Aim to Engage 2023

18 Moriarity

He blew it again. Will he ever learn? Time to take this into my own hands. He just barges through everything like he's the only person on earth. He's going to learn to listen.

I whipped through my shadow book, looking for the variance I needed for the particular silence spell required. Nodding and whistling, and I gathered the ingredients, opening the proper drawers in my apothecary's chest one after another. Just a pinch of ground owl feathers to add, and I knew it would stop Moriarity cold

This was only the first step. The next one was far more complicated. I might be the fairy godfather for the most inept fool yet to step into this world, but I was also charged with providing Sherlock with his most devious opponent. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was stewing over his latest villain. It has always been my job to be his muse. Far more important than Moriarity's current predicament.

I added the powdered owl feathers to my tincture, and then two pinches of dried salamander tail. This would ensure my silencing spell for Moriarity would expire, but not before he learned to listen. Now, could I add the right reinforcement to put brilliance into his sorry brain?

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"Come now, Moriarty. Your grandfather has sent the most delectable tea especially for you." His mother showed him the tin of loose dried herbs and leaves. Then she put the gift for her daughter down beside it. "Don't you dare touch this. It's your sister's birthday. It was made for her, to give her a reason to live a little longer. You know how ill she has been."

Moriarity snorted. The second the silly woman left the room; he unwrapped the treat. The wrapping was from the best chocolatier's shop in London. Popping the two morsels into his mouth, he chewed twice swallowing them mostly whole. It wouldn't do to be caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

Reaching up onto the mantle, he found the box of treats his father left for after dinner, replaced the two, and re-wrapped the golden tissue paper. No one would be the wiser. Playing the dolt suited him, as he pulled the strings of the household.

"Moriarity!"

He opened his mouth to respond, and his voice was gone. He slipped up the servant's stairs and down the long hallway to the family's wing. Closing his bedroom door, he went to the full length mirror and peered into his mouth, felt his throat, and then stopped to continue his perusal. How had this happened? And why did he even care? He beat his fist against the mirror frame, almost knocking it to the floor.

He kept trying to speak. Saying words, he heard them in his head, but nothing. He fell to his knees, so he could study his face, with his high domed forehead. Was his brain really as big as Papa said? Probably. He pulled stunts to terrify the servants.

"Moriarity!" Damn. He knew that tone. His father likely had a disagreeable task for him. Like balancing the ledgers for the estate, which fascinating now that he thought about it. Why? The task was infuriating the last time he was forced into it.

Why the sudden interest in reading? He was bored. A new sensation. Maybe the answer to his silence was in the library. Learning was never his calling, but the urge was overwhelming now. Father would never find him there.

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Convenient. I am his grandfather, as well as his magical godfather. Now to have Arthur meet him. Perhaps in the library? Moriarity's father was the inspiration for Dr. Watson, perhaps a dinner party. Then offer the library for his research. Surprising what an author becomes curious about.

Moriarity's place at the dinner table was empty. Arthur and Lord Asherby were deep in conversation over brandies. As I listened, I puffed on a satisfying cigar. One of the better imports from Jamaica, or was it Cuba? As the two paused, I took the opportunity to answer a pressing question.

"Where is Moriarity? He never misses a meal, as slender as he is. Usually he's asking for seconds."

"Ah, now there's a puzzle. He hasn't said a word in over two weeks. Just a note on the library door. He's been reading. Everything in there, from natural history to Shakespeare's plays." Lord Asherby shook his head as he spoke.

"Perhaps we should retire to the library and keep him company? Arthur should see it in any case. You have some rare and interesting books." I had the perfect opening to put my plan in motion.

"You've been holding out on me, Asherby. I would be honored to be allowed to study your book collection," Arthur teased.

I stubbed out my cigar, leaving it half smoked and sitting in the ashtray on the dining room table. As usual when my son in law was inspired by a thought, he executed quickly. We went up the grand staircase from the entry way and turned to the left.

I knocked on the door, after reading the note.

Leave me alone. I crave reading. Bring meals. Silence is my muse.

"That doesn't sound like Moriarity," I said.

"Curious, I've never heard you say his name," Arthur commented.

"To tell the truth, I've been ashamed to admit he's my son, but now? I'm happy to introduce you."

We entered to find Moriarity surrounded by several stacks of books. From thick to thin, many had bookmarks caught between the pages. His shoulders were slumped forward, and his chin rested in his hands. His elbow was almost on the plate with a half-finished sandwich still beckoning.

"Son, are you willing to speak with us?"

I did a quick calculation in my head. The tincture should be wearing off.

"Papa!"

The look when the word actually came forth was priceless. I wondered what Moriarity has learned.

"You break your silence, son."

"Imposed by some strange germ, I believe," Moriarity's voice was raspy.

I observed as Arthur's eyes took in the lad's long lean form. They shook hands as my daughter's husband introduced them formally.

"What have you learned, son?" Arthur asked.

"The more I know, the more there is to know. I believe I will continue my studies. A tutor father? If I am to catch up with my peers, I must dedicate myself to learning, and then if Oxford will have me, to teaching."

"Moriarity is it? I have just the man to help," Arthur rubbed his hands together. "Me."