Dec. 14 – Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: Safety
Sleight of Hand
The night was cool. The sea was calm. The SS Perse rode an even keel on the Bremen to New York route. The hour was late, and the passengers had retired long ago to their cabins. Upon her upper deck, a man slipped from shadow to shadow, furtively looking over his shoulder as if fearing hunters. Coming to the fore ladder, he crept silently down, paused on the landing to listen and cursed silently as somewhere above the sole of a shoe squeaked on the teak decking. Nothing for it. Risks had become part of life. The man eased carefully down the next ladder and into the first class companionway. If he could reach the linen closet amidships, he had a chance.
Pushing quietly through the companionway doors, he peered down the dimly lit corridor with its fine burgundy carpeting and expensive teak paneling. To either side, forty white doors shone dully until the companionway ended in a pair of doors identical to the ones by which he had just entered. Down at the far end was the linen closet and the revolver he had secreted away for just such an emergency. All he need do was reach it before those pursuing him discovered his whereabouts.
Slipping off his shoes to make as little noise as possible, the man hurried as quickly as he dared. Heart pounding but mind clear, he had covered three quarters of the distance before the doors behind him banged open. He broke into a sprint even as the first zip of a silent bullet streaked past his ear to smack into the expensive paneling a dozen paces ahead of him. The next slapped into the steel sheeting of the far door, its soft lead splattering deep grey against the white paint. There would be no time to stop at the linen closet. Onward he plunged as behind him the hunters broke into a pounding run, determined to bring him to heel. Through the doors and past the midship ladder to the aft companionway. The door flew open even as he reached it. He was caught! No way out! His feet slipped out from under him and he slid through the open door. Even as he did, a black clad figure leapt over him and shut the companionway door.
"In here!" hissed a woman's voice and the man gaped stupidly, too stunned to make sense of what had just happened. "In here or we all die!"
A darkened doorway stood open, the vague shape of a woman stood outlined within. The man rolled up onto his hands and knees, scrabbled quickly across the deck and dove through the door.
"Be quiet!" hissed the woman and shut her cabin door. In the darkness, it seemed she pressed her ear to the panel.
From somewhere beyond the door the sound of pounding feet could be heard and then came the distinct bang of the forward companionway doors slamming open. This was followed by a scream of indignation and thumping noises as of someone falling down the midship ladder.
"The nerve of some people!" shouted a strident feminine voice with an American accent. "Well? What are you waiting for? Help a lady up! Hey! Not so rough! Get your hands off… Hey! Where are you going?"
Feet stormed up the midship ladder and along the upper deck, fading with distance. A moment later a soft knock sounded on the cabin door and the woman jerked it open, admitting another woman. A soft click and the room was illuminated by the amber tinged glow of an incandescent electric bulb. Side by side stood two of the most striking women the man had ever seen. One was clad in a scarlet and cream lace evening gown, her hair of a rich auburn hue. The other wore a black velvet gown with deep purple lace and small glass beads sparkling under the flickering light. Her hair black and lustrous as a raven's wing. Ever so slowly, the black clad woman's ruby lips spread into a wickedly delighted grin.
"This is him?" she asked. "He's better looking than his pictures."
The auburn-haired woman nodded and stepped forward to focus a pleased smile entirely on the man.
"Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she said.
"Good evening, Mrs. Irene Norton," said Sherlock Holmes and pushed himself to his feet, giving a shallow bow. "Ladies, I am in your debt, it seems."
"Our pleasure, sir," said Irene. "You can repay us by explaining what exactly is going on. I read that you died. When I saw you waiting tables last night, I knew your face but couldn't place you. Not until later. It's the blonde hair and your mustache."
"Ahem," coughed the other woman and stepped up beside Irene to smirk at Holmes.
Irene rolled her eyes and shook her head ruefully, saying, "Sorry. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, allow me to introduce Miss Elvira Peterson. She is my traveling companion and an old friend."
