Death in the Air Read Online Free Page A

ridiculous idea that the African or Oriental man has inferior intelligence due to the shape of his helmet. The skull is a mere bone of protection for the tomato aspic inside. Its bumps and curves say absolutely nothing about one’s intelligence. It’s that jelly that matters.”
    “Yes sir.”
    “When one receives a severe blow to the cranium, as this trifler upon the flying trapeze contraption did, the tomato aspic sloshes about inside.” Bell shakes his head in an alarming manner before continuing. “Different parts of the brain govern different human powers: motor skills, memory, that sort of thing. A concussed brain is a banged-about, bruised, or even bleeding brain. It has been paralyzed, shut down. Some of its functions may be damaged.”
    “For good?” asks Sherlock. “The aerialist may have lost his memory, for example?”
    “Perhaps, though that is the least of his worries. His tomato aspic has suffered a great deal of trauma. It’s sounds to me as though he will die.”
    So there you have it
, thinks Sherlock.
Dead men don’t talk
.
    The boy wants to get away. Bell is going out, as usual, to see a long list of patients, and Sherlock is supposed to guard the shop, tend to any customers who appear (though it seems, curiously, that very few ever do), and clean the lab.
    But he has no intention of doing any of that. In fact, he is planning to deceive his boss. He has never disobeyed him before, not about anything. But what harm can it do? Bell’s trips are usually long ones – gone all day, busy as a Canadian beaver, pursuing his thriving business. Sherlock will get out and back without the old man knowing. But first, he has one more question.
    “Have you ever treated a circus performer?”
    “Oh yes,” says Bell. “They go in for unconventional things, you know. Hengler, the rope-walker, once came to see me himself. Inner ear infection. Helped him regain his equilibrium.”
    “What are they like?”
    “Very independent and self-reliant, looser morals than the rest of us, thick as thieves, but jealous of one another too. I remember Hengler was quite put out that a more youthful funambulist was causing a sensation that same week. He was anxious to get back up in the air. Said the younger man was an upstart; that he’d like to knock him off his rope. Struck me that he’d do it with a crossbow if he had one!”
    The old man utters a burst of explosive laughter.

    Bell leaves with a cheery good-bye and moments later, Sherlock is out the door. He rushes along Denmark Street – he has much to do today. First, he wants to talk to Malefactor, and then, he will fly to the Palace to examine the crime scene. He shall be gone most of the day, but still hopes to get back and clean up the shop before the apothecary returns. It will be a risky task.
    Malefactor’s attitude toward Sherlock has changed since he solved the Whitechapel murder. Before, despite a strange connection between the two, he had treated Sherlock with disdain, setting his dozen little TrafalgarSquare Irregulars on him from time to time, teasing him, making references to his mongrel blood, sneering at his interest in criminals and the city’s celebrities. But since Rose Holmes’ death, since her son solved the murder, the young crime lord has left him alone, just watching, a look more like respect in his eyes.
    Sherlock knows where to find him. The Irregulars will be gathering at a park called Lincoln’s Inn Fields, getting pick-pocketing instructions for the day, discussing the fencing of their latest stolen goods.
    But not long after he starts out, Sherlock sees something shocking.
    It’s Sigerson Bell. Though he had left the shop nearly five minutes earlier, he’s still barely down Denmark Street. And he isn’t walking with the characteristic spring in his step. In fact, it looks like the weight of the Empire is on his stooped shoulders. The boy slows and watches him turn west onto Rose Street, past the charity school.
    Why is he so