________________________________

Opening extract from

Young Sherlock
Holmes: Death Cloud

Written by
Andrew Lane

Published by
Macmillan Children’s Books
All Text is Copyright © of the Author and/or Illustrator

Please print off and read at your leisure.

 PROLOGUE
The first time Matthew Arnatt saw the cloud of death, it
was floating out of the first-floor window of a house near
where he was living.
He was scurrying along the High Street in the mar-
ket town of Farnham, looking for any fruit or crusts of
bread that a careless passer-by might have dropped. His
eyes should have been scanning the ground, but he kept
looking up at the houses and the shops and at the throng-
ing people all around him. He was only fourteen, and as
far as he could remember he’d never been in a town this
large before. In this, the prosperous part of Farnham, the
older wood-beamed buildings leaned over into the street,
with their upper rooms looming like solid clouds above
anybody underneath.
The road was cobbled with smooth, fist-sized stones
for part of its length, but some distance ahead the cob-
bles gave way to packed earth from which clouds of
dust rose up as the horses and the carts clattered past.
Every few yards sat a pile of horse manure: some fresh
and steaming, surrounded by flies; some dry and old, like
strands of hay or grass that had been clumped together
and somehow stuck.
Matthew could smell the steamy, putrid dung, but


he could also smell baking bread and what might have it turned and slid up towards the roof. Hunger forgotten,
been a pig that had been roasted on a spit above a roaring Matthew watched open-mouthed as the cloud drifted
fire. He could almost see the fat dripping off and sizzling over the sharp edge of the roof tiles and vanished out of
in the flames. Hunger made his stomach clench, and he sight.
nearly doubled over with the sudden pain. It had been a A scream split the silence – a scream from the open
few days since he’d had any proper food. He wasn’t sure window – and Matthew turned and pelted back down
how much longer he could go on. the street as quickly as his malnourished legs would carry
One of the passers-by, a fat man in a brown bowler him. People didn’t scream like that when they’d had a
hat and a dark suit that was showing its age, stopped and surprise. They didn’t even scream like that if they’d had
extended a hand to Matthew as if to help him. Matthew a shock. No, in Matthew’s experience people only
backed away. He didn’t want charity. Charity led to the screamed like that if they were in mortal fear of their life,
workhouse or the church for a child with no family, and and whatever had provoked that scream was not some-
he didn’t want to start out on the path towards either of thing he wanted to see.
those destinations. He was doing fine by himself. All he
had to do was to find some food. Once he had some food
inside him he would be fine.
He slipped away down an alley before the man could
take his shoulder, then doubled back round a corner
into a street that was so narrow that the upper storeys of
the houses were almost touching. A person could climb
straight from one bedroom to another on the other side
of the street, if they had a mind to.
That was when he saw the cloud of death. Not that
he knew what it was, then. That would come later. No,
all he saw was a dark stain the size of a large dog that
seemed to drift from an open window like smoke, but
smoke that moved with a mind of its own, pausing for a
moment and then flowing sideways to a drainpipe where

