by C J Lutton
To present as small a target as possible, the pirate ships, though crippled, had timed the dropping of their anchors and the shutdown of their engines so that their bows were directly facing the Fleet. The enemy formed a wedge and surprisingly, Jaeger’s ship was at the forefront. I didn’t think him capable of making such a heroic stand—as misguided as his decision was.
Her Majesty’s Fleet maneuvered into position to train their guns on all three of the enemy ships. In order to do so, the Fleet would have to slip alongside the ships by entering the wedged formation. It would be like leading lambs to slaughter.
Holmes and I treaded water, waving our arms and trying to warn the unsuspecting Fleet. But we were mere dots in the water. “They don’t see us!” I wailed. “They’ll be butchered in a matter of moments!”
I turned towards Holmes to see his reaction, but he was staring steadily at Jaeger’s ship. “Holmes! Forget about him. It’s the Fleet! We have to warn the Fleet!”
“Hullo,” he said, smiling thinly. “So that’s your game.” Following Holmes’ eyes, I saw what had caught his attention. A lifeboat was clearing the bow of Jaeger’s ship, and I could clearly see the man. He laughed as he waved at us. Clearly, he had spotted us in the water and recognised who we were. With a whoop of amusement, he leaned over the side of the boat and took a hammer to an iron pipe that had one end dipped in the water.
“Watson, keep your eye on our friend. I have an idea. Let’s hope Her Majesty provided a keen-eyed lookout.”
Holmes switched on his helmet lamp and sent bursts of long and short flashes to the Fleet. In a matter of a few precious minutes, a reply was returned. A moment later, the Fleet altered course and steered away from the enemy and out of range.
“You’ve done it, Holmes!” I turned my attention back to Jaeger’s boat. Incredibly, the men had disappeared! The boat bobbed up and down in the calming sea, with nary a person on board!
“Holmes!”
“I see,” he responded, laconically.
“A wave must have washed them overboard.”
“Not quite,” he replied, pointing to a spot of churning sea. “The barge! That’s what he was doing with that pipe. He was signaling the barge. Remember how the Bard had you knock on the pipe to call his crew?” The last ripples from her wake eddied out weakly, until the water was once again calm. We scanned the water in silence.
“I knew it!” Holmes cried, pointing over my shoulder, “We’re too inviting a target for him to pass up his chance.”
52
Like an island rising from the sea, the barge broke the surface about a thousand yards away. It was heading straight for us! My arms, weary with pain and cold, finally reached their limit from treading water. I yearned to give in. The waiting caress of death beckoned to me. All I wanted was to slip beneath the surface and let the pain and ache of fatigue go away. My friend pulled me up by the hair and held me afloat.
“We will look death straight on with no regrets,” he said calmly, as the barge loomed, ever closer.
Jaeger, standing on the bow, waved his fist, laughing maniacally. Covering half the distance between us in what seemed seconds, the barge drew closer. I glanced at my friend and with a last spurt of energy, churned my legs to keep my head above the waves. I said, “No regrets, Holmes. If we are to die now, then I go to my grave knowing that Jaeger’s plan has failed, and that, because of our actions, we have saved the lives of hundreds of young and gallant men of Her Majesty’s Fleet.”
I mustered as courageous a smile as possible and clasped his hand in mine, waiting for the inevitable. A whoosh of water lifted our bodies and tossed us into the air. We came hurtling back down, crashed with a thud, and then fell back into the sea! Sputtering, I spat out water as I surfaced. Holmes was only a foot away and he, too, shook his head to clear it. What had happened to us? Had we been hit? Had Jaeger missed? I squinted and waited for the chance to catch a glimpse between the cresting waves—and then I saw it. The barge was still a distance away! I looked at Holmes for an answer. His laugh filled my ears.
“The Nautilus!” he shouted, “It has to be! What else could affect a rescue so daring?”
