Sherlock Holmes and the Nefarious Seafarers

by C J Lutton

  “We must be nearing the Clarity,” Holmes said, glancing up at the hatch as it opened.

  Mercifully, the bell stopped pealing but the sound reverberated through the ship for a few seconds.

  “How can we be sure of our location?” I wondered. “Don’t forget we’re fifty feet under the surface.”

  “Not anymore. I’d say we’ve been rising at an angle of four or five degrees for the past few minutes.”

  Of course, Holmes was correct. We had both leaned slightly into the incline without becoming fully aware of our adjustment.

  “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” a voice called through the hatch, “you are needed above.”

  Entering the main room from below deck, we came upon Carlo and a grim-faced and determined crew. One by one, the men’s eyes turned towards the staircase leading to Zeke’s control room. Carlo, standing at the foot of the stairs, glanced up. Zeke’s tiny feet appeared on the top tread.

  As the Bard made his way down the stairs, it became obvious he had dressed for the occasion. By the time he reached the bottom, the entire crew was all smiles. There, in all his glory, stood Ezekiel Emeritus Marder. The little man was dressed in an impeccably tailored uniform. Later we were told it was an exact replica of the one Admiral Nelson wore during the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805.

  The valiant leader called the men to attention, and they immediately responded. They stood as rigid as tin soldiers. Their eyes stared straight ahead.

  With both hands clasped behind his back and staring at the floor, Zeke paced up and down the line of men. Their neutral expressions turned dark and worried. When the diminutive captain passed in front of me, his head tilted upward to reveal his face. Given his men’s scowls, I expected to see a troubled expression on Zeke. But I was surprised to see him smiling. As our eyes met, he gave me a wink and spun ’round to face his men. Looking at his crew, he smiled broadly as they remained at attention.

  “Men,” Zeke began, “the hour is at hand. We have fallen in behind the last ship’s wake and are quickly overtaking them. In a few minutes, all of your training and sacrifice will be put to use. In God’s name, cheerily on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace by this one bloody trial of sharp war.”

  Carlo stepped forwards, extended his hand, and wrapped it ’round the dwarf’s. Zeke shook his hand gratefully. The two exchanged the sort of wordless communication so often seen in friends and colleagues. They were of one purpose.

  “And what of the Nau...?” Carlo, his face ashen, turned to see if we had overheard.

  Zeke, noting that we had overheard, smiled wickedly. “Don’t worry, Carlo, she’s where she’s supposed to be. Now, take your men below and prepare to disembark. Be sure the extra suit is checked and taken with you. It wouldn’t do to have our target swimming on the surface, now would it?”

  Carlo spun on his heels and led his men below.

  Holmes and I followed Zeke down the steps to the diving room. The three of us watched the preparations. The men climbed into their diving suits. In the crook of their arms, they held their breathing helmets. Extending from the rear of the helmets were hoses that disappeared into a cumbersome-looking box that was sheathed in a canvas sack. These boxes, we were told, allowed the divers to breathe whilst under water. The boxes were then strapped to the men’s backs. Around their waists, the divers wore web belts carrying an odd assortment of tools and weapons. One of the latter was an ingenious and lethal-looking crossbow. Its size and shape was the same as a small revolver. Instead of bullets, it could fire small deadly darts that were secured to the sleeves of the diving suits by thin straps. Last of all, the men grabbed diving bags.

  The divers inspected their gear, whilst the other sailors located three wooden crates and dragged them into the diving area. Each crate was carefully opened to expose two round metal objects. Each object was approximately a foot in diameter and six inches deep. Oddly, these disks reminded me of tarnished serving tray covers. In the center of each disk was a lever that spanned half the width of the device. Inside each lever was a dial clearly marked with the numbers zero through eleven.

  The divers watched the other men with great concern as the sailors meticulously set each disk inside a case made of hardened rubber. Once all of those cases were safely packed, the entire crew noticeably relaxed.

