The White Worm E-Book

Sam Siciliano

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Sherlock Holmes and his cousin, Dr Henry Vernier, travel to Whitby, to investigate a curious case on behalf of a client. He has fallen in love, but a mysterious letter has warned him of the dangers of such a romance. The woman is said to be under a druidic curse, doomed to take the form of a gigantic snake. Locals speak of a green glow in the woods at night, and a white apparition amongst the trees. Is there sorcery at work, or is a human hand behind the terrors of Diana's Grove?

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Available now from Titan Books

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author’s Preface

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

About the Author

Also Available from Titan Books

AVAILABLE NOW FROM TITAN BOOKSTHE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES SERIES:

THE ANGEL OF THE OPERASam Siciliano

THE WEB WEAVERSam Siciliano

THE GRIMSWELL CURSESam Siciliano

THE VEILED DETECTIVEDavid Stuart Davies

THE SCROLL OF THE DEADDavid Stuart Davies

THE RIPPER LEGACY (May 2016)David Stuart Davies

THE ALBINO’S TREASUREStuart Douglas

THE COUNTERFEIT DETECTIVE (October 2016)Stuart Douglas

MURDER AT SORROW’S CROWN (September 2016)Steven Savile & Robert Greenberger

THE ECTOPLASMIC MANDaniel Stashower

THE WAR OF THE WORLDSManly Wade Wellman & Wade Wellman

THE SEVENTH BULLETDaniel D. Victor

DR JEKYLL AND MR HOLMESLoren D. Estleman

THE PEERLESS PEERPhilip José Farmer

THE TITANIC TRAGEDYWilliam Seil

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES:THE WHITE WORMPrint edition ISBN: 9781783295555E-book edition ISBN: 9781783295562

Published by Titan BooksA division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: February 201610 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

© 2016 Sam Siciliano

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

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This one is for my father and my son.

Author’s Preface

Two of my three earlier Holmes novels derive from other works. Angel of the Opera is a retelling of the Phantom of the Opera with Sherlock Holmes, and it closely follows the plot of Leroux’s novel. The Grimswell Curse is a sort of theme and variations on The Hound of the Baskervilles. In both cases, I could be sure that most readers had at least some familiarity with my source material. However, this time around that is not the case.

Since Bram Stoker wrote a real masterpiece, Dracula, which can still scare modern readers, I wish I could say his last book The Lair of the White Worm is a lost treasure. Sadly, that is not the case. It’s like a Victorian curiosity shop full of bizarre and kinky knick-knacks. The prose is overwrought, the characterization simple-minded, and there is a minor black African character whose lip-smacking, leering portrayal is beyond embarrassing. The fear of female sexuality also found in Dracula reaches new heights, and Freudians can have a field day. The femme-fatale villainess who is both a woman and a centuries-old gigantic white serpent is unintentionally comical, as is her final fate. There are two versions of the novel, both available as free ebook downloads: Stoker’s original 1911 version makes a bit more sense than the posthumously released abridgement of 1925.

Despite its weaknesses, The Lair of the White Worm did inspire this latest book. However, it is certainly a much looser connection than with The Angel of the Opera. Certain of Stoker’s characters made it into my story (but not the black African!), along with some Freudian undercurrents and a Gothic atmosphere. I also moved the story to Yorkshire for reasons that should be apparent by the conclusion. I hope my readers will enjoy the results.

One

Although it was April and the days had grown longer, the air seemed sodden and heavy that particular Monday evening. It was just after six. The sun would not set for another hour or so, but this perpetual twilight had begun mid-afternoon. Winter might be gone, but the stench and dark presence of coal smoke still hovered over London. As I went up the short stairway to my cousin’s flat, I wished again for a good rain to cleanse the air. Where were the proverbial showers?

The indomitable Mrs. Hudson, short, plump and smiling, opened the door.

“How is he?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not well at all. Perhaps you can reason with him, Doctor.”

I went up another short flight of stairs, rapped lightly at the door, then opened it. I blinked twice and a pungent smoke filled my lungs, making me cough. “Good Lord,” I murmured. Through the haze I could see my cousin seated at his favorite armchair wearing his faded purple dressing gown with his pipe in hand. I stepped closer, waving my fingers to try to part the noxious cloud. “This is unbelievably foul. If you are feeling unwell…”

Holmes shook his head. “There is little else to do. Allow me the luxury of my favored vice.”

“Really, this is too much. This must be the cheapest possible shag. Certainly you can afford better.”

Holmes turned to me, his dark brows knotting over the beak of his nose. “Henry, do not lecture me on the evils of tobacco-poisoning. I had enough of that from Watson.”

“Well, he was right, you know.”

“Nonsense. No one has ever proven…” He raised one hand to cover a sharp cough. “It has never…” A fusillade of coughs suddenly overwhelmed him, barking noises, and he bent over, setting down the pipe.

I shook my head, looked about, then went to the sideboard and poured brandy from a decanter. I handed him the glass, then took the pipe and found a nearby ashtray. I turned over the pipe and tapped it against the glass.

Holmes swallowed, shook his head wildly—“No, no!”—he shook his head again, then had another swallow of brandy. “You must not commit battery against a well-made pipe like that one. It must not be knocked about so rudely.”

“Forgive me.” I went to the bow window, unfastened the latch and opened it. “The air outside is hardly better, but at least it may clear the haze.”

The coughing fit gradually came to an end. I seized my bag and dug around for my stethoscope. “Let me have a listen to your lungs.”

“There is nothing wrong with my lungs.”

I laughed sharply. “Come now, you need not remove your dressing gown or shirt. Just undo a button or two.”

His thin face seemed paler than usual as he stared up at me. I warmed the bell on my hand, then set it on his chest between two ribs. “Breathe in and out.” I listened carefully. “I think you have only the beginnings of bronchitis. You definitely should abstain from tobacco for a few days.”

“Henry, Watson’s scolding about tobacco was one of the causes of the breach between us. If you also are going to start the same thing, our friendship cannot endure.”

“And if you will not listen to me and if you drive me away, then perhaps I will take up my pen and publish something about our adventures together.”

Holmes scowled fiercely, then he laughed. “Touché! Anything but that! One Watson is bad enough, but a second…” He shook his head. “No, it could not be endured.”

“And I suppose you have not eaten since breakfast.”

He had to think for a few seconds. “I suppose I have not.”

“Let me have Mrs. Hudson bring you something—as well as a cup of tea. That will soothe your throat.”

He shrugged slightly. “Oh, very well.” He gave a long sigh. “It is good to see you, Henry. I was rather lost in my thoughts, too much so.”