Chapter 32: "Eye of the Storm"

Holmes

My friend watched me in concern from his position on the bunk, propped up on one elbow. The experience had caused him a great deal of strain, leaving him fairly limp. I was not so passive and found myself pacing the length of the small stateroom.

True, Watson had never been in any danger - but he could have been, and I would have been helpless to prevent it. Without even realizing it, Smith had come far too close to dealing a blow far more devastating than my own death would have been.

"Holmes," my friend said quietly after a few moments of silence. "I am fine."

"He could have killed you."

"But he didn't, my dear fellow."

He gave me a shaky smile, the relief evident on his face.

My thoughts were a swirling turmoil and I found it no little difficulty to concentrate on anything other than the dreadful ordeal we had both undergone.

As though on cue the baby in the cabin nearby began to squall yet again. I gritted my teeth in frustration and strode to the door.

"Holmes," Watson called, climbing to his feet.

He followed me out into the hall

"Holmes, what are you doing? You can't just…" he cut off as I strode to the door of the cabin and knocked on it sharply.

He sighed.

"Holmes, they can't help it if their child is restless."

"Something has to be done, Watson; I cannot stand another moment of that noise."

My friend put a hand on my arm and I was surprised by the intensity of his grip. I turned to face him and saw that he was scowling, though more with worry than anything else.

"Holmes, you are acting impetuously, reacting just as Smith intended you to."

"I am tired of waiting for things to happen, Watson."

"He wants you to be driven by emotion Holmes, to act without thinking. Take a breath and clear your head for a moment before…"

He was interrupted by the opening of the door, and we both turned to face the young gentleman who opened it.

He glanced nervously at both of us, and it was obvious that he was still completing his toilette for his cravat hung limply about his neck and he was only in his shirtsleeves, without a jacket.

"Can I be of assistance, gentleman?" he asked, or rather attempted to. For his daughter chose that moment to raise the pitch of her exuberant cries.

He seemed well past flinching at the sound, though both Watson and I did.

"James, what is it?"

The fellow turned and stepped back a little so that a young woman, presumably his wife, of only 18 or 20 years of age could join him.

In her arms she cradled the infant wrapped in a bundle of nursery blankets, face as red as a tomato as she screamed her unhappiness to the world.

From the deep shadows under both parents' eyes it was evident that they had gotten little sleep over the past several nights. Indeed, the mother looked as though she were dead on her feet, wrapped in her dressing gown.

I deduced automatically from the quality of their clothes that they were not in the best current prospects. This was understandable of course as they were both young, probably around a year married. The young man, from the state of his shoes and hands, was some sort of reporter or new official. His company, paper, or whoever it was that employed him had probably paid for the tickets so he could travel to his new position in Indonesia, taking his wife and infant daughter with him.

I gave Watson a sheepish look and he returned it with a raised brow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Can I help you?" the young fellow asked again.

I cleared my throat, understanding from Watson's smug look that I would get no help from that quarter.

"Yes uh…I could not help but notice that you have been having a bit of difficulty with your child…I was wondering if there is anything I could do to help?"

The fellow's brow furrowed and he looked at me doubtfully.

"We uh…we're neighbors," I explained, motioning to my cabin. "I am sorry not to have introduced myself sooner."

Watson nudged me with his elbow, egging me on to further action.

"I-I am Sherlock Holmes and this…" I pulled him forward. "This is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson."

"A doctor of medicine?"

This exclamation came from the young woman and she watched Watson with a hopeful eye.

My dear friend slipped at once into his role as physician, shrugging on his medical instincts the way one pulls on a comfortable coat.

"Yes miss, I am. Is someone ill?"

"Yes!" the young mother gasped with some relief, though her husband scowled slightly, too prideful and embarrassed to admit his need.

"Your child?"

I watched in some amazement as Watson strode forward, his face marked with just the right amount of concern and assurance, his voice steady and calming. He really was a brilliant doctor.

Again the mother responded in the affirmative, Watson bent over the small bundle.

"May I?"

