Doldrums and Deep Waters
Chapter 9: A matter of some urgency
The drive back to Baker Street seemed interminable. Lestrade, to his credit, once he had grasped the urgency of the situation, ordered the cabby to "spring 'em", and did not allude to the probability of losing his collar.
The cab had barely stopped before I was springing from it, and racing up the stairs to our rooms.
Empty. My mind almost instantly took in the contents of the medical bag upon the desk, the bag itself missing, the open drawer in the writing cabinet. Unease was already churning my stomach when my eye fell upon the envelope propped against the mantel. I snatched it up, and tore it open with trembling fingers.
The handwriting was uncharacteristically unsteady, I noted automatically, as I began to read.
As I assimilated the contents, I had the sudden feeling I was falling through space.
"Mr Holmes?" Lestrade's voice sounded far away. "Are you alright? You are white as a ghost. No trouble threatening the Doctor, I hope?"
"The worst!" I gasped, yelling "MRS HUDSON!" as I turned to race back down the stairs. Mrs Hudson appeared rapidly, her face apprehensive.
"Did you see Watson leave the house?" I fired at her, simultaneously ordering Lestrade to call back the cab.
"Yes, Mr Holmes. He must have left fifteen or twenty minutes ago. He had washed and shaved and changed his clothes, but he didn't look well, and said he might be... "
I was no longer listening. "Pray God we may still be in time then, Lestrade! Hurry!"
We leapt into the cab.
"To the docks, Man! Do you know the old Bastion warehouse? Then make haste, make haste! Ten guineas for you if you get us there in time!" The horse was already sweating, but I ordered the cabby to drive as if his very life depended on it. We caused considerable alarm to pedestrians as we thundered through the street.
"Mr Holmes. Will you please let me know what is happening?"
"I cannot," I whispered, through still-grated teeth. "Do not ask me to speak of it yet, but please trust me."
London's docks loomed oppressively against the skyline; the haphazard jumble of giant warehouses, heavy machinery, boats and the stench of the river lending its own type of hellishness to the scene. I could see the building I sought. Watson and I had cause to know it well; we had hidden there, to ambush one of the more insalubrious of our empire's smugglers five months hence. Its boarded up windows and general air of decay announced it to be a building at the end of its life, and I knew it to deserted save for the rats.
The door to this crumbling edifice was kept locked, but the wood was weak and rotten, and it had very recently been prised open, the splintered wood dry and not yet mired with the sooty air that settled over this district like a shroud. Our footsteps were muffled by dust as we stepped into the dimly lit interior, the only illumination filtering through the gaps in the window-boards.
Watson's print was noticeable in the dust immediately, the slurring of his limp very plainly marked. With trepidation, I called his name, but without reply. I hastened to follow his tracks.
The sound I heard next will stay with me for the rest of my life. A horrible, booming tattoo, like a maddened funeral march, and a loathsome gurgling; forever associated with the appalling sight that met our eyes as we reached our destination.
Call me pessimistic, but this sounds a little worrying....
Next chapter up soon – tomorrow, I hope.
Please continue to read and review – and well done to those of you who seem to have guessed what's going on – although of course I can't reply to you yet, incase I give the game away!