Free Against the Brotherhood by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett

intrude in your affairs, but I would appreciate a minute of your time. You follow the stars, and when a man commits himself to a venture of so uncertain a nature, I would hope he would allow his stars to guide him.” He moved nearer so that I would be forced to admit him or close the door in his face.
    I was curious about the man and his purpose for coming, so I gracelessly held the door open for him, and indicated the single chair in the room; I went and sat on the corner of the bed. “What’s this about, then? And tell me quickly. I don’t have hours to spare.”
    “I have reviewed the information you provided me in regard to your birth, and I wished to remind you that there is a very powerful transit coming up in regard to your natal sun.” He continued to smile at me as if he were a painted puppet.
    “Yes,” I said, wondering what this man was actually looking for, as it certainly was not to inform me of what I presumably already knew. “And they will be most powerful on the eleventh of next month.”
    “And the twelfth,” said the Devon man. “I hope you will let me offer you a little advice in this regard.” He folded his hands, looking for all the world like a small, earnest, nearsighted animal with glasses perched on his nose.
    “What do you want to tell me?” I asked, beginning to think the man’s naiveté was genuine.
    “That it would be folly for you to suppose you may use the favorable conditions of the stars to push for advantage with Mister Vickers. He has much more at his command than the influences of Jupiter and Mars. He will not excuse any lapse on your part, once he has entrusted you with a task.” He scowled and looked down at the toe of his polished boot. “Play him false and you will suffer for it as you have never imagined possible.”
    “Very well,” I said. So this was what the man was doing—delivering a threat for Vickers.
    “He has many servants in this world; some of them are in Germany as well as France. Do not think you will be unobserved while you are on this mission for him. And if you think to escape him, you will discover that there is no place on earth he cannot reach you and exact vengeance for your betrayal.”
    “I will strive to remember that,” I said, as a grue slid down my spine. I had no doubt that this last was true.
    “He is a very powerful force in the world,” the Devon man said, for emphasis. “Keep that in mind.” He rose from the creaking chair. “You might want to read the accounts in the papers two years ago of Henry Gordon-Hughes. There is coverage of the case in the Times. It would be instructive to you to familiarize yourself with the case.” He went to the door and opened it.
    “Henry Gordon-Hughes,” I repeated as if the name were strange to me, though I recalled the dreadful matter well enough: Henry Gordon-Hughes was found on a stretch of sand by the North Sea in Holland. He had been flayed alive.
    “Yes. He failed to complete a mission for Mister Vickers.” And with that, the man with the Devonshire accent was gone, leaving me with a number of distressing thoughts to bedevil my sleep.
    FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:
    M.H. sustained a visit from Miss Roedale of Twyford shortly before noon; she was much distressed that her fiancé has been called away from her at this time. It appears that there is to be an important gathering of her family which G. was supposed to attend and now will not be able to. Miss Roedale informed M.H. that she had not anticipated such disruptions in her life when she learned that G. worked for a member of the government. M.H. did what he could to assure the young woman that this mission could not be helped or set aside, which somewhat mollified the young lady.

“I AM SORRY , my dear Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes the next morning as he arrived at the chamber of Solicitor James about twenty minutes after I had sent word through James that it was urgent I see him. “I would have been here