"What sort of name is Sherlock? It's as though he's a cross between a sheriff and hemlock." Molly found herself chattering without aim as she usually did when trapped in an awkward moment.
The cabin boy Basil shrugged and plopped down on the floor, as far away from the corpse-occupied cot as he could manage.
"Ain't that some kind of poison, that?"
"Hemlock, yes, though it has medicinal properties as well. The Greeks used to treat inflammation of the joints and muscle spasms with it. Of course they killed their patients half the time with overdosing… but still," Molly continued cheerily, "It worked wonders if you survived the treatment!"
"That sounds like the Cap'n alright," Basil said as he adjusted the grimy cap on his head. They both jumped as the sudden sound of a gunshot cracked on the decks above.
Molly and the boy held their breaths for a moment, and then relaxed as no shouts of pain or additional gunfire were heard.
"Prob'ly just one of the swabby lads, miss, showin' off a bit. Hudson's outrun every ship the bloody navy's got," Basil declared with pride.
Molly frowned at the boy's use of curse words in front of a lady, but bit her lip and refrained from scolding him. No doubt the other sailors used the same language. She had best get used to it if she was remaining aboard for a few days. Molly's stomach flipped as she considered what this adventure would cost her and her father's hard-won professional reputation if word got out.
She pushed practical considerations from her mind, and strained to hear anything from above.
Running footsteps could still be heard as the ship moved smoothly down the river Thames, but the frenzy had calmed as minutes passed.
"At a good clip now, ma'am; we're off. No problems at all," the boy said with a grin that exposed teeth needing a fierce cleaning.
Molly removed her bloody apron and dropped it on the floor besides her discarded gloves. She had no idea how she'd clean them here. They may have to be burned, she realized. The stink from the dead man's opened bowels had already begun soaking into the fabric.
Basil was doing his best to not make awful faces at the growing stench in the room. He gave up on his valiant attempt after fifteen minutes and resorted to pressing his cap over his nose and mouth.
"Brunton never smelt good when he was livin'. Honestly this ain't much worse."
Molly laughed. If there was anything she appreciated in a person, it was a morbid sense of humor. The Captain was right, Basil was a smart lad. If only he had a chance to be something other than this, Molly thought wistfully.
"Do…Are your ma and pa- do they know you're on a pirate ship?"
"They're dead, long time now. Don't remember them at all," Basil explained bluntly.
"Oh. I'm so sorry. I didn't- I shouldn't have said anything." Molly's face burned. She always said the wrong thing, even with children.
"Never fear, miss. Like I said, I don't remember 'em. Was livin' roundabouts Baker Street, in an alley when I met the Cap'n. Only he weren't a captain then, just some odd fellow. Used to give me coins to tell him what people were on about." He gagged from the smell of Brunton's body again, and pressed his cap back over his mouth.
"That does sound odd. Why would he do that?"
The boy tilted his head and squinted. "What you so curious about him for? Not a navy spy are you?"
Molly was taken aback. "Oh, I- I mean, I'm not. I just, I mean. I was just curious. I apologise, Basil."
He looked mollified by her formal manners. "They try all sorts of tricks, that lot. Wouldn't put it past them to use a pretty lady to get the Cap'n. But he ain't like that, he ain't a fool for a skirt, you understand?"
"Yes, of course," Molly said, face burning again. She didn't know if she wanted to scold him or ruffle his rough brown hair.
"Basil, may I ask," she began, hoping politeness would charm him again, "When will we be returning to London?"
He shrugged and started picking dirt out of his fingernails. "Dunno. We're off to Scilly for a bit. After that, only he knows."
"Scilly? Do you mean the Isles of Scilly?
"Them the ones near Cornwall?"
"Yes." She winced as he dug into his cuticles for more grit.
"That's 'em. Do a bit of trading with the locals, and get samples."
Molly's puzzlement showed on her face. "Samples? Samples of what?"
"Some bugs. Flowers mostly, this time."
"Are those some kind of…pirate code words? Is it gold?"
It was Basil's turn to look confused.
"No, mum. It's flowers."
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After an hour, Molly gave up pacing and waiting, and sat down beside Basil on the floor. She leaned her head against the wall, and was startled to find herself being woken up by the boy several hours later. When he hopped up and drew back the blanket, bright sunlight poured through the entryway.
"Didn't you hear the bells? You'll learn 'em soon enough. Come on up, miss, it's all clear!"
Her stomach rumbled with hunger in response. Molly shook the stiffness from her arms and legs and stood cautiously. She readjusted her balance for the slight rock of the ship as she climbed up the narrow stairwell and stepped onto the deck of the Hudson.
The coastline had vanished while she slept. They must be somewhere in the North Sea now, though they couldn't be too far out yet.