  But there was more to be done. Sailors worked in pairs to assist the divers by lifting the newly loaded circular cases chest-level. There was a tension clamp on the back of each case and when the clamp was opened, it would neatly slip through rings sewn on the front of the diving suits. Once the case was in the correct position, the clamp was snapped closed.

  Carlo carried the extra diving suit and helmet over to another rubber case shaped more like a valise. He placed the apparatus inside and snapped the lid closed. Then he lifted the case and rested it on the lip of the diving well. He gave a nod to Zeke and smiled before saying, “Helmets!”

  Each sailor approached a diver. The diver handed over his helmet, and the sailor responded by lifting the helmet and lowering it gently until touched a metal collar ring. Next the helmets were twisted slightly to the right and locked into place. The assistants spun their divers ’round and twisted the valves that extended out of their backpacks. A gentle, hissing sound emitted from these air packs.

  Carlo’s broad smile filled his faceplate, as he balanced the valise he was holding on the lip of the well. He saluted us with his gloved hand and then lowered himself over the lip of the diving well. The water roiled, and he was swallowed up by the cold, murky depths. One by one, his men followed, until all of them were gone.

  “This way, gentlemen,” Zeke said, gesturing for us to follow whilst the rest of the crew made themselves busy. A surprisingly silent Holmes and I followed Zeke to the control room. We watched as the small man climbed into his chair.

  “Will they be all right?” I asked Zeke.

  “My men know what they’re doing. Things done well —And with a care, exempt themselves from fear. Don’t worry, our plan will succeed.”

  “Holmes?” I said, staring into his grey, expressionless eyes. “Why don’t you say something? You’ve been too quiet. What have you going on in that machine you call a brain?”

  34

  “I’m sorry, Watson, but something has been troubling me.” Holmes paused to look at Zeke, who was now paying close attention to the both of us.

  “All right, Mr. Holmes,” Zeke remarked, spinning in his chair. “What is your concern?”

  At first Holmes didn’t say anything. Instead, he closed his eyes and reviewed what he had seen. Suddenly his eyes snapped open. “Those round circles! I thought they were weights, but they weren’t. They’re explosive devices, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, ho!” sneered Zeke, his tiny legs dangling over the chair of his seat. “You haven’t the stomach for what we’re about to do, do you? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.”

  Holmes clenched his fists, as he barely contained his rage. “You speak to me of conscience, as if it were a weakness, an infirmity! Every man’s conscience is a thousand men, to fight against this guilty homicide. Tell me, Zeke, just who do you work for? You know why this is a bad idea.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Holmes, what are you talking about?”

  My friend raised his hand to silence me. “Watson, we are about to become accomplices. Of course! Don’t you see? Zeke wants us to bear witness and thus become unwitting collaborators in this act of war! He is delivering munitions and gold to the French scientist!”

  “Because the British government’s policy is all wrong and unfair.” The dwarf sneered. “The officers are chosen by social status and rank rather than by skill. They see themselves as superior beings and their troops are cannon fodder. Raised to such lofty thrones, they decide who is promoted and who will be sent to the front lines to die.”

  “I rather suspect this is more personal than that,” Holmes said, his voice taunting.

  “All right
!” The little man slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Perhaps it is! They won’t accept me into the military hierarchy. They say I’m of low birth and deformed. I ask you, have you ever seen a more capable commander? No, you have not.”

  “But Mycroft—” Sherlock Holmes began.

  “Your brother refused to help me. When the Royal Navy decided I was unfit to join its loftiest ranks, I went to him at the Diogenes Club. I begged, I pleaded, and I showed him my accolades. My preparation for the admiralty is sterling! Without peer! But he refused to override the Royal Navy’s decision. Mycroft said I could do my part, but I would have to remain in the shadows. Hidden away! He said I was far more valuable to the Crown if I remained a secret weapon. Do you know what it’s like to be tossed aside like rubbish? Well, I do! I decided that I would make him regret that he did not secure an admiralty for me. Using the Queen’s money, I built this barge. I assembled the finest crew in the world. But I don’t look like a naval officer, do I? Nor do I speak with a plummy accent. And so I was expected to serve others—less talented but highborn men—with a smile but never to gain the approbation of the English people! How dare they!”