 
 It was. The finger in question belonged in this instance
to Mr Tulley, the Latin Master. He had just come round
CHAPTER ONE the corner of the school, where Sherlock was standing
apart from the other boys. His suit, which was usually
covered in chalk dust, had been specially cleaned for the
‘You there! Come here!’ end of term and the inevitable meetings with the fathers
Sherlock Holmes turned to see who was being called who were paying for their boys to be educated, and his
and who was doing the calling. There were hundreds of mortar board sat straight on his head as if glued there by
pupils standing in the bright sunlight outside Deepdene the Headmaster.
School for Boys that morning, each dressed in immacu- ‘Me, sir?’
late school uniform and each with a leather-strapped ‘Yes, sir. You, sir,’ Mr Tulley snapped. ‘Get yourself to
wooden chest or an over-stuffed pile of luggage sitting the Headmaster’s study quam celerrime. Do you remem-
in front of him like a loyal dog. Any one of them might ber enough of your Latin to know what that means?’
have been the target. The Masters at Deepdene made a ‘It means ‘straight away’, sir.’
habit of never referring to the pupils by name – it was ‘Then move yourself.’
always ‘You!’ or ‘Boy!’ or ‘Child!’ It made life difficult Sherlock cast a glance at the school gate. ‘But sir – I’m
and kept the boys on their toes, which was probably the waiting for my father to pick me up.’
reason why they did it. Either that or the Masters had ‘I’m sure he won’t leave without you, boy.’
given up trying to remember the names of their pupils Sherlock made one last, defiant attempt. ‘My lug-
long ago; Sherlock wasn’t sure which explanation was the gage . . .’
most likely. Perhaps both. Mr Tulley glanced disparagingly at Sherlock’s bat-
None of the other pupils were paying attention. They tered wooden trunk – a hand-me-down from his father’s
were either gossiping with the family members who had military travels, stained with old dirt and scuffed by the
turned up to collect them or they were eagerly watching passing years. ‘I can’t see anyone wanting to steal it,’ he
the school gates for first sight of the carriage that was said, ‘except perhaps for its historical value. I’ll get a pre-
going to take them home. Reluctantly, Sherlock swung fect to watch it for you. Now cut along.’
round to see if the malign finger of fate was pointing his Reluctantly, Sherlock abandoned his belongings – the
way. spare shirts and underclothes, the books of poetry and

 
the notebooks in which he had taken to jotting down open, trying to quell the spasm of nervousness that shot
ideas, thoughts, speculations and the occasional tune through his body like lightning. He had only been in the
that came into his head – and walked off towards the Headmaster’s study twice before – once with his father,
columned portico at the front of the school building, when he first arrived at Deepdene, and once again a year
pushing through the crowd of pupils, parents and sib- later with a group of other pupils who had been accused
lings while still keeping an eye on the gateway, where a of cheating in an examination. The three ringleaders had
scrum of horses and carriages were all trying to get in and been caned and expelled; the four or five followers had
out of the narrow gate at the same time. been caned until their buttocks bled and allowed to stay.
The main entrance hall was lined with oak panelling Sherlock – whose essays had been the ones copied by the
and encircled by marble busts of previous headmasters group – had escaped a caning by claiming that he knew
and patrons, each on its own separate plinth. Shafts of nothing about it. In fact, he had known all along, but he
sunlight crossed diagonally from the high windows to the had always been something of an outsider at the school,
black and white tiled floor, picked out by swirling motes and if letting the other pupils copy his work got him tol-
of chalk dust. It smelt of the carbolic that the maids used erated, if not accepted, then he wasn’t going to raise any
to clean the tiles every morning. The press of bodies in ethical objections. On the other hand, he wasn’t going
the hall made it likely that at least one of the busts would to tell on the copiers either – that would have got him
be toppled over before long. Some of them already had beaten and, perhaps, held in front of one of the roaring
large cracks marring their pure marble, suggesting that fires that dominated the dormitories until his skin began
every term saw at least one of them smashed on the floor to blister and his clothes to smoke. School life was like
and subsequently repaired. that – a perpetual balancing act between the masters and
He wove in and out of the people, ignored by every- the other pupils. And he hated it.
one, and eventually found himself exiting the throng and The Headmaster’s study was just the way he remem-
entering a corridor that led off the entrance hall. The bered – vast, dim, and smelling of a combination of
Headmaster’s study was a few yards down. He paused on leather and pipe tobacco. Mr Tomblinson was sitting be-
the threshold, drew a breath, dusted down his lapels and hind a desk large enough to play bowls on. He was a
knocked on the door. portly man in a suit that was slightly too small for him,
‘Enter!’ boomed a theatrically loud voice. chosen presumably on the basis that it helped him believe
Sherlock twisted the doorknob and pushed the door he wasn’t quite as large as he obviously was.

