From mrspencil: a mistaken identity

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I can please beg your attention!" This impassioned plea was from the First Mate of the ship, Mr Hendriks, who looked ill-suited to the sudden responsibility which had been thrust upon him following the Captain's injury. "Please everyone, try not to panic!"

We had all been ushered hastily into the dining room following a brief period of confusion and panic. Fortunately no one had been severely injured in the explosion, which we were now being told was from a very minor issue with the steam boiler.

"Very minor," Hendriks repeated. "Although we would ask that you remain in your cabins for a short while, to enable the rest of the crew and I to carry out some necessary checks."

A collective groan went up amongst the passengers.

"I know, I know! It will not take long, and then our journey will resume as planned."

The crowd slowly dissipated, muttering complaints, and the crewmen rushed off to set to their respective tasks.

"I can't see van Es anywhere." Watson's eyes darted between the many faces that passed us by. "Where is he?"

"I have an idea," I said, and made for the First Mate, Watson close behind me.

I was forced to limp on Watson's cane, for when the explosion earlier had sent us both to the floor, I had landed awkwardly upon my ankle. I was certain it was only a bad sprain, and refused Watson an examination at the time, but I could feel his disapproving glances on my back.

"Mr Hendriks." Hendriks looked away from the engineer he was talking to rapidly in Dutch - Mr Dekker, as it so happened - with some irritation. "We have some information regarding the explosion."

"Information? We don't need any information. Everything is perfectly safe, so if you could please get to your cabin-"

"But you see, my friend here Doctor Jones spoke to the Captain just after he was shot," I continued resolutely. "The Captain said he was shot by a dangerous man who wanted to sabotage the ship. Couldn't it be that man is still hiding near the boilers? Oughtn't we try and capture him?"

"Really?" Hendriks addressed Watson now. "He said that?"

Dissimulation has never been Watson's particular forte, but to give him his credit he answered smoothly, "I would have said so at the time, but everyone was so concerned with the engines stopping, and then there was that dreadful explosion."

"I was there when Doctor Jones was with the Captain, after he'd been shot," Dekker piped in. "I saw him say something, though I didn't hear what it was. If you like, Mr Hendriks sir, I could accompany them to the boilers just to double check?"

"No, no, I'll go," Hendriks said impatiently. "You get to your post Mr Dekker, check the passengers have everything they need."

"But sir, that really does seem more suited to a steward's role-"

"Dekker," Hendriks all but growled. "That's an order."

Duly chastised, Dekker nodded to the three of us and left. Hendriks heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Alright. Lead the way then Doctor Jones and..?"

"Mr Peterson," I lied. It would serve us better to retain our aliases, at least for the time being. We still weren't sure who was responsible among the crew for intercepting the communications from Mycroft.

It was not so difficult to track down van Es, although the new injury to my foot meant things went slower than I'd have liked. And of course, when we did uncover him in the small crawlspace close to one of the steam boilers, he was able to take advantage of my hindered balance to knock me down and sprint away.

Once he had ascertained that I was only badly winded, Watson tore off in pursuit. Mr Hendriks remained and helped me back to my feet.

"His name is Bartholomew van Es," I said, once I had gotten Watson's cane back under me. My ankle throbbed with renewed intensity. "He was the one who shot the Captain, and probably the one who sabotaged the engines." But here I faltered. For if he had shot the captain, why hadn't he used the gun on me, rather than run?

"You ought to get you back to your cabin now, Mr Holmes," Hendriks was saying, steering me away from the engines. "I will send someone to check on Mr van Es and your friend."

"No, I should-" But I stopped and looked to him in sudden apprehension, for he had used my real name, not my alias.

He swore under his breath, realising his mistake. "Foolish of me," he smiled in mock-apology, and the last thing I saw was the butt of Watson's revolver as it slammed into my temple.

I drifted in and out of awareness, the intense throbbing in my head matched only by the pain in my ankle, which was made worse as I was dragged unceremoniously to the ship's brig. Hendrick's voice filtered in and out as he spoke with other Dutch crewmen.

I had studied Dutch in preparation for this task from Mycroft, and even in my concussed state I could grasp a little of what was being said. The ship was taking on water quickly, despite what they had told the passengers and other crew-members. The word kant came up several times, and I couldn't quite grasp its meaning although I was certain it was lodged somewhere in my addled brain.

As I was slipping back into unconsciousness I heard Watson's name mentioned, and felt perversely relieved when Hendrick dismissed him as an "idioot". Criminals we faced had a tendency to underestimate my friend and my last thought before slipping into darkness was an earnest hope that he might use this to his advantage, and find a way out of this dire situation.