The Ghostbusters were unusually quiet, no repartee joining the whine of their packs. Just the sound of labored breathing, unheard under the roar of their current adversary. It was a struggle to target four beams on the demon and harder to hold them. They took turns being one of three desperately holding on and being odd man out. Again and again the fourth man took aim, either to be quickly shook off, or be replaced by another whose beam skittered away.
And then Peter was shaken loose while Winston was still trying to get a bead.
"Mortals!" A gateway opened and the demon walked into it, knocking Egon before him like a pebble. The blond man tumbled end over end through the portal, a small jet of flame the only mark of his passage.
"NO!" Peter tackled Ray before the red-head could be dragged through the already closing veil. He stared at the now empty space before them, moving aside from the occultist. He didn't notice the other man taking PKE readings, nor even the gathering dark of an early spring evening.
"Winston." Ray knew he'd need help with Peter. Nothing. "Winston?" Ray peered around, wishing for a flashlight. The photosensors had probably been fried in the streetlamps. "Winston!"
Peter roused enough to follow Ray in his search. After minutes without anything, "Ray?"
Ray pulled a PKE meter off Peter's pack, calibrating it. He made a sweep with it silently. "He's not here either."
"What the he-" Peter looked over the hand clapped over his mouth.
"We will get them back."
It was quiet and pre-dawn, a thick fog rolling through the sward. A pale lump lay among the darker grass, unnoticed for the moment. Hooves could be heard, and the rattle of wheels.
As it was, it was likely the occupants of the carriage were the only people awake at that hour, at least truly sensate in the chill of not yet morning. The leaner man rapped at the roof, calling to the driver to stop. He had already lurched out of the slowed carriage before his companion could react.
He called back to the cab. "Bring the rug."
The stockier man did as bid, gathering the thick cloth and telling the driver to stay before running after the first man.
"Stand back."
"Holmes, he's sure to be injured. I can't do anything from here." The blond lean form was sprawled, limbs bent.
The taller man sighed as he acknowledged the point. "Follow my footsteps, Watson. Don't trample any evidence."
Watson approached, gasping as he saw the tatters that served as clothing. He looked back up to Holmes when he noticed neither blood nor reeking filth. Kneeling, he smoothed the rug over the form after carefully checking for a pulse and broken bones.
"Peculiar." Holmes looked about, turning back in annoyance. "I shall have to wait 'til light to investigate properly. His injuries?"
"Nothing better treated here than inside. May I say I find that surprising."
Holmes picked the man up easily, standing. "Lead on."
Removing the lanky load from the growler was again the more difficult part of the journey, much as getting him inside had been. Holmes waited at the door effortlessly while Watson paid the driver. He grinned at the haggling.
"Good lord! Who is that?"
"Mrs. Hudson, that is what I'm going to determine." He took the seventeen stairs in stride, though climbing nearly sidewise. He was mildly surprised as Mrs. Hudson reached the top barely after him, opening the door.
"Thank you. Watson, your linens are clean?" Not awaiting an answer, he passed through the sitting room and into the smaller bedchamber.
Dr. Watson followed. "A basin of warm water, if you please." Mrs. Hudson quickly left to comply. Watson started to detach his cuffs, walking to his bed and patient. Holmes had lit the lamp and was holding it to best advantage. "Thank you." He knew it was as much Holmes' eagerness for facts, but it paid to give the impulse notice. He checked the man's head and found several lumps. Pushing aside the blue strips of fabric, he searched more carefully for injuries, finding mostly contusions and abrasions. Sure that his patient wasn't suffering from serious internal injuries, Watson started working the fabric free. "What could do this, Holmes?"
Holmes ignored the question, peering over the light blue fabric closely. "Is this all he was wearing?" Answering his own question, he pulled out a pair of tweezers and teased free a pink thread. "That will have to wait until I can look at where we found him. No supposition before the facts." He left the room, carrying the cloth with him.
Watson, however, was curious. He couldn't make sense of any of this, not the shredded clothing, not the injuries or rather general lack of them, nor the strange blond hair that was much too long.
"Doesn't look an Aesthete, does he?" Mrs. Hudson remarked as she brought in a basin and several clean cloths. "Doctor, you need to rest. You've surely been up all night. Nothing here but some practical nursing, correct?" She held her ground until he admitted she was right. "If it's not pointless, could you try to convince Mr. Holmes of the same."
Peter got out of Ecto numb. Only habit made him walk to the back, grabbing two packs from the cargo hold, one with its shoulder straps dragging.
Ray hefted the other two out more easily, following Peter to the charger. Finally, when he couldn't take the silence anymore, "We will get them back."
Peter just looked back, wordless, before cycling up the power.
Ray gripped his shoulder and left Peter to empty the traps. He headed over to the phone, dialing from memory. "Hi, Janine. Yeah-- Winston and Egon... I have readings to interpret, they went through the demon's gate. Sure. Be careful. I know." He hung up the phone, and turned.
"Janine coming over?"
"Yeah." Convinced that they would get the others back, Ray also knew time was vital. "Peter, take a shower. I'll know more after looking at the readings." Impulsively, he pulled his friend into a bear-hug. "Thanks for that save."
Peter held on and then slapped Ray's back, shooing him upstairs. With a last look around, Peter followed.
Winston exhaled slowly. Whatever had happened felt like a truckload of bricks. Cautiously he checked that he hadn't damaged anything too vital; at length he sat up. What he saw made him want to lie back down. No cars, no light poles. That he wasn't in the park didn't faze him too badly. That it was dawn was more worrisome.
He rolled over onto his knees, trying to get a sense of where he was and find a way to let the guys know he was okay. _Egon._ They had to get Egon back from the gate. Winston looked for his pack; the emergency release must have opened when he got hit. All he needed was a civilian pointing it at someone.
