Chapter Seven

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Armed with all the data she had collected that morning from the imprints of the crocodile's teeth, Lydia stood with us next to the horse of the cab we had called for her. A lovely breeze had come up while we had been in the mortuary, dispelling some of the heat of the past week, and making it quite pleasant to be outside after being required to spend more time in the grim company of the late Henry Matthews.

"I shall work as quickly as I can, Mr. Holmes," she said, clearly a bit of mischief still in her manner as she implied once more that my companion was impatient.

"Thank you, Miss Hastings," Holmes said, offering her a hand up into the cab, "I shall be by the museum in an hour or more probably two to have your answer."

Lydia laughed when she realized that she couldn't tell whether or not Holmes was serious. "My, you are impatient!"

"Not at all; I simply have the utmost confident in your abilities now that I have witnessed you at work," he replied dryly. Once again it was apparent from the look on our young female friend's face that she couldn't determine just how sincere Sherlock Holmes was being, but she hadn't the chance to say anything else, as the driver whipped up the horse and they were off for the museum.

I spoke as we headed for our own cab. "You can't tell me that you really expect that she'll have the answer in under two hours," I said, perhaps a touch of admonishment in my tone at the thought of him pressuring her in that manner.

"I believe she will now," Holmes replied with the slightest spark of his own mischief in the look he shared with me.

"Ah." I understood then how he'd played upon her likely need to prove herself in her father's absence. I could only imagine how frantically she'd be throwing herself into her work, trying to have the answer so as not to disappoint the famous Sherlock Holmes. "Poor girl. You really are quite ruthless at times, you know."

"Success often necessitates a degree of ruthlessness," Holmes replied with a shrug as we climbed in our cab and were off. "To the British Museum, my good man," he said to the driver.

"I thought we weren't going to the museum for another two hours," I said, glancing sideways at my companion.

"I didn't indicate the natural history branch," Holmes replied. "We have other research to do while our friend Miss Hastings identifies the reptile."

"And just what shall we be researching?" I asked, at a loss as to what he was after next.

"Pirates, my good fellow, pirates," Holmes replied, tapping at the unseen insignia he still bore on his forearm.

"What?"

"Whoa!" we suddenly heard our driver call, and we drew up at a stop. We both watched as the driver hopped down from his perch and went to examine the horse's feet. "Just as I thought," he said to Holmes as he returned. "She threw a shoe just now –my apologies, sir."

"No matter," Holmes replied, patting the driver on the shoulder amiably. "Tend to your good horse, sir, and we shall see about another cab –ah! Here is one now." He flagged down the nearby driver, and once again we both climbed aboard to attempt our trip across town.

"Afternoon," the cabby said, "and where might two such fine gentlemen as yourselves be off to?"

"The British Museum, if you please," Holmes instructed him.

"Certainly, sir."

Our driver, a tanned, dark-haired, and not overly tall fellow, whipped up the horse and headed off into the street.

"Why would it be that you gents would be off to the museum on a beautiful day like today?" our driver asked. Clearly he was the chatty sort, or the break in the oppressive heat had just left him in a fine mood. "You'd be much better off taking a stroll through the park. I might even go so far as to suggest you'd've been better off inviting your ladyfriend for a picnic there on an afternoon like this."

"How did you know we were with a lady just now?" Holmes asked him. His manner was casually disquisitive, but I'd heard that tone of voice enough by then to recognize a note of suspicion.

"You'll pardon me saying so, sir, but a hundred feet is still a short enough distance for a man to notice a woman like that," the driver said with a subtle grin over his shoulder. "It was the lady as caught me eye, not so much you gents –until your cab broke down right in front of me, that is." He shrugged. "You'll excuse me saying so if I would've preferred the fair lady as a fare?"

"Of course." Holmes made a gesture of vague dismissal.

"So, tell me about your lady friend," the driver said over his right shoulder, clearly addressing me once Holmes had lost himself in detached contemplation. "What is she –maid, seamstress, governess?" our cabby asked as we drove along.

"I'll have you know," I said, feeling suddenly the need to defend our female assistant in our current case, "that Miss Hastings is a scientist; she's in research at the natural history museum."

"Ah," the driver said with another small grin over his shoulder. "That explains why you gents are so keen on spending time at the museums. Always thought they were full of stuffy old academic types meself. I'd spend more time there too if I knew they looked like her..."

"I believe Miss Hastings to be the exception and not the rule," Holmes put in tersely, "and we are currently engaged in a form of research ourselves, hence the actual reason for our visit to the museums."

As the next few moments went by our driver kept more to himself, occasionally making a remark again about the weather, the series of overnight assaults reported in the papers that we hadn't heard about yet that day, and the upcoming birthday jubilee for Admiral Sir Wellesley. He made it a point not to say anything further about Miss Hastings, probably, I assumed at the time, so that he wouldn't jeopardize any form of a gratuity he might incur for his services.

Once we had pulled up in front of the British Museum, Holmes bade me stay with the cab until he ascertained whether or not we would be able to gain access to the maritime resources we needed, and he quickly headed off to the entrance.

