by C J Lutton
“Two men,” he mouthed. “Heavy smokers.”
Holmes leaned back, resting the crown of his head against the wall and closing his eyes. Feeling exposed and certain that at any moment we would be seen or heard, I could only watch and wait as he mulled over the situation.
“Wait here,” Holmes commanded as he handed me his crossbow.
Before I could voice my objections, Holmes took the gun out of his pocket, ran down the corridor, and disappeared into the cabin he had previously searched.
A crewman at the far end of the ship walked into view. I was standing next to the wall. My heart sank. I could only pray that my uniform had transformed me into someone wholly expected and not an intruder. I shielded the crossbows by tucking them against my far side and pretended to study the nearby door. Preoccupied as the crewman was with a stack of papers in his hands, he moved across the width of the corridor. Without ever raising his eyes, he disappeared behind the wall on my left.
Hearing the hiss of my own breath as I exhaled, I gazed down at my hands. I was startled to see that both crossbows had the safety catches off! How easily I could have killed that strolling seaman! I quickly secured the catches.
“Good job, Watson,” Holmes whispered in my ear. “You did not catch his attention.” Holmes was not empty-handed. He carried a silver serving tray with a white cloth draped over it. “Tuck away the weapons,” he ordered me.
As I jammed the crossbows into my waistband, he placed the tray on my shoulder and instructed me on how to enter the room.
“Be sure to enter so that the tray is the first thing they see rather than your face,” Holmes said before he nodded at the door. “Every second is critical. You must provide me with enough time to assess the situation and act. Ready?”
“Ready,” I replied, smiling determinedly. Holmes took one last look down the corridor both ways, and exhaled deeply.
Tapping on the chamber door with the butt of the pistol he had purloined, Holmes turned the handle and pushed the door open. I hid my face behind the tray and entered the room. “Dinner, gentlemen,” I called, disguising my voice. By the time I had fully entered the room, the two men were rising from their bunks.
“What the…?” I heard one of them begin, just as Holmes’ sap knocked the first man to the floor. The second man, though slightly quicker than the first, fared no better. Holmes whirled. On his way round, he once again used his sap to good purpose. The second man went down.
39
Holmes tossed me a length of rope and a length of torn rag. He bound and gagged one seaman while I did the same with the other.
“What’s next, Holmes?” I asked.
“We mustn’t let anyone find these fellows,” he responded, hoisting one of the men onto his shoulder. I did the same with the second. Seeing that there was no one in the corridor, we ran back to the diving room and tossed the bodies into a crate. We then used a short length of rope to tie the crate shut.
We returned to the empty compartment. Sherlock Holmes walked to the bedside table and lifted a still smoldering cigarette out of the ashtray. Putting it to his lips, he drew on it. Inhaling deeply, he blew the smoke out of his nostrils and permitted little wisps of grey to filter through his puckered lips.
“Curious,” he said, rolling the cigarette in his fingers and studying its glowing tip, “a new species to add to my tobacco listings: seaweed. Quite satisfying, really.”
“We were fortunate, Holmes,” I said, bringing his attention back to the matter. “A seaman crossed from one side of the corridor to the other. He could have seen me as he walked by.”
“But he didn’t,” he replied. “Fortune favours the bold.” Holmes grabbed the ashtray and stubbed out the cigarette. Rising and turning to face me, the great detective shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have any suggestions as to how we should proceed?”
“None,” I replied sadly.
Holmes collapsed in a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. With his head bowed, he massaged the back of his neck in nervous agitation. Gradually, he leaned back, stretching his neck to allow the back of his head to rest on the wooden chair.
The result of achieving such an awkward position was that the skin of his neck was stretched taut, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, as he clucked his tongue inside his mouth. His eyes stared vacantly at the grill work of the ceiling. He continued this most strenuous stretching exercise, until he had the front legs of the chair off the floor as he leaned further back. Then with a thud, the chair returned to its normal upright position. Holmes proceeded to bend over and hug his legs. Exhaling loudly, he remained in this position for some time. I can only assume these strange gyrations are the result of a book he’s been reading on the practices of swamis in India.
