Preview of the new ..... Team of Seven Heroes

I done Arthur up to 60 Chapters and taken a break there for a refresh view. I decided to take on a new tale after being away on  grueling business trip over 48 hours stuck in the car and then in the meeting office and then back in the car...... Life boredom hours.

Okay here's to my weekend interlude.

Its modeled after watching Magnificent Seven and then Predators (rerun) and then Ghost in Mars, and then.....You are getting it. Hotel rooms are boring when ....

Never mind that last line.

Here's to the new preview.

Team Seven of Heroes

Jimmy Loong

19/11/2016

0.

The gas light on the pole at 7^th Street East was blinking as if the supply was erratic. It caught the attention of the constable who was patrolling the area. His name was Thomas Burton and he won’t let the fifteen years of service go wasted when he was due for his promotion. He heard the reports of the killer that roamed the street and kills prostitutes by defiling their body with the innards removed. He had read the reports that there were nine victims but the suspects were wider than his arms spread out. The constable was burly in the frame flexed his muscles and then reached for the night stick on his waist belt. He was armed with it and with life saved many times. The truncheon was named Smithy by him was his toll to crush the bones and skulls of many deserving ones.

The scream came and the constable rushed forth with the truncheon pulled out. He ran past the gas light and then he saw the shadow. It was all he saw then before he was whisked off his feet. He thrust out with his truncheon but then his right arm was torn off from the shoulder socket. He screamed out loud but his cry soon ended when his head was severed.

Then ended the life and career of Constable Lestrade.

Constable Lestrade would had felt proud if he only knew that his sacrifice was heeded by a group of men armed then with more than truncheons. Inspector Morse clenched his fist on seeing his man getting the life torn off. The middle aged officer held in his right hand then the pistol he was assigned for the night. He was fidgeting the trigger on the pistol but he knew that the fire power of it was not effective against whoever was there. He looked to the others standing next and before him. They were not from his constabulary but were regular army recruits despite their casual wears but their boots were their giveaway. And so were the Enflield rifles loaded with the .303 cartridge in a ten round box magazine. The ten men detail held the forty nine inches length rifle close to their chest but their fingers held close to the trigger. They were led by the man who stood at over six feet and held a chest width wider than most and so was his smile beneath the thick moustache.

“Inspector Morse, we will follow the creature now.” The Inspector heard the huge man who had taken off with the others. He had known the other as Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft was introduced as an officer of His Majesty. Morse took on his own heels with the group. He was told to observe then. Their pursuit was hard with the low light and thick fog then. He could barely make out the chimney tops from the darker clouds or the sharp corners where he may slam into it. He tried hard to follow and soon his view that of the river Thames.

“I guess we lost the creature.” Mycroft finally admitted his failure. “I am to report to the Minister on this. Maybe I am outclassed here. A better man will do. Or a few more better men than me.”

1.

The streets of London was inflamed by the fire spurting outlets that was placed facing upward where the emitted gas was burned off while the engines powering up the four wheeler rolled the wheels to carry the seated passengers on their journey and greeted by the constant blaring of the horns to clear those in their way. The four wheelers were a menace and intimating on the horse pulled carts and the more unfortunate pedestrians who had to walk the length of cobbled roads. The flames of the four wheelers lighted up the streets alongside the open torches by the turned off gas light poles. It was rumoured that in the event of any danger, the move was to toppled the poles and light up the gas pipes to create a bigger fire. It was the only thing that may protect them from the flying creatures.

“The fire of Hades they feared.” That was the words then on the streets.

There were the idealist that what the fire may not worked the cold steel would suffice. The ones who could afford the huge bows with the steel arrows mounted on the balconies and rooftop. It was new scenery besides the taunting chimney tops and the extended towers that reached up. The narrow towers were not of watch purposes like that of the castles for the sentries but the towers design here were of mushroom design. The upper wider and flat platform was rigged with large stout rings. The rings were designed to hold down the ropes that will be tied there and secured with the locks. The ropes were thicker than the arm were not dangling down but held taut upwards to the wooden carriage that formed the wheelhouse and compartments for the passengers on one level and the upper platform was the engine area where the multiple cylinders containing hydrogen were secured and channelled to the turbines that fed it upwards to the huge rounded balloon above it. Each carriage may hold from twelve to fifty passengers but the larger carriages held by bigger balloons were restricted to the upper level of the skies and allowed to dock at the bigger platforms outside of the city limits or by the rivers.

The morning activities were picking up then with the dawn workers lumbering their wares to the business outlets or in the move towards theirs. The carriages then were mostly the horse driven ones with the hoofs clamping the cobbled streets with the occasional droppings which were picked up the odd children to sell as dried manure or fire place materials instead of wood. The more intense areas were the markets where the daily produces were marketed to the house servants who plied the place then. Among the people there, the words were out on the poor constable which was killed last night.

“Was his body found?” The replies were the same.

“There was none but they found the head. Constable Lestrade it was. And the night stick of his. Thank goodness, it was not up his aft." 

