Chapter 4:"Made in Storms"

"Vows made in storms are not forgotten in port."

Watson:

The overpowering scent of wet wood and oil assailed my nose as I alighted from the cab after Holmes. My friend had halted in his tracks and was filling his lungs, his head back.

"Marvelous, is it not, Watson?"

I took a step and felt my shoe collide with a soft substance that gave off an unpleasant stench.

"Yes, quite. What was the name of the inn Lachlan was staying at again?"

"The Haddock."

"That's appropriate."

Holmes gave me a wry smile. "You look at everything with a writer's eyes Watson, which is why you will never fully possess the faculties required of a detective."

I was not certain of how to take this remark but Holmes obviously thought nothing of it for he took hold of my arm and led me forward through the thin but bustling crowd of the London Dockyards.

On one side was the Thames, dotted with ships at anchor, and on the other was a row of closely packed and very tall, narrow buildings built of fading brick and wood with peeling paint. Everywhere one looked there was someone at task, loading crates, coiling rope, or simply making their way along as we were.

It was, in a sense, refreshing, and I could see how Holmes could be attracted to such activity and liveliness.

He seemed to know his way rather well and he led us a straight course to a rather lonely looking little building that was obviously old but well made.

"The Haddock…I must admit Watson, that I have never actually been inside though I have heard good report of it."

"Good report from whom?" I asked as he took hold of the tarnished iron handle and pushed the aged door inward.

A different set of smells met us, mostly a rather musty odor that reminded one of old, wet books and stews…as well as beer. Cutting through that odor was the unmistakable smell of freshly baked or baking bread.

The small front room bore several round tables, a slumping fireplace at one end, and the inevitable bar at the other. It appeared to be empty.

"No one here?" I guessed as I closed the door behind us.

"Nonsense, Watson…they wouldn't leave an oven lit if it were unoccupied."

And a moment later Holmes was proved correct as a young woman, wearing a gray dress and an apron dusted with flour emerged from the back carrying a stack of plates.

"Good day, Madam," Holmes said, removing his hat. "I am in search of one of your patrons."

She set down the stack and smiled politely though it was evident that we were interrupting her work, brushing a wheat-colored lock back from her face. I removed my hat as well.

"An' 'oo would that be, sir?"

"A Mr. Lachlan, is he in his room?"

She shook her head, still smiling. "I'm sorry sir…'e left 'bout four hours ago."

"Could you tell us where he went?" I asked.

"I believe 'e's spent the last few days at one of the nearer Cartographers, 'Arry's 'is name."

Holmes pounced upon this latest piece of information. "And where is this establishment?"

"I'm sorry sir, I can't rightly say…but if you ask someone outside they should be able to direct you."

"Thank you," Holmes said, recapping his hat and turning abruptly to leave again. After a few words of thanks of my own I followed, having to trot to catch up with him again.

The moment I had he gave a short laugh that was so characteristic of him.

"Cartographers. What did I say, Watson, a man of hidden talents, clearly. That fellow over there looks as though he can give competent instructions."

He could and he did and we made our way to the small shop which stood not three streets away…only to discover that Lachlan had already left.

The exasperation on Holmes's face was in effect priceless, and I struggled to retain my laughter while he addressed the proprietor of the shop.

"He's gone."

"Yes, sir."

"Well where has he gone?"

"Why, down to the ring sir, he's been doing some work for me for a few days now. Still plans to in the future…but he's taken off for the day to get some sport in."

Holmes' lips twitched in their own amusement and he left the shop with me at his heels and once the door burst behind us he burst into a weary laughter.

"Oh, Watson, I could swear that this man is purposefully leading us on a wild goose chase for nothing more than his own amusement."

"You know where this place is then?"

My friend smiled and clapped me on the shoulder "I do Watson, very well in fact. Come on, old fellow - this next part should amuse you."

Holmes led me quickly through the crowd, up a few streets and down two…until I caught the sight of a small crowd, gathered in an open space between the buildings. An audible noise rose from them.

"Holmes, what is this?" I asked suspiciously, for my friend was obviously eager.

He shot me a smile and pulled me forward into the crowd, weaving his way through it until the reason for it came into view.

When the shopkeeper had said 'ring' and 'sport' he had been speaking literally, for there in the center a small square was marked with ropes and two men circled each other inside it. Lachlan among his other talents…was a boxer.

Prize-fighting, or Fisticuffs as it was called, was a boxing match without gloves…which was understandable because not every man could afford the equipment for the more sophisticated form of boxing. For this reason it often tended to be bloodier and more dangerous.

Both Lachlan and his opponent stood in the center of the ring, stripped to the waist, barefoot, and were bobbing and weaving skillfully while trying to land blows on the other.

