Chapter 11: "Calm After the Storm"
Holmes:
I sighed and began to refill my pipe. It had been over an hour, the sun had well and truly sunk behind the landscape of the now quiet London, but I had little to show for it.
I had the facts, to be sure, but not enough to construct a solid case.
Ghost ships that vanished with all hands aboard only to reappear a short time later, it was a clever hiding place, right there in plain sight. Had it not been for the sharp eye of a certain seaman than the thing might have gone unnoticed for some time.
But who was hiding it? There was not enough motive…the ships had never been sunk, merely refurbished. But their resale would not be enough to justify the deaths of whole crews; and in some cases, passengers.
It was possible that the Lansing line was shipping some commodity previously unknown, and for that reason the ships were being pirated…no, for if it was smuggling then who would know to seize the ships?
No, there was a deeper motive…and I could not fathom it.
I lit the pipe with a sigh. Lachlan's vocabulary was having an adverse affect on my own. Another day in his company and my speech would be riddled with nautical terms; though it would be worth it, considering the character of the man…and the strength. He had pulled through that fever quite remarkably. To think that I had been in the throes of the very same illness, and that Watson had faced it alone!
I shuddered and took a long draught from my pipe.
The motive...money alone could not be the motive…but why else would you attack a ship? And why only the Lansing line, which was by no means the wealthiest or on top of the competition; which ruled out the possibility of sullying their reputation, which had already happened.
No…not money or competition…then what…personal revenge? Convenience?
A thought pricked in my mind. If the ships were being pirated and disguised, then why had the Lansing not bought back several of its own ships?
I smiled as the thought fell smoothly into place. That was the reason that the Lansing had been so eager to keep Lachlan out of it. They were trying to protect their reputation…they already knew about the ships.
In fact, since they had not purchased the ships it was probable that they themselves had resold them to try and regain some of the profits they had lost along with the ship. And they had to have lost them…there was no other explanation. Not all the ships were being resold, for only a few had been recovered after the attacks. And they were indeed being attacked, for the deaths of the sailors could not be accidental, not when the incident had been repeated so many times.
But what kind of attack? One that left the ship undamaged, and drifting for the Lansing to find...
I lapsed into thought, going through numerous scenarios in my head and discarding them one by one.
I had very nearly fallen asleep when I heard the clock from the sitting room chime the hour. Ten. It was late. I laid my pipe aside and rose to my feet. I would take a quick turn around the sitting room, just to stretch my limbs and make certain that all was well.
It was, quiet and still, broken only by the breathing of the two sleeping men. I paused over Lachlan, took his pulse and felt his brow. My worries were boundless; his heart beats were strong and even, in fact he looked virtually unaffected by the fever…he could easily be sleep-
I froze as another thought struck me, and the confused pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place.
It could not be coincidence that Lachlan and I had both acquired the same erratic and bizarre fever. It had to have come from the knife and the man wielding the knife had gone after me because I had been questioning about the Lansing line.
An exotic fever…one that incapacitated a man almost instantly, and was transmitted totally undetected…would be just the way to take over a ship without damage. Much in the way it had taken Lachlan without an outward visible mark.
A slight murmur drew my attention and I turned to see Watson, his brow furrowed, moving restlessly on the armchair. And I realized just how uncomfortable sleeping on an armchair would be.
"Watson." I gripped his shoulder and shook it gently. "Watson."
He sighed and turned his head. I shook harder…he was far too heavy a sleeper.
"Watson, wake up, old fellow."
His eyes flickered open, blinked at the darkness, and then he looked up at me.
"Holmes." He mumbled, quite bleary with sleep and fatigue. "What is it?"
I laughed softly. "I think that you should head to bed, Watson."
"Bed?" he glanced round, realized where he was, and surged to his feet, stumbling slightly. I put out a hand to steady him as he spoke. "Lachlan – is he –"
"He is fine, my dear Watson." I reassured him as he rubbed his eyes wearily, one hand gripping the chair to steady himself.
"Good," he sighed rather shakily…he really had gone through an enormous strain.
"Bed, Watson." I said, and he glared at me only half awake. I doubted he would even remember this conversation in the morning.