When she was hustled onto the ship the night before, she hadn't been able to see a thing. In the light of the day, Molly saw two tall masts and sails billowing as the Hudson moved along the water at a comfortable pace.
Strong breezes whipped Molly's hair around her head. The pins had come undone as she worked and slept last night, and fell now in uneven waves around her face and shoulders. Molly brushed strands away from her mouth as she looked around with trepidation.
The decks were spotless, and every sailor she saw was busy, tying off ropes or mopping. The men glanced up as her presence became noticed, but no one approached her.
Basil grabbed Molly's hand and pulled her forward. "Come on now, won't be any bread left if we don't hurry."
She walked hesitantly, searching the ship for a familiar face. Eventually on the left, in the open space around the first mast, Molly spotted John sitting on a bench with a saw and what looked like remnants of a shattered chair.
"Dr. Hooper! Good morning," the genial blond man called as Basil led her through the sailors to join the ship's surgeon.
The cabin boy dragged a bench over, and gestured for Molly to sit.
"Thank you, Basil. You've been very good company." Molly beamed at the boy who in turn bowed deeply at the waist, and straightened back up with a dramatic flourish and a smile. He scampered off down the deck toward the entryway where the smell of bread was emanating from.
John laughed as he picked up a broken piece of wood and examined it. "He must have learned that from the Captain. Sherlock's quite the actor when he has a desire to be. If he ever gets tired of sailing, he ought to set up a theater in Drury Lane."
Molly giggled. "And what do you know of Drury Lane?"
John picked up an awl and bore holes into the long slat. "I know a few things. Spent a year in London, between Norfolk and the navy, and shore visits." A trace of smile showed on his lips as he looked down and blew wood dust out of the fresh holes. "A friend of mine, they liked the theatricals. We used to spend time…anyway, I haven't been in a couple years. But the Captain would be right at home on the boards."
"I shall keep that suggestion in mind if our old friend Captain Lestrade ends my current endeavors."
Goosebumps rose on the back of Molly's neck as the deep voice carried over her shoulder. She swung around to find herself facing a bare throat, and a lean chest still clad in the dress shirt he wore the previous evening. The fabric gaped open in the upper quarter, where he'd yanked the cravat out.
Molly stared at the fine dark hairs that peeked out, and tried to close her mouth. She failed miserably.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Sherlock Holmes's eyes took in Molly's mouth, her pink lips parted and her breathing a hair faster than usual. Unconsciously, she stood taller and tilted her shoulders toward his. Her white dress was wrinkled and spotted with blood around the hem but she showed no awareness of the fact. There was a three-centimeters-long tear in the hem near the tip of her right slipper. The pupils in her brown eyes were dilated as her gaze rose to meet his. He noted these details and filed them away into a cabin in his mind to be examined later, without distraction. Something about her confused his focus.
"Come. It's time for you to meet the crew. The notable members, anyway. Don't bother with the common sailors, they're idiots."
One of the pirates standing at the starboard railing grumbled to the man next to him.
"Oh, don't whinge, you know it's true," Sherlock barked. "Go aft, I'm tired of looking at your dull faces. NO- wait. Line up the men. Now, or I'll tell Tenner what you've done with his best pair of socks."
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"Kirwan. He's bosun since Brunton fell ill." A balding man with deep frown lines and a sizable pot belly nodded at Molly.
"Forrester. Downey. McAffee. Latimer. Melas. Riggers when they aren't drunk and stealing from one another." The five men laughed. Melas, a small Greek fellow, doffed his hat and smiled at Molly, charming despite the two missing front teeth. The men were surprisingly tidy and not dressed in rags, contrary to everything she'd ever read or heard about pirates.
"You already know Basil, my cabin boy, and he assists John Watson in the surgery as well." Basil gave Molly a big wink, similar to the Captain's from the night before. Sherlock's lips twisted in such a way that she could've sworn he was hiding a grin.
"He also helps out our cook of indifferent quality, Mister Chase." Molly thought he was making a joke of sorts, until he saw the pasty-faced, greasy-haired cook's eyes narrow as he crossed his arms.
"Oh," Molly said as a thought occurred to her. "Actually that's perfect, I need to see the food stor-"
"And this is Donovan. Master gunner."
Donovan was a slender young man with pale brown skin and close-cropped curly hair and a streak of dirt across his jawline. As Molly studied his features, the master gunner lifted his chin in defiance and turned his face away.
"You shouldn't need anything from Donovan. He's unpleasant but he's mostly competent. Which is more than I can say for my sailing master. Good morning, Anderson."
"Pleasant day, Captain Holmes," responded the sour, rat-faced man called Anderson. A scraggly beard did little to hide his weak chin. He held up a scrap of paper, and explained, "I've made the calculations."