"How do you do, Miss Peterson," said Holmes, bowing again.
"Better now that you're here, Mr. Holmes," Miss Peterson said, amused. It seemed her mouth was in a perpetual smirk. "Very nice to meet you. What did those thugs want?"
"My life, Miss Peterson," Holmes said bluntly, stepping around the women to the door. "By helping me, you have placed your lives in danger. I must go."
"No," Irene said, grasping his upper arm in slim, strong fingers.
"Yeah!" Miss Peterson said, stepping around Holmes to block the door. "They're still out there. Besides, we only just met."
"Vi," Irene said in a warning tone.
"Poo!" Miss Peterson said, rolling her eyes. "You were more fun before you got married."
"This is serious, Vi," Irene said.
"I know," Miss Peterson said. "You were still more fun."
"Ladies," Holmes said, reaching for the door handle. "I really must go. If I am discovered, those men will not hesitate to kill you both if it means they kill me."
"They don't know where you are, Mr. Holmes," Irene said.
"Yeah," Miss Peterson agreed. "I fooled them but good."
Holmes raised an inquisitive brow, puzzled by the stark contrast between the woman's obviously expensive appearance and her low-class manner of speech.
"Soon as you were through the door, I jumped over you, right?" she said, her lips crooking into yet another smirk. "Well, I went up the steps a bit and when I heard the other companionway door open, I did a prat fall and made a lot of noise like someone had just tripped me. Bruised my…"
"Vi!" Irene snapped urgently, cutting off the dark-haired woman's tale. "Mr. Holmes does not need to know where you were bruised."
Miss Peterson glanced back and forth between Holmes and Irene, then shrugged.
"Anyway," she continued, "with me shaking my finger at the top of the steps, they got the idea someone in a hurry had pushed me down. Naturally, they charged up after whoever it was and here I am and here you are and here Irene is. All safe as houses."
"The point is, they do not know where you are, Mr. Holmes," Irene added.
"Nevertheless, my presence puts you both in danger," said Holmes, reaching for the door handle.
"We have both been in danger before," Irene said.
"Can't be worse than a dozen Apache warriors shooting arrows and rifles at me," Miss Peterson said, grasping Holmes by the wrist and pulling his hand away from the door. Not letting go, she took two steps towards the middle of the cabin, her smile never faltering. "Why don't you sit down and have a drink? You look like you could use one."
"Miss Peterson," Holmes began, extracting his wrist from her fingers.
"Elvira is right," Irene said before he could finish. She moved to interpose herself between him and the door. "Please stay."
"This is not proper," he asserted. The women chuckled at that. "Really, ladies!"
"Really, Mr. Holmes!" Irene said, sounding exasperated. "Please have a seat. Even if those men return, they cannot know in which cabin you are secreted."
"And if they figure it out," Miss Peterson said, stepping to a bureau and sliding open the top drawer. She reached in and produced a compact pepperbox derringer. "This will even the odds."
Reluctantly, Holmes assented and lowered himself into a comfortable wingback chair in the corner below the porthole.
"So, tell us what's going on," Irene said, sitting on the divan beside the vanity. "Who are those men and why are they after you?"
"You read of the events at Reichenbach Falls?" he asked. Both women nodded. "So you know who James Moriarty was."
"Some kind of brilliant mastermind criminal," Miss Peterson said, crossing the cabin to an ornate sideboy and the Tantalus, which sat upon it. She selected three glasses and poured whiskey. She handed one to Holmes, kept one for herself and passed the third to Irene.
"Thank you," he said and sipped, enjoying the burn of the strong yet smooth liquor. "Moriarty ruled a vast network of criminal endeavors. Everything from smuggling weapons to kidnapping, burglary and murder was interwoven into his illicit enterprises. I brought him down and with him, his network. Somehow, he had managed to engender genuine loyalty among his men. The two who pursued me tonight are among those that wish revenge."
