Read Online Warlock Holmes--A Study in Brimstone by G.S. Denning - Free Book Online Page B

colored like a cow. One was inside out. One stopped upon my shoe and turned its eye up at me—it had only one, in the middle of its head.
    A hand upon my shoulder stopped my screaming and I turned to behold Warlock who, with a hurt expression, said, “Watson, please, a little kindness to our guests, don’t you think?”
    “What the hell are they?” I demanded, quite forgetting to be kind.
    “Nothing so out of the usual,” Holmes responded. “These are some of the rats that live on Baker Street with us.”
    “But, what’s wrong with them?”
    “Watson! How rude! They are merely unusual. Rats, like people, are subject to accidents of birth. And just like people, the unafflicted members of society—the regular rat folk—quite unfairly disdain these good rodents you see here today.”
    “So all these rats are…”
    “The Baker Street Irregulars.”
    I recoiled towards a chair, but it was occupied by a rat with long whip-like tails in place of ears and another with tiny stigmata. Reeling about the room with some care not to step on our strange visitors, I sought an unoccupied spot to rest myself, but found none. Holmes did not even try to mask his disappointment. He tutted loudly and turned to the one normal-looking rat in the room, saying, “There, Wiggles, do you see? Do you see what a stir they make? I am sorry, but in the future, you had best come up alone. The rest of you lot must wait outside, I fear.”
    The normal rat looked up at him for a moment, then began to shift. The bones moved about beneath its skin. Its hair grew back into its hide, even as the body began to expand and contort into a bipedal form. In two winks, a young street urchin stood before me, clad in rags, with a battered cap in hand.
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Holmes, sir,” he said and smiled at me, devilishly.
    I grasped my chest and fell into the nearest chair, sending six-eyes rat and open-sores-that-smell-like-chocolate rat scurrying for safety. Warlock asked the rat-boy, “Anything to report yet, Wiggles?”
    “Nuffin’ yet, sir, beggin’ yer pardon. I gots all the boys gathered up and we’re on the streets. We’ll have him for you, sure as we’re breathin’.”
    “I never doubted it,” Warlock confided. “Here is one day’s wages, in advance.”
    From one of his pockets, Warlock produced twenty or thirty pounds of rotting cabbage (by means I still cannot explain) and began casting it about the room to the waiting Irregulars.
    “Very gen’rous, sir,” Wiggles said, with a tip of his cap. “We’ll be off, then. Oh, brought yer paper, sir.”
    Wiggles gave a nod to big-as-a-dog-but-colored-like-a-cow rat, who began a rigorous campaign of retching and choking. At last, with a final spasm, he regurgitated our paper onto the table, gave himself a congratulatory nod for a job well done, then turned to join the swarm as it scurried out the door and down the hall. I watched them go with horror and disbelief vying for control of my wits. Warlock only turned to the paper, wiped off some stomach acid and chewed-up cabbage, and began scanning the first few pages. Suddenly he piped, “Watson, look! We’re famous!”
    After perusing the article for a few moments, I was inclined to disagree. Though the case was causing quite a sensation, I was relieved to find neither Holmes nor I were mentioned by name. In fact, Holmes was mentioned by the wrong name, when the writer declared that the unwelcome consultant, Mr. Rache, had once again appeared and scrawled his name in blood on the wall. Lestrade and Grogsson fared even worse. It was clear the author believed one or both of them were guilty of the crime. He complained that they would probably “solve” it, as they usually did, finding a party who would prove more guilty than they, even if he seemed less. The article included a wealth of information, much of which we had previously lacked. The reporters had already uncovered the name of the deceased and the fact that he was traveling with