by C J Lutton
“Remarkable,” Holmes whistled, as he swung over the side and carefully made his way down the ladder. “Simply remarkable.” Reaching bottom, Holmes stepped onto the deck of the barge. He turned to gaze up to where I was standing. “Be careful, Watson!” he shouted.
As I lowered myself, I realised why he’d called out the warning. The rungs were slick with damp seaweed. Many a treacherous step nearly caused me to fall headlong into the frothy waters. By grabbing the ladder tightly with both hands, I finally made it to the bottom. With an exhilarating leap, I found myself standing proudly on the deck of the barge.
I expected to feel the solid planking that a barge of this type would have for its decking. Instead, there was a little give beneath my feet. As I took my first, exploratory steps on the rubbery surface, I had the stomach-churning sensation that I was about to crash through the deck and wind up in the water with the barge slowly pressing down on me. My expression must have betrayed my chagrin.
“It takes some gettin’ used to,” said one of the sailors as he observed my troubles. “But in time, you’ll be walkin’ pretty regular.” He escorted me to the hatch where the Bard and Holmes were waiting. “Mind your step,” the sailor said.
The dwarf lowered himself into the hole. Looking up, he cast us a wink and disappeared into the bowels of the ship.
“After you, Watson.” Holmes gestured that I should go ahead.
I wished he’d led the way, as I was not feeling at all brave. With a nod of determination, I got down on my hands and knees and backed into the opening. Once I found one of the rungs with my foot, my courage returned. I gripped the sides of the ladder but my balance was completely out of control, and I fell with a violent crash. “Be careful, Holmes,” I called, my head smarting. “It’s more difficult than it appears.”
I watched as Holmes’ shoe soles appeared. Lowering himself one rung at a time, he arrived unscathed. Upon reaching bottom, he glanced at me, shaking his head. A smile appeared, as he winked and then glanced up at the descending sailor. My head was hurting, my heart was pounding, and to Holmes this was all a grand adventure.
Once the last of the sailors joined us, there was a muffled thump as the hatch was slammed shut. More whirring of gears could be heard, and one of the sailors turned a spoked wheel. A vise-like apparatus spun outwards and clamped the hatch cover.
The air pressure confirmed what we’d seen with our eyes: We were sealed in.
The compartment was aglow with small lamps fitted with red glass orbs as their lenses. The ship reeked of sweat, oil, and other odours that I couldn’t place. The temperature below deck was pleasantly temperate, surprisingly so.
I attempted to see forwards of where we stood, but a curtain had been drawn and blocked my view. On the other side of us was a heavy door with rounded corners. There was the murmur of activity on the other side, as well as the clang of other hatches being secured. The heavy clatter of metal slamming down echoed throughout the ship.
Three uniformed men stood in our presence, and each eyed us with bemused curiosity. Their nearness and unwavering glares made for extremely cramped quarters, and I became quite uncomfortable. The dwarf tugged at one of the seaman’s trouser legs, and without taking his eyes off us, the latter bent at the waist and listened intently to the whispered words from the dwarf. “Very good, sir,” said the sailor, straightening. The dwarf disappeared behind the door, closing it with a solid thump.
“This way if you please,” the sailor gestured as he extended his arm outward. “The Bard has ordered meals to be sent to your cabin. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll see that you’re settled in. I’m sure you’ll want to wash up before anything else. After you’ve dined, you may wish to take a nap. The crew will be occupied with their duties for a while, so we would appreciate it if we were not distracted by any questions. If, however, you wish to stretch your legs, you’re free to roam about the ship. But please, do not touch anything until it is explained to you. There are suitable clothes for you in your cabin. Please change into them before coming forwards.”
As our guide rattled off his instructions, we followed him through a maze of cubbyholes and compartments. Finally we ended up at our cabin. As the sailor opened the door, he smiled warmly. “This is your cabin. Your meals will be along shortly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve other duties to attend. Gentlemen.”
The door closed behind us with a click.
“My word, Holmes. What have we done? Where are we and are we safe?”
His smile was tight. “I cannot say for certain, Watson, but if the intention was to murder us, why not do it at the dock or in the carriage? Why bring us here?”