Mrs Hudson had shit her ears to it and took her morning purchases back home at Baker’s Street. Funny they still it Baker’ Street when it housed was two rows of fine homes of three flights of stairs and the dimensions that in the shadier parts of the city would had held nine families and yet in Baker’s Street it was to distinguished families on the upper levels and the esteemed offices on the ground level except the one that Mrs Hudson retained. She had the ground level to herself, housing the remnants of her personal life while she leased out the upper two levels. The middle levels was to a certain gentleman by the name of Holmes and the upper level, it was leased by another who prefers to be known as Mr. Q. It does not matter to her how they were named as long as they were honourable gentlemen and pay their dues on time.

“I am coming.” Mrs Hudson heard the doorbell soon after she had placed the morning purchases onto the kitchen table. She reached for the apron which held the Webley pistol in the pocket. She put it on and walked to the door. She opened to a familiar face and smiled when the later handed over to her the bouquet of flower.

“Thank you, Mycroft. He is upstairs.” Mrs Hudson stepped aside for the huge figure. He was her charming admirer always with a bouquet of flower on every visit. She felt happy inside for her late husband was never one with the flowers although he was a staunch defender of her during his living days.

“I do believe he just came back before dawn. I knew it was him despite his best to hide his footsteps.” Mrs Hudson told Mycroft when he passed by her to take the stairs. He had then brushed past her arms and it sent warmth to her lonely heart. Mycroft took the steps with the vigour of the youth and then stood by the doorway to his other self of mysterious antics.

“Come in Mycroft.” The voice greeted Mycroft when he was to knock the doorframe. Mycroft reached for the door knob to turn it anticlockwise as advised by the occupant. He was told that if he did it the right way, he would be given a jolt of electricity. Electricity was then a newly acquired power which was channelled to the affordable homes through the coal burning power houses. It did disrupt the chimney emission but the low cloud then was a permanent feature.

“Do sit. Mrs Hudson will be coming with the tea at precisely seven past the hour.” Mycroft saw his brother had not shelf his desire for the early morning smoke although its smell was not of sweet fragrance. Mycroft stared at his brother then in the dressing gown and slippers with the well combed hair that was swept back to the ears.

“Sherlock, I do implore once more that you give up the habit of yours. Cocaine or whatever you may be told it was may not be favourable to your health.” Mycroft took his seat before he reached for the metal case which housed his rolled cigarettes. He had laced his tobacco with some spices to give it the staunch after taste. Sherlock had then moved to the cupboard where he kept his costumes and disguises.

“I do have my habit but I doubt you are here to discuss that.” Sherlock then closed the cupboard door and stood to listen hard on the steps which were resounding up the stairs. “I believe the doctor is in the house.”

True to his guess, the door to the unit soon admitted in a figure dressed in the tweed suit and then holding the long wooden cane. He was shorter than the Holmes brother and his frame was thinner with the left leg limping due to a bullet just below the thigh missing the thigh by a short distance.

“Watson, Mycroft was here to discuss with us on the killing of the constable last night.” Sherlock had then disposed himself on the arm chair by the window. His tall and lanky frame was engulfed by the thicker cushion requested by Sherlock for his chair. He then reached for his bended pipe and placed it on his lips unlit. It was one of his morning antics when he needed to keep the fingers busy instead of thumping on the chair side. He sat there with his legs crossed and the right slipper dangled loosely by his toes.

“Do continue on, Mycroft.” Sherlock had deduced that his brother had come bearing that news for it was on the morning crowd lips and it was not the first to happen then. There twelve killing then when Mycroft was called on the task and soon he recorded more than twenty of them but they were kept from the press for national security concerns.

“Yes, please do. I am here to assist.” The man named as Watson was an army medical officer who got hurt in the Last Frontier War at the range of the tall mountains. The limping doctor placed the walking stick next to him by the arm chair he was to take. That was the last of the arm chairs there and Mycroft has to settle for the cushioned chairs reserved for guests.

“I am here to talk on the murders. It was crackling fun case of murders but the King was concerned on the matter now. It had become not a national issue but one of international level.” Mycroft was not a man of many words and he had very little patience. “The Prime Minister had asked me to assemble a team of …..warriors if I may termed it as that. You are ….”

“Warrior? Me I am not one. Watson was not one and yet he got shot.” Sherlock looked at Watson who was then giving him the disapproval look. “It’s elementary, my dear Watson. We are investigators and not warriors. We are not his idea of those bond-ed trained spies with the license to kill.”

“Watson, you yourself were only license to cure and …” Sherlock was interrupted then by Watson who preferred to be known otherwise.

“I have killed many who were due.” With that Watson displayed his other prowess with the scalpel. It was thrown with the twist of the left hand that reached for it beneath at side of his waist belt and landed in the coat hanger left handle.

“Watson, have I told you many times, I needed that handle for my hat.” Sherlock groaned on the scarred handle. “I am going to confiscate your …side arms in future.”

“Gentlemen, we are after all here to discuss my case.” Mycroft cut in on the rivalry of the pair in their demonstrative arts. “I …”

“It’s elementary, Mycroft. You need me for investigative skills and Watson for his …cutting skills.”

“Most precisely, my dear brother. I need something else. Do you still have my cricket bat?” Mycroft asked then. “I need to do some battling now.”