His search convinced him his pack hadn't made the journey. He might have been out awhile, but it was unlikely anyone had been up to take it. Unfortunately, that also meant he had a walk ahead of him before he could find a phone.
Watson rolled over at the daylight spilling through the curtains, shifting the long arm draped over him. Curious. He turned. It was unlike Holmes to rest when he had a problem before him, no matter how exhausted from the previous case. Asleep, Holmes looked his age and less, the conscious and unconscious affectations gone with their audience at curtain down. Deciding for the moment not to look at the gift too closely, Watson resumed his rest.
"Dr. V, you better help me with these!" Janine kicked the small door shut, quickly rearranging the white and brown bags into a much less stable armful. She clicked over to her desk with her precarious load.
"You bellowed?" Peter slid into view, sprinting to save several of the uppermost bags. "Leave any food in Brooklyn?" He absently shifted the bags about, taking the heavier bags, and leaving Janine with a prodigious, but now secure, armful.
Peter led them upstairs and onto the spiral staircase, pausing only at the lab door. He pushed it open for Janine, trailing inside behind her. He waited, not wanting to disturb Ray. Janine started unpacking the food onto the endtable by the couch, finally prying bags from Peter. He called out to his friend, "Ray, I got food."
Janine's scowl at Peter disappeared before Ray turned around fully. "Janine!" He noticed the smell and then the sight of the food. "Thanks."
Winston was worried. He hadn't seen a powerpole in miles. Despite the well-watered vegetation, the road wasn't even tarred. Either one separately wasn't unheard of, but together it was worrying him. And, still no phone.
He heard wheels coming. Running for the hedgerow, he'd just pulled himself down as a wagon made the bend. It was heavily laden, the horses wearing padded collars he'd only seen on Clydesdales. The clip-clop of hooves and chip crunching wheels receded. It was no more the Budweiser team than the men driving were Pennsylvania Dutch.
"This is bad."
Watson affixed fresh cuffs and collar and headed to check on his patient. Who was gone. He hurried down the stairs, only to find the man in question at breakfast, wearing one of Holmes' more reputable dressing gowns. The long hair brushed straight back gave him a vaguely archaic look. Holmes had already finished eating and was pawing through a softsided bag.
The blond rose from the table. "Sir, I'm sorry that I've taken your bed." He held out his hand, a bit to the side of Watson. "Unfortunately, I cannot even properly introduce myself."
Watson glanced at his friend, before taking the stranger's hand. "Dr. Watson. Do not worry about it. How are you feeling?" He took his place at the remaining plate. Serving himself, he became impatient. "Holmes, what are you doing?"
"As you are aware, I'm a collector of many things. I'm trying to find the strongest set of lenses in my possession." He continued to root, causing a clutter on the hearth rug.
"Surely you'd never wear ones strong enough?" Watson watched their myopic guest with fear for the crockery and linens, knowing full well that Holmes might well risk his eyes so in proper similitude for one of his disguises.
Who was their guest? His movements were smooth and precise, his spatial sense aiding him in not chinking the dishes or spilling anything. Watson would have thought long hair preposterous in their day and age. Somehow, natural curl and all, the effect was almost that of a country squire of a previous era.
"Aha!" Holmes rose, all knees and elbows. "See if these are suitable."
The man schooled away the small twitch at lip and brow, accepting the proffered object delicately. Unfolding the side pieces he fitted them over his ears. "A definite improvement. Thank you."
"Watson, what do you make of our visitor? Don't be bashful; he can hardly contradict you." Holmes smiled at his friend's puzzlement. "He's suffering from amnesia." Finished with the cloth bag, he reached for his pipe, bypassing the dottles and filling it from the Persian slipper.
Watson peered into his patient's eyes. At length he assured himself they were even, if still out of focus with the borrowed glasses. "Do you mind if I speculate?"
"I'd be most grateful if you could tell me my identity."
Suspecting that Holmes had already deduced the very county of the man's birth and possibly having already sent a telegram to his kin, he set to oblige his friend. "I think it's fair to say you're not from the city, nor engaged in manual labor. From your colouration and height, I can only conclude you are from somewhere to the North. Clearly, your accent doesn't have that tone, so you've been abroad for extended time."
Holmes had the temerity to laugh. And not a short, stifled one, but a full throated laugh. Watson was torn between defending himself and apologizing to their guest. "Our dear doctor observes but still doesn't see. I do apologize." He nodded both to the guest and to Watson. "The matter is not as clear as is usually the case. You speak against labor, and yet I've every reason to believe he has recently been carrying over 3 stone on his back. Not just occasionally, but as a habit. Yet," he picked up his guests hand as if he were back at Bart's, "you can see his hands are not marked as they would be if he were a mason or a ditchdigger. In fact, he has a very noticeable writing callus."
"And chemical marks. What would cause these?" Watson kept the smile from his lips, with the aid of his moustache.
"Have you been experimenting with electricity?" With the question Holmes tired of the hand and returned it to its owner. "I'd have to run some tests, but I'd hazard that he's melted thin wire under less than controlled conditions."
Something Holmes knew a lot about. "An inventor. Holmes, that is not so far from my own comments."
"For entirely the wrong reasons. As to him being from the North, perhaps that's true, but not of England. Did you not notice how he held his cutlery?"
Drolly, the blond man picked up the knife in his left hand and the fork in his right. Watson looked at his own fork in his left.
Peter popped another soda for Ray, swapping out the empty. The engineer was in the zone; carbonated and caffeinated, he was unstoppable. Peter settled the can on top of the others, careful not to make too much noise. Janine had zonked out hours ago, and was now tucked under an afghan on the couch. Even Slimer had tired, though it had taken a fair part of the less choice leftovers to calm the spud.