“And where exactly, is here?”
“I have no idea,” he said bluntly.
“This was right under our noses all the time while we were standing there on the pier! You’ll have to admit that this is incredible!” I whistled excitedly, as my eyes soaked in our surroundings. The cabin, though small, was nonetheless quite comfortable. The walls, paneled with the richest grain of an unfamiliar wood, were polished to a lustrous shine. An ornately woven rug covered most of the floor. The carpet’s many hues of crimson, dark blue, and gold trim, accented the heavy furniture. There were two sleigh beds against the far wall with a nightstand between them. Small velvet curtains covered the portholes.
“I admit it,” replied Holmes, with remarkable aplomb, “There is much that I do not know.”
Against the right wall rested an intricately carved writing desk. Its legs were filled with lifelike renderings of sea creatures, prickly coral, seashells, and mythological gods. All these were inlaid with pearls and jewels. Along the desk’s sides and rear, deeply etched carvings of sailing ships and tropical islands told a seaman’s story of fact and fancy. In the water closet, I discovered a washbasin, created out of one half of a giant seashell with gold spigots in the shape of seahorses.
Inside this very confining room was another narrower door. As I opened it, I could feel heat emanating from a small grill that rested on a shelf high above my head. Above the grill, sitting atop four spiraled legs, was a copper cask with a long pipe extending out of it and tilting downward. At the end of the pipe was a horn-shaped attachment with holes in it. On the right side of the keg was a pull chain with a handle that had been fashioned into the shape of an anchor.
Holmes had crowded into the room and watched over my shoulder. “Pull it,” he said as he nodded at the anchor-shaped handle.
“But the man said not to touch anything.”
“Argh, Watson. Go on, pull it.”
I reached up and grasped the anchor. At the very instant that I pulled on the chain, a loud whooping noise coursed through the cabin.
In surprise, I let go of the chain, and to further alarm me, hot water poured onto my hand. The shock sent me stumbling backwards and I nearly tripped over Holmes’ feet. He smirked at my having been startled.
“Holmes!” I grumbled.
“It’s used for bathing,” he said, stifling laughter.
“I know what it’s used for!” I responded, huffily. “The man said not to touch anything and you encouraged me to do what I did! Must you always take delight in punishing my nerves?”
A knock on our door saved my companion from any further verbal drubbing.
“Enter!” Holmes said.
“Your dinners, gentlemen,” said a portly sailor, as he carried the tray over to the desk. His double-breasted shirt had ridden up above the waistband of his navy trousers, exposing his pinkish belly. His merry demeanor was further enhanced by an impish grin and jolly blue eyes.
“What’s on the menu?” Holmes asked.
“Wondrous things! Oh yes, wondrous things!” Our server sang out as he clapped his hands. With a bow, he introduced himself. “I am the ship’s cook, Peabody. If you want more, all you have to do is ask me!” Bobbing his head up and down, he backed out of our cabin and closed the door.
“Strange fellow,” Holmes mused, sampling the fare.
> “Wondrous things! Oh yes, wondrous things!” I mimicked Peabody and set Holmes into a fit of laughter.
We sat on our beds, eating. The meal was surprisingly delicious. The fish was cooked in a lemon and caper sauce flavored with burnt sage. The rice tasted of coconut, chopped nuts, and dried fruit. A variety of steamed vegetables that I had never seen before were sliced and cooked. These were served in a buttery sauce that was complimentary and delicate. To wash all of this down was a carafe of very dry white wine. For dessert, we were served a flat biscuit studded with bits of candied ginger. When we were unable to eat another morsel, we stretched out upon our beds and fell fast asleep.
Sometime later I awoke to Holmes’ baritone voice bouncing off the walls. He was singing a little sea ditty that had been making the rounds of late. His voice came hammering through the door of the shower bath.
I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But I couldn’t because Holmes kept singing that infernal tune. The door swung open, and a cloud of steam rushed into the cabin. “Most refreshing!” Holmes exclaimed, entering freshly dressed in the same style of clothing as the cook had worn. “Most refreshing! Watson, I’m a new man!”