In response to his joyous proclamation, the Nautilus rose to the surface. Water roiled off of her sleek surfaces. First her spine crested, then her bulky tapered form, and of course, those yellow-tinted eyes glowed through the mist, the sea spray, and the water. She arose like a phoenix amid a broiling sea and then waited quietly, blocking the path of the barge. Her grotesque, but nonetheless beautiful, sea-serpent features beckoned to me with all the welcome comfort of a soft blanket, offering warmth and safety.
Rollins was the first to scramble out of the hatch. From a crouched position, hanging onto the ship with one hand, he tossed out a line that Holmes caught. I was fading quickly and Holmes sensed it, so he tied the rope round my waist. Then he flipped me onto my back and wrapped an arm under my shoulders so he could support my head. With his free hand, he hung onto the rope, all the while yelling for Rollins to bring us aboard. Crew members had followed Rollins’ lead and joined him on the deck. In practiced unison, they dragged us through the water and alongside the submarine.
The men worked as a team to haul us up and out of the water. Once I had clamored up the blackened skin of this mysterious creature and onto its deck, I fell to my knees, exhausted. I thanked the blessed heavens above for our deliverance. When I caught my breath, I gazed up at my friend’s smiling face, as he assisted me to my feet. Rollins stepped forwards, draped my arm over his shoulder, and walked me to the hatch. “Glad to see you again, Doctor. Thought you were done for, hey? Well, not with old Rollins round!”
Before I disappeared over the collar of the hatch, I saw Rollins impart the same greeting on a very startled Sherlock Holmes. Helping hands passed the two of us along like we were ungainly sacks of potatoes. Before I knew what was happening, my feet rested on the sturdy deck of the Nautilus. With a metallic thunk, the hatch was slammed shut and the pressure lock put in place. Never was a man so happy to hear such a solid noise!
Holmes and I leaned on crewmen as they ushered us to the Control Room.
“Plonger, one hundred feet, if you please,” Verne commanded, as we arrived.
“Diving to one hundred feet, Captain,” answered the crewman at the controls.
Verne smiled, as the angle of the Nautilus told us we were well into our descent. Turning his attention to the tube above his head, Verne spoke into it, “Où a accosté le chaland?”
A muffled voice answered in reply, “The barge is fifteen degrees to starboard and leveling off at sixty feet. Her range is three hundred feet and moving away.”
Holmes and I stood shivering in our dripping diving suits. A crewman brought us warm blankets, towels and steaming cups of coffee. I consumed mine eagerly.
“This way,” said one, as he motioned us to a chamber off of one of the four doors. There we were able to step out of our diving suits, shower quickly, and dress in the same uniform worn by the other sailors. Feeling somewhat refreshed, we went back into the Control Room. While I had appreciated the chance to clean up and change, I nevertheless thought Monsieur Verne’s inattention to us was rude and unbecoming. Directing his intense eyes at us, he said, “I am aware that you are both tired to the bone, but I am not ignoring you. I thought you might wish to observe my response to this treachery. Jaeger and the Bard have endangered my sister, my crew, my vessel, and my guests. Not to mention their mercenary and treasonous plots were designed to provoke war between two, or possibly three, nations.”
Swiveling his head to the side, he spoke to the helmsman in a curt tone. “Pilot, steer a course to intercept the barge broadside on her starboard. Get no closer than five hundred meters. Vous comprenez?”
“Oui, Captain. Je comprends. No closer than five hundred meters on her starboard side.”
Rollins entered the control room and whispered in Monsieur Verne’s ear. A cruel smile escaped the Captain’s lips, as he nodded. Rollins, walk
ing away, winked at us, playfully.
“Monsieur Holmes,” Verne weighed his words, “you will have the honour of firing the torpedo that will destroy the Stratford-Upon-Avon and her crew. We will be far enough away that you will both have time to move to the viewing window and see the unimagined power and wrath of the Nautilus. As soon as my helmsman places us in the proper firing position, you will have your revenge!”
Verne’s eyes glowed like the Devil himself, and I wondered whether he was mad!
“I do not need to slake upon revenge’s plate to be satisfied, Monsieur Verne,” Holmes replied, his tone was scornful. “It is enough to know that Jaeger has failed. You and your instrument of death are best left to the makers of war. I will have no part in it!”