She nodded and he took the child in his arms, holding her carefully. He was looking at the small face with an unusual amount of clarity and awe…and I knew it could only be the product of his relief.

He had thought that he was never to see such things again, every drop of rain and fresh breeze would hold significance now.

And this thought made my anger even stronger. How dare Smith endanger the life of a man who gave so much, and in turn gained so much joy from the innocent pleasures of this world.

After a cursory examination my friend nodded slowly.

"Seasick…Holmes, would you get my bag? It's on my desk."

"Certainly, old chap," I said, hurrying at once back to his room and returning with his medical kit.

They had entered the room by that time and the husband stood by, watching as Watson continued his examination of the infant. The mother had sunk down onto the bunk, watching with worried eyes that were very weary in a face so young.

I placed the bag on the bed and Watson murmured his thanks, barely making himself heard over the baby's squalls.

"Shall I hold her?" the mother asked, though she seemed exhausted even as she said it. The father moved as though he would offer next, but Watson motioned him to a chair.

"There is no need to tire yourselves. It is evident that this insistent young lady has been demanding your attention for quite some time. Holmes, you hold her while I tend to her."

I glanced sharply at my Boswell, my mouth opening in surprise. But Watson's look cut off any comment I might have made and I soon found myself cradling the infant in my grip.

To my utter astonishment, the wailing slowly died down, and the small red face uncrinkled. The little creature looked up at me with a pair of blue eyes and hiccupped, her cheeks still puffy from her crying.

Watson grinned. "See there, Holmes, she likes you."

I raised my eyebrows, and the mother and father looked greatly relieved.

"Yes it seems she does." I said, puzzled by this development. I turned to the mother. "Why does she?"

The mother blinked and said, "Perhaps you remind her of her uncle, sir. He took a fancy to her before we left and she to him. He smokes fairly strong tobacco, and if you'll pardon my saying so…"

"You reek of it." Watson interrupted with another grin.

I shot him a glare, then was arrested by what he was doing.

He noticed my glance and announced his actions to the room in general.

"I'm going to give her a little ginger, helps to settle the stomach."

The mother smiled in gratefully though the father looked guarded, and kept his eyes on Watson as my friend administered it.

It seemed to have the desired affect and by the time I had handed the infant back to the mother, she was nearly asleep.

The father showed us to the door, and hesitated before closing it again.

"I'm…I'm much obliged to both of you," he said, "it's been very hard on Anna."

Watson smiled and shook the fellow's hand.

"It's a pleasure to be of service, sir. Do not hesitate to ask for my help at any time. I am just the second door down."

The fellow returned the smile and then closed the door softly. Watson turned to me with an air of satisfaction.

Then with his professional manner dropped, the reaction hit him full force and he gave a deep, shaky sigh, leaning against the wall.

I automatically reached out in concern but he waved me away.

"It's all right, Holmes, it is just remarkable, that's all."

"What is, my dear fellow?"

Watson smiled, his hazel eyes lit with that extraordinary clarity that I often observed in them.

"Life."

I smiled at him, but my attitude was more morose than his.

"It is, Watson, and your appreciation for it is even more remarkable now. But now we must turn our energies to preserving it."

A fit of action had come upon me, a drive to find Smith and quickly, before he had a chance to do even more damage.

"What are we going to do?" my friend asked, sticking his hands in his pockets, rebounding from the shock and terror remarkably as he always did.

What were we to do…truly? Truth be told, I had not really thought beyond the urgency to find Smith, but we still had no means of locating him other than the passenger list.

I strode away down the hall, knowing Watson would follow, and after a few minutes an idea came to mind.

"This process of elimination is going too slowly, Watson. I have no doubt that Smith has struck down several more victims even as we speak. We have 55 names left and our only clue is that he could not be a member of the crew."

"How do we know that?"

"They were carefully set; I had to call in an extreme favor to get even Lachlan aboard, and he has been going over the crew's records in his spare time. No, to have the access and prestige he needs to make this plan work Smith has to be a passenger. Do not forget that if he intends to resurface as a specialist of diseases he will have to create an identity for himself. It is more than plausible that he has already done so."