He hated waiting. He hated staying quiet, hated having no way to help. He couldn't sleep, and he couldn't make himself leave even the lab. He looked over at the couch. Janine had understood, running the leftovers down to the fridge and bringing up a trash liner. He adjusted the afghan over her and slouched into the far corner.
Winston pulled the hanging "no ghost" logo off his jumpsuit and stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks before folding the blue cloth into a small parcel. Jamming it between his knees, he shook out the still damp shirt, and pulled it over his teeshirt. He had picked the washline with the most shirts, hoping he hadn't left a man without one.
He knew he was still horribly underdressed for wherever, or rather whenever, he was. Winston had noted that every laborer had at least a vest and hat. He was just lucky he'd not worn jeans. Ignoring that he didn't have even cuff or collar, he tucked his suit under an arm and headed onwards. Egon had to be around somewhere.
Ray looked from the datascreen to his calculations and back again, smiling. "Peter, this is great!" He turned, looking at the couch. His grin fell. His friend was twitching in his sleep. "Peter." Ray went to the couch to wake him, shaking Peter by the elbow, but he continued to jerk and toss silently. "Peter." Ray shook him harder, this time Peter clutching his hand, captured in a vise-like hold. Ray looked over at Janine, standing in the door, her cheeks slightly flushed.
"Venkman, wake up!"
Peter bolted upright, pulling Ray down onto the couch. He bleared around, his eyes still half-asleep. "They're still gone. Not just a nightmare."
Ray looked up from his sprawl. "I know more about where they went. They didn't go to the Netherworld."
Peter grabbed the coffee mug from Janine. He grimaced. "Put the whole cow in there?" Still, he continued to sip from it. "Where, Ray?"
"I'm still working on that. I'm pretty sure they're on earth, but it will take some time to localize where."
Peter thought of remote, inhospitable places without phones.
"It was a full four-dimensional backwash. So where is also a matter of when."
Watson observed Holmes grow increasingly agitated. Holmes had yet to fly from his chair, still trying to gather evidence from their visitor's habits. Gone was the usual apparent languor he assumed while ordering facts. Instead he twitched like a silk moth struggling from its cocoon. Holmes had stopped reaching for or asking to be passed commonplace books quite some time ago.
Watson tried to decipher what was causing Holmes so much consternation. He strongly doubted it was anything as venal as envy. Vain as Holmes was, he was always eager to find intelligence in others. He saved his baser impulses for mediocrity and ineptitude.
Watson was inclined to think this man, whoever he may be, was Holmes' equal. He'd identified the nature of the latest chemical experiments, perused the bookshelf like a child at an unfamiliar confectioner's and fluently answered Holmes' 'trick' of posing questions in various languages. Watson was still deciding if their guest had even noticed.
Before Watson worked himself into broaching the question, Holmes finally burst from the basketchair, "How can I not solve this problem?"
The blond responded. "It cannot be easy identifying a stranger you've never met. I should have the advantage, yet I haven't determined the answer."
Holmes halted, crooked his mouth wryly, and chortled. "I think that's a touché, don't you, Watson?"
Winston had made it into the city proper. Even without seeing a newspaper, he knew when he was. Bustles were after hoopskirts, so the latter part of the 19th century. After the Civil War. Though he was convinced that this was Britain and not America.
He took in his surroundings without letting himself be too distracted. He was going to find Egon, Egon was going help Ray find them, and Ray was going to get them back to the present. And he wasn't going to let Victorian.... wherever stop him.
There was a fair amount of building going on; apparently a spring constant for a big city, whether the 20th or the 19th century. And, as with big cities everywhere, building meant demolitions. Winston was mentally shaking his head as a crew tore into a particularly attractive building. And then he was running.
Debris came down just behind him, as he pushed pram and woman back on the sidewalk. He looked back, giving a small prayer. It appeared that part of the facade had come free from the coursing behind it. Workmen started hustling, carrying the parts of wall back with them.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" The question focused her, breaking her gaze from the decreasing rubble, setting her to checking the infant. Deciding that she'd only been startled, Winston started on his way.
He hadn't gotten far when there was a hand on his arm. He tensed for whatever was coming. "Don't hurry off before I can thank you." The man shaking his hand had on a better sort of coat, though it was covered in grit. "How did you know? That was some sprint! Running straight under it."
"The wall just didn't look right. Can't say if it buckled or it just leaned over." Winston looked up, watching as the men continued muscling the building apart. No safety wall, no hard hats.
"Well, I'm thankful you intervened." The man left after a final handshake
Winston glanced at the coins in his hand before slipping them into his pocket.
Ray worked out his schematics as Peter soldered components behind him. Janine was making order out of the chaos of callers complaining about missed appointments. From time to time he heard her putting rude ones in their places. They probably heard her in Newark, too.
Finished, the device would be a lot like the dimensional gate. In fact, he'd probably end up cannibalizing that device to pull the guys through. Right now, he needed to find coordinates.
"So, how does this thing work?" Peter straightened out the sketch he was following.
"It's going to let me scan for their biorhythms through time."
"We have to do an alley to alley search of a borough--"
"I'm going to send a signal." Ray looked at Peter. "It will be slow, but we'll find them. I have the readings to narrow the search."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"They'll be harder to find the faster we retrieve them." Ray watched Peter look at him puzzled. "The signal will have more to bounce off the longer they are in the past. Time's just perpendicular to the normal three dimensions. More time in the past, the bigger the target."
"And." Peter knew he didn't want to hear what Ray was going to say. No more than Ray wanted to tell him. He needed to know anyway.
"I won't be able to retrieve them sooner than when I find them. Maybe relative to us, but not according to Egon and Winston."
"And a big target means we weren't successful..." They might lose years. Peter pushed the thought back, returning to soldering. "Just find our needles in the haystack."
