Many thanks to Pompey who came up with Watson's diagnosis for this disease!
Stormy petrel – a sea bird which heralds a coming storm.
Chapter 21: Stormy Petrel
Watson
"Dead?"
I heard my own voice break at the horror of the thing.
Lachlan nodded, his face grim.
"I'm afraid so, Doctor; he took ill not two days ago. I was not alerted of the fact. The bloody idiot was tryin' to hide it and his mates helped him."
I cursed under my breath as the seaman stared at me steadily.
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yes." I said distractedly "Yes, I am fine."
"Where is Mr. Holmes?"
"In the cabin, going over the case."
"You'd think he solves more cases from his armchair than at the scene of the crime."
"You'd be surprised."
"Well." The seaman squared his shoulders. "You're his second, that puts you in charge, Doctor. I am at your command."
I nodded slightly. This development was so sudden and so unexpected it had thrown me completely off balance.
"Have they removed the body yet?"
"No, the ship's doctor is still looking at him. We may just catch him if we're lucky."
"Right. I shall get Holmes, you try to stall them."
I turned to hurry after my friend and was halted by the sailor's cautionary grip on my arm.
"Alone, Doctor?" His blue eyes shone gravely out from his weathered face.
"Yes, alone - there isn't time. I'll take my revolver on the way back, but hurry, Lachlan."
He nodded with a bracing smile and laughed suddenly.
"I would hate to be around if the captain discovered you were had your own firearm aboard Doctor…not even I'm allowed one. I'll meet you in the aft stairwell."
I smiled and hurried down the dark staircase towards our staterooms, my senses on full alert. I had not told Lachlan the real reason why I wanted to go after Holmes.
I did not want to leave him alone for a moment longer than necessary, not now that Smith had actually struck.
I made the very brief journey without incident and was soon at the door of Holmes's cabin. I knocked loudly and opened it without ceremony to be met with a fog of smoke.
My friend jerked upright from his position on his bunk, startled by my abrupt entrance. The dangerous scowl on his face changed to one of concern.
"Watson! Did I not tell you I would come up to get you? I thought we were agreed…" He stopped, seeing the expression on my face.
"What has happened?"
"One of the crewman." I gasped quite unable to finish the gruesome fact.
"Ill?"
I shook my head.
"He's dead, Holmes. Lachlan has gone to retain the body."
Holmes sprang up from his seat and threw tossed down his pipe. "Where?"
"The aft of the ship – crew's quarters."
He was out the door and up the stairwell in a moment and I followed at his heels. We made our way swiftly to through the evening crowds on deck to the stairwell at the back of the ship which led to the crew's quarters and the boiler rooms.
We only just entered the compact staircase when Lachlan came quickly up them, his face breaking into relief at the sight of us.
"He's only just finished examining the body…he's gone to report to the Captain. I can promise you ten minutes at least."
"Good man," Holmes said as we followed him down the stairs.
"Stick close," the seaman said. "You're not s'pposed to be down here, but no one should bother about it while I'm with you."
We did as we were told and he led us swiftly through the shadowy halls to a small cabin that contained a set of double bunks. In the middle of the floor on a stretcher lay a sheet-draped form.
"No guard?" I asked.
Lachlan nodded.
You're lookin' at him, Doctor, which is the only reason we have this chance. I suggest you hurry, or we'll be answerin' quite a few sticky questions."
Holmes was already fully preoccupied, kneeling beside the body and tossing back the sheet. He hissed between his teeth at the stark, rigid face of the dead sailor.
"Watson." he said softly, beckoning to me.
I knelt on the other side of the body and made a cursory examination, taking note of the rigid posture which had frozen his facial features into a horrible grimace.
"This is not normal rigor mortis," I said, "the germ attacked his voluntary muscles…it's very much like lockjaw. What were some of his other symptoms, Lachlan?" I asked, looking at the seaman who stood in the doorway, one ear cocked for the return of his superiors.
He sighed and folded his arms, looking uneasily at the corpse.
"His mate's said his first complaint was fatigue; he took to his bed and then never left it. By the time I got to him he was shaking and twitching, nearly as stiff as he is now. He was delirious, didn't even know I was there."
"Did he have a fever?"
"No, just the opposite. He was covered in sweat but as cold as a fish. He had trouble breathing right before the end."
"Another disease entirely." I said grimly. "It attacked his sympathetic nervous system directly to the brain. His core body temperature plummeted and then the convulsions began, rather like violent shivering at the start. Delirium was inevitable."