"What do you intend to do then, if this method is going too slowly?"

"I intend to think, Watson. He is playing a game with us, last night showed that."

I shuddered inwardly.

"There is another hidden motive behind this, and I intend to find it and use it to our advantage."

Watson nodded knowingly. He was accustomed to trusting my odd insights and instincts.

I went on as we reached the end of the hall.

"First we shall assure Lachlan that you are alive and well,"

Watson swore loudly. "Good heavens! He must be beside himself!"

"Quite…come along, old fellow."

Lachlan was beside himself and obviously had not slept. We found him up on the deck near the fore of the ship, leaning on the railing and peering out over the sea, as the sun rose to tinge both it and the sky a delicate pink.

His back was to us and I could not resist a touch of theatricality.

"What is that quaint old nautical phrase, Watson? Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. It seems there is a storm ahead."

The seaman spun where he stood and caught sight of us, his wide eyes lingering on the staunch form of my Boswell, upright and well as ever.

Lachlan let out a shaky breath and put his head into his hand, leaning heavily on the iron railing.

"Thank God." he breathed, wholeheartedly, quite white under his tan.

Watson shot me a very dirty look but he was succeeded in his lecture by the seaman, who let out a string of blue curses and glared at me with a venom I would not have attributed to his nature.

"That is a low thing to do, Holmes, I thought I was seeing a ghost, and that means more to a superstitious sailor like me than to any of you landlubbers. Do that again and I'm likely to pitch you over the side!"

Watson tried to conceal a grin at this image…he did not succeed.

Lachlan turned away from me and looked to Watson, running over the form of my friend with his piercing, blue gaze. When he was satisfied that Watson was indeed not a ghost he sighed again and allowed himself a smile.

"I don't know what happened but I'm certainly glad it did…are you quite all right Doctor?"

Watson nodded.

"The pink of health," he said in a reassuring and steady tone.

"The razor was a bluff," I said, "Smith was trying to disturb us."

"Aye, and he did a good job of it," Lachlan said, still glaring at me as though he would like to toss me over not only from the grief caused by myself but Smith as well.

I took a step back, for he looked fully capable of the action.

His expression cleared.

"Don't count too much into my words, Holmes, they were spoken in a moment of anger…I'm just glad his threat was an empty one."

I shook my head.

"Not empty…he could have done away with any of us by now, just that easily…there is a reason he has not."

Lachlan frowned. "What is that?"

"I don't know yet, but I mean to find out."

The midshipman nodded. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You can go to bed," Watson said, his eyes concerned. "You've only had three hours sleep out of the last 24."

I nodded in agreement. "You'll be far more use with some rest. And…I apologize for the rash entrance."

Lachlan's brows shot up.

"You…apologizin'. Now there's something I've not seen."

Watson laughed. "He does not do it often. Go to bed, Lachlan."

Lachlan sighed. "You are the only medical man I have ever listened too Doctor…and that only because you saved my life. Keep away from the mail. And don't either of you let anythin' happen to each other while I'm out or I'll throw you both into the drink."

He gripped Watson's shoulder briefly as he passed down the companionway to the end of the ship. Obviously he was more tired than he let on, from his lack of argument.

Watson turned to me, the question clear upon his face.

I sighed. "I am far too restless to sit and think, Watson; my body demands action, I cannot run my mind alone."

"What do you intend to do then?…I've had quite enough of billiards."

I smiled at his jest. "So have I, my dear fellow. Still the notion is a good one, and there must be something I can do as I think. Something to fill the hours until that confounded ship's dinner tonight."

"You could catch Lachlan up and provoke him into another boxing bout."

Like a match being struck, the solution sprang at once into my mind.

"Watson, you are brilliant!"

"I wasn't serious! Holmes, the poor man is exhausted…and shaken no thanks to your careless theatrics."

"No, no, Watson. I had another activity in mind, one perfect for disciplining both mind and body. It will give me a chance to clear my head."

"What?"

But I was already striding towards the entrance to the main staircase - he could only follow after me.

"Come on, old fellow."

Watson

"NO."