Holmes was stretched out reading the agony column. The newsprint's rustle and the wafting of his pipe were the main reminders he was still in the room. Watson struggled against remarking, as their guest didn't seem to mind. Instead he kept his attention on the chess board.
It had been their guest's invitation, and had solved his own loss at what to do. Unlike Holmes, the blond man was not impatient for his moves. While Watson doubted that it would be sufficient, he did notice an improvement in his game.
Winston finished his street vendor meal and straightened out the piece of newsprint. He now wore a coat and hat, purchased from a secondhand shop. The sweeper boys still ignored him, but he could tell they now spared a glance first.
He'd had already scolded a girl of maybe seven for trying to pick his pockets. Twenty years hadn't changed the city enough from Dickens' London. He could tell from the paper it was 1888. Too bad he couldn't just look up Sherlock Holmes.
Winston turned at a familiar sound, loping after the footfalls down an alley. Inside he looked around warily, finding it empty. He looked at the ground, spotting a print that matched his own boots. He stepped next to it and then back, seeing the expected difference in size.
He trailed the boot prints down the alley, noticing the toe marks at the blocking wall. Looking around cautiously, Winston jumped and followed.
Ray was engineering faster than Peter could follow, faster than he could decipher Ray's increasingly cryptic diagraming. The lines and symbols were still true, but the words could now as easily be Japanese.
Peter fidgeted on the couch. Generally he was in the lab either to get pry Egon away or help him finish whatever faster. He ran his fingers through his hair. Ray was now in a stretch too delicate for him to be any help, even in a support capacity. Waiting was the hardest part. He was much too worked up to read, and tv wasn't right. All he could do was hold vigil.
Winston had caught up with his quarry. The boy was so skinny he wondered if he'd even live long enough to grow into the boots. He asked, "Where'd you get them?"
The child tried to run and Winston caught hold of him. "Those are my friend's boots. Where did you find them?"
"My boots. Didn't steal 'em."
Winston tried to think. "Have you seen a blond man, taller than me?"
"'ve no seen nobody." He struggled to get away.
"Just show me where you found them. I'm not going to take them back."
The boy went slack and looked up. "You mean it?"
Winston looked from the tree and onto the green. He didn't know that he believed the kid about finding the boots in the tree. The underbrush, maybe. Where was Egon? It had taken most of the day for him to get this far. He started looking for some sign of his friend.
After a long time searching, Winston found Egon's glasses, or rather the bent, plastic frames. He pulled them free and slipped them into a pocket. He wondered if the lenses had even made it through.
"Be ya an inves'gator?"
Winston turned, noticing that it was an older boy, and that the child with the boots was gone. "I'm looking for my friend. He's blond, bit taller than me, looks more because of his build."
"Like 'olmes?"
Winston chuckled. "I suppose." He grew serious thinking about Egon fending for himself barefoot and nearly blind. It'd be dusk soon. "Have you seen him?"
"You mates?"
"Like brothers."
Ray looked at the display, trying to will a reading of the guys. Peter was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees. Ray had tried getting him to go for some air, but the most Peter had been out of the lab was about thirty minutes, and part of that was a shower.
Footsteps came faintly to them. Once they were on the metal stairs, Peter looked up. They weren't Janine's...
"There you are, my boy. Slow season already?" The jacket was blue houndstooth and the bow tie yellow. Rust brown hair hung a bit long around the balding head.
"Dad." Peter looked him over. "How'd you get past Janine?"
"Didn't see her. How are-"
"How'd you get in?" Not that he really needed to ask.
"I happened to be in the area, and I thought I'd visit."
"Damn it. You're on the run. I know it, you know I know it, Ray knows it. I don't have time. We've got a situation."
"I think Mrs. Hudson's been hasty." His eyes were on the street outside.
Watson turned to see Holmes rise from the couch and fold the paper. Then the bell rang again, followed by the inevitable footfalls on the stair. Mrs. Hudson stood on the landing behind the African man wearing a bowler.
"Egon!" Winston rushed into the room, looking his friend over for injuries.
Holmes nodded to Mrs. Hudson, who closed the door slowly. "You know our guest?"
Winston blinked. Even reading 221 Baker Street on the building, he hadn't believed; now he was face to face with a Paget illustration. He noted the jackknife in the mantle and the bearskin hearthrug."Sherlock Holmes. Yes. He's Egon Spengler. Dr. Egon Spengler."
"And your own name?" Holmes looked over the newest addition to the sitting room in his almost listless manner.
"Winston Zeddemore. Egon, are you okay?"
"I know you, sir?"
"No! I've had it with you waltzing in here neck deep. I don't want to hear it was on the up and up, more or less. "
"Son! Pet-"
"You're disturbing Ray, and he's my best chance of getting the guys back. Here---" Peter pulled out his wallet and counted out some money. "That's what I got, take it and get out of New York."
Charlie didn't try pushing the money back at his son. He was in trouble, and he did need to be on his way if he wasn't going to drag Peter into his problems. "Can I help before I go?"
Winston looked between the two Victorians. Neither was going to volunteer information.
"I didn't know myself until you returned my name."
Winston closed his eyes. He'd been depending on Egon to work out something to help Ray get them back. Plan B. "I found part of your glasses in the park but they were twisted badly." He noticed Holmes react to that as he was moving to the shelf. Commonplace books. He'd given the detective a name to work with...
He preempted the detective. "He's of the American branch." He turned back to Egon. "How did you find your way here?"
"It was more that my hosts found me. In the park."
"Mr. Zeddemore, would you elucidate on how Dr. Spengler came to be in the park, unconscious and his clothing in tatters?" Holmes was fingering through the S volume insouciantly.
Winston's eyes went wide. "Boots in the tree." It was a whisper. "We got separated." He continued to look Egon over for signs of damage.