The crowd called advice and cheers and in some cases jeers.

"Come on, Gery!"

"That's half a sovereign I've got on you lad! Don't let 'im at ya!"

The fighters seemingly took no notice but continued to circle; both were grinning and it was evident that the match was a friendly one, fought more for skill than to actually take down the other man.

For several moments we watched while they fought. I had both participated in and seen boxing before but I was more partial to such sports as fishing and horse-racing and rugby - boxing was Holmes' forte.

I had seen Holmes box many times and had fenced with him often in the past….but only once had I been foolish enough to take him in a boxing match early on in our acquaintance.

I glanced at him now, his hands gripped in fists, his eyes alight, as they flickered and darted, watching the fight, and I could not help but wonder how long it had been since he had been in a ring.

An uproar drew my attention back to the ring and I looked in time to see Lachlan deliver a hook that had 'Gery' back against the ropes…someone called an end to the round and somewhat bruised the opponents walked to the edge of the ring, arms on each other's shoulders, speaking quietly.

"Come on, Watson." Holmes said, surging forward through the crowd. I hurried to keep up.

We reached the ring just as Lachlan was about to leave it, and spotting us, he stopped and leaned on the ropes…the surprise and pleasure at our appearance evident on his face.

"Mr. Holmes, Doctor, it is a surprise to see you here."

"Not as much a surprise for us I will admit," Holmes said. "I failed to take note last night of the state of your ears, my friend. Oddly thinned and flattened as is common for boxers. You did remarkably well in that last fight."

Lachlan smiled and nodded his thanks. "Aye, you do know a little of boxing don't you? I read from the Doctor's stories you even tried your hand at it once or twice."

I had mentioned Holmes' boxing skills in the 'Study in Scarlet', but I had made it clear in that tale that Holmes was an excellent boxer. Lachlan was deliberately baiting him…not that he needed any encouragement.

I put a light hand on Holmes' shoulder as a sudden foreboding seized me.

"It has been a while. A few years in fact."

Lachlan nodded an indulgent smile on his face. "Aye one gets soft after a while."

Holmes raised his eyebrows in 'offense' though his eyes shone with the same mischievous light as Lachlan's.

"Not as soft as all that, I dare say."

"Holmes," I cautioned…for it had been three years.

"Well, shall we find out?" Lachlan said, "One round and then I could have time to help you with whatever it is you're needing. "

"Certainly, Mr. Lachlan." Holmes said, beginning to remove his coat and jacket. "Though I must warn you I have blackened many an eye."

"Holmes!" I protested again, though I could not suppress the amusement from my voice.

"Hold these for me, would you Watson?" he said, pulling off his cravat, vest, and shirt as well, and handing the clothes to me.

I sighed and took them, watching as he and Lachlan entered the ring and strode to the center. Then someone called the beginning of the round and they both shifted a bit on their feet as though sizing up the other. Then, as I thought he would, Lachlan threw the first punch…a straight right towards Holmes's face.

Holmes ducked the blow but failed to block the follow-up swing that Lachlan threw just after. He let out a grunt as he was driven back a few feet. A murmur rippled through the crowd and Lachlan grinned. Holmes only scowled in concentration and resumed his stance, bringing up his fists.

Lachlan waited for him to toe the line then quick as lightning jabbed at his jaw then his sides forcing Holmes to take the defensive, driving my friend back. He sent a forceful blow to the side of Holmes's head and again he was sent back into the ropes.

I swallowed in apprehension; taking in the bruise on Holmes' left cheek…perhaps it had been too long.

But once again I was to be proven wrong by my friend for he shook off the blow and came to his feet again, his footing as sure as ever, light as a cat.

Lachlan, still grinning waited for him, more solid than Holmes and more powerful, he swung again and though his blow landed on Holmes's side it was lessened as Holmes's fist connected with his jaw in a forceful left hook. He reacted to the blow and aimed for Holmes's face but my friend dodged, weaved out of his path, and hit the same spot on his jaw twice more.

Lachlan brought his hand up to block that spot and left his right side open, and Holmes took advantage of it by striking him several times over with a straight left in the ribcage.

Now it was Lachlan who let out a grunt and staggered. He delivered another blow to my friends face, halting the blows and skipping away to the left, eyeing the thinner man with more respect. Holmes did not smile as they circled but the amusement and enjoyment of the thing was clear on his face.

They began to exchange blows steadily, circling, dodging and weaving and gaining speed as they went. It is a marvelous thing to see such equally matched opponents move almost in rhythm, Holmes with his quickness, skill, and truly accurate blows, and Lachlan with his force, who while he was not as quick was most definitely skilled.