 
 ‘Ah, Holmes is it? In, lad, in. Close the door behind smoothly. ‘His Regiment was sent out to India to
you.’ strengthen the existing military force. There has been
Sherlock did as he was told, but as he pushed the door some unrest in the North West Frontier region. You know
shut he caught sight of another figure in the room: a man where that is?’
standing in front of the window with a glass of sherry in ‘Yes. We’ve studied India in Geography lessons and in
his hand. The sunlight refracted in rainbow shards from History.’
the cut glass of the schooner. ‘Good boy.’
‘Mycroft?’ Sherlock said, amazed. ‘I didn’t realize the natives there were causing prob-
His elder brother turned towards him, and a smile lems again,’ the Headmaster rumbled. ‘Not been in The
flickered across his face so rapidly that if Sherlock had Times, that’s for sure.’
blinked at the wrong moment then he might have missed ‘It’s not the Indians,’ Mycroft confided. ‘When we
it. ‘Sherlock. You’ve grown.’ took the country back from the East India Company the
‘So have you,’ Sherlock said. Indeed, his brother had soldiers out there transferred back under Army control.
put on weight. He was nearly as plump as the Head- They’ve found the new regime to be a lot . . . stricter . . .
master, but his suit was tailored to hide it rather than than the one they were used to. There’s been a great deal
accentuate it. ‘You came in Father’s carriage.’ of bad feeling, and the government has decided to drasti-
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘How on earth did you cally increase the size of the force in India to give them
deduce that, young man?’ an example of what real soldiers are like. It’s bad enough
Sherlock shrugged. ‘I noticed the parallel creases in to have the Indians rebelling; a mutiny inside the British
your trousers where the upholstery pressed them, and I Army is unthinkable.’
remember that Father’s carriage has a tear in the uphol- ‘And will there be a mutiny?’ Sherlock asked, feeling
stery that was repaired rather clumsily a few years ago. his heart sinking like a stone dropped into a pond. ‘Will
The impression of that repair is pressed into your trou- Father be safe?’
sers, next to the creases.’ He paused. ‘Mycroft, where’s Mycroft shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I don’t
Father?’ know,’ he said simply. That was one of the things that
The Headmaster harrumphed to attract attention back Sherlock respected about his brother. He always gave a
to him. ‘Your father is—’ straight response to a straight question. No honeying the
‘Father won’t be coming,’ Mycroft interrupted pill. ‘Sadly, I don’t know everything. Not yet, anyway.’

 
 ‘But you work for the government,’ Sherlock pressed. on to the Headmaster. ‘Our mother is . . . unwell,’ he
‘You must have some idea of what might happen. Can’t said. ‘Her constitution is delicate at the best of times, and
you send a different Regiment? Keep Father here in Eng- this business with our father has distressed her greatly.
land?’ She needs peace and quiet, and Sherlock needs someone
‘I’ve only been with the Foreign Office for a few older to look after him.’
months,’ Mycroft replied, ‘and although I am flattered ‘But I’ve got you!’ Sherlock protested.
that you think I have the power to alter such important Mycroft shook his large head sadly. ‘I live in London
things, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m an advisor. Just a clerk, now, and my job requires me to work many hours each
really.’ day. I would not, I’m afraid, be a fit guardian for a boy,
‘How long will Father be gone?’ Sherlock asked, re- especially an inquisitive one such as you.’ He turned to-
membering the large man dressed in a scarlet serge jacket wards the Headmaster, almost as if it was easier to give
with white belts crossing his chest, who laughed easily him the next piece of information than to tell Sherlock.
and lost his temper rarely. He could feel a pressure in his ‘Although the family house is in Horsham we have rela-
chest but he held his feelings in check. If there was one tives in Farnham, not too far from here. An uncle and
lesson he had learned from his time at Deepdene School aunt. Sherlock will be staying with them over the school
it was that you never showed any emotion. If you did, it holidays.’
would be used against you. ‘No!’ Sherlock exploded.
‘Six weeks for the ship to reach port, six months in the ‘Yes,’ Mycroft said gently. ‘It is arranged. Uncle Sher-
country, I would estimate, and then another six weeks rinford and Aunt Anna have agreed to take you in for the
returning. Nine months in all.’ summer.’
‘Nearly a year.’ He bowed his head for a moment, com- ‘But I’ve never even met them!’
posing himself, then nodded. ‘Can we go home now?’ ‘Nevertheless, they are family.’
‘You’re not going home,’ Mycroft said. Mycroft bade farewell to the Headmaster while Sher-
Sherlock just stood there, letting the words sink into lock stood there blankly, trying to take in the enormity
him, not saying anything. of what had just happened. No going home. No seeing
‘He can’t stay here,’ the Headmaster muttered. ‘The his father and his mother. No exploring in the fields and
place is being cleaned.’ woods around the manor house that had been home to
Mycroft moved his calm gaze away from Sherlock and him for fourteen years. No sleeping in his old bed in the