"But how did they discover you are still alive?" Irene asked, her expression stricken. "Not through Dr. Watson?"
"Watson believes I am dead," Holmes said grimly. "Moreover, he must continue to do so in order that he and his wife remain safe. Perhaps, if he were not married, I would have included him in my flight. No better man to have at your side than John H. Watson, I assure you."
"How then, did these men discover you are still alive, Mr. Holmes?" Irene pressed.
"Moriarty had agents with him at the Falls," said Holmes and took a larger sip of the whiskey. "I surmise they were there in large part to keep him safe should our confrontation have resulted in my death. Alternately, they could have acted to free him had I captured Moriarty rather than killed him. Finally, as actually occurred, they were in place to reap revenge upon me at the professor's death."
"And they've been chasing you ever since?" asked Miss Peterson, eyeing Holmes speculatively.
"They have," he confirmed. "I thought I lost them in Berlin at the train station. I made it clear I was boarding an east bound express then slipped away to journey north to Bremen where I used an alias provided by my brother to join the servers aboard the Perse. Only after we sailed did I learn two agents had come aboard. Also, I was surprised to learn of your presence, Mrs. Norton. I thought you and your husband had relocated to Montreal."
"We did," she said. "I felt the need to visit Paris. Elvira agreed to accompany me."
"We wanted to see our old haunts, as it were, Mr. Holmes," Miss Peterson put in. "Irene and I met in Paris years ago. I was, if you can believe it, a magician's assistant. Ever heard of Monforte the Amazing?"
"Yes. An impressively skilled illusionist," said Holmes.
"Maybe so," she said with a sneer. "He was also a lecherous…"
"I was performing at the opera house across the boulevard from Elvira's venue," Irene cut in hurriedly, wishing to avoid embarrassing Holmes. "One evening, I heard an American accent and made my way through the crowd to introduce myself."
"We've been friends ever since," Miss Peterson said, smirking at Irene's blushes.
"Yes? How pleasant," said Holmes, taking a larger sip of his whiskey. "Tell me, ladies, how did you arrange my rescue this evening?"
"Irene recognized you, Mr. Holmes, and knew something was up," said Miss Peterson.
"Yes," said Irene, obviously glad for the change of subject. "As you know, I have been hunted by nefarious agents myself, so I knew the look. Why else would you be in disguise and passing yourself off as a waiter?"
"A reasonable deduction," admitted Holmes.
"Naturally, we could not be sure if you would need assistance," said Irene. "We could, however, make a plan to provide that assistance should the situation develop."
"We took turns watching through the porthole in the companionway doors," Miss Peterson said.
"We could not know from which direction you would come, of course," Irene said. "It seemed probable, given you wear the livery of a first-class attendant, that you would come from the forward decks. Even if you came from sternward, there was a good chance we might interdict your pursuers and aid you."
"We did make one firm plan if things fell into place the way they actually did," said Miss Peterson. "Whichever of us was on watch would fling the doors open so you could get in quick. I wasn't expecting you to slip on the deck, but it worked out perfectly. Anyway, once you were under cover, we had to divert whoever was after you, so I went a few steps up the ladder and did what I did. The result: Your pursuers are looking for you elsewhere."
Holmes looked back and forth between the two women and lifted his glass in salute.
"Bravo," he said, and drained his whiskey. "As daring and successful as your plan was, one problem remains."
"What's that?" Miss Peterson asked.
"I am now trapped here," he said. "I dare not return to my bunk. Having lost my trail, the men will lie in wait for me outside the crew quarters. Should I seek to hide some other place; I risk being shot in the back."
"Would they risk a gunshot?" Irene asked, frowning.
"They have already risked two this night, Mrs. Norton," Holmes said. "These men are equipped with two rather ingenious weapons. Air pistols that make virtually no noise when fired. Fortunately, they are single shot and must be reloaded after every discharge. I must assume they are also equipped with more mundane weapons of the murderous arts."
