Free Young Sherlock Holmes: Knife Edge by Andrew Lane

you all knowing, but the spirits will allow it to move regardless of my hand, or your hands. But first . . .’
    Theatrically, he raised his gloved hands into the air. With his left hand he pushed his right sleeve up, almost to the elbow, and repeated the same gesture with his right hand and left
sleeve.
    ‘As the magicians say,’he proclaimed, ‘I have nothing up my sleeves but my arms. There are no tricks here – only genuine communications from the dead.’
    Sherlock glanced across the table at Mycroft. His brother looked at him soberly.
Watch carefully
, he seemed to be saying.
Take nothing for granted.
    Albano seemed to catch something of the communication between the two brothers. He glanced from Mycroft to Sherlockand back. ‘And in case any amongst you believe that I have secreted
objects beneath the table which I will later use as props: please, go ahead and check.’ He stared at Sherlock. ‘Be so kind as to look beneath the table, young man.’
    Sherlock glanced at his brother, who nodded in agreement. Sherlock ducked beneath the table. The underneath was bare wood, with no props or tricks attached there.Sherlock reached up and touched
it, rapping it gently with his knuckles. There was no hollowness, no indication of any hidden areas.
    Returning to his seat, Sherlock said, ‘I can confirm that there is nothing beneath the table that shouldn’t be there.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Albano raised a hand and clicked his fingers. Silman, the butler, approached him, holding an object the size of a large,thin book. Albano took it from her and handed it
to Sherlock. ‘Please, tell us what this object is, young man.’
    Sherlock looked at it. ‘It’s a slate – like the kind they use in schools. You can write messages on it in chalk.’
    ‘And is there any chalk?’
    Sherlock turned the slate over and gazed at the back. ‘I can’t see any chalk.’
    ‘Good. Is there anything else you can tell us aboutthe slate?’
    ‘It’s framed in wood, and it has a wooden back.’ Sherlock tried to prise the wooden back off, and failed. ‘It seems to be very robust – I can’t pull it
apart.’
    ‘Please – pass it around the table. Let everyone check it.’ He smiled thinly. ‘After all, as far as the other representatives are aware, you may be my secret
assistant.’
    Sherlock passed the slate to Mycroft,who glanced at it and handed it straight on to von Webenau. From him it went to Count Shuvalov, to Quintillan and then to Herr Holtzbrinck. The German
representative handed it back to Ambrose Albano, who held it in both hands. ‘Then let us start,’ he proclaimed. ‘Later I will demonstrate the power that makes me different from
other psychics – the ability to specifically call on particular namedspirits to communicate with – but for now I will merely see which spirits are closest and wish to
communicate.’ He closed his eyes and threw his head back. ‘I call upon the great spirits of the astral plane! I call across the Great Divide that separates the living from the departed.
Is there anybody there? Is there a spirit willing to converse with us? Is there a spirit willing to act as interlocutorfor the Other Side?’
    Sherlock glanced around at the faces of the others. They held a range of expressions, from rapt attention to mild disbelief. The latter expression was, of course, on his brother’s
face.
    Sherlock looked over at the doorway, where Silman stood. Behind her, he could just make out Niamh’s face in the darkness of the hall. She smiled at him.
    ‘I can feel someone approaching,’Albano said.
    Von Webenau looked around anxiously.
    ‘On the astral plane,’ Quintillan whispered. Von Webenau settled back in his chair, relieved.
    Ambrose convulsively half rose out of his chair, as if he had been electrocuted, then slumped back into a seated position. His eyes were still closed. His gloved hands, which were still holding
the slate, fell to his lap. ‘Identify yourself!’he called in a