10 11
room under the eaves of the house where he kept all of ‘You look as if you think you’ll never see them again,’
his books. No sneaking into the kitchens where Cook Mycroft said.
would give him a slice of bread and jam if he smiled at ‘It’s not that,’ Sherlock replied. ‘It’s just that I thought
her. Instead, weeks of staying with people he didn’t know, I was leaving here for something better. Now I know I’m
being on his best behaviour in a town, in a county which leaving here for something worse. As bad as this place is,
he didn’t know anything about. Alone, until he returned this is as good as it gets.’
to school. ‘It won’t be like that. Uncle Sherrinford and Aunt
How was he going to manage? Anna are good people. Sherrinford is Father’s brother.’
Sherlock followed Mycroft out of the Headmaster’s ‘Then why have I never heard about them?’ Sherlock
study and along the corridor to the entrance hall. An en- asked. ‘Why has Father never mentioned having a broth-
closed brougham carriage sat outside the doors, its wheels er?’
muddy and its sides dusty from the journey that Mycroft Mycroft winced almost imperceptibly. ‘I fear that there
had already undertaken to the school. The crest of the was a falling-out in the family. Relations were strained
Holmes family had been painted on the door. Sherlock’s for a while. Mother reinitiated contact via letter some
trunk had already been loaded on the back. A gaunt driv- months ago. I’m not even sure Father knows.’
er who Sherlock did not recognize sat in the dicky box ‘And that’s where you’re sending me?’
at the front, the reins that linked him to the two horses Mycroft patted Sherlock on the shoulder. ‘If there was
resting limply in his hands. an alternative I would take it, believe me. Now, do you
‘How did he know that was my trunk?’ need to say goodbye to any friends?’
Mycroft gestured with his hand to indicate that it was Sherlock looked around. There were boys he knew,
nothing special. ‘I could see it from the window of the but were any of them really friends?
Headmaster’s study. The trunk was the only one sitting ‘No,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
unattended. And besides, it was the one Father used to The journey to Farnham took several hours. After
have. The Headmaster was kind enough to send a boy passing through the town of Dorking, which was the
out to tell him to load the trunk on to the carriage.’ He closest group of houses to Deepdene School, the carriage
opened the door of the carriage and gestured to Sherlock clattered along country lanes, beneath spreading trees,
to enter. Instead, Sherlock glanced around at his school past the occasional thatched cottage or larger house and
and at his fellow pupils. alongside fields that were ripe with barley. The sun shone

