sam Gamble - Free Book Online
Authors: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sam Gamble
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Chapter 01
To be shaken awake by Sherlock Holmes was a terrifying thing.
It was an unassailable fact that, although the length of a day varied from planet to planet and even ship to ship, there remained one constant no matter where we were in the solar system or how the days and hours were arranged, kept, and counted: Sherlock Holmes was a late riser. If he was up and about before midmorning, then more than likely he had been up all the night before. Dire emergency was the only exception to the rule.
Therefore, when I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me with his hand on my shoulder, fully dressed and ready to face the day when my alarm had not yet rung, a spike of adrenaline burned away any remaining lethargy in me. I sprang from my bed, shrugged on my coat, and scooped up my poor little bulldog pup to begin our headlong flight to the escape pods.
Unfortunately, I was already in the shared recreation area before I became alert enough to recognize that the ship was not on fire, that terror of both ancient Earth-bound mariners and modern space-faring man alike, and areas of the ship were not going to be locked off and either flooded with low frequency sound waves or evacuated of atmosphere. Such a realization, while not unwelcome, was somewhat unfortunate because of the giggles.
I turned to find a lovely woman sitting on the couch, her head ducked and one wrist raised to hide her mouth as she laughed at my expense. Slim and fine-boned, she was of an average height for a woman with large, intelligent eyes, pale skin, and dark brown hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. She wore a red blouse, matching red leather gloves, and a white skirt with a floral print. Over the back of the couch, our early morning visitor had draped a long black coat and a handbag, bright purple and hand knitted. When she dropped her arm, she revealed a pretty face and a mouth that was slightly too wide.
A glance at my wristwatch showed that it was only a quarter past six in the morning; too early for anyone to be up and about who did not have to be.
And the ship was probably still not on fire.
I turned to glower at Holmes, who exited my private quarters at an easy stroll, the bastard.
“Sorry about that, old man,” said Holmes. His contrition, although intoned perfectly, was betrayed by the smile that lurked in the corners of his mouth. “Though, it’s the common lot this morning, I’m afraid.”
“But the ship is definitely not on fire,” I replied, returning to my initial concern. “Right?”
I wanted to be quite, quite clear on that point. Fire, either in a ship on a primordial sea or in space, was a devastating thing. I had witnessed it once before and had no desire to repeat the experience.
“No, there’s no fire,” said our visitor, and Holmes, who was standing to one side and slightly behind her, shook his head in emphasis. “It’s just me. I woke the captain, she woke Mr. Holmes, and he woke you.”
I was deeply, painfully relieved.
Knotting her fingers in the fabric of her skirt, the red leather of her gloves quietly creaking, the woman leaned forward. Low and intent, she said, “I need help, doctor. Without it, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
I put down my long-suffering pup with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances. She huffed at me through her squashed nose, shook her jowls, and returned to our room at an offended trot. Straightening, I buttoned my overcoat and took a seat in one of the armchairs, grateful for my thick woolly socks. Resting my elbows on the chair’s arms, I tried to look congenial instead of grumpy, tired, and embarrassed. Holmes claimed the seat next to me.
“Are you certain that you don’t want to change first?” inquired our guest, looking uncertainly at my feet. “Maybe have a cup of coffee? The captain made some.”
“Quite certain, thank you,” I returned. “They’re very warm. And
To be shaken awake by Sherlock Holmes was a terrifying thing.
It was an unassailable fact that, although the length of a day varied from planet to planet and even ship to ship, there remained one constant no matter where we were in the solar system or how the days and hours were arranged, kept, and counted: Sherlock Holmes was a late riser. If he was up and about before midmorning, then more than likely he had been up all the night before. Dire emergency was the only exception to the rule.
Therefore, when I opened my eyes to find him leaning over me with his hand on my shoulder, fully dressed and ready to face the day when my alarm had not yet rung, a spike of adrenaline burned away any remaining lethargy in me. I sprang from my bed, shrugged on my coat, and scooped up my poor little bulldog pup to begin our headlong flight to the escape pods.
Unfortunately, I was already in the shared recreation area before I became alert enough to recognize that the ship was not on fire, that terror of both ancient Earth-bound mariners and modern space-faring man alike, and areas of the ship were not going to be locked off and either flooded with low frequency sound waves or evacuated of atmosphere. Such a realization, while not unwelcome, was somewhat unfortunate because of the giggles.
I turned to find a lovely woman sitting on the couch, her head ducked and one wrist raised to hide her mouth as she laughed at my expense. Slim and fine-boned, she was of an average height for a woman with large, intelligent eyes, pale skin, and dark brown hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. She wore a red blouse, matching red leather gloves, and a white skirt with a floral print. Over the back of the couch, our early morning visitor had draped a long black coat and a handbag, bright purple and hand knitted. When she dropped her arm, she revealed a pretty face and a mouth that was slightly too wide.
A glance at my wristwatch showed that it was only a quarter past six in the morning; too early for anyone to be up and about who did not have to be.
And the ship was probably still not on fire.
I turned to glower at Holmes, who exited my private quarters at an easy stroll, the bastard.
“Sorry about that, old man,” said Holmes. His contrition, although intoned perfectly, was betrayed by the smile that lurked in the corners of his mouth. “Though, it’s the common lot this morning, I’m afraid.”
“But the ship is definitely not on fire,” I replied, returning to my initial concern. “Right?”
I wanted to be quite, quite clear on that point. Fire, either in a ship on a primordial sea or in space, was a devastating thing. I had witnessed it once before and had no desire to repeat the experience.
“No, there’s no fire,” said our visitor, and Holmes, who was standing to one side and slightly behind her, shook his head in emphasis. “It’s just me. I woke the captain, she woke Mr. Holmes, and he woke you.”
I was deeply, painfully relieved.
Knotting her fingers in the fabric of her skirt, the red leather of her gloves quietly creaking, the woman leaned forward. Low and intent, she said, “I need help, doctor. Without it, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
I put down my long-suffering pup with as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances. She huffed at me through her squashed nose, shook her jowls, and returned to our room at an offended trot. Straightening, I buttoned my overcoat and took a seat in one of the armchairs, grateful for my thick woolly socks. Resting my elbows on the chair’s arms, I tried to look congenial instead of grumpy, tired, and embarrassed. Holmes claimed the seat next to me.
“Are you certain that you don’t want to change first?” inquired our guest, looking uncertainly at my feet. “Maybe have a cup of coffee? The captain made some.”
“Quite certain, thank you,” I returned. “They’re very warm. And
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