Chapter 15: "Shake a Leg"

Shake a leg: Nautical term meaning to rouse yourself from sleep and get out of bed.

Holmes:

The sound was quite loud enough to reach even my bedroom. And I found it impossible to continue my slumber through the ruckus.

I jerked my head up from the pillow with a grumble, brushing my hair back and scrambling for the watch which lay on my bedside table.

"4:21!" I snapped to the still air in frustration. I had never placed much importance on the need of sleep…but even I had my limits. I threw back my covers and pulled on my dressing gown, then surged from the bedroom.

"MRS. HUDSON! WHO THE DEVIL IS AT THE DOOR!?"

My voice rang unanswered down the dark stairwell. I took another deep lungful of air.

"MRS. HUDSON…WILL YOU ANSWER THE DOOR?!"

There was no answer, the pounding continued, the infernal woman had to be asleep still. Not that I blamed her.

There was a muffled thump in the room above mine and a faint voice. The sound had awoken Watson as well.

Another bout of pounding rattled our door, so with a resigned grumble I stumbled gingerly down the stairs, holding my stitches.

I picked up a large stick from the stand in the hall, for there are few friendly reasons for visiting at that cursed hour.

It was not needful, for when I cracked open the door and peered out I caught sight of a by now familiar face.

The fellow grinned in a manner far too pleasant, and his blue eyes twinkled.

"Lachlan! What the devil are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it is?!"

The midshipman chuckled softly…at least his voice was softer than his fist. "Good morning to you, Mr. Holmes…you look a bit tired."

I glared at him out of bleary eyes. He was cursedly together for that hour, looking far more sharp than usual in his uniform, hair combed, face red with the cool night air. His eyes were clear and sharp.

He grinned again at my lack of response and looked around him pointedly.

"Are you goin' to let me in?"

"Only if you are going to explain what in heaven's name you are doing here! And at this cursed hour!" I stepped aside, allowing him to slip past me. I closed the door and turned to face him as he gazed about the hall.

He sighed, fiddling with the hat he held in his hands. "You keep the place fairly dark this time of day."

"Lachlan," I growled in a barely controlled voice. "It is 4:21 am! Most people are not even awake at this time of day, much less up!"

That cheeky grin would not drop from his face and it was disgustingly obvious that he knew perfectly well what an inconvenience this was…and did not care one whit.

There was a sound at the head of the steps and another familiar figure stumbled into view, only climbing partway down before stopping.

Watson has always been a heavy sleeper, save on those occasions when he is tending to a patient. Many times I have had to wake him in pursuit of a case and it had proved to be a devilishly difficult business.

At the moment he appeared to be only half-conscious, blinking at us out of half-closed eyes.

"H'mes…what is it? What's going on?"

I could not keep the irritation from my voice. It was my only outlet for my anger short of resorting to physical violence, which I was only moments from doing.

"Lachlan has come to visit us!" I said with a sweeping gesture, throwing the stick back into the stand where it rattled loudly.

Watson gave a groggy blink, "Pardon?"

"Lachlan is here!" I said, raising my voice to a pitch that made even the seaman flinch.

There was no reactive expression from my Boswell. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, and yawned very widely.

"That's nice," he slurred, turning around to trudge back up the stairs.

Lachlan laughed and I snorted, then followed. I needed my pipe.

The seaman's steps pounded energetically behind me; I could picture the insufferable smile on his face. I was strongly tempted to give him a little push down the stairs.

We entered the sitting room to find it awash in light and heat. Watson had stoked the fire and now sat slumped in his armchair, his notebook open on his lap, a pen hanging limply in his hand.

He had been moving on automatic and had slipped back into a semi-slumber, his head lolling against the side of the chair.

I found my pipe and filled it with a fumbling hand, glaring at Lachlan all the while, as he settled himself on the couch. He had at least ceased his smirking.

"Now, Lachlan." I growled taking a deep breath of tobacco and feeling my nerves settle somewhat. "What exactly possessed you to wake us in the middle of the night?"

Lachlan raised his brows and sat back in the sofa. "I've come to make sure you catch your ship, Holmes."

My irritation rose. "It is 4:21."

"Yes, Holmes, I know." Lachlan nodded and smiled, enjoying himself immensely.

"If I recall correctly Lachlan, you were the only one required to report to the ship at 7 am."

"Aye, that's why I am here so early. My train leaves in less than an hour, I just had time to come and see you gents."

"We will see you on the ship!" I felt my face redden in anger.

But Lachlan was not looking at me, his gaze was fixed on Watson and his expression was rather bemused. I turned just in time to see the notebook slip from my friend's nerveless fingers to the floor…he was snoring softly.

I sighed and shook his shoulder.

"Watson."

Further snoring.

