The Flying Scotsman by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett

in a low rumble. “You may do as you must, but our first purpose must be to protect and preserve Prince Oscar, for his death at this crucial time could shift the whole of Scandinavia to Germany, and we would be at a disadvantage, should that be allowed to happen. Put your energies there, gentlemen. Guthrie and I know how to look out for ourselves.” He glanced at me again. “The roof is guarded?”
    I pointed to the building in question. “A constable is posted inside the door to the roof and the door itself is locked.”
    Superintendent Spencer heard this with slight approval. “Somerford’s men, no doubt. He feels the attempt on the Prince’s life—if that is what it was—keenly. Very dedicated fellow. How did your discussion with him go, Holmes?”
    “Well enough,” my employer answered; his manner told me he was holding something back.
    Commander Winslowe, already straight, stood a little straighter. “We will depart at noon, according to plan. We have found a young ensign who resembles the Prince enough for casual observation, and he is willing to embark for Belgium and thence to Stockholm, with a small naval escort. He knows the perils of this undertaking, but he is willing to do it.” His face looked a bit ruddier in the lampshine, but that might have been from the rain on his face.
    “Good man,” Mycroft Holmes approved. “We will hope that the men I must persuade will agree to our plan.” He held up a finger. “Do not discuss this with anyone not directly involved. If you do not have to include him, do not. Err on the side of caution, gentlemen. For tomorrow—or today, isn’t it?— bon chance.” He nodded at the two then said to me. “Come, Guthrie. We have much to do before dawn.” With that he turned away and trod across the slippery cobblestones in long, steady strides.
    I went after him rather more carefully. I caught up with him on the sidewalk. “If you are sending a double to Stockholm in Prince Oscar’s stead, where are you taking the Prince? Has there been a change of plans in his destination? Other than somewhere by rail?”
    “All in good time, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes as he made his way up to the first floor, pausing there before going on. “Is Tyers back yet?”
    “Not when I came down. He may have returned since. Where has he been?” I asked before I could stop myself as we began to climb once more. I was cold enough to begin to shiver, and it was an effort to keep my teeth from chattering in the treacherous spring storm.
    “Why, with the Prince, of course,” said Mycroft Holmes with a smile any Cheshire Cat would envy. “He had one other message to deliver, but after that he has been with Prince Oscar.”
    “Who is where?” I demanded in a tone I would have never used to my employer even a year ago.
    Mycroft Holmes stopped before using his own knocker. “Why, Guthrie, my dear boy, I thought you had surmised it all: Prince Oscar is in Baker Street at my brother’s flat—where else should he be as safe as there?”

    FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS
    Spent an hour in Baker Street with Prince and when I complete this entry I will make a full report for MH. The Prince is not discouraged, although he is upset about the footman. Another man, less rigorously trained, might become overwhelmed by these events, but Prince Oscar is made of sterner stuff, as indeed all royals must be.
    CI Somerford was not available to take the memorandum MH prepared for him, but judging the state in which he departed, and the engagement he spoke of, I am neither surprised nor anxious in his regard....
    The Swedish Ambassador has declined MH’s request for an interview.

THREE muffled chimes marked the hour as Mycroft Holmes looked down at the maps spread out on the study table. “Gentlemen, it is late and yesterday was eventful.” He stretched, joints cracking audibly. “Time to get some sleep. Guthrie, you need not return until eight. I need you rested and