The information delivered in the nervously scribbled hand of Constable Lewis stirred something inside of me, something I had not felt in some time. Yes, I’d spent some years using minute details to assemble profiles of individuals, to uncover their deeds, discover their whereabouts...but true mysteries had been only a memory from the past. What lay before me was precisely that; an intricately woven plot, one so devious and inspired that I held no doubt that it had been woven by a spider that was a criminal genius of the very highest caliber.

Upon returning to my apartment at Baker street I locked myself into my study and, taking chalk to board with a raucous clatter, began to follow the strands of information in an attempt to reveal their interconnections.

“Wilks!” I exclaimed back at the cafe before running off, leaving the doctor to his practice for the day.

He no doubt knew of whom I was referring to and had therefore concluded that it was he who was at the center of this conspiracy. That, my many hours of thought revealed, was only partially true. Yes, Chief Inspector Wilks was almost certainly the minotaur that I had seen at Scotland Yard and was also very likely the man who’d been personally manipulating police records, and even the very outcome of cases, but the strands hinted at something more.

Wilks was central to the plot, the beast waiting in lie to devour those ensnared in the web, of that I was certain, yet I came to believe that he’d not been the one who’d spun it in the first place. It had the finesse of a man with an intellect far superior to his, a very learned individual with an interest in politics to be exact, and though the evidence illuminated me as to what was to take place the man behind it all remained obfuscated from me, at least for the time being. So many strands...I connected dozens yet an uncomfortable amount of loose ends remained. It then occurred to me that perhaps there were two interwoven agendas at play. Some of the smaller cases, perhaps, had been the work of the Chief Inspector directly; working to disguise the actions of homo-monstrum in the city of London, possibly dating back to a time even before his promotion. The larger events, however, seemed to bear the signature of the unknown mastermind. Perhaps Wilks was merely his instrument, or perhaps even the instrument of more than one master. The possibilities and my inability to see the picture as a whole flustered me to the point of near madness.

It was nearly a half past six o’clock when I heard the recognizable cadence of John Watson’s steps as he ascended the staircase. When he opened the door his expression instantly changed from one of frustrated exhaustion to one of genuine curiosity. For at the table sat Inspector Lestrade, the battered but ever-conversational Graham Roth, and myself. One chair was left empty, for the doctor himself.

“Do come and join us Watson.” I said.

“Certainly,” he replied. “What is that delicious aroma I detected emanating from Mr. Hudson’s kitchen?”

“That would be roast duck and potatoes.”

“Sounds delightful.” he said, then made his way over to the table after hanging his hat and coat. He made sure to greet each of the gentlemen before taking his place.

“How are you feeling Mr. Roth?” he asked of the young man.

“That’s uh...that’s Detective Roth sir.” he beamed.

“Why congratulations Detective.”

“It’s all thanks to a personal recommendation from Mr. Sherlock Holmes here sir. To be honest sir it makes any discomfort suffered at the hands of Scotland Yard a right bit more tolerable.”

Watson smiled, but his gaze was still begging the question.

“As to your query sir, thanks to a good deal of rest today and, in no small measure the medication you prescribed for my pain, I’m feeling nearly right as rain.”

“That’s excellent.” Watson said, taking a moment to lay his napkin into his lap. “Just keep in mind that despite that shiny new badge of yours I want you resting up for at least a week.”

“And rest he shall Doctor, after tomorrow night.” I chimed.

“Tomorrow night?”

“Being reasonably clever you’ve no doubt deduced as to why the detectives have joined us for dinner this evening.”

“You’ve discovered something.” it was a statement, not a question. “It’s certainly not a birthday celebration, since you forgot all about that, remember?” he smiled mockingly.

The other men at the table then of course had to wish me a happy birthday before I was allowed to proceed. I promised them cake after dinner and with that returned to addressing the doctor.

“I have made a discovery Watson and let me be frank when I say that I have done so in the very nick of time.”

“Do go on Mr. Holmes.” young Detective Roth said excitedly.

“Very well. As we await Mr. Hudson’s roast duck, which shall be mildly overcooked but still quite palatable, I shall endeavor to explain. After that we will enjoy our meal and dessert, a fortification of brandy, and then a good night’s rest. As we shall need it.”

The men proceeded to converse amongst themselves whilst I filled my pipe with tobacco, then took a moment to savor it before beginning.

“Lestrade, I shall begin with you.”

“Me?” he held his hands up, pointing to his own chest

“Yes Detective. For were it not for you this mystery would have simply passed me by as a ship in the night. Your notes have been most invaluable. You are to be commended...” I grinned, “I didn’t think you had it in you Lestrade.”

Watson did not laugh but a chuckle briefly escaped Graham Roth, who instantly straightened up in the presence of his superior who frowned at him disapprovingly.”

