Sherlock Holmes and The Case of The Bulgarian Codex

Chapter XI IN WHICH HOLMES QUIZZES THE KNYAZ

CLUTCHING the ancient manuscript, the Prince led us back to the vehicle. We began the return journey to Sofia. To reassure the public and fend off ill-wishers and rumour, the Codex would be put on public display in a blue silk bag under heavy guard.

For almost an hour Holmes sat in silence at the back of the wagonette. It was clear when I glanced back he was revolving in his mind the bearings of this unexpected turn of events. At last Holmes broke the silence.

‘Highness, there is only one point on which I should like a little more information. Why did you store the Codex in that cave church so far from Sofia?’

The Prince looked back over a shoulder and gave an uneasy smile. ‘They say a dæmon spirit of the underworld called Rim-Papa expelled the monks from those caves and made their habitations his own. You saw how even I chose not enter the cliff without a branch from a sacred apple-tree bearing blossoms? The locals believe a subterranean world is entered through caverns, or hills, or mountains, inhabited by many races and orders of invisible beings, such as shades, fairies, and especially dæmons. The Three Birds live in such caves, birds which sing the dead back to life and the living into death. The whole country lives under a dense cloud of superstition. Even if thieves were told that I stored bars of the purest gold in the Altar stone few would dare venture a single step into the interior.’

‘You concealed the Codex out here for that reason alone?’ my comrade pursued.

‘And because no lesser authority than your British Museum assured me such caves are ideal for the preservation of ancient parchments.’

‘Namely?’ Holmes enquired, leaning forward with interest.

‘As you and Dr. Watson discovered, the air is absolutely clean and free of dust. The interior is in permanent twilight. And, being so deep in the cliff, it remains cool no matter the season,’ the Prince finished.

‘What temperature would that be?’ I asked.

‘A permanent 11° to 12° Centigrade.’

Holmes asked, ‘How long has the Codex been stored there?’

‘From the very moment I ascended the throne.’

‘Which is - please remind me - how long?’

‘Twelve years.’

‘I see,’ Holmes murmured with an enigmatic look.

No one spoke for a further two hours until our host indicated we were about to stop for a short respite. He brought the wagonette to a halt beside a cold, clear brooklet which sang like a swallow as it rippled by. The Prince stepped from the Lifu and gave a signal. A stream of servants emerged from the bushes and ran towards us. Two erected a green-lined parasol. Others opened cases and piece by piece brought out a richly-ornamented wine cooler, three Regency silver-gilt dinner plates and silver-gilt serving tongs. A further servant waiting his turn now appeared, carrying silver tureens which he placed one by one before us.

‘For you, Mr. Holmes,’ said our host, ‘slices of roast beef, to be followed by treacle sponge with Madagascan vanilla custard. For you, Dr. Watson, smoked Scottish salmon - the very dishes which I believe you ordered at Simpson’s Grand Cigar Divan.’

He sighed nostalgically.

‘In my mind’s eye I see Simpson’s now,’ he continued. ‘The crystal chandeliers, the French-polished panelled walls, the roasts carved from the trolley.’

He pointed towards the volcanic rim of Mount Vitosh looming above us, its snow-tipped heights changing to rose and orange with the slow decline of the sun.

‘But when I am there I must be here. When I am here I must be there. I am at peace nowhere for long.’