In a matter of seconds, Holmes rose from his chair with an obvious air of determined purpose. “It’s time to put it to them, Watson. Let’s see what they’re up to.”
“But how? We can’t just walk in and ask them!”
“True enough, but we can find out what’s happening, just the same.”
Walking about the compartment with his eyes examining the ceiling, Holmes, found what he was looking for. He pointed to a nearly invisible hinge in the ceiling’s grill, near the corner of the room. Standing on a chair, he slowly moved his fingers away from the hinge in search of the release that he knew had to be nearby. Holmes’ hand hesitated over a recessed lattice, and he smiled down on my upturned face. He gripped the camouflaged piece between thumb and forefinger and applied a slight pressure. The panel swung down.
Standing on his toes, he raised his head above the grid and into the blackness above. “Hullo,” he said, retracting his head back into the light. “It’s just as I suspected, Watson. If you recall, the barge’s floor was a series of grids that concealed the pipes, cables, hoses, and so on, underneath and out of the way.”
Holmes stepped down off the chair. “This ship has it reversed. Everything is in the ceiling and covered by a grid. All we need do is climb up and into the gridwork, and we can roam the ship, undisturbed and unobserved.”
“That sounds too easy, Holmes,” I said, gazing up at the opening. “What do we do once we’re up there? Your plan sounds vague at best, and if we are found out, we’ve nowhere to go.”
Holmes was about to snipe at my caution but thought better of it. “It’s the best we can hope for, but we won’t wander aimlessly. If we remain here, we run the risk of being captured. Surely, these two men will be missed in time. Help me straighten up this room, then we’ll be on our way.”
We erased all signs of our deed and climbed up into the ceiling. The crawl space reeked of machine oil and stale odours, but what was most worrisome to me was the possibility of our crashing through the ceiling and into the hands of the enemy.
“Grab hold of my feet,” Holmes whispered, as he dangled back down into the room. While I held his shoes, he reached down for the chair we had used and moved it into its original position, which was away from the opening. After taking a last look round the room for any signs of our occupancy, Holmes shimmied back into the grill work. He pulled the lattice panel over the duct and locked it securely.
“All right,” Holmes whispered. “Stay close behind and be sure to stay on the beams. Under no circumstances should you lean on the grids, understand?”
I nodded. Of course, I did. The beams could support us, the grids might not. Though it was dark, there was enough light filtering in from below that we could see each other clearly. We crawled along. I found that with each movement, the pattern of the grids’ shadow moved across our faces, as if it were a living and a never-ending series of puzzle pieces, racing to keep abreast of a changing landscape. With my active imagination, I found it somewhat disquieting.
We moved inexorably forwards at a snail’s pace. We two—our bodies sprawled, our hands and feet guided by the beam—crawled ever onward. As we traversed the inner veins and skeleton of the ship, I marveled at its complexity. But fearing to let my mind wander, I re
called that the purpose of this monster was to sink Her Majesty’s Fleet and bring England into war with France. That spurred me to action.
Holmes stopped and waved me forwards, putting his finger to his lips and cautioning me to silence. As I crept forwards, I could hear voices coming from below where my friend was now crouched. I leaned forwards and stared down into the cabin.
“I don’t like it,” said one of the men who was out of my view, but apparently not out of Holmes’, for my friend was following the man with his eyes, as the fellow paced the floor below.
“What don’t you like?” retorted another voice. “Jaeger said that as soon as we make the Fleet strike its colours, we can have anything we want.”
“But, what if…?”
“What if, nothing!” the voice interrupted, carping angrily at the other. “We got our orders. We attack the British ships, get ’em to surrender, and take all the plunder. Then we climb aboard the barge and blow up this monster. Don’t forget, that old fool, Captain Verne, already saw his sister and watched us pour that laudanum down her gullet. He knows that if he don’t do what Jaeger wants, she’d a dead woman for sure.”