“Good,” I said. “I was growing very tired of the old one.”
Holmes ignored my barb and rubbed his head vigorously with a towel. “Hurry up, Watson. It’s time to see what this ship is all about.”
“Are you daft?” I asked incredulously, “Or hadn’t you noticed the deplorable condition this tub is in? All about? I’ll tell you what this is all about! This bucket is about to sink, that’s what it’s all about!”
I crashed about the room, angrily snatching the clothes from the bed and brushing past his surprised face on my way to the shower bath. My sour mood was most likely caused by the blow my head had taken when I fell down the ladder.
“Sink?” Holmes repeated. “I think we already have.”
I slammed the door in his face, not wanting to entertain such a horrible fate. After disrobing, I stepped into the cubicle and carefully pulled on the chain. A soft, warm flow of water washed over me, as I leaned my aching head against the stall. There was a slight vibration in the walls. The motion was not altogether unpleasant.
Reaching for the soap, I noticed a sea sponge resting in a small cutout on the opposite wall. Before long, I was singing in full voice, as I worked up the most luxurious lather I had ever experienced. As I rinsed off the fragrant foam, I chuckled and realised that I was singing the same song as Holmes had sung.
28
Feeling completely invigorated and attired in my new seaworthy clothes, I bounded out of the shower bath with a spring in my step. I was about to say something to Holmes, but I found him sitting at the head of his bed with his ear pressed against the wall. Clearly, he was listening. His face held a contemplative look, as he pushed away from the wall. “Do you hear it?” he asked. “Do you feel it?”
“Hear what?”
Holmes pressed himself against the wall again and directed me to do the same.
“Oh, that,” I replied, recalling the vibration I had felt when I leaned my head against the wall in the shower bath. “I imagine it’s just the steam engine.”
“You’re wrong, Watson. That’s not a steam engine. This sound is different. There’s a curious hum to it. Did you observe any smokestack on deck when we arrived? I know that I didn’t. No, this ship is propelled by some other means.”
“Are you telling me that we’re moving?”
“Of course we are. We have been since right after we came aboard. But there’s something else.”
“What?” I asked. I pressed myself against the wall and listened to the distinct humming. I also detected clicking noises.
Holmes added, “Do you hear any water lapping at the sides of the barge? Surely, a blunt-nosed ship like this would produce a pounding reaction of the water as it sloughed through the waves, but I hear no such sounds.”
“What do you make of it?” I asked, hearing nothing of the kind.
Holmes’ perplexed look told me that he didn’t have the answer. Because our faces were pressed against the wall, we didn’t hear the knock on our door. Nor had we noticed that we’d been joined by a tall, physically fit young man with coal-black hair that had been slicked back. Our visitor must have been watching us for some time, for he was completely inside of our cabin before either of us had taken notice of him.
His affable smile shone brilliantly through perfect white teeth. He asked, “Avez-vous bien dormi?”
“I’m sorry?” I fumbled, surprised by his presence.
“Ah, Anglais. Pardon. I have asked you whether you—? Comment dit-on en anglais? Slept well? No?”
“Yes, thank you,” Holmes replied. “J’aimerais parler au capitaine.”
The seaman’s face lit up at Holmes’ impeccable French.
“Ah, oui, Monsieur Holmes. Bien entendu! Le capitaine est avant. Pour suivre moi, s’il vous plait.”
“Merci,” Holmes replied, straightening. “Come, Watson. The captain’s waiting.”
Holmes followed the Frenchman out of the cabin and into the narrow hallway. I took up the rear.
Holmes and our guide continued their conversation. At every opportunity, I explored the recesses of the ship. The corridor’s width was ample enough to allow three abreast, but I chose to follow behind, in order to peek into the various compartments along the way. Most of what I saw were sleeping quarters and storage rooms. But two compartments held an array of strange and unfamiliar-looking equipment and machinery.