I sat in the open cab, enjoying the fine air, and the driver spoke up again to pass the time.

"So, research, ay?" he asked casually. "What might you be researching at the museum?"

I stretched out languidly in the seat as I waited. "Apparently pirates," I replied as I basked in the refreshing breeze.

"Pirates!" the driver said with a laugh. "You don't need a museum for that, mate. I could certainly tell you a thing or two about bloody pirates."

"Oh? You're an expert on the subject then, are you?" I laughed.

"I've met my share," the driver said soberly.

"Met your share? You've been to sea, then?" I asked.

"Aye."

"Navy?"

The driver shook his head. "Merchant marine."

"Oh, how interesting. And what did you ship?"

"Oh, this and that –whatever was at hand you might say," he replied. "Made a career of nautical acquisition and redistribution, as it were."

"I see. And where did you sail?" I asked him.

"Anywhere and everywhere," he answered. "All seven seas." At that point he turned in his seat and drew back his right sleeve, exhibiting a tattoo there of some sort, but it was more the bandage wrapped around his wrist that caught my attention, for obvious reasons.

"What did you do there?" I asked, curious about the injury my pleasant new acquaintance had.

"Caught it on me horse's tack this morning –it's just a nasty scratch," he replied. "Bled a fair bit, but it's right enough now."

"I wouldn't mind taking a look at it for you," I said. "I happen to be a medical doctor."

"Oh, I think it's nothing you need to look at," the driver said, rolling his sleeve back down, "but thanks just the same."

"Well, you keep an eye on it; sometimes deep cuts can look innocent enough at first. If that gives you any difficulty in the next day or two, I should be happy to examine it for you."

"Much obliged, sir," the cabby said with a nod and a charming smile. "And who might be the doctor I'd be calling upon if this gives me any trouble?"

"John Watson," I said, sitting forward and offering him my hand, "of 221B Baker Street."

"Jonathan Teague," he replied amiably, shaking my hand. "221B Baker Street, huh? Let's both you and I hope that I don't need to pay you a visit there, ay?"

"Let's," I said in return with a smile, and then I glanced at the museum to see if there was any sign of Holmes. When there wasn't any, Teague struck up the conversation once more.

"So, your friend there," he said, nodding in the direction that Holmes had gone, "a bit tense, isn't he?"

"Intense, my good man," I replied informatively, "intense. Once he's on the trail of something he's after, he's quite like a terrier with a bone."

"And what might he be on the trail of?" Teague asked casually, examining his nails.

"A murderer, but that is all that I am at liberty to say," I replied, knowing that Holmes would disapprove of me gossiping over one of his cases before it had met its completion. Heaven knew he had a difficult enough time with me writing about them after they were concluded.

"Odd, I didn't take him for police," said my chatty companion.

"Police! Oh, no, no, my good fellow," I replied, intending to set him staight. "That is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"The bloke what found that kidnapped girl?" Teague asked, appearing impressed.

"Indeed," I said with a measure of pride.

"Broadhurst was it?"

"Broadnax," I corrected him.

"Ah," he said, appearing to lose himself in thought for a moment. "Sherlock Holmes, ay? That's very interesting..."

Teague was quiet for a few moments while we both watched the entrance to the museum for any sign of my companion.

"So, why is it," my friendly driver asked in a casual, half-interested manner, "that the renowned Mr. Holmes is seeking information about pirates?"

"He seems to feel that he encountered some last night," I answered, settling more comfortably in the seat as I continued to wait.

"Here in London?" Teague asked.

"At a pub."

"Ah, that would be the Oxford Club, then," Teague replied with a knowing smile. When he saw the surprised look on my face his grin broadened. "Told you I knew something about pirates."

"You really think there are still pirates left in this day and age?" I asked, becoming disconcerted at the notion that this former seaman was independently corroborating Holmes's theory.

Teague gave a subtle shrug of his shoulders. "Seems to me there always will be, mate," he said with surprising solemnity before trailing off. "There always will be..."

"Watson!"

Holmes was beckoning to me from the stairs, and I gathered myself up and climbed out of the cab, handing over the fare and then some to the driver. He nodded in thanks to me and spoke one last time before I walked away.

"You have yourself a fine day, Doctor Watson," he said affably. "Good luck with your research, but watch out for those pirates...a cunning lot they are, and you just never know when you might encounter one."

"I hope never to do so beyond the two hours of our research, my good man," I said with a light laugh, and Teague appeared infinitely amused at my comment before I turned to catch up with Sherlock Holmes.

The research that Holmes had been intending for us to spend our afternoon engaged in, while I still didn't completely understand the need for it, was facilitated by Dr. Charles Maynard, curator and keeper of the maritime resources of the Britsh Museum, including those that were concerned with piracy. Maynard, a descendant, he informed us as we walked, of Royal Navy Lieutenant Robert Maynard, the man responsible for the ultimate defeat of the pirate Edward Teach, also best known as Blackbeard, was apparently thrilled that the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes had taken an interest in a subject so near and dear to his heart. Holmes remained pleasantly vague about the reasons he had a need to gather more data concerning those who had 'gone on the account', as Maynard had called it, and I confess that I was still only slightly less in the dark about that reason than our host.