“Detective Roth,” I addressed the fresh young investigator, “your many hours spent digging tediously through veritable mountains of records as well as the performance that allowed me nearly unfettered access to Scotland Yard was of immeasurable assistance. My sincere gratitude goes out to you.”

The young man visibly squirmed in his seat at the thought of being instrumental in a case involving Sherlock Holmes. I made a mental note at that moment to abstain from further praise of the young man lest he leap from his chair and begin to celebrate unbecomingly.

“Lastly I’d like to thank Doctor Watson who has been...”

“Get on with it please Holmes. That duck smells as though it’s just about done and I’d really rather not have this discussion over dinner if you don’t mind.”

I paused.

“Point taken Doctor.” little did he know that the duck would be out of the oven no sooner than ten minutes past the time that it should have been. “You shall all forgive me if I tend to ramble. I have spent some years in relative seclusion and have in some ways forgotten my manners.”

This provoked a sincere chuckle from Inspector Lestrade who added to the conversation. “I’ll have you know that there were little to begin with Doctor.”

And to this Watson covered his mouth with his hand to mask his own laughter. Only Mr. Roth failed to find it amusing; a bit of hero worship I feared. I puffed my tobacco, waited for the gentlemen to compose themselves.

“The reason that I have gathered you here tonight is that I now know that we have very little time in which to act. The conclusion of the plot that Detective Lestrade began to uncover some time back shall take place tomorrow evening.”

Lestrade, taking a sip of his water, nearly choked.

“Tomorrow evening?!” he gasped.

“Yes,” I said dryly, “and as most of you know I am not a man who cares to act without every detail clear to me. In fact I find the very notion detestable. Alas this plot is very convoluted and at this point I am certain about only a few of its key elements. One of them being an attack, tomorrow evening, upon the carriage of the crown prince as he travels through the streets of London on his way to a clandestine meeting with the Duke of Troppau...”

“Of Liechtenstein?” Lestrade begged.

“Precisely Detective.” I replied flatly.

“Surely his visit is due, at least in part, to the assassination of his cousin here in England...yet that was nearly two years ago.” Lestrade frowned.

“Indeed I do find it to be difficult to fathom that it is a coincidence and that his visit is not related. Still, I have no hard evidence linking the two events.”

“And what of it being a secret meeting?” Roth asked this time.

“That is the part that I find the most peculiar, yet nothing in my arsenal of information reveals to me precisely why it should be so. Regardless, I have managed...through no small feat mind you...to piece together what I believe to be the rough path that the prince’s carriage shall take through the city streets. I believe that it will be guarded only minimally, so as not to draw attention, and that I have identified eleven key places in which an assault is most likely to take place.”

“Eleven?!” Lestrade shouted, “How in the hell are we supposed to keep an eye on all of them? I thought you’d figure out who was behind this and we’d be able to stop them before the attempt went forward, this is not like you Mr. Holmes.”

“Admittedly.” I said, “And given proper time I would very likely untangle this tightly woven web of deception but as we have already established it is a miracle that I have even uncovered as much as I have before the plot was put into action!” my voice rang with frustration, not only at Lestrade but also at myself. For he was, of course, right about me.

“So then what is your plan Holmes?” Watson asked, attempting to return the conversation to a productive state.

“I have a very good idea of whom the assassin might be Mr. Lestrade.” I quipped, “However I do not believe him to be the true mastermind behind this plot and if I were to simply dispatch him before the fact then I might never have the chance to discover the true threat, one that could pose a continuing danger to Queen and country.”

“Then, as Doctor Watson has posed, what is your plan dear Holmes?”

“Tomorrow evening Mr. Lestrade, dressed in common clothes so as not to arouse suspicion, Mr. Roth will watch for the prince’s carriage to leave the palace and he will follow it...”

“I should be the one to do that.” Lestrade belted.

“Have you not a limp Lestrade?”

That silenced him.

“And a rider on horseback following closely would draw too much attention. No, you will be in position at one of the areas where the danger of stealthy attack is most prominent.” I turned my head, “As shall you Doctor. While Detective Roth attempts to follow the carriage, staying with it and keeping out a keen eye for danger, I shall move some bit ahead of it, taking care to examine each area in great detail only moments before it arrives.”

“Holmes, not to squabble over details but you told me earlier today that this meeting would take place only once you had a clear understanding of the entire plot. From what I can see that is not the case.”

“Regrettably so Doctor.” I admitted. “Yet what I am certain of is that we must act, and quickly. In the other room,” I pointed, “is a chalkboard filled with clues that tie one incident to another. The assassination of a cousin to the crown of Liechtenstein, the search of landmarks, the kidnapping of the son of the arms manufacturer...dozens more cases that were in one fashion or another manipulated by a man inside Scotland Yard. They do tie in to one another and I do know who stands at the middle of it...yet I cannot yet determine who is pulling his strings or for what reason.”

