The Cuckoo passed slow moving grain ships as it entered the great river Ouse. It arrived at the port of King's Lynn with the first light of day.
Sherlock wore a blue coat over a white shirt with a square Dutch color and a tall thin flat topped hat, his narrow brim turned down to shield his eyes. He walked down the plank with his nose upturned, barely sparing a moment for the port master as he turned to walk toward town.
John followed him, hands clasped behind his back. An unremarkable assistant in black marching on the heels of his captain.
"Sir, sir...Captain!"
Sherlock turned back. "Hallo?"
"Might I see your papers? You are captain of the Cuckoo, I expect?"
"Obviously? You are the port master. Now we have met. I have business. I shall be on my way."
"But sir, there is the small matter of the fee."
"Do you not know of the Cuckoo? This is not our regular port. We have come with messages, which I will now deliver. Your port fees and other nonsense must wait until I return. Goedemorgen."
He put a hand to his hat and strode down the dock toward the Custom House leaving the man behind. John caught up with him then and said in a harsh whisper. "You always amaze me when you do that. The stage lost a good actor when you turned to piracy."
"Quiet, John. They'll hear," Sherlock said striding faster, though he mostly rushed ahead to hide from John his unbidden grin.
They walked past the warehouses into an older area of the port that looked a bit run down. Here they heard the sound of sawing and hammering even though the sun had barely risen above the tops of the houses. Sherlock removed his hat and rushed ahead, his voice no longer disguised.
"You're starting early, Simon. What are we building today?"
"Sherlock!" A man called out. He climbed down from the scaffolding and put down a wooden mallet before stretching out his hand to Sherlock. "So you've finally come to visit as I asked. What do you want? I know it can't be a social visit, not with you dressed as if you just walked out of a Coffee House.
"I seek knowledge of a curiosity. Do you mind if we go inside to talk? My friend and I could use a cup of coffee this morning if you don't mind."
"Of course, of course. Come."
The man turned and began walking toward a low building with a shingled roof. He had dirty blond hair parted in the middle. Brown leather breaches and a leather apron which he removed as he passed through the low door to enter a warm house. A girl with mousy brown hair brightened as Sherlock entered.
"Molly, get us some coffee, will you? We have business to discuss."
The girl took a breath and mooned over Sherlock before rushing out of the room without a word.
John sat at the wide wooden table which was littered with sketches and plans for ships, cabinets, siege engines, and even a flying machine. John wondered who this man was who Sherlock referred to simply as Bartleby the Norfolk builder.
"So, what is it that brings you back to dry land to talk to poor old Bartleby? Trouble with your ship?"
"No, nothing of the sort. She's as fine as she ever was. No, what we've come to ask you about today is whether you have a certain drawing that I want."
Bartelby gestured at the table. "I have as many drawings as you need of things real and imagined. What sort of drawing do you desire?"
"A drawing of a chest, Queen Isabella's puzzle chest to be exact." Bartleby stared at Sherlock, and his eyes became shrewd.
Molly came in then with a wooden tray carrying milk and some very flat scones. "The coffee will be another minute. I just put it on the stove and I..."
"Molly, dear. Can you go to the stable and get us some milk?"
"But I have milk, father."
"We have guests. Get us some fresh."
She looked between the two of them, and then walked out of the house.
"Now Sherlock, you are not the first person to have mentioned Queen Isabella's treasure box to me this week. Seems as if it has become a bit of a hobby in some quarters to wonder about its manufacture and manner of opening."
"Others have asked about it? Who?"
"I'd rather not say at this time, but I must tell you that I am a family man, and I have to be careful what I say and do. If it were to reach the King's ears that I had been aiding someone who wanted to... how should I say this...oppose his policies, it would be my head on the block, and I don't have a convenient ship to sail away in."
"No one need know that we were ever here."
"I think that after a certain treasure goes missing, and the prize money for the capture of the thief becomes even higher, then many people might remember the ship that sailed into Kings Lynn and the tall good looking merchant who rushed in to have a talk with old Barneby."
"Are you saying that you won't help us?" John interrupted.
The man turned to him for the first time taking in his scar and his simple manner. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head catching sight of the bulge of a pistol beneath John's coat.
"Simon Barneby, this is my friend, Dr. John Watson."
John stretched out his hand, and after a minute Bartelby took it. "Doctor is it?"
"Yes, I'm ship's surgeon."
"And Sherlock's friend?"
"Yes, I have that honor."
"In my experience, Sherlock doesn't make many friends. You must be an exceptional man."
"He is," Sherlock said, "With an exceptionally tough skin. I wish there was a way that I could persuade you."
"There are too many eyes in town right now. I would appreciate it if you pretended to have some legitimate business in town before you go. A ship that comes into port and does no trading is suspicious. People want to classify you, to know why you came."
"Why, don't you know, Simon. We're a mail carrier. I just gave you a missive from a Copenhagen Insurance Company asking the strength and carrying capacity of a certain ship. It failed off the coast of Africa and is calling in their policy, but the company thinks the claim is faked."
"That's a good start, but you'll need more than that to convince the others that you really have a valid reason to be here."
"If we had such an excuse, if everyone thought that we had a reason to be here, would you give us the plans to Isabella's Chest?"
"I would consider it, but as things stand now."
"Then consider it done." Sherlock rose to his feet just as Molly returned with the fresh milk and coffee.
"We just needed to deliver that request, and now we will be on our way."
"But your coffee?" Molly called out?
"Later," Sherlock said and nodded before striding out of the door.
John looked wistfully at the coffee before turning to follow Sherlock. After they had gone out of ear shot of the place he put out a hand and stopped him. "What was that about?"
"Bartelby has the plans but others want it too. He is pretending that he knows nothing of it, but if we leave straight after coming to talk to him..."
"Then the others will realize that he was lying, and he'll be in danger."
"Exactly."
"So what are we going to do?"
"Something I never expected. We will take on an honest bit of cargo."