"Watson!"

This time my query was answered by a sleepy grunt and an eye cracked open to peer up at me.

"Do wake up, old fellow."

He sighed and straightened, groping on the floor for his notebook.

"Good morning, Doctor." Lachlan said pleasantly.

Watson smiled sleepily and gave a little wave of his hand, he grasped the notebook and sat up again.

"Are we done then?...can I go back to bed or are you two going to keep a fellow up all night?"

It was not in Watson's nature to complain either, further proof of how disoriented he was.

"Actually, Doctor, I'm here to accompany you and Mr. Holmes to the trainyard." Lachlan said, apologetic for the first time.

Watson blinked a few times and fixed our visitor with his first comprehensive glance of the morning.

His voice was clear and incredulous when he spoke again.

"What?!"

"As much as we enjoy your company, we had planned to come at a later hour, Lachlan." I said, "the ship does not leave until 10:00 tonight."

"No, Mr. Holmes…you mistook the time. The ship leaves at 10:00 this morning. I learned this after leavin' you gents last night, and the telegraph office would not have been open in time for me to inform you of the matter before I had to leave."

Watson was glaring now, in concentration or frustration I could not tell. He opened his mouth, closed it again and then turned his gaze on me.

"10:00 am."

I sighed. "I am not a walking timetable. Watson. It is a simple mistake."

"I thought you didn't make simple mistakes, Holmes," he said more sharply than before and his scowl had deepened significantly.

"Well, if you gents really want to get more sleep you could take a later train, now that I've told you. There is one that comes a half hour after this one…should give you about fifteen minutes." Lachlan said, watching Watson with a sudden wariness, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

My friend's face had gone rather dark and he rose abruptly from his seat, tossing his notebook forcefully into it.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Where are you going?" I called after him as strode to the door.

"To get my bags, the ones I packed last night." He turned around and glared at me. "I told you I had good reason to do it then."

I swore softly. I had yet to pack, and the thought of throwing together my things while this tired galled me.

"Better get started, Holmes." Lachlan said, glancing pointedly up at the clock. "It's already a quarter to five."

I stalked off to my bedroom, grumbling under my breath and imagining various scenarios in which Lachlan was deprived of sleep for days on end, and Watson's methodically packed baggage ended up in a remote backwater town in the United States.

Not an hour later we were ensconced in a compartment on the train in Euston Station, awaiting our departure.

The acts of packing, shaving, and dressing had done much to awaken me, and I was fully alert when I at last stowed the cursed luggage above my head and sat heavily opposite my two companions.

Lachlan was fiddling with a nautical instrument, holding it up to his eye and adjusting it, showing few signs that the early hour or his recent illness had had too much effect on his general robustness.

Watson had settled in the corner, his arms folded, glaring at the world with rather red eyes, his face slack with lack of sleep.

We could at least thank the early hour for our having the compartment to ourselves.

I took several telegrams out of my jacket pocket and read them a second time. My action drew Lachlan's attention and he laid the instrument in his lap.

"More answers, Holmes?" he asked, fixing him with his keen blue gaze.

"Yes," I muttered distractedly, "Young Alfie brought them round last night after you left, just around the time Mrs. Hudson finished another batch of scones…suspiciously enough."

The seaman chuckled at this and Watson sat up straighter in his seat. "Holmes, you never told me what those were about."

"No I didn't…you were busy packing."

"Well, what have you learned? They have to be relevant to the case, there is no other reason why you would send inquiries."

Lachlan grunted his agreement and leaned forward slightly, I sighed, and handed over the telegrams which my Boswell eagerly perused.

Watson's face became grim, and he closed the paper quickly, handing it over to Lachlan. "There is no doubt then? He did escape?"

"Yes, Watson. When you have all of the bribable guards on duty in one night, the death of a man in the same cell block only a day before, and take into account that the face of the corpse is almost unrecognizable…I have no further doubts that Culverton Smith is very much alive."

Watson cursed under his breath and sat back, covering his face with his hand. Lachlan cast him a concerned look then turned to meet my gaze.

"What sort of a man would infect entire ships?"

"A madman, who feels as though he has been wronged by the world and has very little care for the lives of others. I do not know his plans, or the reasoning behind his actions, which is why we must discover them on this voyage. And we shall need your help, Lachlan. The Friesland holds over 500 passengers and a very large crew. Smith is clever enough to hide himself almost anywhere among them, you shall have to be our eyes and ears among the crew and the officers. There are too many places where passengers such as Watson and myself are not permitted to venture."

Lachlan nodded, "Aye and for good reason. You landlubbers think you know how a ship works, we let you near the workings for an instant and the whole thing goes down in flames." He smiled, joking, and sat back again, "What exactly is it you wish me to do, Mr. Holmes?"