Holmes continued as he waved his hand in disgust. “This ship of yours presents the opportunity to serve humanity, but instead you choose to inflict death and destruction? And you have done so before, have you not?”
“When your brother so instructed me,” said Verne. “After all, he paid for the building of the Nautilus. Our agreement was that this ship was his to command whenever necessary.”
“Mycroft,” I said.
“I am not, nor will I ever be, my brother. If you must unleash your dogs of war and satisfy your blood lust, then do as you will because we are powerless to stop you. But leave Watson and me out of it. That is not the sort of men we are.” Holmes stormed out of the area, leaving the Captain and crew to stand there in shocked silence. I followed him.
Miss Verne was waiting for us outside the door. “Come with me. You must bear witness so that if you are asked, you can put an end to this madness.”
“You do not approve?” I turned to her.
“No. Not any longer. At first, I wanted to see the monarchy toppled. I wanted to hurt Bertie as much as he had hurt me. And his mother? She said I was not worth destroying the monarchy for, which was what would surely happen if Bertie left Alix and married me. So I sought my revenge. But today, seeing a battle so close, having been held captive myself, watching the courage you two employed…” She paused. We were outside the viewing cabin. Holmes opened the door for her.
“I have had enough,” said Miss Verne. “For ever and ever and ever. I am sickened by what my brother has become. Whatever pain I endured, I cannot wish it on all those other mothers. This must end, here and now.”
Miss Verne took a seat on the cushioned bench of a divan. She patted the empty spaces to her left and right, inviting us to sit next to her. The three of us huddled there, in sadness and despondency. We stared straight ahead into the darkness of the sea. I shivered, thinking of how close we’d come—Holmes and I—to making that blackness our watery graves.
“It will do no good, mes amis,” she said, placing her delicate hand on Holmes’. He flinched as if she’d burned him. She ignored the silent rebuff and reached over and took mine. “My brother is not an evil man. He is the eldest, and he sees himself as my protector. When Bertie spurned me, I lost the will to live. Jules became so angry! Non, he is not bad; he is simply lost. Jules does not have a friend like Doctor Watson to keep him clearheaded.”
53
She squeezed my hand tightly as we stared out the window. Holmes’ eyes narrowed, speculatively. He seemed somewhat amused by the woman’s desire to hold fast to us as the pace of the ship’s pulse quickened. Orders were barked and answered instantly, in return. Bells clanged, and crew hustled outside our doors. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“There,” Holmes answered and pointed. “The barge.”
The Nautilus, positioned exactly as the Captain had ordered, was on the starboard side of the barge and I would guess precisely one-hundred-and-fifty meters away. We were slightly below the barge, and the bow of the Nautilus was adjusted accordingly so that we were pointing up at the flat-bottomed ship.
Though the Stratford-Upon-Avon was almost seven hundred feet away from us, curiously, we could see the barge as clear as day. A shaft of light, coming from somewhere behind us, penetrated the darkness in a silent and somehow sinister manner. The barge, completely awash in the purest form of white light that I had ever seen, had become a moth that ventured too close to a flame.
Judging by the barge’s maneuvering, it was clear Jaeger and his men knew they were being hunted. Also it was obvious that the Stratford-Upon-Avon wanted to be anywhere but here. But try as she might, she could not escape the Nautilus’ relentless pursuit.
Holmes stared intently out the viewing window. His facial muscles hardened, as his eyes locked onto something that I couldn’t see. Suddenly, inside the Nautilus, it went dark. The beam of light that had locked onto the barge fluctuated in intensity.
“Watson, did you see that?”
“Of course, I see that the lights have gone out!” I answered. “What’s going on? Are we in danger?” I couldn’t help but feel ill at ease after all we’d been through.
“The ship is charging,” said Miss Verne, with a touch of sadness in her voice. The lights returned to their normal, soft glow. I briefly considered asking her about the dead seafarer with the gold in his gut, but this didn’t seem to be the right time. Holmes had stiffened, almost like a pointer coming to an alert. Miss Verne’s lower lip trembled as though she might burst into tears at any second.