  I felt my own face redden as I listened. Mycroft’s decision didn’t surprise me. After all, he had to keep both the Royal Navy and the Queen happy, and challenging centuries of history would definitely be disruptive. As a nation, the British believed that one’s hereditary station in life was a prognosticator of exceptional talents and abilities. Of course, I had seen that theory exploited and fail on the battlefield, but I had endured an experience most men had not. Furthermore, the Crimean War had proven how dreadfully inept British leadership could be. But the mythical advantage conferred by birthright endured.

  Instead of going against our national beliefs, Mycroft chose to pacify Zeke, giving him money and a purpose, but keeping the little man in the shadows. Mycroft Holmes’ charge was the British Empire, and not just one disgruntled citizen. Mycroft had managed to exploit the Bard’s skills whilst keeping the small man in a subordinate position. Until now…

  The Bard continued, “We shall see who is fit for high command! Mycroft has sent me on countless missions, risking my life and the lives of my crew, and for what? To stay forever hidden? Enough I say! Time's glory is to calm contending kings, to unmask falsehood and bring truth to light. To Mycroft Holmes and his ilk, my men are a lower caste of humans, a subordinate species, but I saw the courage in them! The talents! These men have heroic hearts. They wanted to serve Queen and Country. But She does not care if we live or die! Then die we shall, but our blaze will burn bright and hot before it is extinguished.”

  Sherlock Holmes was shaking with rage. His body actually trembled, which is a state I’ve seen so rarely that at first I thought I was imagining it. Had Mycroft realised this little man would be so bitter? And so dangerous? I doubted it.

  “Perhaps my brother was right all along. You are inferior. See how you turn on the hand that fed you? I relish the thought of being done with you,” Sherlock Holmes spat out. “If death is to be our lot, then to quote from your friend the real bard, Death unloads thee. But putting our fates aside, I take it that you have other plans for the shipment on those three ships, the Clarity and the two that follow her.”

  Then in a moment of eureka, Holmes said, “Oh, ho! You have sold the arms, right?”

  The small man in the fancy uniform chortled with glee. “Ha! You are smarter than I thought you were! Yes, I have sold the arms to the French so that they might have a chance against British imperialism in the Sudan.”

  “British imperialism?” I scoffed. “What about French imperialism? Are we really that much different?”

  The small admiral lifted his chin defiantly. “I have been promised that the French, with their history of Liberté, Ếgalité, Fraternité, will treat the colonists differently. They are truly a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. Furthermore, I will not be forgotten. I recently posed for a statue that will be erected in my honour as a valiant admiral whose brave sacrifices paved the way to a free Sudan,” said the dwarf. His chest puffed up with pride.

  “I see,” Holmes said in a cold voice. He cast me a sideways glance, and I understood that I was being entreated to hold my tongue. Reluctantly, I agreed with Holmes. It was far too late to convince Zeke that he was on the wrong side of history.

  The little man continued. “To me, attacking the British ships is nothing more than a sound business decision. We confiscated the arms shipment and we will divert it to the highest bidder.”

  “What possible difference can that make if you are dead?” I asked. The question made perfect sense to me. Both men turned to stare in my direction.

  “We are delivering the arms to Mr. Verne, and he shall distribute them to the appropriate French forces. In return, he has promised me that if I survive, I shall be named an Admiral in the French Navy. If I do not survive, the French Navy shall honour me and pay a bounty to my sister, a good-hearted woman who raised me as her own after our parents neglected me and left me to die.”

  Inwardly, I swore a series of oaths on this very subject. The abandonment of deformed infants was a common practice that I had worked assiduously to curtail over the course of my career. I found it especially reprehensible in those families where there were resources to take care of a child, but their fear of social disapproval mattered more than Christian charity. Zeke’s bitter tone reminded me of the many imperfect children who had been cast aside.

  “What do our deaths accomplish?” asked Holmes, in the most conversational of tones.

