Sherlock Holmes and the Curse Of Moriarty by David Elendune
CAST SIZE:
Ideally 7 (Though can range from 5 to 13)
SUGGESTED DESIGN:
Victorian child's toy theatre built by Alice Cooper
A half wall of the London skyline runs in front of the cyclorama allowing
space for acting/hiding behind and gaps for entrances/exits to/from downstage
SCENE ONE
Winter 1919 - MI5's secret London headquarters - AKA 'The
Dragon's Lair'
An old Englishman shouts from off USL
SIR JOHN WATSON: Now look here Valentine, just who in perdition's
flame do you think you're dealing with!? Well, that's not very
nice Because you see Meares, that's the trouble with your young
friend's generation: they've no respect for their elders. Ah now
wait a moment Valentine, let's not be hasty, I mean how exactly is
it you expect me to go down the stairs? Yes, if you put it that way, I
would rather go feet first. Oh now come on, there's no need to push,
I'm going as fast as I can I said I'm Sweet Lord Kitchener -
NOoooooo!
A blindfolded and handcuffed SIR JOHN is thrown down to the ground by
two hooded goons (MEARES &VALENTINE) who then exit SL.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Ha, ha, level ground. So, where to next
gentlemen: the Dragon's Lair I suppose? No? What's the matter:
cat got your tongues? Ah, you've gone, haven't you? - Hello,
hello, hello? Is there anyone there, there…
GRACE (an attractive woman in her 30's ) slowly enters SR SIR
JOHN looks at her.
SIR JOHN WATSON: There! Look, there's no use trying to hide. I
can hear your
GRACE surprises SIR John by whispering in his other ear.
SIR JOHN WATSON: And why should I trust you?
GRACE: Because I'm not in the habit of offering twice.
SIR JOHN gives GRACE his hands. She helps him up &starts to remove
his blindfold.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Who are you?
GRACE: The new dragon.
SIR JOHN WATSON: What happened to the old dragon?
GRACE: He retired.
SIR JOHN WATSON: [The blindfold is now off] Ah, so you are a
woman And might I add: a dashed pretty one too.
GRACE: Don't you think I'm a little
SIR JOHN WATSON: Old for me Yes most probably, but I didn't like
to say. Although as a dear friend of mine once remarked, "One should
always endeavor to be open to new experiences both good and bad."
GRACE: Now-now, I do hope I'm not going to have to call Mr.
Valentine back in to act as my chaperon.
SIR JOHN WATSON: No, I believe one genital ice bath of an evening is
more than enough for me to be going on with.
GRACE: Yes, I'm sorry about that but boys will be boys.
SIR JOHN sits down gingerly on a chair. GRACE also sits and skim reads
his file.
GRACE: Well now that we're both sitting 'comfortably' Perhaps
we should begin, "Born September 3rd 1855, Sir John Hamish Watson
MC, RRC, DSC, DSO, KCB being the only surviving child of Henry and
Martha Watson And although initially trained as a surgeon, Sir John
is highly skilled in most forms of unarmed combat and is considered to
be one of the best shots still active within the Service" Most
impressive!"
SIR JOHN WATSON: I used to think so.
GRACE: But not anymore?
SIR JOHN WATSON: People change.
GRACE: So I've been told.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Look, whatever it is that you're hoping to achieve
here, it won't work.
GRACE: Why not?
SIR JOHN WATSON: Because I have an agreement.
GRACE: Any agreement you had died with my predecessor.
SIR JOHN WATSON: I thought you said he'd retired.
GRACE: He did: permanently.
SIR JOHN WATSON: How?
GRACE: Officially he suffered a massive stroke.
SIR JOHN WATSON: And unofficially?
GRACE: "Exsanguination resulting from multiple puncture wounds to
the right carotid artery."
SIR JOHN WATSON: Nasty.
GRACE: There're worse ways to go.
SIR JOHN WATSON: I wager he'd disagree.