12 13
from a cloudless sky, turning the carriage into an oven scattered about like toys, with patches of yellow flowers
despite the breeze blowing in. Insects buzzed lazily at the spreading across them.
windows. Sherlock watched for a while as the world went ‘This ridge is called the Hog’s Back,’ Mycroft re-
past. They stopped for lunch at an inn, where Mycroft marked. ‘There’s a semaphore station along here, on
bought some ham and cheese and half a loaf of bread. Pewley Hill, part of a chain that stretches from the Ad-
At some stage Sherlock fell asleep. When he woke up, miralty Building in London all the way to Portsmouth
minutes or hours later, the brougham was still moving Harbour. Have they taught you about semaphores at
through the same landscape. For a while he chatted with school?’
Mycroft about what was happening at home, about their Sherlock shook his head.
sister, about Mother’s fragile health. Mycroft asked af- ‘Typical,’ Mycroft murmured. ‘All the Latin a boy can
ter Sherlock’s studies, and Sherlock told him something cram into his skull, but nothing of any practical use.’ He
about the various lessons that he had sat through and sighed heavily. ‘A semaphore is a method for passing mes-
more about the teachers who had taught them. He imi- sages quickly and over long distance that would take days
tated their voices and their mannerisms, and reduced by horse. Semaphore stations have boards on their roofs
Mycroft to helpless laughter by the cruelty and humour which can be seen from a distance, and which have six
of his impersonations. large holes in them which can be opened or closed by
After a while there were more houses lining the road shutters. Depending on which holes are open or closed
and soon they were heading through a large town, the the board spells out different letters. A man at each sema-
horses’ hoofs clattering on cobbles. Leaning out of phore station keeps watch on both the previous one in
the carriage window, Sherlock saw what looked like a the chain and the next one with a telescope. If he sees
guildhall – a three-storey building, all white plaster and a message being spelled out he writes it down and then
black beams, with a large clock hanging from a bracket repeats it via his own semaphore board, and so the mes-
outside the double doors. sage travels. This particular chain starts at the Admiralty,
‘Farnham?’ he guessed. then goes via Chelsea and Kingston upon Thames to
‘Guildford,’ Mycroft answered. ‘Farnham is not too here, then all the way to Portsmouth Dockyard. There’s
far away now.’ another chain leading down to Chatham Dockyards, and
The road out of Guildford led along a ridge from others to Deal, Sheerness, Great Yarmouth and Plymouth.
which the land fell away on both sides, fields and woods They were constructed so that the Admiralty could pass

14 15
messages quickly to the Navy in the event of a French in- from stone to hard-packed earth. He screwed his eyes
vasion of the country. Now, tell me, if there are six holes, more tightly shut, trying to put off the moment when he
and each hole can be either open or closed, how many would have to accept what was happening.
different combinations are there which could signify let- The carriage stopped on gravel. The sound of birdsong
ters, numbers or other symbols?’ and the wind blowing through trees filled the carriage.
Fighting the urge to tell his brother that school was Sherlock could hear footsteps crunching towards them.
over, Sherlock closed his eyes and calculated for a mo- ‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft said gently. ‘Time for reality.’
ment. One hole could take two states: open or closed. He opened his eyes.
Two holes could take four states: open-open; open-closed; The brougham had stopped outside the entrance to a
closed-open; closed-closed. Three holes . . . He quickly large house. Constructed from red brick, it towered above
worked through the calculation in his mind, and then them: three storeys plus what looked like a set of rooms
saw a pattern emerging. ‘Sixty-four,’ he said eventually. in the attic judging by the small windows set into the
‘Well done.’ Mycroft nodded. ‘I’m glad to see that your grey tiles. A footman was just about to open Mycroft’s
mathematics, at least, is up to scratch.’ He glanced out of door. Sherlock slid across and followed his brother out.
the window to his right. ‘Ah, Aldershot. Interesting place. A woman was standing in the deep shadows at the
Fourteen years ago it was named by Queen Victoria as top of three wide stone steps that led up to the portico
the home of the British Army. Before that it was a small in front of the main entrance. She was dressed entirely in
hamlet with a population of less than a thousand. Now it black. Her face was thin and pinched, her lips pursed and
is sixteen thousand and still growing.’ her eyes narrowed, as if someone had substituted vinegar
Sherlock craned his neck to look over his brother at for her cup of tea that morning. ‘Welcome to Holmes
what lay outside the other window, but from this angle he Manor; I am Mrs Eglantine,’ she said in a dry, papery
could only see a scattering of houses and what might have voice. ‘I am the housekeeper here.’ She glanced at My-
been a railway line running parallel to the road at the bot- croft. ‘Mr Holmes will see you in the library, whenever
tom of the slope. He settled back into his seat and closed you are ready.’ Her gaze slid to Sherlock. ‘And the foot-
his eyes, trying not to think about what lay ahead. man will transfer your . . . luggage . . . to your room,
After a while he felt the brougham heading downhill, Master Holmes. Afternoon tea will be served at three
and shortly after that they made a series of turns, and the o’clock. Please be so good as to stay in your room until
sound of the ground beneath the horses’ hoofs changed then.’