"I shall rest, I swear. But you will be no good to Lachlan or myself if you collapse of exhaustion, and we need you more than ever, old chap. You've done enough…go to bed."
He glared at me for a moment, and then with a sigh of resignation and a heavy nod he turned and stumbled off towards his room.
"'Good night, old fellow." I called after him, checking on Lachlan one last time.
I heard a soft "Good night, Holmes" and then his weary footsteps upon the stair.
I retired to my room with a smile.
Copper-bottomed indeed.
Watson
I had woken up that morning with the worst headache I had had in many a month, and in consequence I was rather in an ill temper.
The strain of the last two days and the off schedule I had been on brought with it a bad stress headache, and I stuffed a packet of light pain reliever in my pocket before going down to the sitting room, intending to mix it into my coffee. My consequent sluggishness would be put down by Holmes and our client to being tired, as we all must be at this point.
My friend and Lachlan were already up, and I was very glad to see that both of their faces had returned to their natural complexion, and they both looked a sight better than when I had last seen them. And Lachlan appeared to have no lasting damage from the effects of his fever – he had even been able to be up and about a bit, as evidenced by the fact that he had his shirt on now.
Both men were drinking a pot of coffee Mrs. Hudson must have prepared, and as I sat wearily down in my chair Holmes poured a cup of coffee, added milk and a lump of sugar as he knew I took it, stirred it, and handed it to me.
"I am sorry for giving you so much bother yesterday, Doctor," Lachlan said, glancing apologetically at me.
"There's no need to apologize, old man. Not your fault," I replied, stifling a yawn. As Holmes turned a teasing gaze upon me, I felt my face flush.
"Really, Watson, how can you still be sleepy after fourteen hours of slumber?" Holmes teased gently.
"You try pulling two men out of the grave in the same 24 hour period and see how alert you feel afterwards," I declared, downing the rest of my coffee in one gulp, "especially when they are as stubborn as the two of you apparently are!"
Holmes laughed again, and I glared at him a little testily. Our small battle of wills was interrupted by the voice of the sailor.
"I should really be shovin' off, gentlemen –"
"You will do no such thing," I replied sternly, not skipping a beat, "you are in no fit state to leave here for at least another couple of hours."
"Doctor, I am perfectly seaworthy –"
"I shall be the judge of that. Sit down, Lachlan," I ordered, looking at the man warningly, telling him not to press his luck with me this morning.
"I recognize that tone, Lachlan – you'd better humor him," Holmes said slyly, "he's rather a bear before breakfast, as you can see."
I turned my gaze back to Holmes, and I was meanly a little glad to see him fidget a trifle uneasily under my warning glare.
But I was in no mood for mind games, and I rubbed a hand uneasily across my eyes as a stab of pain attacked my temples. Holmes's barbed sarcasm usually did not bother me in the least, but it seemed a trifle overbearing this morning due to the pain in my head.
Finally I drained my coffee cup and walked behind Holmes's chair to my desk. I refilled the cup with coffee and the medicine, turning my back away from Holmes so he would not know that I was taking a pain reliever.
Somehow he noticed, however, and as I finished mixing it I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked into a pair of worried grey eyes. I sighed ruefully.
"Why in the world do you have to be so confounded observant, Holmes?"
He did not laugh at my attempt at humor but asked me if I was feeling quite well.
"Just a headache, Holmes, I am fine," I reassured him, and I was not a little pleased to see the amount of concern in his face.
I could tell by his manner last night that this business with Lachlan had shaken him, knowing how close to death he had come himself and what I had had to go through to bring him back.
I downed the coffee in one gulp, hoping the pain reliever would take effect quickly, for I could tell by Holmes's manner that he had done a deal of thinking and we were sure to be back in action today, against my better judgment.
Holmes's hand tightened on my shoulder and he was about to say something when Mrs. Hudson arrived with our breakfast, laid it quietly, and left, and I realized suddenly that I had not eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, so hectic had the last day's events been. Lachlan had already headed to the table, and Holmes pushed me gently in that direction as well.
We had not yet even seated ourselves before there was a rushing of little feet in the hall, and the lad Alfie came plowing into the sitting room amidst Mrs. Hudson's shrieks from downstairs. The boy came to a screeching halt in the room, and then launched himself at Holmes before I could stop him.
