"The only safe ship in a storm is leadership." - Faye Wattleton quotes
Chapter 28: "Leadership"
Watson
"There you are, Doctor – not very good-tasting, but it's hot at least," Lachlan said, handing me a bowl of soup from the galley.
Holmes had noticed I was looking rather peaked and had asked the captain if I might retire until he had gotten the necessary information out of the two men who had attacked us. Lachlan had been told to take me back to my cabin and he had now returned with a bowl of soup.
As the ship bobbed slightly, I heard a clap of distant thunder.
"Is the storm whipping up, Lachlan?" I asked, sipping the soup.
"Aye, Doctor, she promises to be a real squall," the man replied, gazing out of the porthole through which a stout breeze was blowing.
I finished the bowl of broth with gratitude, very glad to have something at least semi-solid in my stomach after all that seawater, and I now retrieved my soaked revolver from my coat on the floor and began to clean it, very glad indeed that it had not been lost in the sea – we might have need of it later.
"How're you feelin', Doctor?"
"Much better now – although if this storm is bad enough, I could very well join the rest of the seasick lubbers before the night is over," I said with a smile, taking apart the gun and preparing to clean it with the soft cloths I carried in my trunk for that purpose.
"Ye get seasick, Doctor?"
"Yes, I confess I do."
"You get seasick and you can't swim – you really should stay on land, Doctor!" the man said, his eyes twinkling.
I rubbed the gun barrel and looked up at him with a smile.
"I haven't yet thanked you, have I, Lachlan?"
"Nothin' to thank me for, Doctor – it was your friend Mr. Holmes that did all the hard part. I only just pulled you both in, I did. Man of nerve, Holmes is – I've never seen a man dive overboard from a passenger liner as fast as he did, and straight into a dark ocean too. You're both copper-bottomed, by my way of reckoning."
I smiled, feeling my face soften. "I'm rather a lucky man, am I not?"
"Quite. No one would have got to you in time."
"That was not quite what I meant," I murmured softly.
"I hardly thought it was, Doctor," he replied with a smile, glancing out of the porthole at the approaching storm.
"Well, thank you at any rate, Lachlan – you have been more than a help to us this voyage, and I really don't know what we should have done without you," I said sincerely, nearly finished cleaning my gun.
I heard steps outside the door and hastily spread the cloth over the gun in case it was a member of the crew – I was not supposed to have it with me – but I was relieved to see the familiar thin figure of Sherlock Holmes entering the room without preamble.
"Are you feeling all right, Watson?" he asked on the instant, looking at me worriedly.
"Yes, I am fine."
I snapped the pieces of my gun back together and loaded it.
"Good, then I need you. Lachlan, the captain has ordered you to oversee Smith's capture since you seemed to be acquainted with the details."
"Right, Mr. Holmes. Do you need reinforcements?"
"No, more people involved would only clutter up the place and hinder my movements."
"You have found out where his stateroom is!" I said excitedly, snapping my trunk shut and stuffing the gun into my coat pocket.
"Yes, that sniveling little man that Lachlan yanked off me in the fight was rather easily cowed – did not want to face the charge of being an accessory to murder so he talked quite well for me."
Holmes's face had darkened in suppressed anger, and his eyes glittered with that feverish excitement that boded ill for the object of our quest.
"This storm brewing will aid us – the passengers will for the most part be in their cabins; we shall not have to worry about innocents being harmed if Smith attempts an escape," I said, picking up my coat.
I winced as I pulled it on – that man's club had connected solidly with my shoulder, and I was devoutly glad it was not my bad limb. Nevertheless, it would be paining me for several days.
"And Smith should be in his cabin – I don't relish hunting about for the man in the middle of a dark night even without a storm, much less right now with this gale," Holmes replied.
Seeing my discomfort, he stepped over and held the coat so that I could put it on without straining.
"Thank you. Where are the two sailors who attacked us?"