"Well," Miss Peterson mused, pacing a few steps back and forth in front of the door. "We make port in the morning, don't we?"
"She's right, Mr. Holmes!" said Irene. "You can remain her tonight. No one will be the wiser."
"That will do for the night, provided you ladies are not discommoded by my presence."
Miss Peterson gave Holmes a lingering look, her devilish smirk returning. "I'm not discommoded, Mr. Holmes. Not in the least."
"Vi!"
"You were more fun before you married, Irene," sighed the raven-haired woman.
"My apologies, Mr. Holmes," Irene said, cheeks pink, though she was clearly fighting to suppress a smile. "Regardless, be assured you are welcome to remain her the night. Getting you off the ship once we dock is another matter."
"What if we dress him up as your husband?" Miss Peterson suggested. "He's a little tall and narrow, but not many people know what Godfrey looks like."
"Problem is, Vi, everyone knows I am traveling with you, not Godfrey," said Irene. "How could we possibly explain how my husband came aboard while we were at sea? And before you suggest it; NO we cannot put him in one of your dresses."
"Hasn't got the figure for it anyway," Miss Peterson said and went to get another whiskey. "I've got loads of dresses in that trunk, though. Maybe we could alter one. I might be able sweet-talk that good-looking ship's doctor into letting me borrow his wheelchair and Mr. Holmes could sit in it until we got him ashore."
"We would still face the difficulty of explaining my presence," said Holmes, leaning back to brood over the problem. "Perhaps it would be enough to simply get me over the side. I could swim to shore."
"In New York Harbor?" Irene blinked at him. "You'd be chilled to the bone long before you reach the docks."
"That or you would choke on garbage," said Miss Peterson.
"And once ashore, what would you do?" Irene demanded. "Have you anyone you could go to for help? Have you money? What about weapons to defend yourself with?"
"I can only say that once ashore, I would manage," said Holmes. "If you have read Watson's accounts, you are aware of how resourceful I am."
"Resourceful or not, Mr. Holmes," said Irene forcefully, "the temperature of the water would probably do you in."
"I have an idea!" Miss Peterson said, cutting in. "Do you speak French, Mr. Holmes?"
"Oui, madame," he replied.
"Nice accent," she said and licked her red lips. "Why don't you be my butler?"
"Vi, we can't explain a butler any better than we could explain Godfrey or an old woman in a wheelchair."
"We won't need to," Miss Peterson said. She strode over to the large steamer trunks set neatly against the wall, packed and ready for their morning departure. Opening them, she began moving clothes from one into the other.
"What on earth are you doing?" demanded Irene, rising and crossing to stand beside her.
"Monforte the Amazing taught me a few things about magic," Miss Peterson said, still shifting the clothing. "The key to a good trick is keeping the audience from seeing what you're hiding. Sometimes it's done with misdirection. Sometimes it's a matter of them not realizing you're hiding anything."
"Very clever, Miss Peterson," Holmes said, rising to stand beside her.
"What is?" Irene demanded. "And what does Mr. Holmes speaking French have to do with it?"
"He's going to be my new French butler," Miss Peterson said and grinned at Holmes.
"I do not understand," Holmes said.
"Look; Irene is taking the train back to Montreal in two days. I'm staying at my place in New York for a couple of weeks, then I travel down to New Orleans to join a troupe on tour for the rest of the summer. You come with me as my butler, Mr. Holmes and nobody will be the wiser. New Orleans is a big city with plenty of ships coming and going. It's a good place to disappear. How flexible are you?"
Irene could only gape as Holes removed his jacket and folded himself inside of Elvira's steamer trunk.
"It is very clever," Holmes asserted. "No one will look twice at two stevedores coming aboard to carry luggage too heavy for a pair of ladies to move on their own."
"Won't my nosey neighbors be jealous?" Miss Peterson said, giggling.
"They'll be rushing around trying to hire French butlers inside of a day," laughed Irene.