We paused when we arrived at an unoccupied reading room. The space was illuminated through the panels in the ceiling. I stepped inside to examine the titles. Many were in English, but an equal number were in French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. The overhead light panels had caught Holmes’ attention, and he and the sailor spoke at length outside the doorway of the reading room. It soon became apparent the entire ship was illuminated by a mysterious light source that was hidden behind a meshed screen near the ceiling. This light source continued the length of the ship.
“Come with me, s’il vous plais, Docteur Watson,” said our guide. Finally, we arrived at the door the dwarf had used when he had disappeared earlier. Our guide paused there.
“Que’ est votre nom?” Holmes asked.
“Je m’appelle Michele. Vous permettez?” The sailor opened the door and gave a polite nod of his head for us to enter.
“Merci, Michele.”
“Au revoir, Monsieur Holmes et Docteur Watson.” Our guide bowed formally and closed the door behind us.
“Ah, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” said the dwarf, smiling upon seeing us. “You are feeling refreshed, no? Why, of course you are, but you are too preoccupied with the wondrous sights to answer such a foolish question. Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it.”
Holmes smiled. If he was as bewildered as I, he didn’t let on. He merely looked ’round, in a casual, disinterested way. However, I’ve learned over the years that Holmes, when taking pains not to evince any reaction to that which was about him, was at his most heightened state of awareness. Of course, if an unsuspecting thief or murderer was the subject of this particular method of scrutiny, he would soon find himself—often when it was too late—examined, dissected, and impaled by my friend’s unerring logic and astounding powers of observation.
But Holmes’ casual manner wounded the Bard’s pride, because the dwarf misread Holmes’ expression. The little man remarked, “Oh, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, that thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?”
Holmes smiled. “I must apologize,” he said. “It’s not often that I am at a loss for words. Watson will attest to that, but this…” Holmes waved his arms about.
The Bard, realising his error, smiled, too. “Oh, I like your silence. It the more shows off your wonder.” He gestured for one of his men to step forwards out of the shadows. “Carlo will answer your
questions. Please, join me when you are through. Carlo?” The little man made a motion of dismissal to his subordinate and then climbed a spiral staircase that led to the deck above. It was a daunting task for one so small.
Carlo was a muscular man with flawless olive skin. His dark, brooding eyes followed the dwarf’s every step with disdain, as he absently ran his fingers through his hair. Suddenly aware that I was watching him, Carlo’s eyes clouded. He turned to me and stroked his impeccably trimmed beard and mustache. His facial hair could not mask the nasty scar that ran down his right cheek, onto his neck, and disappeared into his shirt. He smiled in a most insincere way and said, “Signori, ah, scusi, my English, she is not so good. My name is Carlo Busconi. I am to be, come dice questo…son guida? Your guide, yes? Si? Vogliamo?”
When we didn’t respond, Carlo grinned conspiratorially at us and began speaking again but this time without a trace of an accent! “I’m sorry for the charade, gentlemen, but the captain has his reasons. His requirements of his crew are extremely rigorous. He wants only educated men. Every crew member is required to read, write, think, and speak fluently in any number of languages. I speak nine, myself—Italian, Portuguese, French, English, Spanish, German, Russian, Polish, and Mandarin Chinese. And because of our captain’s—shall we say, penchant for Shakespeare—we must also be familiar with every word written by him.”
As he was speaking, Carlo opened a gridded floor hatch to expose a metal staircase. “Follow me, please, and watch your step,” he said, as he descended the spiral steps. “The captain also demands that we are experts at fencing, boxing, marksmanship, the Far Eastern forms of self-defense, explosives, mountaineering, close combat, and most any other discipline that assists us in quelling an attack. In addition, our crew excels in all of the sciences, including mathematics, geometry, physics, chemistry, engineering, navigation, topography, and a score of other endeavors. This, gentlemen, is the engine room.”
We found ourselves standing in the cavernous, metal-plated belly of the ship. Taking up most of the area, and bolted into the middle of the deck, were the two massive engines, yoked in tandem by a fast-turning shaft of gleaming, oil-coated steel. Exiting at the aft engine, the shaft continued and disappeared into the darkness. From the size of the engines, one would naturally assume that the decibel level would be deafening, but surprisingly, they only emitted a low, powerful hum.