GRACE: Yes, I'm sure he would, if he hadn't also had his throat
ripped out. [Closes the report] For what it's worth I know that he
would have wanted you to know just how grateful we all are for the
many personal sacrifices you've made in the name of the empire these
past forty years.
SIR JOHN WATSON: However?
GRACE: It is now my sad duty to inform you that it has recently been
brought to my attention that a powerful head of a small, yet
strategically vital Middle Eastern nation, believes that (what with
the Paris Peace Conference having now finally concluded) the time has
come for the Circus to make good on certain of its outstanding wartime
debts.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Once again in English?
GRACE: I'm rather afraid our old friend King Faisal wants your head.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Look, I've already told his people a hundred times
that I didn't know she was his sister Well on the plus side, I
suppose with friends like King Faisal at least you won't be needing
the Americans anymore.
GRACE: Oh come now Sir John, I'd have thought you of all people
would recognize that right now England needs all the friends she can
get.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Especially the ones with all the oil.
GRACE: I wouldn't have put it quite like that.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Oh and how would you have put it?
GRACE: Things change.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Not from where I'm sitting Speaking of friends,
I don't suppose you could ask Teddy to have a quiet word in the
Sheikh's ear for me?
GRACE: We already tried that.
SIR JOHN WATSON: And?
GRACE: Colonel Lawrence's request for a royal audience was
respectfully but firmly declined.
SIR JOHN WATSON: On what grounds?
GRACE: That there also seems to have occurred another
'misunderstanding' involving you and ah yes two of his
Majesty's wives.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Now that's a damn lie: only one of them was his
wife!
GRACE: I see, and the other woman was?
SIR JOHN WATSON: His mother So, what are my alternatives I do
still have alternatives, don't I?
GRACE: I suppose [GRACE looks at a map/globe of Europe]
That it could be arranged for our man in the Budapest, Reilly, to help
you mysteriously vanish from the Orient Express while you're en
route to Constantinople What: you have a better plan?
SIR JOHN WATSON: No, not off the top of my head But you'll have
to forgive me if the thought of going on the run again at my age with
that young reprobate half way across Central Europe doesn't exactly
make me want to shout huzzah from the top of Nelson's Column!
GRACE: And yet being hanged does?
SIR JOHN WATSON: Good point.
GRACE: You'll also receive the undying gratitude of the whole of
Whitehall, not to mention: a new identity, [GRACE displays a small
velvet bag] and a somewhat decent pension.
SIR JOHN WATSON: How decent?
SIR JOHN pulls out a large gem.
GRACE: I should warrant there's enough in there to keep you in
brandy and cigars for the rest of your natural life.
SIR JOHN WATSON: This new identity: it would be of my choosing?
GRACE: Within reason.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Ah well, every season must have its end I suppose.
GRACE: Not in Hell.
SIR JOHN WATSON: No, not in Hell. [SIR JOHN looks at the globe/map.]
And so just where is it exactly that you would like me to vanish to
Sumatra?
GRACE: Certainly not, after all there's still that business with the
rat to be considered.
SIR JOHN WATSON: St Petersburg then?
GRACE: Not since you shot that monk in the face.
SIR JOHN WATSON: India?
GRACE: I think you're forgetting about Lord Chelmsford's niece.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Good Lord, Vicky Spencer-Hughes. Now that does take
me back. No offense, but they really don't make ankles like hers
anymore Oh no, surely not Australia?
Grace: We were thinking more along the lines of Canada.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Brrr, I'll have to buy a hat Mary
GRACE: Your first wife?
SIR JOHN WATSON: Yes She was a great one for hats. I could always
tell how the day was going to go by which one she was wearing Do
you like hats?
GRACE: I find them a necessary evil. So Sir John Do we have a deal?
[SIR JOHN nods, gets up &holds out his hands.] Uh-uh, we're not
finished here yet.
SIR JOHN WATSON: I'm sorry I thought we had a deal.