"Of that I have no doubt. You have stopped at the establishment of one of our better secondhand merchants, where you've purchased coat and hat. The parcel you carry is consistent with a garment such as Dr. Spengler had been wearing. Yours must have faired much better, or you would not bother to retain it. You have spent the day traipsing through London. Those are the salient points."
"The question is: Why have you not wired for assistance?"
Ray sat at the bench taming a riot of wires as he rebuilt the transdimensional portal. Peter was acting as an ersatz scrubnurse, passing tools and parts, soldering behind Ray.
Both snuck glances at the monitor, their shorthand of tools and parts needed interspersed with assurances and queries that even the faintest possibilities of a signal match would be brought to their attention. They still looked up in snatches.
"How would I contact anyone that could help?" Winston reined in his frustration. He failed to come up with an explanation that wasn't in some way peculiar. "Dr. Spengler is the one with connections. I have no idea how to contact either his uncle or mother."
The door opened and one of the maids peeked in only to step back, starting to pull it closed again.
Holmes gained her attention. "You may serve dinner. Four tonight."
They were well into their meal when the downstairs bell rang. Holmes had only time to observe it was a woman before the observation was borne out. Watson and Holmes both stepped away from the table, while Egon and Winston sat back down. Watson guided the lady into a chair, making her comfortable and putting her at ease.
"It didn't occur to me you'd be supping. That's how filled with worry I am presently."
"Please explain the matter, starting at the beginning."
"My name is Violet Hamsley and I function as a governess at a relative's house. A fortunate arrangement, I know only too well from my friends not so lucky in their own situations. We are of a mind on what is best for the children, in breadth at any rate."
"It is not because of that that I come tonight. I've had a suitor; my kin know of him and approve, and he has disappeared. I know what you will say, but I am very sure of the gentleman. He would have explained, had his feelings changed."
"What can you tell me of your suitor?"
Janine brought in a moderately large box from their favorite electronics supplyhouse. "Here you go, Ray." She set down the box in a clear spot. "I'm going home, but you call me if anything happens, got it?" She looked from Ray to Peter and back.
Ray nodded slowly with a small frown. "Thanks for running for parts. We'll call." He watched her give the lab one more concerned sweep before leaving and pulling the door shut carefully.
Watson returned to his plate once the governess had departed. "How will you start, Holmes?"
"I'm not convinced that this holds any interest." Holmes ignored the table and claimed his pipe instead. "It's an old story." He took his seat by the fire, ruminative. "It would not be the first time a suitor wooed, then disappeared, upon finding a chimerical living."
"Who is supposing before the facts now?" Watson recalled that they were not alone. "If it is so common, would it not be a simple matter to prove?"
"Very well. One would almost think you'd like to be sure the field was clear for your own suit. I will look into this matter of the missing Mr. Hazelton." Holmes turned to Zeddemore and Spengler. "Would I be correct in inferring that you did not get so far as securing rooms?"
Peter was hovering behind Ray. The engineer was bent over the monitor, adjusting and tinkering. He'd bounded over fifteen minutes ago, responding to something so arcane Peter still wasn't sure if it had been a sound or a light.
"I've got them!" Ray reached back for Peter and pointed at the right part of the screen. "Egon's going to have a blast looking at this data set. You'll never guess where they are."
Peter slung an arm over Ray's shoulder. "Don't need to. Tell me though." Peter let go, and snagged some of the larger components so they could work on assembling the transdimensional and now temporal portal.
"1888. A hundred years!"
"And 'when' will be a place. Wild West, Tahiti?" There was a trace of worry under Peter's banter.
Ray looked back. "I think it's England."
Winston sat up as the gaslight from the bay window lost out to the coming day. He looked to the door, wondering how much earlier it had been when Holmes had slipped out of the rooms. Winston had slept in worse places than a settee; fortunately, this one was nearly long enough even for Holmes. Uncertain as to what else he might do, he went to see if he could find Watson's room.
"Egon?" Winston knocked quietly, hoping he'd picked the right door. He was stepping away to return to the sitting room when the door opened slightly.
"Mr. Zeddemore?" The pale hair was hanging down, the combed side distinctly waved.
If it wasn't for the hair and glasses, Egon could have been at the firehouse. The borrowed nightshirt didn't look any different than the ones he wore at home. "Do you remember anything?"
"I remember an extensive inventory of things. If you mean personal memories, no." He pulled the door wider. "We might at least not disturb our hosts so early." He watched the man's greater than idle curiosity at taking in the chamber and its contents. He turned back to the glass to finish combing his hair. "We are colleagues?"
Winston wished he'd asked Peter at some point what was the right way to deal with an amnesia victim. Heaven knew it was a common plot point in mysteries, yet somehow he'd never asked the psychologist. "Business partners. The guys are going to be worried. Doctors Stantz and Venkman."
"You don't normally call them that. What sort of business needs three doctors? I'm sure I'm not a physician of any sort."
Winston couldn't stifle the chuckle completely. He'd wondered that when he'd interviewed. "Applied research science. We fix problems others laugh at."
Holmes, in the guise of an itinerant tinker, had made a survey of the lands and lanes around the once country manor. Its grounds still extensive, it was starting to be hemmed in by neighbors.
The weather had been too variable for there to be any evidence regarding the missing beau; Holmes wasn't searching for that sort of clue. He looked at the threads caught on the bush at a recent break. He'd almost discounted them as spiderwebs, until the light caught them just so. Arachnids simply didn't spin in such colors. Pulling out a cigarette paper, he detached them carefully and stuffed the folded piece back into his pocket.
Holmes tightened his net, searching the shrubbery. He found more broken, bent or bare branches. The sort of leavings particular to fast passage. Curiously they were situated all wrong. Too far in or up, without nearly a sufficient amount of damage. Intriguing.
Watson looked up from the paper as Holmes breezed into the sitting room. Holmes scowled at the couch, stripped of its linens. He turned to Winston, staring down into his hair.