At last when both men were breathing heavily and sweat stood out on their foreheads, Holmes' eyes began to glint with a determined look which I recognized only too well. Lachlan sent him back onto the ropes again with another smooth hit to the jaw…and advanced, his left coming up with what he obviously thought would be the finishing blow.

In a motion so smooth and quick one could hardly see the transition Holmes ducked under the blow, struck Lachlan in the side and followed with an uppercut that sent him sprawling off his feet and onto his back.

The small crowd exploded in shouting and crowded towards the ring, pressing me against the ropes.

Holmes had walked over to Lachlan and held out his hand to the burlier man who sat fingering his jaw. The seaman smiled sheepishly and accepted the hand, climbing to his feet.

He spoke to Holmes though I could not hear the words for the cacophony of the crowd, but the remark made Holmes laugh outright and they strode to the edge of the ring, climbing through the ropes.

I handed Holmes his clothing and after accepting a towel from another bystander he began to pull them on, his face flushed with victory.

"Enjoy yourself?" I asked, trying not to smile and grimace at the same time…he was mottled with bruises and his lip was split.

"Immensely," he breathed, tying his cravat. "Lachlan is a skilled opponent."

"As are you, Mr. Holmes," Lachlan said as he pulled on a rough woolen shirt and his peacoat. "You beat me fairly…now what is it you gentlemen wish me to show you?"

"We want you to show us the ships." Holmes said accepting his coat from an enthusiastic member of the crowd who held it out for him to slip his arms through.

"What for?" the midshipman asked tucking his hands into his pockets, exchanging a look with me.

I shrugged "I haven't the foggiest idea."

"I would like to interview some of the crew members." Holmes said. "And have a look at the ships themselves…there is a chance that I may find some compound or another which will give us a clue."

Lachlan nodded and shrugged his shoulders to loosen them. "Let's be off then. "

The first ship was not far. And we were able to speak with a crew member though we could not gain passage to it as the guard on duty seemed absolutely incorruptible. The second and third we had more luck with and searched both thoroughly. Holmes was able to collect several samples from the holds, the engine rooms and the coal room.

In the second Lachlan led us to a corner in the hold and pointed out a small mark in the wall.

"That's it Mr. Holmes, Doctor."

There on the wall was scratched the symbol of a small albatross with its wings upheld as though about to burst into flight.

"Hmm." Holmes ran his thumb over it and smiled slightly "They would not think to paint the inside of the ship. Well done Lachlan…this should add some color to your account, Watson."

I ignored the jibe about my writing and while Holmes was crawling about on the floor walked with Lachlan as he pointed out the layout of the ship…and we found that it matched exactly the plans of the ship it had once been.

The fourth, Lachlan's own Beschermer, was no longer in port, and though Holmes cursed our luck I had to admit that I was rather relieved, for the cost of information and bribery had lightened both of our pockets, I had eaten nothing all day, and it was past 4-o-clock.

We strode back from the docks in the late afternoon sun, Lachlan with his hands deep in his pockets, his head lifted to the sky in meditation, Holmes going through the samples he had taken and muttering to himself.

I moved into the street to call us a cab, and Lachlan came to join me breaking out of his reverie.

"I can see why you follow him, Doctor."

I looked at him, somewhat puzzled by the statement. "Pardon?"

Lachlan smiled and jerked his head towards Holmes, "Mr. Holmes. I can see why you are so devoted to him. You two have a strong friendship, Doctor. Holmes is a man that bears following and you - I think if he called for it you would give your life for him."

I smiled at that, for it was true in every respect. Holmes had not been mistaken in Lachlan's perceptiveness.

"That is true…but I think it safe to say that he would do the same for me."

Lachlan nodded, staring up at the sky. "Vows made in storms are not forgotten in port."

"What?"

"When a man is at sea Doctor…he has to be honest; the sea makes him to be. The sea, the world is such a violent place that you are forced to make promises and hold loyalties so that you have something to anchor yourself too. Vows made in storms are always honest."

He looked at me again. "Your friendship is the same thing. You and Mr. Holmes have weathered many storms and your loyalties have become something more like a sacred trust. it is a fine thing."

I stared at him with a new eye. Was there no limit to this man, that he was a poet as well?

"Thank you," was all I could think too say before Holmes strode up, breaking the stillness.

"You have been a great help, Mr. Lachlan. I hope to see you again."

Lachlan shook his hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Holmes…Doctor."

He smiled again, met my still startled gaze and strode off, whistling some seaman's chanty.

Holmes smiled after him, clapping me on the back and striding towards the street to fetch us a cab.

"Come along, Watson."

I felt my own smile creep onto my face and followed, the seaman's words engrained in my mind. Vows made in storms.