"Mr. 'Olmes! Yer all roight!" the boy whooped, hugging my friend's thin form tightly.
I saw Holmes's face turn white as the boy unwittingly got too near his injury, and I quickly moved to disentangle the lad; but he stopped me with a shake of the head, an odd softness coming over his face as he gently pushed the boy back and ruffled his ginger hair in an uncharacteristic gesture.
"Yes, my lad, I am perfectly fine."
"The Doctor said that bloke 'ad tried ta kill yoo! Me an' the boys went ev'rywhere, an' we couldn't find no sign o' the filthy little…"
I stared in abject shock as the enraged boy let forth a string of expletives that even Lachlan stared at – how had that child learnt such language?
I realized my mouth was gaping open as the sailor started laughing.
"Never heard a lad what could give lessons to a seaman like meself," the man chuckled as Holmes rather awkwardly tried to calm the wound-up little Irregular.
"Oi sure am sorry, Mr. 'Olmes, Doctor, we couldn' find no trace o' the bloke," the boy said sadly, hanging his head and scuffing at the carpet with the toe of a ragged little shoe.
"It's all right, Alfie, you did your best," I said soothingly, going over to my desk and retrieving a half a crown from my wallet, "and Mr. Holmes and I appreciate it very much. Would you like a scone?"
"Oi, ta Doctor!" the lad said, eagerly pocketing the coin and then stuffing his other pockets full of our landlady's treats.
"Oi sure am glad ta see yer all roight, Mr. 'Olmes," the boy said, turning back to us after grabbing the sweets.
"Thank you, lad. Give my regards to all the rest of the Irregulars," Holmes said with a smile.
"Right, sir. Mornin', gents."
Little Alfie took off with vigor down the steps, loudly arguing with Mrs. Hudson over his energetic whooping, and a moment later we heard the front door slam.
"Holmes, the wound – are you – "
"No, Watson, it's fine, I promise. Just a little rough there for a moment," my friend replied, seating himself at the breakfast table.
I followed suit, rubbing wearily at my eyes – that confounded headache. I was going to be in an extremely bad temper if it did not subside soon. Holmes shot me a worried look as he passed the dishes over to me and Lachlan.
Then Holmes and Lachlan began discussing the symptoms of the unusual fever they had both contracted – strange that they had both gotten it, but I supposed Lachlan had caught it from Holmes. Odd that I had not; but then, I was used to dealing with germs and perhaps had a stronger resistance for them.
I had been listening absently to the conversation, trying to eat something, but my head was pounding so badly I really was not all that hungry. I wished fervently for the next fifteen minutes to pass so that the medicine would take effect and the pain would subside.
Holmes shot me a look that told me he had observed the fact that I had eaten next to nothing, which I ignored for the moment, finally pushing back my chair and walking over to the couch, putting away the medical instruments that I had been using the night before and that still remained out; I had been too tired to clean up last night.
As I straightened up, Lachlan suddenly appeared in front of me and abruptly took the bag out of my startled hands, and then Holmes took me by the arm and pushed me gently into my chair.
"You, my dear Watson, are not going to do anything today," he said sternly, "you have done more work in the last 24 hours than any man should have had to do."
I glared at both of them, for I sensed a conspiracy.
Holmes returned my glare with an inexorable one of his own; and of course, as I always ended up doing, I conceded to his stronger will. Actually, I was rather pleased at his concern, though it really had no foundation; I was merely being testy because of the headache.
"Hmph."
"Not the most brilliant of retorts, Watson."
"I shall leave the sarcasm to the experts such as you, Holmes," I said, allowing some of my irritation to finally leave my tense body as I stretched out in front of the fire, leaning my head against the back of my chair and grinning at my companion.
I saw a look of intense relief flood over his face as he snorted at what he called my pawky sense of humor, and the tension in his face left slightly as he sat cautiously down in his own chair opposite me, motioning Lachlan to the couch.
I recognized the look on my friend's face – now that he was sure I was all right, he was about to inform us of his plans.
We were now going to chart a course to follow in our quest to solve this odd mystery. I hoped very definitely that the rest of this case would not be as dangerous as it had been so far.
How wrong I was.