The close inspection stretched into minutes, Holmes circling until finally dropping into a chair. Watson opened his mouth, but Holmes spoke first. "You've presented a capital opportunity for a student of man such as myself. Fact is a curative to rumor." He turned to Watson. "I'm still uncertain regarding the fiance, yet something interesting is afoot." Holmes bounded from the chair over to the bench. Pulling out the twisted cigarette papers, he tweezed out a filament onto a slide, placing a cover and fixing the whole into the microscope.
"Doctor Spengler, would you take a look at this? Watson, you as well."
Egon peered down, adjusting the magnification quickly. "Interesting." After several moments, he readjusted the scope before turning it over to Watson.
"My word. Holmes, where did you find this? Is there more?"
Holmes smiled. "A few more strands that I plucked from bushes. Someone, or something, was in a great hurry."
"Some_thing_?" Winston glanced at Egon, noticing the look of experiments being planned.
"I do not suppose before the facts. I'm uncertain by what means those fibers were caught at heights of four to eight feet without snags lower down." He paused. "I will find out, though. Watson, we have enough time to pack and catch the train."
"I think we should join you." Egon's words caught Holmes' attention. "I may not remember, but from Mr. Zeddemore's account, this may be a matter within our own profession." His colleague, Mr. Zeddemore, had given a less than satisfactory explanation of their business. His reactions now were more informative.
Holmes blinked. "Very well. We shall have to hurry to make the train."
Winston had thought the attention paid to the group at the station was because of Holmes. Then he realized, if at least part of the publishing history was true, that only one of the stories was in print. They boarded and took a compartment.
Now seated, Holmes leaned forward. "The attention actually took you by surprise."
"Peter's the one that works the crowds." Winston did his best not to let the slip, of using a first name, register on his face. Holmes would be pulling every thread together.
Holmes quirked an eyebrow. "I will some day need to make a study of American customs. Travel between the two continents will only ease further."
Winston took in his surroundings. Doyle, or rather, Watson hadn't spared many words for prosaic details that the readers were inundated with daily. There was quite a shimmy to the carriage despite the comparatively slow speeds. The sheer amount of wood lavished on the cramped space... And it was cramped. Had Holmes set opposite Egon, their knees would have knitted.
"Mr. Zeddemore."
Winston looked up, startled to see that both Holmes and Watson had left the compartment.
"I didn't intend to disturb you. There was a point I hadn't inquired... Is there a lady that I've been courting? At home."
"Why do you ask?" Something about Egon's manner suggested the question was related to the mission they were on. "No." Winston waited.
"Oh." Egon settled back stiffly into the seat. After a few moments he spoke. "I thought... I was wondering about a red haired woman."
Winston smiled. "Janine." He became more serious. "Is that the only thing you've remembered?"
Egon didn't answer. "I've not been courting her?"
Winston didn't reply.
"I'll have to rectify that when we return."
Winston did not notice if the jolt of the train's braking or the return of Holmes and Watson came first. He was swept out of the compartment and then the carriage along with the rest of the luggage.
The first order of affairs was finding rooms at the inn. Holmes and the Keep quickly concluded their business, and they were shown to facing rooms. Winston and Egon were still looking at the single bed when Holmes came to the door.
"I've a dogcart. The light is waning."
The four climbed in, Holmes taking the reins. Afternoon was in its latter reaches, though hours yet remained before dark. After a jolting ride, Holmes pulled up the horse. He made no move from the seat, instead pulling out his cigarette case and a vesta. Winston got out of the cart, Egon following.
Winston turned back to Egon, who was standing in some consternation. Winston started to ask what was wrong.
"I should be taking readings..." The confusion of what sort of readings and how to register them was evident in the man's bass voice.
"Peter-" Winston stopped short. He peered closely at the terrain, the scattered bushes in a mostly clear park. He walked slowly forward, careful not to trample any traces.
"What were you about to say regarding Dr. Venkman?" Egon followed at some distance, with similar care, keeping his feet to the prints freshly made.
"Peter would say _you'd_ want a PKE meter even if you'd forgotten what one was."
"More controlled conditions would have been better to test the hypothesis." Egon scanned the area. "Does anything suggest itself?"
Winston held up his hand and started going from bush to bush, back and forth, then following like a live version of connect the dots. He waved back at the cart, having stopped at some remove from the last bush.
Holmes and Watson joined him, Holmes nearly falling to the ground with his eyeglass in hand. After some study, his eyes darted up, along the bushes and to either side. Ruminating and clearly bringing to mind his earlier investigations he rushed to one side, springing along like a hound upon the fox's trail. "Of all the blunders." Further snatches of deprecations were half muffled by distance.
Watson searched the ground, looking up perplexed from the nettle to Winston's face.
"A pursued needs a pursuer." Winston strode off to join Holmes. Watson followed.
They found Holmes and Egon beyond the bushes, Holmes looking ruefully at the ground. "Before the rain I could have identified the ash. Presently, it is nearly useless. Watson, this has turned into a pretty problem. At least two persons conspired to chase and capture... Confound it, what were they flushing?"
Winston waited. "I think we might want to call on Miss Hamsley."
"What caught those threads on the bushes?" Watson asked.
"I.." Winston didn't think his suspicion would be considered so favorably as improbable. Not by an agency that stood flat-footed on the ground.
Holmes interjected, "Commendable to seek collaboration first."
They quickly reached the front of the manor house. The proprieties of gaining admittance to speak with the young woman took much longer. She entered the library at last.
"Have you found some trace of him?"
"We have several clues, but are still missing some pieces. Pieces I believe you hold." Holmes waited and observed her reaction.
It was calm. "They must be very small; I cannot see them. Please ask and I will pick them out."
"Does your fiance smoke?"
