A/N: Greetings, all! Sorry about the delay. I just returned home from visiting the family over Christmas break. Worry not, the story continues!
Voices woke me from an uneasy sleep, and I sat up slowly on my cot. When I had at last fallen asleep the cell had been dark; now flickering lamplight seeped through the gaps around the frame. The voices were arguing about something, and since I really didn't have anything better to do I heaved myself to my feet and crept to the door, cursing stiff muscles and aching bones every step of the way. Thirty-eight is not considered terribly old in most quarters, but it's much too old to be attempting sleep on a rickety cot in a cold, damp stone room. Nonetheless, I managed to reach the door without alerting those outside. Pressing my ear to the warped wood I listened intently.
"–will have his head for this!" A male voice, deep and strangely accented, but with a curiously whining overtone.
"The professor knows what he's doing, you sniveling weasel. This does not concern your employer." I knew that voice, though I'd only heard it a few times. Colonel Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right hand man and a malevolent force in his own right. Like Moriarty, he had every reason to hate Holmes–particularly since, at their last meeting, Holmes had not only foiled Moran's plot but had thrashed him thoroughly with the aid of a bullwhip, humiliating him both intellectually and physically. For a man as proud as Colonel Moran, this was reason and more to desire the death of Sherlock Holmes.
"It could ruin everything, you fool!" exclaimed the first man. "That detective is blaster-in-holster with the Jedi, and you can guarantee that he will enlist their aid! If Sardius is discovered too soon, it's over!"
I narrowed my eyes at the speaker's use of terms unfamiliar to Earth. I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but it didn't take a great genius to guess that this man was the unimaginative pirate Mailen.
Moran had mentioned an employer, though, and it was clear he was not referring to Moriarty. Ben and Derry had been right: Mailen did have another ally, the shadowy and unknown 'Sardius'. At least it wasn't another name that began with an 'M.' One was almost tempted to think the criminals were forming an alliterative club.
"Sardius won't complain when Moriarty hands his enemies over to him in a nice little package," Moran sneered.
"More likely he'll take his head, if the Jedi don't hand it to him first. It's a suicidal fool who takes on one Jedi, let alone a whole damn flock of 'em."
"You forget that Moriarty has already caught one once, and kept him subdued."
"Luck," the pirate grumbled. "And he couldn't have done it without the stuff Sardius gave him."
Moran ignored that. "And your friend Sardius didn't seem to have any trouble killing that other one–I forget his name..."
"Because he had the advantage! That fool up in the ship trusted him, didn't think he was in any danger. All your precious Moriarty's managed to do is put that over-clever detective he's so bothered about on guard–and by default, he's put the Jedi on alert as well!"
"Moriarty knows what he's doing."
"The hell he does. He doesn't know what he's up against."
There was a scuffle of feet on stone and Mailen let out a startled squawk. I could easily imagine what had occurred. Colonel Moran was not noted for his even temper, and I guessed that Mailen's feet were now dangling a foot or so off the floor with Moran's hands clenched firmly in his shirtfront or around his throat.
"Listen, you little sneak," Moran growled, "You may think you have the advantage because you come from another world and have all your little toys to awe the masses, but let me remind you that without Moriarty and myself you and your turncoat Jedi would be nowhere with this plot of yours."
I caught my breath, not certain I'd heard him correctly. A turncoat Jedi? Surely not...but there was no denying what I'd heard. There was a traitor among the Jedi, working with Mailen and Professor Moriarty.
But who could it be? Perhaps Lord W–? Maybe the taste of power such as found here had engendered an addiction, the desire for a whole world's worth. Or even MacEiver, though I felt ashamed for considering such a thing, as I liked the man a great deal. It was still possible. Or perhaps the group's as-yet-unknown leader.
Frustration rose up, bitter as bile in my throat. This information was vital, so vital that the lives of not only the Jedi but also my life and the life of my dearest friend could hang upon it. And I had absolutely no means to warn them. Moriarty had seen to that, effectively nailing my feet to the floor with his sinister promises.
I could only pray that Holmes would figure it out before it was too late.