"The Lieutenant is seeing them thrown into the brig."
"And the third never got rescued?" I asked, thinking back to those awful minutes int eh water with a slight shiver.
"It was either he or you, Watson. I was not about to choose him. And now come, for it is time we sent that maniac to join his henchmen. We can delay no longer – the Captain just received word that two more people have become ill."
Lachlan swore under his breath as Holmes opened the door and looked back. His eyes met mine, and I saw in them a tiny bit of nervousness that was instantly squelched by his unbelievable self-control. Nonetheless, I nodded to him reassuringly and he smiled, his brow unfurrowing. And he set off without a word, trusting me to follow him.
Holmes
I gleaned no little satisfaction in intimidating that ruffian into telling me where Smith's stateroom was – Watson's terrified cries as he fell into the cold ocean were still ringing in my head no matter how hard I tried to block them out, and the sounds were enough to drive me to the very edge of even my self-control. I was very glad to have an outlet for those disturbing emotions.
Watson has said that I am rather frightening when angry, and evidently it is true - for the man was more than glad to tell me the location after very little…prodding. Smith was in one of the first class staterooms, on the corridor above mine and Watson's, which happened to be the very highest one on the ship. Apparently the man had a laboratory set up in his stateroom and never came out unless he was going to infect people.
There I had it.
If it were going to be that simple.
I listened intently, quelling my impatience with the stolid captain's methodical orders as he explained to me crisply that Lachlan was to aid me and the Lieutenant to take the two men to the brig.
"And keep my warning in mind, Mr. Holmes. If this is some sort of publicity stunt for your fantastic return to life, then you shall regret it, I promise you that," the man had warned me.
"I give you my word of honour, this is no stunt, Captain."
"Very good. Then you and the prisoner will get off my ship at the first port of call. Tell Midshipman Lachlan to notify me the instant the man is apprehended."
"Yes, Captain."
"Very good. You are dismissed, Mr. Holmes," the man said crisply, almost acting as if I were a member of the crew.
I discarded my first instinct which was to throw a mocking salute, thinking better of it and rather employing the small amount of tact I do possess. I quickly left the lounge and headed for our staterooms, keeping a sharp eye out for Smith.
But the man had no reason yet to suspect his men had not succeeded in sending both Watson and me to a watery grave, for it had only been an hour since it had all occurred. I sincerely hoped Smith was in his stateroom; it would keep the whole denouement so much tidier and free of anyone innocent being harmed in the process of apprehension.
The wind had picked up enormously, and I actually had to fight my way to the companionway – the squall would hit us before morning, judging from the look of the dark clouds looming up and obscuring the moon.
I rapped sharply on the door of Watson's stateroom and entered, hoping to find him looking slightly better than he had in the lounge. I dearly wished I could allow him to have a night of rest, for he certainly needed and deserved it – but I had to have aid in facing Smith. And selfishly speaking, he was the only man I wanted, the only person in the world I really trusted to watch my back.
He glanced up as I entered, a relieved look spreading over his pale face, and as I shut the door I saw he was cleaning his revolver from its dip in the ocean – good man. We might have need of it shortly.
I informed him and Lachlan of what we were about to do and then opened the door resolutely. I swallowed down a twinge of nervousness and glanced back at Watson and Lachlan. The former nodded and gave me a reassuring nudge out into the corridor and we were soon on our way up the companionway to the top corridor of staterooms.
Smith had landed the one on the very outside end – that way no one would notice if he rarely emerged from his room as well as there being less chance of crew members walking about. I heard Watson's breathing quicken behind me as the sea rolled and a clap of thunder heralded the coming storm.
Oh, dear heaven, don't let him get seasick at a time like this!
Because of the wind whipping about us, I was unable to distinguish whether there was any noise from inside Smith's stateroom.
"Anything?" Watson whispered close to my ear.
I shook my head, trying to hear once more.