"No."
"Play at cards?"
"Rubbers of whist when it suits my aunt. She's taken with him as a partner."
"He walks rather than rides?"
She smiled. "To better see the flowers in the field. And the other flora and fauna."
Winston took the opening. "Is he something of a naturalist?"
"Not as far as collecting beetles. It's really a more informal pastime. He can always find something new to point out, even in the garden." She blushed faintly.
"Could you show us the garden? It was the site of your meeting." Holmes rose, eager.
Winston noticed the sharp flash in her eye. Definitely hiding something.
"The garden is quite muddy."
"Splendid. Perhaps you can point out a footprint. Such impressions are very distinctive. Weight, height, so much more information than mere direction." Holmes was sheparding her from the room as he talked, paying no heed to her discomforture.
"We'll be most careful of the bushes and flowerbeds." Watson assured her.
Winston restrained a smile at the maneuver and countermaneuver Holmes and Watson deployed.
The four were shown to a large garden surrounded by a stone wall. Small tables were scattered where they could alternately receive shade and sun. Holmes dashed out, while Winston was more cautious of Watson's assurances.
Egon peered down under a bush. Observing the gravyboat, he got Winston's attention. He stuck a finger into it. "The water is still warm."
Winston looked up and around. He didn't see any of the threads. Of course, people didn't generally tear their clothing. "Well, at least some of them are safe. For the moment."
From the other side of the garden, Holmes and Miss Hamsley reacted. Holmes atwitch with curiosity, Violet concerned. Both came over, she rushing in her skirts to keep up.
Holmes peered at the gravyboat before picking it up, noting that it was filled with heated water. His fingers worried at the sanded chips in the porcelain. "One of those missing pieces." He mused into the water, noting the bits of herbs at the bottom. "The picture is turning most interesting. Reading--"
A blur shot from the shrubbery, heading straight for Violet. The men blinked at the vision of a small, winged woman, Holmes somewhat harder than the rest. She was perhaps twelve inches tall in a pale blue shift that matched her large, translucent, butterfly-like wings. Violet looked askance at the fairy, turning as if she could hide the hovering being.
After a few moments, the governess turned back, looking quite pale. Watson guided her to a close-by bench. The miniature woman looked back and then towards the other three, flying past each in turn before approaching Holmes.
Her voice was impossibly high, tinkling. "Her fiance was trying to rescue our friends. They took him prisoner too."
"Our? They?" Holmes snapped his jaw shut, speechless as several other winged damsels crept from the bushes and took flight. Each was color-coordinated, gowns to wings. It took him a moment to separate from their movement just how few they were. "Who are they? Why and how did they capture the others?"
A rosy one spoke this time. "We don't know. They went beyond the rails."
"Because they are iron." Winston thought for a moment. Like vampires, they apparently could be carried over what they couldn't cross on their own. "We're back to one puzzle rather than two. Can you follow the cold trail?"
Holmes smiled slightly. "It would have to be much older to be truly cold."
Light spilled into the main floor of the firehouse and across the growing collection of wire-trailing equipment. Ray and Peter were still bringing stuff down from the lab, Ray in front and backwards. Peter complained, "Why couldn't we do this in the lab?"
"And risk igniting something?" When Peter didn't grouse, Ray continued. "I just want enough room if they come running. We'd just have had to carry all the packs upstairs anyway."
"Couldn't you have at least put some of this bigger stuff together downstairs?" Peter hit a step wrong and had to fight to stay upright. His end sagged dangerously, before he regained control.
Ray set to work assembling the parts together, asking for tools and passing them back. He noticed Peter's sigh once he had the viewer attached and working again. Ray methodically connected the rest of the wires and finally the cables from the packs, slowly powering up the portal. The air between them and Ecto billowed and went opaque. A serving platter sized disk coalesced, its surface rippling.
"That's not big enough!"
Ray looked over his shoulder and his eyes went big. "DROP!!!!" The platter burst apart.
It was true that the trail wasn't cold. It did have extremely cool patches, though. The light was failing and a fog promising rain was coming. Holmes was muttering something about 'for lack of a lantern.' Then, there was light.
Watson's mouth opened slightly as the fairy brightened, becoming incandescent. She was a small green glow, aflame from her tiny toes to her widespread wings. Holmes didn't notice the strange cast, just slithered along the ground searching for clues. Watson looked back at the other two. Dr. Spengler appeared fascinated, without a hint of disapproval, perhaps as if Holmes were a new bird to be reported to the Royal Society. Mr. Zeddemore's expression was more puzzling, almost anticipatory, as if Holmes was confirming something he expected.
Winston quickly stuck out the back of his hand as the fairy sagged and grew dim. She alighted and stumbled, folding into a seated position. A lemony illumination replaced her over Holmes. Winston kept his hand out, bearing the exhausted fae.
As they neared the rails, the fairies held back as if trying to fly into a wind. One stepped onto Dr. Spengler's shoulder, while another alighted onto Dr. Watson. Soon each of the standing men had several passengers, while a lone fairy continued to provide Holmes with light from his shoulder.
One the other side of the tracks they each sprang from their perches, except for the initial light who stayed with Winston. Dr. Watson looked at them as they twittered together, holding hands as they flew. Gossipping like mortal ladies and probably each much older than himself. Now a pink one glowed by Holmes.
"Hood the lattern if you love me!" Holmes looked at the drab structure ahead. A sluggish stream snaked near and a small cinder pile sat to one side. Neither was big enough for a manufacturing concern. And yet, there was dim light coming from a cleaned window high above the floor. "I'm going to reconnoiter." Before he could crawl out, several sets of feet passed over his head, gaining altitude as the fairies separated.
