“Mr. Holmes, I am a tired man,” he professed. “I’ve outlived one wife and three sons. It is only of late that I’ve brought the nation into some semblance of economic balance. I’m looking forward to a time, hopefully near at hand, when I can sit by the shoreside and fish. Her Majesty and the princess have been my second chance in life, and I mean to keep them protected.”
“We are your servants on that mission,” Holmes affirmed.
“Much to my appreciation,” the king replied. “There is some dark intent running under my roof, and I mean to expunge it. Therefore, fire off your questions.”
“Are there political enemies of your royal house that we should suspect?”
“None, sir,” the king replied. “At present the Nederlands holds no open disputes.”
“What about personal enemies, Your Majesty?”
The king considered long and hard, then said, “This house was once divided against itself, I sadly admit. My late wife, Sofia, poisoned my sons against me; the announcement of Princess Mina’s birth was not received well by either of them. However, this feud was settled when Prince Alexander passed away.”
“He was head of the Freemasons for a time, was he not?” asked Holmes.
“That is correct, though with them, as in most diversions my sons engaged in, the time was short before there was a parting of the ways. In that case in particular, the way was parted quicker than most. Alexander was too passionate and quick-tempered for the Masons.”
At the mention of the Freemasons I wanted desperately to inquire further, their sometime involvement with unnatural arts demanding the very attention I was recruited for. But Holmes’s quick signal stayed my voice.
“Dankuwel, zijne Majesteit,” Holmes concluded, inclining his head in respect. “We shall leave you to govern your country.”
It had been a long day, full of strange tales and foreign sights. When we returned to our rooms, I sat on the edge of my bed and observed my tired reflection in the ornate mirror. Holmes was still bristling with energy; I wondered what sorcery he employed that kept him so finely tuned.
“Don’t prepare to retire just yet, my dear Wells; I’ve one more task for you before this day’s out.”
I sighed. “Right, Holmes, ever at your service.”
“I’d like you to pop ’round and offer our young princess a bedtime story.”
“You’re joking. It would be highly improper to do so without royal permission.”
“Nevertheless, I’m quite serious,” Holmes replied. “And do give her a choice—one tame story and one dreadful.”
“I’m sure that I don’t see the point.”
“At the very least you’ll gain her favor, Wells. She will be queen someday.”
I looked at him solemnly, trying to gauge his true intent. “And you’ll be off—”
“Attending to other things. By the way, what was it the princess whispered to you after presenting us with these?” he asked, displaying the remarkable brilliant on his finger.
“She told me that they should protect us from the devil.” Holmes arched an eyebrow. “You don’t suppose this whole business is merely a child’s method of drawing us here, do you?”
Holmes leaned his thin frame against the doorway and considered. “Wells, this whole family is trying to tell us something, not just the princess,” he said. “But they are not sure what it is that they’re trying to tell. It’s something they all intuit—the king with his guilty conscience, the queen with her suspicions, and the princess with her gifts to protect us. The entire household is gripped by chimera—it’s an uncanny display of transcendent cognition.” As I digested his words, he straightened and added, “Now do go tell the princess a story. We’ll meet back here by ten bells.”
I watched Holmes slink off, so silent and deft that the guards down the hall took no notice. I approached them moments later and asked to be escorted to the princess’s room, which to my surprise they did without hesitation. The princess seemed delighted to see me.
“I have a few stories I’m concocting, Your Highness,” I said, as if confiding a trusted secret. “One regards a fantastic journey by men shot out of a cannon to land on the moon; the other concerns a mad scientist who transforms animals into half-human creatures.”
“Do tell me about the mad scientist if you please, Mr. Wells,” she eagerly responded.
I returned to our rooms to find Holmes lying, fully dressed, on his bed, fingers clasped behind his head, awaiting my return. “Which did she choose?” he asked, rather smugly.
“The most terrifying story I’ve ever dreamed up,” I told him. “Nearly frightened myself.”
“Not surprising,” Holmes replied, “considering what she’s been reading.” Sitting up, he recited to me his past hour.
“Two things bothered me regarding Princess Mina. One: The fact that she had supposedly locked herself within the tearoom to read—why do that unless you’re reading something that you fear might be objectionable? Two: She hesitated briefly when you asked what she’d been reading prior to the attack.”
“Her mother was present,” I offered.
“Indeed,” Holmes replied. “So I examined the contents of the bookshelves at some length, finding nothing queer, then sat in the very chair and allowed myself to observe. There I saw it—a length of molding, set forward at unequal length to the opposing wall, which quickly revealed a hidden shelf.”
Buttoning on my nightshirt, I demanded, “The contents, man, if you please.”
Lowering his voice, he said, “Have you ever heard of an ancient text called the Necronomicon?”
“Holmes, do say you’re joking,” I whispered. “The book’s fictitious—a rumored work. The title translates from the Greek as ‘Book Concerning the Dead.’ ”
Holmes nodded gravely. “Yes, Wells, though its content suggests even more arcane purposes. A compendium of rituals pertaining to the manifestation of demons. Look for yourself.”
From his travel case he drew forth and handed over a dark ledger-sized volume that was bound in uncured leather and bore a musty odor. I opened to a random page and beheld a nonsensical incantation; scrawled in tedious longhand and accompanied by a cryptic diagram upon the yellowed parchment. I wanted to denounce its authenticity at once; however, the peculiarity of the thing in my hands prevented me from voicing my doubt.
“Holmes, it is preposterous to think that the princess—”
“Calm yourself, man,” Holmes said, and I lowered my voice. “I believe that she merely discovered the book, which I suspect belonged to her half brother Alexander. There were other books cached there; including Von Junzt’s despicable Nameless Cults and certain texts possessed only by high-order Freemasons.”
“Then she’s only guilty of hiding it again.” I sighed, quite relieved.
“Yes, Wells—though I pray her innocent young mind cannot grasp the dark implications of whatever she’s read so far. But the fact remains—the book is here, and that raises the stakes considerably, in my estimation. I found also a collection of correspondence from a woman named Elisabeth Cookson, who was illicitly involved with one if not both of the princes, and quite possibly with the king himself.”
“Do you have those letters with you as well?”
“No, I replaced them. And in any event, they were penned in Dutch. She’ll be the subject of tomorrow’s delicate inquiry.” At this, Holmes outstretched his hand to retrieve the book and I handed it back, somewhat disturbed by the intensity he displayed.