"Oh come on, Watson. It is only a friendly match."

"I would rather play another game of pool with that blasted American!"

"It is only an exercise, my dear fellow - no masks, no jackets, just the foils."

"I don't fence!"

Holmes sighed though he still extended the handle of the weapon towards me.

"Nonsense, old fellow, you've done it a thousand times. You're good."

I glared at him, arms folded, pointedly ignoring the weapon as he waved it beneath my nose.

"Not as good as you. We haven't fenced for three years, Holmes, and in case you have forgotten…you're still wearing your stitches!"

Holmes returned the glare, lowering the weapon. "My side is fine, Watson, well up to a little exercise. And it hasn't been that long…you used to enjoy it, causal matches constantly…"

"The last casual match we had resulted in the destruction of Mrs. Hudson's best teapot, and a bad blow for me from the poker!"

"Well we're not in Baker Street this time, we're in the fencing court of a ship en route to the Indian Ocean. I highly doubt we will do any damage here."

I sighed as he extended the foil once again.

"Come on, Watson."

I looked at him, at his usually enigmatic face now set in a smile, almost lighthearted. His eyes danced with good humor and despite all my objections I found myself laughing and returning the smile, taking the foil from his hand.

Perhaps this was his own reaction to the tangible fear of last night, perhaps it was making me careless as well. Such an activity was certainly not befitting the gravity of the situation and the mystery that surrounded us.

But Sherlock Holmes was so rarely merry and when he was the feeling was contagious, making it impossible not to join in on the merriment.

Holmes stood back, sans his jacket, and saluted, the sun glinting off the blade of his foil. I returned the gesture and stood my guard, knowing full well that the rest of the match would not be so courteous.

A friendly match with Holmes often resulted in our ignoring and placing aside many of the protocols of fencing…but that did not make it easier, for casual or no Holmes was an expert.

Nor, did it seem, had time dulled his edge - for the moment he saw me to be ready he stepped forward and thrust his weapon at me with a startling speed that forced me to stagger and block it only just in time.

Holmes smiled but said nothing as I laughed and came again to my stance, but he was already lost to the movement of the bout, leaving his mind free, as he had predicted, to pursue the matter of Smith.

This put me at least on the same level as he; for with his mind distracted, I might be able to keep up with his rapid movements.

At first I moved awkwardly, a stranger to the actions and the movements of my friend. My arms and legs protested the unfamiliar stances and motions of parries and blocks. I was slothful to catch up Holmes' attacks and was kept so busy defending that I had little chance to try any sort of offensive.

Then slowly, the aches in my limbs died as my muscles recalled the nearly forgotten movements. My eye began to catch and recognize Holmes characteristic thrusts and cuts, began to predict them, so that I was not only able to block but to attack.

It was a wonderful feeling, like returning home, and so confident did I become that I tried a rather risky lunge under Holmes's guard towards his stomach.

He blocked and stumbled ever so slightly, as off balance as I had been a few minutes before. He blinked at me in surprise, drawn out of his revelry for the moment.

Slowly I began to flag, and became keenly aware not only of the sun on my back but of the sweat dripping down my face. One of the cursed drops stung the top of my eye and I blinked, trying to disperse it. Then I tripped as an unexpected blow whipped just in front of my face and something caught at the back of my legs. I landed with a gasp on the wood decking, looking up at the clear blue sky.

Another instant passed before my friend's silhouette appeared above me, blocking out the bright rays of the sun…he was smiling. I had let myself be distracted by the pattern of his movements and he had purposefully driven me back.

"All right are you, old fellow?" he asked, extending a hand for me to take.

I took it, breathing heavily, and lifted the foil from where it had fallen on the deck.

"Have you thought of a solution to Smith yet?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "I fear not Watson…you're not tired of this little activity, are you?"

I grinned in reply and raised my foil again. "Not at all, Holmes."

He cut in a smooth arc towards my torso, and I blocked it and followed up with a counter-attack that landed my blade inside his guard against his chest.

Again he was forced to scramble to block it, and I smirked.

"Just getting the hang of it."