“Then who is it that stands at the middle of it all. who is your potential assassin?” Lestrade begged.

“That would be none other than Chief Inspector Wilks of Scotland Yard of course.”

Gasps were heard from both detectives.

“Come now Lestrade, did you not notice that the most peculiar of the occurrences started shortly after he began his stint as chief inspector?”

“I had made the mental connection Mr. Holmes, but had no evidence linking him to any of it whatsoever.”

I could tell that Watson did not wish to undermine me in front of guests, but still he could not bite his tongue.

“Lest your information from Constable Lewis provided further clarification I believe you to be operating on an assumption Holmes. Simply because Wilks is a form of homo-monstrum and that he had wished to capture you whilst you trespassed on police property does not make him the mole inside of Scotland Yard.”

“And if I told you that the constable’s information confirmed it beyond a shadow of a doubt?”

“That would change everything, wouldn’t it Holmes?”

“Not only did Constable Lewis confirm my suspicions that Wilks was indeed the minotaur that I saw...”

“Minotaur?!” both Lestrade and Roth blurted.

I steadied them with a hand gesture. “In due time gentlemen, in due time I assure you. Wilks was apparently very keen to interrogate the constable, and did so in a remarkably thorough fashion, about the man he saw sneaking out of the building last night. In fact he claimed that the debriefing nearly came to violence. Likewise our own Detective Roth here can attest that no one save for Inspector Wilks even knew that I was in the building...with the exception of Constable Lewis who eavesdropped on the conversation.”

Roth nodded.

“That means that only two men were looking for me and we already know that the constable is not a minotaur. Furthermore, Lewis found in the chief inspector’s desk unmodified versions of no less than five of the files I had suspected to have been tampered with. It would seem that Wilks is something of a poor housekeeper.”

My eyes scanned every man seated at the table, “Make no mistake. Once we have done all that we can to ensure the safety of the prince I shall turn my attention to the details of this case and fully intend to uncover the mastermind behind it all.”

“What of the constabulary?” Lestrade asked, reclining back into his chair with his hands bound together by intertwined fingers at his belly. “Surely we should find some way to alert them to the danger, albeit with subtlety so as not to alarm the masses.”

“That, my dear Inspector Lestrade, is a component of the mystery itself. For you see the metropolitan police are already keenly aware of a threat, though the source of their information has conveniently been labeled as ‘anonymous’. They will be pulling men from all around the city to secretly monitor the prince’s route.”

“But for obvious reasons we should not leave the matter solely to them.” Roth chimed in.

I nodded. We spoke on the matter for approximately ten more minutes before I heard the laden steps of Mr. Hudson making their way up the stairs. As predicted the bird was mildly overdone yet retained an excellent flavor. The roasted potatoes, however, were cooked to perfection and were in such demand that they quickly disappeared from the dinner table.

After our meal we conversed again for some time regarding the urgent matter and over some glasses of brandy I even brought the men into my study and showed them the convoluted web that I had begun to delicately untangle. There was much speculation, and some notions that I’d not considered were put forth, but in the end there was little that could be looked into on such short notice. The facts were clear, we owed it to Queen and country to do what was in our power to prevent the death of her son. All other discussions would have to be tabled for a later time. We spoke of our positioning for the following evening and decided to meet early in the afternoon on the next day in order to make final preparations.

After exhausting my supply of brandy the elder inspector took his leave of us, and though I sensed that he wished to remain and pose a great deal more questions to me in regards to my older cases files the young Mr. Roth chose the path of proper manners and promptly dismissed himself as well.

“There is more to your plan isn’t there Holmes?” Watson asked as we began to turn down the drapes and snuff the lamps.

“Somewhat.” I admitted, but followed with, “Though it’s not as multi-faceted as you may have come to expect from the reputation of Sherlock Holmes.”

“If it is Chief Inspector Wilks, if he turns out to be the assassin...will you kill him?”

“Without doubt.” I said, blowing out the candles that had been left to burn upon the dinner table, their tallow running down their sides into large pools that collected at the bases.

“And have you any notion of how to put to death a minotaur?”

“Interesting that you should ask Watson. Do have a seat.” I motioned to a chair across from the one that I intended to sit in myself. I pulled my pipe from my coat, the tail of which I flipped up to allow me to sit comfortably, then after checking that there remained some tobacco to be consumed, lit it and drew in the fragrant smoke.

“I’ve had less time than I would have liked to do so but I did manage to research the beasts. I now believe that what I am dealing with is not a minotaur at all.”

“What then?”