In the end it was a simple matter to pick off the scattered guards, if one could so ennoble the casual laborers employed by such a term. Wisely, they had been kept from seeing the captive fairies; it also made them easily boggled by the free flyers and quick work to subdue. Cornering the 'masterminds', another generous term, required more care and ultimately was assisted by their failed recall of their full sized captive. He swept their legs out from his place on the floor.
Holmes saw to the ropes and knots binding the now-found fiance, pointing out little things to Watson all the while. Winston and Egon meanwhile swept a path through the nails and other ferrous detritus that kept the fairies from simply walking out of the openwork 'cage' that was erected over the run of wooden benches.
Watson looked at the captured men with indignation. He turned to his companion. "Holmes, whatever will we do with them?"
Holmes looked at them sharply, and tilted towards Watson. "You have also concluded that the legal system hasn't an appropriate charge. I fear we shall have to improvise a punishment." The cast of his face took on a most unholy hardness.
"I say." The fiance was discreetly flexing his freed limbs. "The British system is not the only jurisdiction in this matter." He continued as Holmes swiveled. "Surely the fairies have the right to seek their own redress?"
Holmes acceded once he shook off the shock. He was vaguely aware as the fairies tasked a few to fetch whatever aid they relied on at such moments. The rest flew about in pairs and threes as the former prisoners regained their wings. Holmes was preternaturally aware of the carriage ride back to the manor, and yet unquestioning of their route, which seemed not to pass over the rails, or their horses' provenance. They pulled up beside the stone wall seperating them from the garden.
Violet rushed back into the garden from the house, candle in hand. She gripped her fiance's arm with the other, then assured she circled him to verify his health. Finding him apparently whole, she continued her counterclockwise orbit.
Mr. Hazelton wavered. His very shoulders seemed to lose their breadth and his stature shortened. Features sharpened, limbs lengthened. The transformation left a figure bearing a distinct but much changed relation to the former stolid form. The unremarkably respectable suit had also been replaced, with a dark costume of vaguely Elizabethan flavor. He smiled as Violet touched his face and pulled back his hair from now pointed ears.
"What? How?"
"I saw you when I came to check on my subjects." He nodded to the fluttering fairies. "I had to meet you. Will you be my queen?"
She looked at him, almost stared. "Yes." She took his arm, gazing at his face.
The lovers strolled further into the grounds, the others giving them some privacy. Winston was trying to make some sense of it all when one of the rescued fairies flitted over. She started to tumble and Winston reached out. She skipped a few steps over his palm, finally curtsying deeply. Winston looked at her puzzled.
"Thank you, your Highness." She then sprang up on her toes and kissed him on one cheek before flying back to her sisters.
Ray stepped back from the portal yet again. They had recovered from the first setback and were working on at least number five. Peter, he suspected, was counting more finely. "Try her again."
Peter flipped switches, turned knobs and pressed down the trigger button. He'd argued that Ray, as their expert, should stay clear of the device. That Ray would be better able to repair it if he didn't have it blow up in his face. Peter needed something to do, and while the portal wasn't Betsy, it wasn't _that_ different. The rippling platter coalesced, and Peter worked to steady it, gradually increasing its size to where Egon and Winston could slip through. "One manhole cover for a timetunnel. Where are they?"
They had returned to London on an early train. Watson was at his desk flipping through his mail once Holmes finished observing the various exterior details. "Holmes!" He gestured with an envelope at the sovereign sized 'hole' hanging below the ceiling. It was an inexplicable absence, a rupture. The hole pulsed, growing by degrees.
Winston and Egon both approached it, Egon adjusting the borrowed spectacles this way and that. Winston pulled him down as the disk expanded. They looked up. It was the size of Mrs. Hudson's serving tray.
"It's got to be the guys." Winston exclaimed.
Three people looked at him questioningly.
"No infernal hosts spewing forth," he explained. Egon nodded his head slightly. Holmes looked on intrigued, while Watson was aghast. "And, it looks like a new trick. When was the last time a demon tried something new?" Winston looked at it, judging size logistics.
Holmes came closer and tossed an untouched kipper through the portal. "A test is in order."
"Ray!" Peter couldn't see past the equipment; something had come through.
"Fish." Ray looked excitedly at the screens.
"Flying fish?"
Ray went over to it. "Cooked fish." He pointed a PKE meter at it. "Normal except for some rapid tachyon decay."
"Why..." Peter looked over at Janine's desk. "Snap off part of the cactus and toss it through. Just do it!"
"Zygocactus truncatus." Holmes felt the fresh end. "Your friends?"
"Janine has one on her desk." Egon looked over the memory with novelty. He stuck his hand into the hole, slowly up to his elbow. He pulled it back whole. "It's time for us to leave. Thank you for your hospitality."
Winston came tumbling from the portal, rolling into the fall. He looked at Peter and Ray. "You always do that." He stood, brushing himself off, "Just once, I want to come through--" His eyes widened as the portal started to shrink. It stabilized at a smaller size. Winston noticed the click of heels on hard floor as Janine entered the firehouse.
Egon came through onto his feet. Through the inadequate lenses, he took in the room and then people, one by one.
Winston flinched as Egon gazed at Janine. Peter was still behind the portal apparatus, powering down.
Holmes was looking at the shrinking gap, at a loss for any useful instruments to quantify and qualify the event. At the size of a hand mirror, it lightened revealing a large room and five figures including Dr. Spengler and Mr. Zeddemore. "Please pick up your jaw, Watson. Surely the Hindus wore nearly as little. Apparently women's fashion will exchange one impracticality for another for some time."
Egon looked at the dark haired man. Then to the red haired woman, Janine. He turned back. Peter. He looked between them, and started walking forward. He stepped around the equipment and pulled Peter tight, cupping his head. He interrupted Peter's concerned pat down by leaning in for a kiss. Egon and Peter twined together.
Janine looked down. She glanced at them again and then away. "Hey, what happened to my plant?!"