Sherlock skimmed the paper and rolled his eyes. "And as usual, they're wrong. Close isn't good enough if you navigate the Hudson into a bloody cliff instead of the harbor."
"Now just a minute," the sailing master responded hotly. "I checked the numbers and the charts, they are sound-"
"Please cease uttering incorrect information out loud, Anderson. You're reducing the working capacity of this entire crew."
Anderson stood mouth agape as his sallow face turned purplish.
John Watson covered his mouth and turned a laugh into a cough unconvincingly.
There was an uncomfortable titter through the crowd of nameless sailors who crowded around the central crew.
Sherlock stepped forward and put his hands on his hips. Molly noticed he was wearing the same trousers from last night as well. Without the long jacket covered the outfit, she realized now snug everything was, the way the soft fabric clung to his-
"Doctor Hooper," he boomed, his voice startling her from her distracted reverie, "Is going to be spending a few weeks aboard the Hudson as my guest. If she is touched or molested in any way, the man responsible will be flogged and castrated before he is thrown overboard. You would not get away with any such action- I would see, you all know that by now. Treat her as you would your own mother. Only better. Is that clear?" The line-up nodded.
"I said, IS. THAT. CLEAR." Sherlock's voice rose to address all the men in entire crew, and every sailor was forced to look their captain in the eyes before his icy gaze moved onto the next man.
A few weeks? Molly wondered as she shifted her feet to regain her balance on the moving ship. Hmm. I guess that's why they call them sea legs. Will I be here long enough to develop them? And will he let me write my father at least? Surely that wouldn't endanger the ship. I don't think I'm a prisoner.
Her father was unreliable and selfish but he did care for her, she believed. Once upon a time when Mama and Anne were alive we were a real family. She needed to get word to him somehow.
Captain Holmes dismissed the crew and they dispersed back to their usual areas.
"Basil, bring Molly to my quarters." He rubbed his hands together. "It's time we heard a diagnosis, yes? John, you too."
Molly followed the cabin boy back toward the living areas of the ship, climbing down another tiny stairwell, through a narrow doorway, and winding their way through the Hudson.
She wondered if Sherlock would accept her diagnosis, or if he would challenge it as Papa always did when he didn't come up with the idea first.
Molly also wondered idly, how a man as incredibly observant and clever as Sherlock Holmes could not be aware that his master gunner was a woman.
No matter the skin color, the anatomy of the throat was the same. The contours of Donovan's throat were smooth and entirely without the visible thyroid cartilage that formed an Adam's apple.
Once you noticed that, it was easy to see the slim body, the subtle hips with the wider female pelvis, and the jaw hairless beneath the dirt. All could be ignored separately, but put together, Molly was quite certain that Donovan was more properly a mistress gunner.
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"Oh, the noontime meal." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not hungry."
Basil dropped the tray laden with plates of chicken, bread and roasted potatoes on the small table with a clatter. John jumped back as a few drops of lumpy brown gravy splattered onto his lap. He hissed as the hot liquid scorched his thighs.
The boy looked at him, eyes huge as he backed away from the table quickly.
"Sorry- it's fine," John reassured him. "It's all fine, I'm not going to box your ears. Just…be more careful in the future, lad." He forced a smile toward the boy, who still darted out of the captain's quarters as fast his feet would take him.
"He's probably been beaten for doing things a lot less worse than this," Molly said quietly. She cast her eyes down at the plate of warm food and tried not to think about the children who had wound up in London morgues, waiting for her knife. Even more, she didn't want to think about the ones whose bodies never were found, because no one cared enough to look for them.
"No one will hurt him here, Dr. Hooper, unless you count Chase giving him a swat on the arse for swiping a handful of sugar again." Sherlock's eyes were bluer than usual in the warm lamplight of the cabin.
"Sherlock!" John scolded as he reached for the salt cellar. "The cursing."
"You swore in front of her last night in the carriage."
"I did not!" The surgeon's cheeks were pink as he glanced at Molly.
"'You've got the wrong person, you arse!' How many bells does that ring, John? Molly?"
She looked at John to her right, bit her lip, and nodded, a smile tugging one side of her mouth up.
He threw his hands in the air, and sat back. "That was a situation, it's not the same…oh goodness." He breathed and addressed Molly. "I am sorry. I shall do my best to remember my manners. Sherlock may not think it matters, but my mum did teach me better than that."
She smiled in acceptance of his apology and eyed the chicken leg on the plate in front of her. She wondered if it would be rude if she tore into it with bare hands.
Sherlock wrinkled his nose in annoyance and glared at his friend. "She's not a delicate child, John. I warrant she's seen as much butchery as you ever did in the Navy. A few rough words aren't going to break her. Are they, Molly?" His left eyebrow rose with the challenge.