I smiled. "To use some of your quaint nautical slang, I wish you to keep a weather eye open. When you come across anything that may be of use, write it down and report it to me or give it to Watson and he will get it to me…I trust you to judge on the urgency of each piece of information. But do not allow yourself to be seen with either of us too often, for your own safety. Smith bears me a significant grudge…and I believe he will remember Watson's involvement as well."

I glanced over at my Boswell with concern. It was against my judgment to allow him to come at all, but there was no way he would have let me go alone, not with my still healing side.

Watson had not moved from his position of before, slumped against the wall, his head resting back on the seat…it took me only a moment to realize that he had fallen asleep again! Really, the man could sleep anywhere! And had done so on numerous stakeouts and when I took him out upon a case that involved unusual hours.

Lachlan chuckled very softly, going back to his study of the nautical instrument, and I sighed, closing my own eyes, applying my mind to the problem of Smith and his motives.

Watson

The docks of Portsmouth were far busier than those of London, which was only to be expected as Portsmouth was one of the largest shipping centers of Britain.

Holmes and I followed Lachlan as he weaved skillfully through the press of people, carts and the numerous stacks of packing crates. I could only cling to my luggage, keeping an eye on Holmes - he was showing some signs of soreness from his side and it was only too possible for an accident to occur in such a crowd.

Indeed it went against my medical training to allow Holmes to undertake such a dangerous task at all, he was notorious for overexerting himself while on a case and I had little doubt that this time would be any different. But I knew also that Holmes was one of the only men alive who could deal with Smith, and that nothing, not even I, could prevent him from going in pursuit of the fellow.

The best I could do was follow along behind and try to keep him out of trouble. This was proving a little more than difficult, I thought, as I was forced to dodge a cart filled with freshly caught fish and in the process hit a stack of crates.

"You all right, Watson?" Holmes called back as I struggled to keep up.

"Coming!" I replied, getting a better grip on my bag and sprinting forward through the momentary lull in front of me.

I had not long to sprint, for Lachlan had stopped at last and stood, arms akimbo, gazing ahead.

"There she is, gentlemen," he said, his voice filled with the admiration that can be expressed only by a sailor. "The Friesland."

I stopped beside them, striving to catch my breath though it was somewhat lost by the sight in front of me.

The Friesland was by no means the largest ship I had ever seen, but even without Lachlan's experienced eye I could tell she was a beauty. Long and sleek, with a narrow hull. White and shining with a black keel and three large stovepipes that rose like towers in the clear blue sky, bedecked with pennants and flags in anticipation of its departure.

Lachlan sighed, gazing at the ship the way a man looks at an attractive woman. "Is she not a sleek little craft?"

"Yes, indeed." I breathed, looking to Holmes beside me to catch his reaction.

He was quite as cool as ever, and viewed the ship with his usual analytical gaze, no doubt he was thinking only of the villain to be caught inside it.

"Yes," he said with a rather sarcastic air. "Quite worth the early hour."

Lachlan snorted and gave him a condescending look, then pulled his seabag up higher on his shoulder. "Well let's not be dawdling gents. C'mon."

We followed him up to the deck, at last away from the crowds, we gave our names and tickets and alighted. The seaman led us down the shining wood expanse, to one of the doors in the series of structures, situated in down the center of the ship.

He turned to Holmes and held out his hand, Holmes took it. "Well, Holmes, Doctor, this is where we part ways. This companionway here will lead you down to your cabins. Good luck to ye, I'll be in touch."

Holmes smiled, "To you as well Lachlan. Be cautious."

The midshipman laughed, "I'd be a fool not to keep a wall at my back, involved in business like yours."

He took my hand and shook it warmly, his blue eyes sobering slightly. "Keep an eye on this gent, Doctor. I'm afraid my duties will keep me fairly busy, I cannot be keeping to be pulling him out of the path of every knife-wielding villain here."

Holmes huffed and but I returned the smile.

"Thank you, Lachlan, I hope we shall see you soon."

He nodded and touched his hat. "I'll be around."

Then he walked off towards the back, or aft, of the ship, joining a group of men whom I assumed must be members of the crew.

"He'll be all right, Watson." Holmes said patting me on the shoulder. "He's in his element now. Let us go and see our accommodations."

I nodded, picking up my bags once more. "Right, and then we are going to get a decent meal. Both of us."

My friend sighed and reached out to open the door to the stairwell.

"I certainly hope Meurnier's friend's tickets are worth what I paid for them," he muttered as we climbed.

"I am surprised you did not borrow the money from Verner."

"Really, Watson! You are never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?"

"Brilliant deduction, my dear Holmes," I said, aiming a mischievous grin at my friend's disappearing back as he turned the corner.