GRACE: And we do. However I feel that before I can let you ride off
into the sunset there still remains one last mystery that requires
your help in solving. Please do sit down I insist.
GRACE aims a gun at SIR JOHN. He sits down.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Well, since you've put it so eloquently, who am I
to refuse? So, come on then, fire away, so to speak What's so
dashed important that you feel obligated to threaten an old man with a
loaded firearm?
GRACE: Sherlock Holmes.
SIR JOHN WATSON: The deal's off.
GRACE: Are you quite sure I can't change your mind?
GRACE cocks the gun and aims it at SIR JOHN's head.
SIR JOHN WATSON: I said no.
GRACE: Oh dear, now that is a shame. And not just for you I'm
afraid. [GRACE passes SIR JOHN some photographs.] For I must say Sir
John your daughter is a remarkably flexible young lady.
SIR JOHN WATSON: You know I do believe the Devil broke the mould when
he made you.
GRACE: Coming from you I'll take that as a compliment.
Sir John Watson: Oh Jenny Jenny Jenny You're not actually
intending to publish these?
GRACE: I hardly think that's my decision now do you?
GRACE hands SIR JOHN an envelope.
SIR JOHN WATSON: What's that?
GRACE: An article of faith.
SIR JOHN WATSON: These are all the negatives?
GRACE: You have my word.
SIR JOHN WATSON: As you do mine.
GRACE undoes SIR JOHN's handcuffs. He then takes the
negatives/photos and places them in his jacket pocket.
SIR JOHN WATSON: So What do you want to know?
GRACE: The facts Only this time; I'll have the real ones if you
don't mind.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Yes well, that's the problem, dashed tricky
blighters, facts. At first they appear to point very straight to one
thing, yet if you shift your own point of view just a little you find
them pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something
entirely 'different' So, where is it exactly that you would
like me to begin?
GRACE puts 'Study in Scarlet' on the desk.
GRACE: Chapter one, page one.
SIR JOHN WATSON: Of what?
GRACE: Why, your association with Sherlock Holmes of course.
SIR JOHN sighs and takes a long hard drink or two He rises and
talks to the audience while the other cast members busy themselves
striking/setting up the next scene (St. Barthlomews Hospital
cloakroom).
SIR JOHN WATSON: I suppose the when would have been nearly forty years
ago; for the year was 1878 when I graduated my degree of doctor of
medicine at the London hospital of St Bartholomew's. From there I
proceeded swiftly onwards to The Royal Victoria at Southampton where I
undertook the course prescribed for those wishing to become physicians
in the army.
And so it was that within the very next calendar year, I found myself
duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as an assistant
surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I
could join it the Second Afghan War had broken out. On landing in
Bombay, I soon learned that my corps had advanced through the passes
and was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with
many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and
succeeded in reaching Kandahar in safety, where I found my regiment
and at once entered upon my new duties.
This campaign brought honours and promotions to many, but for me it
held nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was (for reason
unbeknownst to me) removed from my brigade and attached to the
Berkshires, with whom I served in the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I
was struck in the thigh by a musket ball, which shattered the bone and
grazed the femoral artery. I should have then fallen into the hands of
the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage
shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a packhorse and
succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.
Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had
undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to
the base hospital at Peshawar where I rallied, and had already
improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to
bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric
fever, that is the curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life
was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became
convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board
determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to
England. I was despatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes, and
landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably
ruined but with permission from a paternal government to spend the
next nine months in attempting to improve it.
Having neither kith nor kin in England, I was therefore as free as the
air - Or as free as an army pension of eleven shillings and sixpence a
day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances I naturally
gravitated back to London, that great cesspool into which all loungers
and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained. There, I stayed for
some time at a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless,
meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had considerably
more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances
become that I soon realised that I must wither or make a complete
alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I
began by making up my mind to leave the hotel in the hope of finding
some less expensive form of accommodation.
[end of extract]