"Nothing. All right. There's nothing else for it," I said, glancing back at them and hoping my brisk manner would cover my unease.
Watson nodded, and Lachlan eyed me quizzically. I tried the doorknob.
Locked.
"Shall I shoot the lock off?"
"No, it will alert him, as well as drawing the attention of everyone within hearing distance. Besides," I continued in a whisper, "the Captain gave me a master key."
"Ah."
I heard Watson's revolver cock as he got on the other side of the doorway. I glanced at him to make sure he was ready and then noiselessly inserted the key in the lock. I was acutely conscious of the wind whipping about us as I did so.
"Ready?"
"Always."
"Right then."
I twisted the key in the lock and flung the door open, stepping inside with Watson aiming the gun over my shoulder –
But the stateroom was dark and empty.
I cursed loudly, and Watson stepped warily into the room beside me.
"Not here?" Lachlan's voice came from behind us.
"No," I replied wearily, "shut the door."
Once shut, I lit the gas and looked round the stateroom. It was set up in the same fashion as mine and Watson's – there was nowhere to hide.
Along one wall was a table upon which stood some basic chemical experimental equipment and a few jars and petrie dishes. A locked trunk sat under the table, and I assumed the rest of Smith's ghastly equipment was contained therein.
"Where do you suppose he is?" Watson asked, pocketing his revolver slowly.
"Probably out infecting people," Lachlan muttered.
"It is immaterial where he is. For now, we must get rid of his arsenal before it has a chance to do more damage," I said resolutely.
Both Lachlan and Watson's faces turned a shade paler.
"You mean – we have to handle all those germs?"
"Yes, Lachlan. Do you or Watson either have cuts or scratches on your hands?" I asked briskly.
"I have a raw spot on my left hand, the skin got rubbed off when I was hauled up onto the deck earlier," Watson replied.
"Then don't touch anything. Guard the door."
"But –"
"There is not room for argument, Watson. These germs can only be transmitted through the bloodstream, not by touch – Smith had to be able to regulate them so they can't be contagious by touch," I said, interrupting his protests.
"You do not know that for certain! The disease he gave you four years ago was contagious by touch! He might have it lying about!" Watson's pale face was even whiter now.
"If so, it will be inside something," I replied calmly, "he would not take a chance upon infecting himself. Now be a good chap and don't distract us. Dropping one of the germ cultures would not be the wisest thing for us to do."
I regretted my attempt at humour when his face paled even more and he swallowed hard, visibly shaken.
"Watson, it will be fine. Now, the wind is too high for you to be able to listen for Smith coming back – are you up to standing outside and watching?" I asked seriously, being able to deduce from his features that he was feeling nowhere near up to par – but this had to be done tonight, now.
He nodded, turning a little grey as the boat bobbed again slightly.
"Are you getting seasick?"
"Not yet. What do you want me to do if I see Smith – wait a moment, I don't even know what he looks like now!"
"None of us do. If you see anyone approaching, come back into the cabin and we shall all wait together to see if it is he. I want you taking no chances, Watson," I said sternly, "do not let him see you."
My staunch friend nodded, casting another apprehensive look at the equipment on the table before exiting the room, leaving the door ajar.
"Now, Lachlan. If you will have the goodness to open the porthole, we shall destroy this man's arsenal once and forever."
The seaman nodded, opening the porthole and letting a monstrous breeze in through it – I saw a blinding flash of lightning, realizing it was fully dark now. I started tossing the jars and dishes from the table out the window, not caring what they contained. The stuff was too dangerous to be anywhere near human beings.
For ten minutes I and the sailor removed all Smith's cultivations and germ colonies, letting the grey waves carry them far from this ill-fated ship. Then I picked the lock on the trunk under the table and found (to my relief) not jars and cultures but rather many notepads and books as well as various dry elements – obviously the cures for some of the diseases and Smith's notes, judging by the look of things.
