He nodded, holding the blade up to the light to examine the pattern more closely. There were five waves in the knife—a dagger—which narrowed from handle to point, and was sharp on both sides. A small symbol was incised into the steel at the base, and he recognized this as the Malay symbol for dexter—the right hand. He nodded. Of course. But let it play out—it was too delicious. He looked at her again.
“This keris is one of a matched pair,” she said. “Made a hundred and fifty years ago by a master empu, a smith in Bali, from magic iron that fell from the sky.”
“A meteorite.”
“Yes.” She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was lower. “Have you heard of . . . the Old Ones, Mr. Holmes?”
A chill frosted his shoulders, even under the shawl.
She instantly discerned this. “I see that you know the stories. No doubt a man of your erudition has some knowledge of ancient and forbidden texts. There are many of these creatures of legend—among them, one who arose in Bali eons before man came to live there. His true name may not be spoken aloud, but he is sometimes known as the Eater of Souls, sometimes as the Devourer of Children, and sometimes simply as Black Naga. The legend says that Black Naga awakens every thousand years to eat, and before he sleeps again, hundreds will have become his meals. He seeks only the fairest of the fair upon whom to dine, and any man who tries to stay his path will be destroyed, for it is said that Black Naga has six arms and nine legs, and that he breathes a noxious vapor so foul that its touch instantly fires wood and melts even rock. His teeth are longer than the fingers of a man, a hundred in number, and he can bite a man’s arm off quick as a wink.” She paused for a moment, then: “And it is said that he has two hearts.”
Holmes said nothing, but his glittering gaze was fixed on her face.
“Yes, I see you understand. This is the reason for the two kerises. Both his hearts must be struck at once to effect the True Death. Though the kerises were prepared and made a century and a half ago, Black Naga’s next hour has only just begun to come ’round. A month or more, a year or less, and he will shake the earth and cobwebs from his body and rise, coming forth from his hidden cave to kill and dine on his victims.”
“And you believe in this monster.” It was not a question.
“I do.”
“But who would dare face such a fearsome creature, did one actually exist, Miss Yogalimari?”
“Only one trained from birth for that very confrontation, sir. Trained rigorously in the Malay and Balinese arts of pukulan, and pentjak silat, and an expert in the indigenous Chinese boxing system called kun-tao.”
“And such a person could hope to defeat Black Naga?”
“If armed with the magical kerises designed and enchanted specifically for that purpose, yes, such a person could hope for that victory. Though it would by no means be a certain thing.”
“This man would have to be most formidable.”
He hardly saw her move. Of a moment, she was in the chair, smiling benignly at him, and in the next breath she stood next to him, one hand lightly touching his head, and what felt like a sharp fingernail pressed ever so gently against the side of his neck.
“Before you could draw your revolver, Mr. Holmes, I could, if I so desired, slice your carotid arteries in such a manner that Dr. Watson and a host of England’s best battlefield surgeons could not stanch the flow of blood in time to save your life.”
Beyond an initial stiffening of surprise, Holmes made no reaction to her sudden threat. She stepped back a short distance, and what he thought was a fingernail turned out to be a short, hook-shaped knife no longer than a finger.
His composure at least outwardly unruffled, he reached again for his briar and tobacco pouch. As he set about repacking the bowl, he noticed that a few strands of her hair were out place, and deduced where she had kept the blade hidden. He pursed his lips, amazed, but not afraid. She was magnificent! Such a mind, and in such a body—it was hard to believe.
He would definitely have to revise his opinion of women.
She returned to her chair, moving with the grace of an acrobat, and reseated herself.
Holmes got his pipe going again, and drew in a meditative lungful. Calmly—at least he thought he sounded so to his own ears—he said, “But you spoke of two trains of thought, madam.”
He looked for the smile, and was not disappointed.
“Oh, yes. The second way you could have so quickly offered up your expository revelation is much simpler, even though I will grant that your skills of observation are as keen as any man’s.”
He heard the accent on that final word, and knew he was meant to hear it.
“And that way would be . . . ?” he prompted, gesturing gently with the briar, even though he knew what she was going to say. What a wonderful game this was! He had never played a more intriguing one.
Again he was not disappointed. “You expected someone like me, sir. Because you have seen the mate to the keris designed to slay Black Naga. And in fact, you have that weapon in your possession. Once I arrived and made myself known, you knew immediately who I was and why I was here.”
Holmes felt a smile as genuine as any he had ever mustered rise to shape his face. “Bravo, Miss Yogalimari, bravo! How did you come to me?”
She leaned forward slightly, and he was aware for the first time that her breasts strained against the fabric of her blouse. She said, “The thief was Setarko, a Malay with connections in Hong Kong. He stole the pair of daggers nearly twenty years past.
“Those responsible for their care searched far and wide for two decades. The right-hand blade was finally found tucked away in a back room in the Royal Dutch Museum, in Batavia.” She pointed at the dagger in Holmes’s lap. “The other blade, the one marked sinister, remained missing.
“But before he . . . passed away, it was learned that the thief Setarko had had dealings with the late Professor Moriarty, who was a collector of such items. Setarko admitted to having sold one of the blades to your nemesis. When Moriarty died, many of his holdings were sold off, but such collectibles did not come to light.”
“And you assumed that I had it?”
“I considered the possibility.”
“But you could hardly be certain.”
“Not until tonight.”
“And what business assured that for you?” He knew, but he wished to hear her say it.
“A man expert enough to see I carried a hidden dagger under my skirt would also be expert enough to know I carry other weapons hidden upon my person. You did not know about the kerambit—the tiger’s claw—I use as a hair fastener.”
True. But he said, “You cannot be certain of that.”
“I can. A fighter trained enough to see what weapons I carry would not have allowed me to get within striking range with those weapons, for he would also know I can use them with deadly expertise. You are not a skilled fighter, Mr. Holmes, save with your wits. Therefore the only way you could have known I had the keris is if you already suspected I had the one that is mate to yours. A man who has a keris as finely crafted as these, marked with the Malay word for sinister, a man of your caliber of intellect? He would certainly suspect there existed a dexter somewhere. When you saw me, a Balinese woman, you made the connection. It was quite clever of you, that leap. Almost femininely intuitive.”