16 17
 ‘I will not be staying for tea,’ Mycroft said smoothly. ‘Goodbye,’ Sherlock said in as level a tone as he could
‘Sadly, I need to return to London.’ He turned towards manage. ‘Give my love to Mother, and to Charlotte. And
Sherlock, and there was a look in his eyes that was part if you hear anything of Father, let me know.’
sympathy, part brotherly love and part warning. ‘Take Mycroft turned and started up the stairs towards the
care, Sherlock,’ he said. ‘I will certainly be back to return entrance. Mrs Eglantine met Sherlock’s gaze for a mo-
you to school at the end of the holidays, and if I can I will ment, expressionless, then turned and led Mycroft into
visit in the meantime. Be good, and take the opportunity the house.
to explore the local area. I believe that Uncle Sherrinford Looking back, Sherlock saw the footman struggling to
has an exceptional library. Ask him if you can take advan- hoist the trunk on to his shoulders. When it was safely
tage of the accumulated wisdom it contains. I will leave balanced he staggered up the stairs, past Sherlock, who
my contact details with Mrs Eglantine – if you need me, followed disconsolately.
send me a telegram or write a letter.’ He reached out and The hall was tiled in black and white, lined with
put a comforting hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. ‘These are mahogany, with an ornate marble staircase flowing
good people,’ he said, quietly enough that Mrs Eglantine down from the upper floors like a frozen waterfall with
couldn’t hear him, ‘but, like everyone in the Holmes fam- several paintings of religious scenes, landscapes and
ily, they have their eccentricities. Be aware, and take care animals on the walls. Mycroft was just passing through
not to upset them. Write to me when you get a moment. a doorway to the left of the staircase into a room that,
And remember – this is not the rest of your life. This is from the brief glance Sherlock caught, was lined with
just for a couple of months. Be brave.’ He squeezed Sher- sets of books bound in green leather. A thin, elderly man
lock’s shoulder. in an old-fashioned black suit was rising from a chair
Sherlock felt a bubble of anger and frustration forcing that had been upholstered in a shade of leather that
its way up his throat and choked it back. He didn’t want perfectly matched the colour of the books behind it. His
Mycroft to see him react, and he didn’t want to start his face was bearded, lined and pale, his scalp mottled with
time at Holmes Manor badly. Whatever he did over the liver spots.
next few minutes would set the tone for the rest of his The door closed on them as they were shaking hands.
stay. The footman headed across the tiles to the bottom of the
He stuck out his hand. Mycroft moved his own hand stairs, still balancing the trunk on his shoulders. Sherlock
off Sherlock’s shoulder and took it, smiling warmly. followed.

18 19
 Mrs Eglantine was standing at the bottom of the stairs,
outside the library. She was staring over the top of Sher-
lock’s head, towards the door. CHAPTER TWO
‘Child, be aware that you are not welcome here,’ she
hissed as he passed.
Sitting in the woods outside Farnham, Sherlock could see
the ground fall away from him towards a dirt track that
snaked away through the underbrush, like a dry riverbed,
until it vanished from sight. Over on the other side of the
town, on the slope of a hill, a small castle nestled in the
trees. There was nobody else around. He had been sit-
ting so still for so long that the animals had grown used
to him. Every so often there would be a rustling in the
long grass as a mouse or a vole moved past, while hawks
circled lazily in the blue sky above, waiting for any small
animals stupid enough to emerge into an area of clear
ground.
The wind rustled the leaves of the trees behind him.
He let his mind wander, trying not to think about the
past or the future, just living in the moment for as long
as he could. The past ached like a bruise, and the imme-
diate future was not something that he wanted to arrive
in a hurry. The only way to keep going was not to think
about it, just drift on the breeze and let the animals move
around him.
He had been living at Holmes Manor for three days
now, and things had not got any better than his first
experience. The worst thing was Mrs Eglantine. The

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