"Holmes! Man coming this way!" I heard Watson's hissing voice as he shut the door and turned off the gas.
I heard the click of his revolver as we waited tensely for the door to open. After a good ten minutes, we realized it was a false alarm. I turned the gas back up just as an enormous clap of thunder seemed to rock the room.
"She's a fair nasty cloudburst, this," Lachlan said.
Watson eyed the waves out the window before taking a deep breath and heading out to the corridor once again.
I watched as Lachlan laid a hand on his arm, and again I heard that odd phrase, "Vows made in storms," as the seaman reminded Watson of it – I still had no idea what it meant. But obviously Watson did, for he flashed the seaman a slightly less tense smile and resolutely stepped back into the hall.
I made a mental note to question my friend about it just as the cloudburst we had been expecting broke with enough force to send rain crashing in almost horizontally through the open porthole. Lachlan jumped for it and slammed it shut against the deluge.
I hastily went to the door to pull Watson back inside, only to see that I was too late – he was already close to being completely drenched. The glare he was giving me would have been comical had the situation not been so dire.
"I – hate – water," he growled, arms folded and his gun inside his coat to protect it from the wet.
I tried not to smile, but failed dismally when he finally did, grinning at me ruefully as the rain poured down off his hair, soaked for the second time that night.
"I am so sorry, Watson," I said, desperately trying not to laugh outright at his disgruntled face, "but you look like – what is it?"
He was staring at something past my head.
"That was him! At least the same height and he still has that bald forehead – he took one look this direction at the two of us and ran the other way like the devil were after him!" he cried, pointing toward the companionway.
"Lachlan!" I shouted above the wind, taking off at a dead run, Watson close at my heels.
I stumbled down the slippery companionway as fast as I could go, and considerably faster than was safe; and just in time saw the man disappear around a corner in our own corridor. A blast of wind nearly blew me into a stateroom door, but I hurried after the man, conscious of the rain lashing against the deck and my own person.
I hurried round the corner and saw the man scrambling down another set of stairs. I heard a loud thud behind me and turned to see Watson picking himself up slowly – he had fallen on the slippery deck.
"Go on!" he shouted instantly, seeing my hesitation.
I turned and raced after Smith, for I had seen the high bald forehead as well in the gas lamps now, and I agreed with Watson – it had to be he. No one else would have thought to run from two men standing outside the last stateroom topside.
I stumbled down the steps, slipping when nearly down and tumbling the rest of the way, barely keeping from sliding to a heap on the floor. Smith had run down the corridor and was disappearing.
Free now from the driving rain and wind, I sprinted after him for all I was worth, passing only a few members of the crew – I did not recognize where we were heading now, but I could definitely see no passengers.
Smith disappeared through a door and I halted there, realizing it was the only entrance to one of the cargo bays. I had him trapped – but the cargo area was a perfect place to hide; all he had to do was wait until we were far enough away from the entrance and he could get out again.
"Is he – in there?" I heard Watson gasp as he caught up to me.
"Yes. You all right?"
"Quite. Slippery up there. Well, what are we waiting for?"
"Where is Lachlan?"
"He was behind me – I told him to not let anyone up that companionway. It's one of two egresses from this part of the ship. That is a cargo bay, is it not?"
"Yes. Your revolver?"
"Right here."
"Be careful, then – and stick close to me! If we get separated we are both done for," I said determinedly, "he is probably carrying germs on him in a syringe or something, hoping to get a shot at us."
"That's a horrible pun, even from you, Holmes!"
I chuckled. Watson would always retain that odd sense of humour, even to the last.
But I had no intention of this being the last.
"Are you with me?"
"Aren't I always?"
"Yes, but it is courteous to ask."
"Since when have you bothered with common courtesy, Holmes?"
I grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Right then. Let us finish this sordid drama like we began it, eh?"
"I am right behind you."
And that was all the assurance I needed. I pushed open the door of the cargo bay.