"Which means Smith probably has an army of germs at his disposal," Holmes muttered grimly, "I feared as much."
My friend was searching the body methodically, looking in pockets and at the fellow's hands. After a moment he gave a frustrated scoff and drew the sheet back over the nightmarish face.
"There is no data…nothing that would single him out to Smith. I fear he is just another laboratory rat."
"You mean he is choosing victims at random?" I gasped, sickened by the idea. Such an idea, such a disregard for life was inhuman.
"Pleasant fellow, this Smith," Lachlan growled, his hand clenched on the doorframe, his teeth bared and his lips curled in disgust.
We had no time to discuss the subject further, however - for at that moment the seaman straightened like a dog with his ears pricked.
"You gents had better hightail it," he said. "I'll join you at the top of the stairwell if you'll wait for me a moment."
"You are already cutting into your period of sleep, are you not, Lachlan?" Holmes said.
"Aye, but there is no rest for men with a ruffian like this Smith about," he retorted, motioning us hastily out of the room.
Holmes gripped the sailor's shoulder for a moment in a silent gesture of thanks and admiration and then hurried down the corridor.
"Come on, Watson."
We reached the top of the stairs quickly, fleeing the grim lower levels of the ship. Once there, I leaned heavily against the iron rail and took deep breaths of the cool, sea air.
The body, the likes of which I had not seen often, and the concept of Smith striking down innocent men for his own purposes made my blood run cold. That terrible white face had called to mind the countenance of Bartholomew Sholto in the Sign of Four, illuminated by the moonlight, frozen in a terrible grin of death, victim of the paralyzing poison that was on the exotic thorns we had discovered.
Altogether too many gruesome memories were being dredged up in this case.
Only a moment later there were footsteps in the stairwell and Lachlan joined us, still rather stony-faced.
"Can we talk in one of your cabins gentleman? I don't much fancy returning to the lower decks quite so soon. And I would very much appreciate being brought up to speed with whatever it is you've been investigatin' this past week."
Holmes nodded, "The Doctor's cabin should suit admirably; I'm afraid mine is still a bit smoky. Is that all right with you Watson?"
"Quite," I said, leading the way. "I have no desire to sit in that poisonous atmosphere."
The other reason for the vacancy of Holmes's rooms was making herself known with her usual alacrity and volume. Even with an entire cabin between us her cries were easily discernable.
At the squalling sound Lachlan grimaced slightly and shot the opposite wall a look.
"How do you gents stand that? Do you ever get any sleep?"
"With difficulty, and no," Holmes said, following behind us and shutting the door, which only succeeded in dimming the sound slightly.
I settled on the bunk and Lachlan took one of the chairs, leaving the detective room to pace between the entry and the porthole, his arms folded and his head sunk on his breast.
We watched him for a few moments in silence, and then I cleared my throat.
"What does it mean, Holmes? What is his purpose for doing it?"
Lachlan glared down at his feet, which he'd crossed before him.
"He doesn't need a reason, does he? He's just a madman, no rhyme or reason to it. Picks men off at random like flies on a wall, just like he did the ships."
Holmes paused in his pacing, coming to a stop in front of the small round window.
"No."
He raised his head and his eyes were sharp and deadly serious, as I had only seen them in times of crisis.
"No, I'm afraid it is not that simple. You are correct in thinking that he cares as little for the lives of others as flies on a wall but he has a definite end in mind. He may be a madman but he is still devilishly clever."
"What is his plan then?" I asked. "It can't be money, for he could have sold the ships and the cargo…I do not see how this endeavor could bring him wealth."
"Revenge?" Lachlan suggested.
"Neither," Holmes announced, one hand fingering his chin, his long index finger against his lips. "and both. Do you recall, Watson…his reaction at the end of our first encounter with him?"
I shuddered at the memory of the struggling and cursing man, the threats he had spat at Holmes while the constables had dragged him away. Holmes had remained on his bed throughout, greatly weakened by the whole ordeal, and I had been hard pressed not to stand protectively in front of him so great had the wrath of the specialist been.
"Only too well, Holmes."
Holmes did not seemed the least bit galled by the memory but had once again resumed his pacing - though more slowly, thoughtfully.
"During the time he spent in Sumatra those diseases became his pet hobby, and later his greatest ambition. You yourself described to me the ardor he showed towards them when you went to his office to fetch him for me."
"He is doing this for his passion?" I asked, further disgusted at Smith's character.
"Is that why he infected the ships?" Lachlan added, his face clearly displaying his dismay at the still unresolved issue.