She sat up straight and lifted her chin firmly. "No, they will not." She paused. "Dammit." Her eyes glowed and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth.
Crinkles appeared around the captain's eyes. He picked up the mug of beer, and then reached for a piece of rough rye bread. Molly suddenly remembered her need to see the food stores.
"No!" she shrieked and slapped the bread out of his hand, also knocking over John's cup of beer in the process. The liquid drenched John's plate and his trousers.
"Oh bloody hell, not again!" he shouted as he jumped to his feet and then froze. He swiveled toward Molly and spoke precisely. "I am so sorry, Molly."
"Why?" Sherlock queried coolly. "She ruined your meal, dumped your drink and struck me."
Molly turned scarlet. "Oh, oh, I'm, I apologise, sir, truly. I only meant to-"
"To save me from eating tainted bread? I assume that was the purpose. There are any number of grains that have been connected with disease but there's been no outbreak on the ship beyond the two members. With a crew of forty-two, others would've begun sickening by now. We eat all the same food, Dr. Hooper. I hope that wasn't your only theory, or else you have congratulated yourself far too soon."
She noticed he made no move to pick up another slice of bread. John stuck his head out the cabin door and shouted for some rags to clean up the pools of beer on the table and floor.
"Ulcers," Molly squeaked.
"Did you say ulcers?" John asked as he walked back to the table. "Ulcers wouldn't have killed them that way."
"Ergot. Ergot and ulcers. That-that's why they got sick and died sooner. Because they had ulcers. Well, um Brunton did and from what you said about the first man complaining about the food making him sick? It sounded like they both had stomach problems long before they got truly ill. So I checked Brunton."
A light of understanding flickered in Sherlock's eyes. The sequence of events was beginning to take form in his mind as Molly continued.
"Great holes in his duodenum- the first part of the small intestine, you see? He would've had terrible stomach pain for months or maybe years. They would've killed him eventually if he hadn't developed ergotism."
Her voice grew more confident and excited with momentum. "The ergot usually gets into the system by ingesting rye or some other grain grown together with rye. A few months ago, a doctor named Stearns in the States published a report discussing the medicinal benefits of ergot sclerotia. But he also discussed how he was able to identify the ergot in a specific part of the plant. The long brown pieces, that we think are simply sunbaked parts of rye grain are in fact large growths of fungus."
"A fungus." Sherlock's eyes gleamed.
"We took on a fresh load of rye when we were in-" A sharp glance from the Captain cut off John's comment.
"Yes, rye. We had some milled for the bread, and the rest stored in the hull for trading. And we've all been eating bread made with it." Sherlock steepled his hands in thought, and Molly could've sworn there was a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.
"I suspected something like ergotism because it causes the gastrointestinal problems early on- the increased visits to the- erm, head, vomiting and other issues. The fungus affects the central nervous system afterward causing nerve pain, which would feel like a deep burning pain or tingling, an itch some describe it. Arsenic has similar effects actually, but the men didn't have any issues with their night vision, according to Mister Watson."
"Oh yes, of course!" The surgeon nodded. "I do have a small amount of arsenic set aside for syphilis treatments, but it's such a small amount that I would notice if it went missing."
"The simplest answer is usually best. Ergotism causes the hallucinations you described in Brunton, and the convulsions near the end. The condition generally takes quite a while to develop but whole towns have been driven into madness by outbreaks. I read a journal article a year or so ago that postulated that the madness and convulsions of the "witch" victims in Salem, in America, may have been caused by ergotism. Anyway, I believe the rest of the crew should be fine if we get rid of the tainted grain at once."
"If there is any. Aren't we rushing to judgment? We need to check the unmilled rye before tossing the grain and the flour overboard."
Without a word, the Captain jumped from his chair and ran from the cabin.
"Oh." Molly looked at the ship's surgeon.
"I'm supposed to follow. It's understood. And I suppose you too." John offered his arm, and she accepted with a light sigh.
"I am dreadfully hungry," she said mournfully. "Do you think he'd mind if I brought that chicken leg with me?"
John reached over, plucked the chicken off the table and handed it to her. "Molly, if we only ate when Sherlock Holmes thought it was time to eat, then we would all starve to death."
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I had the day off so I figured, why not get the next chapter out sooner than planned. I like to have a chapter out every 2-3 days, usually. I think this story will have more chapters than my previous fics, based on the heaps of stuff I want to play with. :)
Thanks very much to Voldemort's Spawn, BestofLuckJo, Dizzybunny, xxL2xx, Mrs Dizzy, ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe, Elliesmeow, 1LaTuAcAnTaNtE1, GoldenVine, Francesca Wayland, Jason Layton, Mrs. Monster, myleneSW, Katdemon18, and ktmt1120 for their kind reviews of Chapter 2!