"The Curious Case of The Blue Dog? I shouldn't have thought that domestic hounds were of much interest, I retorted, whatever their colour".
"Ah but you’re missing the point my dear chap, missing the point",
Just then Mrs Brown bustled into the room carrying a large tray of assorted pots. The smell was delectable and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"Its your favourite Sir, roast partridge ....and don’t forget to put your slippers on", she winked at me as she left..
We had soon tucked into a delicious dinner topped off by one of Mrs B's favourite puddings jam roly poly and custard.
The conversation had been light, mostly Doyle talking with me happily listening. Soon all my anxieties of meeting up fell away as I relaxed into the evening. He asked about my writing and I said I was working on a few pieces, my head full of the fragments and half scribblings that had been inspired by him. If only he knew!
We were soon back sat in front of the fire, now with two rather large brandies in hand. I could feel a wave of tiredness falling across me, having eaten well and the warming fire and alcohol taking effect. My eyes started to droop as the Major stared into the fire caught in some deep contemplation.
We were both awoken by Mrs Brown bustling back into the room to fetch the remains of the dinner.
"This came for you half an hour ago Sir, I didn't want to disturb you whilst you were eating". She handed Doyle a small packet.
"Who called Mrs B, what did he look like?" enquired Doyle. " I’m not sure Sir, it was so dark and he was wearing a thick scarf and hat against the cold".
Doyle waited for Mrs Brown to tidy the table and leave the room before he opened the packet. In it was a folded scrap of newspaper and a small object that seemed to stop Doyle in his tracks.
He unfolded the paper.
"The Curious Case of the Blue Dog!"
I stared back curiously now half awake.
"That blasted dog again?"
Doyle started pacing up and down in front of the stone fireplace, his genial demeanor now changed to one of consternation." It’s not about the dog, it’s about me!"
I shook my head and looked perplexed, Doyle could be rather obtuse at times.
"It’s a clue, a clue for me to follow, but I’m not sure yet what it all means."
I was more awake now and the effects of the alcohol emboldened me. "A dead dog, no a blue dead dog is a clue, a clue for you. Are you sure Doyle. It all seems a bit far fetched?"
Doyle looked at me and handed me the object from the packet, a gold ring. The cabochon was a fine coin or small medal of almost the same colour, perhaps a shade more bronze and on it was depicted the head of a dog, with hieroglyphic symbols all the way around it. Inside the ring the words 'virtutem tres' had been inscribed 'The Power of Three'!
I looked back at Doyle still no wiser. Doyle passed me the scrap of paper that had been delivered with the ring. It was the newspaper article we had been reading earlier.
Doyle began to explain.
"In my Oxford Days I started a small group, some called it a religious sect with two pals. We were not religious but at an age when ideological and theological views of life and death seem pertinent.
The idea had come from my firm friend Jonathan Tremayne. His father had been an amateur explorer and collector in the 1850-70’s and with the wealth of a family and a significant inheritance behind him he had ventured to Egypt, where interest in archaeological excavations had begun to flourish. Following his first visit he had returned with a host of artefacts and treasures, mainly of a funerary nature, urns and jars containing the mortal remains of the great Egyptians and he had displayed these with a morbid relish at the families ancestral home - Trethcayme in Cornwall. He must also have had the start of an illness that was to eventually take his life for he became a man obsessed, returning to Egypt on numerous occasions said to be looking for the Holy Grail of the Egyptians, a vial containing the blood of ISIS. A scene on an earlier discovered tomb had depicted the legend of the vial and how one drop of the blood contained within had the power to restore life to the dead. To protect the vial from misuse, the legend goes Isis appointed three guardians of the vial and forged three amulets of magical powers, one for each of the protectors. Only by placing the three amulets, one on each of the eyes and one in the mouth of the dead could the blood of ISIS restore life.
Jonathan had taken a keen interest in his fathers pet subject and had spent many hours alone, listening to the stories behind each of the artefacts, holding them in awe, reverence and wonder.
In the final months of Lord Tremaynes life he had become anxious and fevered. He had wanted to return to Egypt to continue his search, but by now he was weak and confined to bed and the doctor dismissed his requests as fevered mumblings. As Tremayne grew steadily worse and ill at ease he began to shout out the names of the Egyptian Gods ‘Isis’ , ‘Horus’ and ‘Anubis’ and ask for forgiveness, to save his soul. Rumours began to circulate that he had been cursed for entering the sacred burial chambers of the Pharaohs. He died with eyes blazing, terrified, tearing at the bedclothes around him.
Jonathan's elder brother George became the next Lord Tremayne and inherited the Estate, but to Jonathan, his youngest son he left the entire Egyptian collection. When he was 21 a packet was delivered from his late father's bank. Upon opening it was a letter from his father outlining his fruitless search for the Vial of ISIS, and wrapped in an antique strip of linen, sealed in red wax with the head of ISIS were 3 gold coloured amulets. The letter was dated in the final month of Lord Tremaynes life and urged Jonathan to guard the amulets and seek the vial.
By that time Jonathan was at Oxford and with another pal we had formed our own set and called ourselves ‘The Power of Three’. Jonathan had felt sorrow for his fathers mad musings, but thought it amusing and apt that we became the three guardians of the blood of ISIS. Jonathan had three gold ring settings made and had the three amulets set into each, one for each of us. We held a small ceremony where we blessed the rings using a combination of Egyptian and Christian paraphernalia and swore to wear and protect the rings for life. We were earnest young men and believed in some higher divinity yet not casting our faith to just one deity. We still meet every 10 years, it is 9 years since I last saw my friends."
I looked back at Doyle, after that story I hardly knew what to think or indeed what it all meant. It had certainly woken me up.
Doyle put his left hand in front of me. On the 4th finger sat the ring, identical to the one I was holding. I had noticed it many times before and thought it merely a signet ring, similar to one my father wore.
"That’s why I know this must be meant for me, this elaborate show, but of what , and to what end I am not sure."
"But surely ", I started, "if you have two of the rings then one of your friends...."
"Indeed", spoke Doyle, now concerned, "I must contact them at once!"
Part 2 : The Blue Dog
https://www.5minutefiction.co.uk/penny-dreadful---weekly-serialisations.html
Copyright M.M.Wake 2015
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