Volume 3, Issue 2

Golden Grove Vol. 3 Issue 2 Contents Letter from the Editor 3 When Master Meets his Match 4 Book Review 10 Upcoming Books from Misty 10 List of Fairs and Conventions 11 Submission Instructions 17 2 Golden Grove Vol. 3 Issue 2 Letter from the Editor Another quarter has passed and it’s time for a new issue of Golden Grove. This issue has an original story by a new author – Quantum Leek. This is one of her early works, a one shot about Sherlock Holmes. Personally I think it’s a cute story, but I might be a little biased. Work has been a bit crazy this past month since they updated our computer systems and now we are all going through a period of feeling our way around in the dark and attempting to get our bearings. I suppose I’m luckier than some in that I’ve only been working with the legacy systems for a few years and am hopefully not as set in my ways in using them. I don’t envy my co-workers who have been using the old systems since the last change. Con season is starting again, I saw from Larry Dixon’s Twitter account, he and Misty have already been to a few cons on the west coast this year. Our first local con (MTAC) was just over a week ago. I only got to attend on Saturday because I had work travel on Sunday, but I still had fun. I got to see my friend from Evergreen Burrow (she’s become my con Easter-egg, is that a thing?). I love her jewelry and it always makes my day to talk to her. If you like geek jewelry check out her Etsy shop. Until next quarter. 3 Golden Grove Vol. 3 Issue 2 When Master Meets his Match By Quantum Leek I recall quite vividly, to this day without consulting my notes, one particularly memorable occasion which turned out to be more comical than tragic when my friend Sherlock Holmes' abilities were called into use. I say comical, not because of the case itself on which Scotland yard consulted him, but because of a specific event which I found to be particularly amusing. It was nearing seven in the evening when there came a knock on the door of our sitting room and a telegram was delivered to my friend. I watched Holmes as he read this note and noted the change in his expression from one of boredom, to one of interest, to the expression only worn by Holmes when he'd been captured by a wonderfully baffling case— the kind that he required to keep his brilliant mind occupied. "Watson! There is no time to waste—quickly, your coat!" he cried, jumping from his chair as if it were a hot coal, and dashing for his coat and hat. Puzzled, but in no mood to argue with my companion I stood and followed his example—in less than two minutes we were out the door, on the street and in a cab. "Holmes, what—?" I didn't have time to finish the question before he gave me a tut of impatience and thrust the telegram under my nose. It read as follows. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Usually we would not consult you for matters of arson—but this one is particularly trivial and I remember your liking for such cases. The house in question was an uninhabited house; burned not to the ground as one would think it should be, but burned in bits, with certain parts of walls nothing more than ash and the wall inches from them unharmed. Though this is easily explained with the proper investigation, the presence of people in the house could not be. Inside the house was found the body of a badly charred and definitely dead man, and a still- living child who is too young to talk yet. We would much appreciate your professional advice. -Lestrade "Peculiar…" I murmured, unable to think of anything else to describe it as I handed the telegram back to Holmes. "What do you make of it?" "Me? Nothing at all, of course. You know my methods, Watson; it would be foolish to attempt to form theories without proper evidence first," I should have know as much. We were on the scene soon after and found the house just as Lestrade had described it. It didn't actually look like it had been set on fire, more as if something had exploded from within 4 Golden Grove Vol. 3 Issue 2 it. There wasn't much left of any fire; in fact the only evidence that it had once been aflame was the thickly-smoky air, and the ash that littered the yard all around it. Already a large crowd of passersby were gathering, held off the yard by several members of Scotland Yard. The only people standing on the other side of the wall of police were Lestrade himself, a young woman who, observation learned from Holmes told me, was a doctor, and a child no older than two years of age—if even—who must have been the one referred to by Lestrade. The doctor was holding the youngster, who looked not only scarred out of her wits, but on the verge of bawling, which, by the looks of the tracks in the soot on her face, had only just stopped. Holmes and I made our way through the crowd and were admitted into the yard by the police officers and thankfully welcomed by Lestrade, who looked to be in over his head. "I'm glad you've come, Holmes," Lestrade said, certainly sounding it. "I've kept everyone off the yard and out of the house—but I caution you to watch your step if you're going in there, it looks about ready to fall any moment now." "Thank you Lestrade, you've outdone yourself," Holmes said with a slight sarcastic note to his sharp voice. Before Lestrade could work out the fact that this wasn't really a compliment, Holmes was off, searching every inch of the yard, looking like a hound on a trail. Finding it hopeless to try and help him, I, instead, introduced myself to the doctor on the premises as her fellow in the medical field. The woman, whose name I learned shortly to be Saphrin, was quite pleasant to talk to and appeared to be as much at home with a baby on her hip as she was with her medical knowledge. I presumed, from this observation, that she was often around children and, thus, that she was a mother of several—though why on earth a mother of several would be working I had no idea and considered it was safer to leave deductions like this to Holmes in the future; perhaps all women were at home with children. In any case, Dr. Saphrin and I chatted pleasantly, in spite of the none-to-pleasant circumstances, while Holmes paced back and forth with his nose to the ground, and Lestrade watching him with hopeful eyes. Soon Holmes had disappeared into the ruins of the house; and then returned with a look of triumph upon his face. "Well Lestrade, you need not have been so puzzled," Holmes said returned from the ruins, dusting his hands off. "Oh, and Doctor," he added, his face suddenly becoming more serious, "I believe that the one you're holding is not the only survivor in this tragedy—on the second story in the back room—" but Holmes didn't have time to finish his sentence before she had thrust the child she was holding into his arms and disappeared into the crumbling house herself. 5 Golden Grove Vol. 3 Issue 2 I had never before, and have never since, since a look upon my friend's face that was so bewildered and out of place as when he found himself holding the child. It was, to say the very least, the most comical look I have ever seen upon his face. It was not only his expression, which consisted half of horror, half of confusion and bewilderment, which told me he had never before been in charge of a human younger than 12, but the way he held her. Dr. Saphrin had stood quite comfortably with the child perched on her hip, and one arm looped around her keeping her there. Holmes, however, held the child out at arms length, looking at her with bemusement. Unable to contain myself, I gave a short laugh to relieve the pressure of amusement building up inside me. The sound seemed to awaken Holmes from his state of confusion and he attempted to adjust his grip on the child to a more stable position. "Holmes, old man, would you like me to take her?" I asked, hardly able to control my amusement as he tried several different ways to hold the child without any success. "No, certainly not. I can deal with a child," Holmes said in his stubborn manner, finally settling the child in his arms in what would have been nearly the same position as Dr. Saphrin had held her, if Holmes had hips. "Oh, yes, of course," I said quickly, still amused, "You just looked rather out of place and I just thought…." I let my voice trail off; Holmes said nothing though the expression on his face was an indignant one at being thought unable to hold a child. The infant, meanwhile, was looking at Holmes with an expression which looked nearly identical to the one he had worn when she had first been forced upon him.

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