  “Ah yes, your deaths. A letter has been sent to The Times stating that you’ve been captured and are being held prisoners by the French for spying. Of course, there are enough details provided to make them assume—with some effort, mind you— that your brother is a turncoat.” At this pronouncement, the small man grinned with a wicked sort of happiness.

  “You’re mad!” I laughed. “The British government will never go to war over the lives of two civilians, a handful of munitions, and a boy Prince.”

  “You are correct, Doctor, but she will go to war over the sinking of some of her ships. As we speak, three of the Empire’s fastest ships of the Royal Navy, out of Portsmouth, are being readied to intercept those up there.” Zeke pointed towards the ceiling.

  “B-b-but,” I stammered. “How do you know where the ships from the Royal Navy are headed?”

  “Because, Watson,” Holmes answered, “that’s the way Zeke has it planned.”

  “Very good, Mr. Holmes. Go on.”

  “If I’m correct, you will have sent a message to the Prime Minister, suggesting that we be rescued. Of course, the credentials must prove to be impeccable as to leave little doubt of its authenticity—perhaps our clothes?”

  “Excellent!” the dwarf clapped. “Your clothes and a letter sent by you.”

  “Hah,” I laughed aloud. “That’s where your plan falls apart! The Prime Minister is sure to show the letter to Mycroft. He will notice that it is not in Holmes’ hand!”

  “Mr. Holmes?” Zeke prodded.

  “Most probably, the letter will explain it away. An injury of some sort?” Sherlock Holmes said.

  Zeke nodded, enthusiastically. “Splendid! What else?”

  “It wouldn’t do to be interrupted by news about the Fleet,” Holmes said. “So I would surmise that the information would be delivered at a predetermined time—with enough of a delay to allow you to accomplish your traitorous plan without interference.”

  “Quite correct,” the dwarf said. “We will be lying in wait, submerged, with our eyes open like a crocodile.” Zeke smiled malevolently, rubbing his hands with glee.

  “What’s a crocodile have to do with this?” I wondered out loud. All of this subterfuge was exceedingly hard to follow. “Lying in wait with open eyes? How is that going to work?”

  “Where are my manners?” asked the dwarf with a laugh. “Of course, you haven’t seen one of my favori
te toys.” Zeke jerked his thumb upwards, towards a shiny, metal cylinder that protruded from the ceiling.

  “The scope, please,” he called out to one of the crew.

  The sailor walked over to Zeke and pulled down on a lever. Suddenly, a soft hiss of air escaped, and the cylinder raised up until it came to a quiet stop. Zeke released the catches on either side of the cylinder and snapped two arms into place. Once the arms were locked down, Zeke spun the cylinder ’round whilst turning the handles. Satisfied with the set-up, he nodded at our curious expressions. We could see two eyepieces protruding from the center of the shaft. The dwarf peered into the lenses, twisting the handles slowly. Giggling, he gestured for us to move closer and look for ourselves.

  Holmes peered into the eyepiece and backed away disinterestedly, making room for me. Turning the handles in the same manner as Holmes, I brought the lenses into focus and was surprised that it was well past dawn already, judging from the grey light of the faraway horizon.

  “A periscope!” I cried, staring at the surface of the water. Of course, I had read of such things before, but I had never expected this. Rotating the tube, I could just make out our divers bobbing up and down in front of a dull metal wall. That wall, I realised quickly enough, was the hull of a boat, the Clarity. As the ship crested a wave that lifted it higher out of the water, I saw that the divers had attached those six round devices to the hull of the ship, just below the waterline. Knowing this to be important, and that I was not meant to see it, I had to make Holmes aware without arousing the suspicions of Zeke and the crew.

  “Holmes,” I said excitedly, “come take a look. This is incredible! You can see the divers working!”

  “I’ve seen enough.”

  “I do not want you to miss this fantastic sight,” I persisted.

  Holmes’ eyes flashed angrily, as he nudged me aside. Whilst he positioned himself, I continued, “Take a good look, Holmes. Who knows if we shall ever have a chance to see the sun rise again?” I noticed by Holmes’ tightening grip on the handles that something had caught his eye.