“Argh,” the other replied, disgustedly, “I don’t want to be lookin’ after her, while you gets all the gold. What’s the use? I should do her in now and get it over wid.”
“Ha! But she’s a lovely girl. Don’t see many of them, do ya?”
“No, but who needs the trouble? She put up a rare fight, she did. Ain’t worth the trouble, if you ask me. Besides, having a woman on a ship is bad luck. We need to get rid of her, throw her off the side of the ship and be done with her. Besides, I want to get my share of that treasure Jaeger promised.”
“That’s me ol’ mate talkin’ again! Right, bash the skirt, and have done with it. Don’t matter to me none whether she’s the loveliest bit of jam or not. Go ahead and get the job done. I’ll wait here. Do it right, and come meet me back here. Knock twice when you’re finished, and I’ll let ya in.”
Holmes and I looked at each other. Even in the dark, we could see the shock in each other’s eyes. This brutal turn of events had alarmed us. A woman here on this ship was about to be murdered!
“Wait here,” Holmes whispered, hearing the door open below. “Have you your sap? And your crossbow? Good. Give me mine, please. Keep an eye on the man in the cabin. If he tries to leave, stop him. I’ll take care of our other friend.”
Holmes inched his way backwards and disappeared into the shadows without a sound.
After shifting my position, I readied my crossbow and pointed it through the grid at the man pacing below. Keeping the pirate in sight was a difficult task, for he would wander in and out of sight as he walked about the cabin. Finally, he perched himself on the end of his bunk, and I held him in my sight, pointing my fléchette at his lower leg. I could not bring myself to kill him in cold blood, but if I crippled him with the crossbow, I could finish the job with the sap and knock him out cold.
Although it seemed as if hours had passed since Holmes disappeared, in actuality only a few minutes went by. But I drew back in fear when I heard the two distinct taps on the door below. I felt a horrible hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. The man had returned! Holmes couldn’t save the poor woman’s life! And the rogue was now knocking on the door to gloat over his deed.
“It’s about time!” said the man I’d been watching as he walked out of view. “Keep ya knickers on.” I listened as he undid the lock. I cursed my helplessness, as he opened the door. “Well,” he said, “that didn’t take—” But his voice ended with a muffled groan.
40
My finger tensed on the trigger, as the man in the cabin below me staggered backwards into view. Holmes had taken the sap to the sailor’s head and knocked him unconscious. Deftly, Holmes used rope and a makeshift gag to keep the fellow under our power and silent.
Holmes glanced up to where I was crouching and whispered, “Watson, go straight along the beams for another twenty or so feet. You’ll see the open panel. You will find a woman there who requires your medical expertise. I’ll join you as soon as I get rid of this man. Now, hurry. There’s no time to lose.”
I followed Holmes’ instructions and crawled to the open panel. I lowered myself into the confines of a small, dimly lit cabin. A woman was lying on her stomach on a bed with her face turned to the wall. Her hair was undone, so it fell over her features like a thick veil of dark silk. I immediately took her pulse. It was a tad fast, but strong. From the rise and fall of her back, I could see her breathing was regular. Her skin was cold and a bit clammy to the touch. On the bedside table next to her was a brown glass bottle half-filled with laudanum. The label did not share the patient’s name.
Holmes walked casually into the room. “Tend to her,” he said.
“Without my kit, there’s nothing I can do, Holmes. It’s plain to see that she’s been abused by some drug, but her heart is strong and her pulse, though rapid, is steady. The best I can hope for is that she’ll come out of it on her own.”
“All right,” Holmes whispered, “but if she comes to, make sure she remains quiet. We don’t want her to scream and give us away.”
“Right,” I replied, taking pity on the woman. “Perhaps I can rouse her slowly.”