Dr. Maynard had given us a distilled discourse on the history of piracy in the British Empire and beyond once he had led us to the research room, and after seeing to it that we were settled into handsome and comfortable leather chairs that surrounded a long table, he went to the vast bookcases and deliberated for a matter of minutes. Apparently making up his mind, he chose a large armload of books and brought them back to us, explaining what each contained.

We soon found ourselves facing a stack containing such titles as Pillaging the Empire: Piracy in the Colonies 1500-1750; X Marks the Spot: The Search for Pirate Treasure; Raiders and Rebels: The Golden age of Piracy; and Pirates of the West Indies.

Upon seeing the number of books the good curator had enthusiastically gathered for us, Holmes shot me a reassuring look behind his back that indicated that I shouldn't fear about having to rifle through them all, and spoke up to let Maynard know more specifically what he was looking for.

"I'm afraid, Dr. Maynard, that while these all appear to be most interesting volumes," Holmes said, "that our time is rather limited. We have an appointment in quite somewhat less than two hours that we simply cannot be late for with Miss Hastings of the Natural History Museum, and so we must effect our search rather efficiently."

I was impressed enough with my confederate's sincere affect of regret that I wondered momentarily whether or not he truly was distressed over not having enough time to read all the material on the table before him, although I rather doubted it.

Dr. Maynard, a neatly dressed, bespectacled, and tidy little man of perhaps sixty, looked every bit the part of a distinguished museum curator, yet he offered us an impish smile. "I quite understand. I myself should regret being late for an appointment with Miss Hastings, were I to have one."

Holmes smiled indulgently at him.

"What aspect of piracy then, is it that you need to know about, Mr. Holmes?" Maynard asked, poised to be of service in finding whatever we needed.

"I am most interested in famous rivalries in the history of piracy, especially any of those that may have occurred in and around the West Indies and India," Holmes replied.

Maynard looked simply delighted and clapped his hands together. "A fascinating subject, Mr. Holmes, and one that I certainly can help you with!" said he, enthusiastically. Stepping quickly to the bookshelves again, he returned with several carefully selected volumes.

"One of the best known rivalries in Asia," Maynard replied, "was that between the Pirate Lords Sri Sumbhajee Angria, and Sao Feng, rulers of the Indian Ocean and South China Sea respectively. If you know your geography at all, you can see why there would be frequent clashes between the Indian and Chinese pirates." Maynard handed over a book that contained information on piracy in that region.

"Ah, most helpful," Holmes said, pulling the book closer.

"As for the West Indies," Maynard went on, "there were many rivalries since it was such an enormously lucrative location during the golden age of piracy, but two most prominent ones come to mind.

"You simply cannot have any sort of discussion about pirates of the Caribbean, or piracy at all, for that matter, without including Sir Henry Morgan," Maynard continued. "His famous rivalry was with the Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea, Don Alonso del Campo, who was ultimately defeated by Morgan and replaced by him with Eduardo Villanueva, eventually the most notorious of all the Mediterranean Lords."

"Replaced by him?" I asked curiously.

"Yes, rather a brilliant coups employed by Morgan," Dr. Maynard replied. "Although there was no Pirate King at the time of Morgan's reign as Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, the remarkable web of alliances he wove throughout the Brethren Court, as well as with other influential pirates, ensured that he essentially ruled the seas in that capacity in all but name."

"Fascinating!" Holmes commented in earnest.

"Oh, you've no idea," Maynard added gleefully. "All this was accomplished while Morgan lived what essentially amounted to a double life in high Jamaican society –even became the Lieutenant Governor for a period of time."

"That's fantastic!" I cried in disbelief. "Utterly incredible!"

"Yet still true all the same, Dr. Watson," Maynard replied knowledgeably. "Piracy nearly came to an end several decades before it actually declined, simply because of Morgan's death and the loss of any coherence of the nine Pirate Lords. If it weren't for the events of the 1720's, the East India Trading Company would have eradicated piracy in that region altogether quite a bit sooner."

"And just what happened in the 1720's?" I asked, still finding myself somewhat sceptical.

"The Brethren Court actually managed to elect a new Pirate King," Maynard replied, "which was nearly impossible to do; getting the Pirate Lords even to agree to meet again as a group was a feat in itself, but actually getting them to vote for anyone but themselves was quite another.

"You'll find all the information you need on the Brethren Court in here," Maynard said, handing over a volume entitled The Rule of Nine: History of the Pirate Lords, "including fairly detailed accounts of not only Sumbhajee, Feng, and Morgan, but of the other two pirates involved in a major West Indies rivalry."

"And they would be?" Holmes asked, accepting the book.

"Barbossa and Sparrow," Dr. Maynard replied, "Pirate Lords of the Caspian and Caribbean Seas respectively, and two of the most fascinating men in the history of piracy. I'm quite sure you'll enjoy reading about them."

With that Maynard supplied me with my own book, and I stared back at the faded but gruesome, grinning skull enbossed upon the leather cover.

~~o~~