“A minotaur is something wholly different, should they even exist at all. They are nothing like a were-beast as they are incapable of disguising themselves as a man. No, what I believe, but cannot verify, is that Chief Inspector Wilks is instead an Auroch.”

“Auroch.” the doctor rolled the word over in his mind. “It sounds distinctly familiar but I cannot place it.”

“Scientifically speaking they were a species of ox-like creatures that existed until the recent past, having gone completely extinct sometime around 1627, with the last recorded specimens having been seen in the Jaktorow Forest in Poland.”

“But then we’re simply talking about animals aren’t we?”

I flashed a quick smile, “Have you ever heard of Circe?”

“The figure from Greek mythology who is said to have drugged sailors who visited her island and turned them into wolves, lions and all other manner of beasts?”

“That one precisely.” I said as I let out a ring of smoke.

“I don’t understand, surely she was merely as legend.”

“Like werewolves, trolls, witches...”

“Point taken Holmes. Still, how could you have possibly made the mental leap from a minotaur-like creature in London to a Greek figure who lived on a faraway island in the Mediterranean?”

“Two...no nearly three years ago I spent some time on the continent tracking what I believed to be werewolves that had been preying upon the denizens of a village in Poland just north of the German border. Imagine my surprise when I located and killed what turned out to be a man that had somehow been bewitched into the form of what I could only deduce to be a Lynx.”

“Bewitched?” the doctor asked curiously.

“That was the opinion of the locals. They called it ‘Circe’s Bane’, or at least that was the closest translation I was capable of achieving. Of course at the time I did not have at my disposal the knowledge that I do currently about your homo-monstrum nor did I have the talents of a physician with a vested interest in the subject. I suppose it possible that the man was nothing more than an average were-beast and that the surrounding mythology was nothing more than that.”

Watson rubbed his moustache. “I’ve never heard of a were-Lynx, but that does not mean that they do not exist of course. As to Circe if she were to still be alive she’d be many thousands of years old by now.”

“That she would. Of course we have no way of knowing whether or not if such a person has a definite lifespan like the rest of us. I also entertained the notion that the ‘Circe’s Bane’ merely carried her name. Perhaps either a talent passed on to another at some point in history or simply a similar technique given a name that had some historical bearing.”

“So either the work of a Greek woman from antiquity or that of a powerful witch? Even if it were true where does your theory of the Auroch enter into it?”

“After my success in Poland there were a great deal of locals eager to tell me tales of fantastic beasts that had been seen in or near other villages. Before returning to London I spent several weeks investigating the reports. Time and time again there were accounts of a bull or ox-like creature that was simply referred to as ‘Auroch’. I was given many descriptions of the beast and still retain in my collection many of the drawings that I was provided with. I was never able to locate a living specimen, but still I found the subject quite interesting. Upon further examining my memories of last night’s events at the station house I am now confident that my recollections match closely the descriptions I was given of the Auroch; a more likely suspect than a minotaur, a creature incapable of taking human form and therefore incapable of walking the streets of London without attracting a great deal of attention.”

“In your time in Poland were you told of any way to kill the beast? If it is not a were-creature then it is very likely that your cure-all of silver will have no effect.”

“That thought has most certainly crossed my mind, and luckily yes, I was told of a supposed way to deal with the beast, which is said to be immensely strong and invulnerable to nearly any form of attack.”

“That being?”

“A horn or bone fragment of the animal which the cursed creature is based upon, blessed by a holy man, plunged into its heart.”

“And where are you to find the horn of a long extinct animal Holmes?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled from it an object that provoked a sigh from my colleague.

“Where did you get that?”

“Oh this? A fragment of preserved Auroch horn? Why from the natural history museum of course.” I smiled devilishly, “I told you that I’ve had a busy day Watson.

“You stole it.” he declared.

“For Queen and country Watson.” I said as I waved the fragment of horn back and forth in front of him.

“And has it been blessed by a holy man?”

“Not yet, however after I fashion it into a weapon that shall be your first chore of the morning.”

Watson simply shook his head.

“Well then, since I shall apparently have a long day tomorrow I think I’ll turn in and leave you to it.”

He rose from the chair and gave me a pat on the shoulder before turning for his room. Partway there he paused, “You do realize Holmes, that if your Inspector Wilks is a cursed creature and not a were-beast, that we’ve learned something new about your own abilities.”

“That I can see through the disguise of any creature who takes human form whether their mask be the result of nature or the doing of witchcraft. Why yes, it had occurred to me.”

“Most curious.” I heard the doctor mutter to himself as he waved me off and made for his room to change into his night clothes.

I sat up for somewhere around two hours after he retired, polishing my weapons and modifying them appropriately for the day to come. I took special care with the small dagger that I fashioned from the sliver of Auroch horn. A specialty weapon no doubt, but one that I was quite proud of.