Holmes nodded slowly.
"In part, I fear you are right. The routes of all those ships passed in close proximity to Sumatra, past Indonesia, and it would be little matter to infect them with a contagious disease. But that is not the sole reason."
"You mentioned something about a scandal back in the Lansing offices." I said quickly. "Was he trying to ruin the line? For some past grievance?"
Holmes shot me a smile as he passed, "Very good, Watson. Yes, he wanted the ships to be discovered. But not because he wanted to ruin the line…they were just another pawn."
The detective paused again coming to a halt just before us.
"Smith dedicated his life, before and after his imprisonment, to the study of his diseases…he wanted money and revenge of course but not those were not the sole motives. I am convinced that what he craved most, even before his attempt on my life, was recognition."
"Recognition?"
"Yes…for his work. You see he was not satisfied merely to dabble in such practices, he wanted to be recognized as the leading specialist in such matters."
"He plagued the ships to get fame?" Lachlan said.
"Precisely," Holmes pointed a finger at the seaman leaning against the wall of the cabin. "He first tried cargo ships, but they went relatively unnoticed. So he moved on to passenger ships, and the line proved too adept at hiding them. This ship…is his final shot. A vessel large and prestigious enough that it cannot possibly unnoticed."
"So he begins to infect men on the ship…and begins to attract attention," I said as the fog of surmise rolled clear from my mind.
Of course Holmes was right – this could be the only explanation.
"A few deaths, several cases of illness, and all of Europe will be made aware. They will be desperate for a deliverer and at the moment of crisis he will appear, armed with his antidotes and special knowledge of said diseases. It will, of course, all be regulated. Not even Smith would be foolish enough to spread a contagion loose on the ship with himself aboard. He is in strict control of the whole operation."
I sighed and put my head in my hand.
"Insane…he is completely insane."
"He would have to be, to think of such a scheme," Holmes said impatiently pacing again. "This will be only the first of many deaths I am sure, and he will move up through the crew to the passengers just as he did with the cargo ships to the passengers."
He turned to Lachlan.
"You are certain there have been no other signs of illness other than this one case?"
Lachlan shook his head.
"None so far. But the way you speak of him it will not be long...what have you done so far to locate him? Have you made any progress with the passenger list?"
"Little enough, I will bring you up to par. Watson, will you be good enough to fetch my pipe for me? Perhaps between the three of us we can come up with a plan to net this fish before he swallows another hapless victim."
I left Holmes describing our investigation to the seaman and hurried next door to his room to fetch the discarded pipe and his tobacco pouch.
The smoke from his brief period of meditation had not dissipated, but I was able to find the objects in question among the fog and scooped up the small pile of post that lay beneath it.
Upon my return I handed these to Holmes and he proceeded to light his pipe with a murmur of thanks. I retained the pile of post and sifted through it absently, noticing that it was mixed with the pile of pound notes that Holmes had won betting on me earlier - they were lying on top of a white, blank envelope.
I sighed and waved this at my companion.
"More of your winnings, Holmes?" I asked.
My friend smiled innocently over his pipe and turned to answer Lachlan's inquiry about the matter, embarrassing me further as he elaborated on the game to the seaman.
I opened the envelope absently to see what further damages my friend had caused his fellow spectators.
I cursed slightly as my hand came in contact with a sharp edge of something inside and I drew out to see that it had caused a small gash on my index finger, drawing blood.
Holmes heard my exclamation and startled me by gripping both my wrist and the envelope. His fingers were as hard and steel and I looked at him.
What I saw disconcerted me. His face was quite white and there were lines of tension along his jaw that had not been there a moment ago.
He scrutinized my hand for a moment and then took the envelope and turned it upside down. Something thin and metallic fell with a clink to the floor and a piece of paper fluttered down after it.
Lachlan bent to examine them and froze at Holmes's words.
"Don't touch!"
He shot Holmes a look just as startled as mine had been and paused, his hand outstretched. He pulled it back as one would from a brand.
"It's a razor blade," he said. "Like the tip of a penknife…one that would be used for cutting paper."
Holmes swallowed, and his grip on my wrist had not slackened.
"And the note...what does it say?"
Lachlan read it silently than turned his face up towards us. I felt my heart plummet not only at his expression but the words that followed.
"Mr. Holmes, Do not think that your activities, or your presence has gone unobserved. You have beaten me once, there will not be a second time. You are very near your end - I shall not sit and wait to watch you die as I did once before. Before the night is through you will die in the knowledge that I have killed you. Smith."