But I did not understand what was happening. I asked, “What do you mean charging? We’re barely moving.”
“Non! Not moving!” she said with a raspy edge to her voice.
“My sister means that the weapons system is charging,” said Monsieur Verne, entering the observation area. Holmes stood up, spun on his heel, and strode determinedly towards the inventor.
“Monsieur Verne, what else is there that I should know about the barge?” Holmes’ words were spoken acidly, and I got up and joined him in an act of solidarity.
“Ah, Monsieur Holmes,” Verne replied, his eyes darkening, “there is much to the barge that you do not know. Though you are recognised as a man of brilliant reasoning, of course, there are many things you do not understand.”
“It would be wise,” said my friend, balling his hand into a fist, “that you do not pursue such a patronizing tone with me.”
“What is it, Holmes? What did you see?” I asked anxiously.
Miss Verne burst into noisy sobs. Her brother stared at Holmes contemptuously but said nothing.
“Watson? Please take Miss Verne to her quarters and make her comfortable. Come back here as soon as you’re through,” Holmes said. He turned and walked back to the window, as I led the sobbing woman to her cabin. She sank down onto her bed, covering her face with her hands.
I couldn’t help myself, and so I asked, “Was there ever a Mr. Morel?”
“No,” she said.
“Who was that man? The body with the tattoo? Why did you send us to see him?”
She sniffled. “That was Jaeger’s doing. He wanted Sherlock Holmes to believe the rumours we were spreading about the Queen using the gold to set up Munshi. If the great Sherlock Holmes believed it, then all of England would, too. Or so he thought.”
“But that poor man!” I stopped and stared at the woman I’d found so attractive previously. “Forcing him to swallow all of that gold! He’d been tortured! And killed!”
All she could do was nod at me. I realised then that her sympathy was limited. Yes, when death was occurring before her eyes, she could quiver and quake and cry with the best of them. But when the poor tortured fellow was unknown to her, when she was far removed from the scene of misery, whenever she could turn a blind eye, she would. In short, when it came to the sufferings of others, she could care less.
I carefully measured out a dose of laudanum and she happily swallowed it. Rather than return it to her bedside table, I slipped the bottle into my pocket.
“Good-bye, Madame,” I said.
Yes, she was beautiful. True, she could give a good performance. But like her brother, she lacked an essential human kindness and that lack rotted her from the inside out.
54
A few minutes later, I rejoined Holmes. “I gave her a dose of that sedative that I found in her nightstand. She’ll be fine. What did you see, Holmes?”
My friend stood alone in front of the observation window and gazed out at the blackness. Suddenly, the giant beam of light flashed on. It was seeking out the barge once again. Holmes’ eyes lit up in horror. He turned on his heel to run out of the cabin. I started to follow, but something caught my eye.
“Holmes!” I cried as I came to a jarring halt. I stared out the huge expanse of glass. I felt rather than saw Holmes’ return to my side. We watched as two torpedoes ploughed through the water from somewhere below us.
“That first light,” he said. “I believe that it was searching for the exact placement of the barge. Like a bat using its high pitched cries to find its way in the dark.”
Holmes’ eyes filled with sadness as we stood transfixed whilst the weapons of death sought their target. The torpedoes continued their deadly mission, disappearing as their distance from us grew. For a few seconds more, we stared blankly into the light. Our eyes were looking for the torpedoes, but we saw nothing.
“They missed!” I exclaimed.
“Brace yourself,” Holmes warned.
The first torpedo struck. An instant later, the second one found its target.
When the first torpedo detonated, a single fireball lit up the water. Then came a second blazing ball of light. Curiously, the barge seemed to shrink into itself—and then it blew apart as the concealed explosives were set off.
The flash from the explosions, combined with the debris of the twisted wreckage, rolled lazily outward, confined by the weight of the water. This wave of detritus continued for several seconds. I thought we’d seen all there was to see, but astonishingly, a white wall made its way towards us.