I found a glass and a tumbler of water. Setting it on the floor, I propped myself up next to the woman on the bed so I could move her more easily. Holding her by the shoulders, I rolled her over. As I did, her dark hair fell away from her features. Holmes gasped.
“Maria Morel!” he said.
I was equally shocked.
“By Jove, at least we’ll be able to tie up one end of this tangled thread. Right, Watson?”
“I hope so, Holmes,” I said.
Slowly Mrs. Morel became lucid. I asked her if she knew her name.
“Maria,” she mumbled.
“And where are you?”
“I-I-I am with Jules, my brother, on his ship.” Mrs. Morel buried her head in her hands. “Oh, no! What have I done! My brother! His life is at risk! Jaeger has him!”
I turned to Holmes. “Jules Verne? The author who wrote…” and then I stopped. I gawped at Holmes. He nodded and a wry smile twitched his lips. Inwardly, I grumbled as I suspected Holmes had known who this lady was all along.
Holmes took my hesitation as a chance to intervene. In his most cordial voice he said, “We are honoured to see you again, Mrs. Morel, or perhaps I should call you Maria Verne?”
She sighed. “As you wish. I don’t care.”
As usual, Holmes had a plan. “I want you, Watson, to escort, Missus—”
“Miss Verne will do.” Her voice was brusque.
“Do you know if any of the crew is loyal to your brother?” Holmes asked.
“Yes, five men. They are being held captive in a room, but if they hear that my brother is safe, they will overpower their guard and join us. They will be enough to safely pilot the ship. Jaeger keeps most of his men near him in the control room.”
“Good,” Holmes said. “I’ll be right above you two in the ductwork, and if my plan goes right, above Jaeger. When you hear my signal, you must strike down the two of Jaeger’s men who are closest to you. That will leave just one more, plus Jaeger, their Captain. Ma’am, it is too much for me to ask of you. I know this is a tremendous burden for you to bear, but I’m afraid there is no other choice. And Miss Verne? Should the opportunity present itself, it may fall on your shoulders to eliminate the third man. Or at the very least, cripple him. I say this because Watson and I overheard their plans. You are to be disposed of.” Holmes handed the woman his crossbow and three fléchettes.
“Are you mad, Holmes?” I protested, feeling shocked by his request. “Surely, you’re not asking this delicate woman to do this? There has to be another way!”
I turned my eyes to the woman. I expected to see her similarly disgusted by my friend’s plan. But she surprised me. She flashed a determined smile whilst narrowing her eyes and nodding silentl
y. “D’accord. I shall do what I must, Doctor. My brother’s life is at stake, and I will not let him die because I am lacking in courage. There are four entrances to the control room. Jaeger has locked three of them. This hall ends at the only entrance that’s unlocked.”
“Good to know. Keep your weapon hidden in the folds of your skirt,” said Holmes. Turning to me, he said, “Please make note of the safety latch. Watson? Are you prepared? Make it look as if she is your prisoner and you are marching her to the Captain’s helm. Miss Verne? Let me loosely bind your hands. You’ll be able to slip out of the rope easily, but this might improve your chance of deception.” Holmes wrapped the rope loosely around her hands and she held the ends together.
I had my sap and my crossbow, so I nodded and asked, “What’s the signal?”
“You’ll know,” Holmes replied, turning his eyes to me. “Are you ready? Don’t forget—do not leave this room for thirty seconds. I must have enough time to get into position.”
“Understood,” I said.
Holmes climbed up into the crawl space. After a few seconds, his face appeared over the opening, as he sought out my eyes. Then he was gone.
As soon as he disappeared from view, I counted to thirty. Maria Verne twisted her hair into a knot and bound it into a bun at the back of her neck. Even disheveled, she was glorious. Reaching my goal of thirty all too quickly, I faced Miss Verne. “Are you ready?” I asked, feeling my pulse quicken.
“Oui.”
I opened the door and checked the corridor. Seeing that it was clear, I sucked in my breath and looked to my weapons. I found it strangely exhilarating that we were about to confront the enemy full-on.
