Prompt from mrspencil - ...Watson needs the help of the irregulars

The Adventure of the Irregular Rescue

Louis Duchene slipped from between the carts in the fish market with his take for the gang. It had been a while since the Irregulars had had anything like meat, but Little Lou, as he was known, felt on this cold December day they'd all be glad for some fish, and he'd gotten three of the larger ones from under the ice. Now all he had to do was get clear and meet the other boys back at the burned out warehouse they currently called home. The fish felt cold under his ragged jacket and he had been up all night, but Louis was young and knew his way around the docks. He knew he could get away. At least, he was sure of it until the fishmonger spotted him.

"Oi!" shouted the burly man from the other side of the carts. "You! Stop! Thief!"

Louis didn't hesitate. He didn't look at the man and he didn't look to see if anyone else was looking at him. Louis bolted for the cover of the alley, the heavy fish jouncing inside his jacket on the cord around his neck. Feet pounded the cobbles behind him as the fishmonger and his helpers tried to catch up, but Louis had played this game with them before. He was into the alley and sprinting for the far end before his pursuers even got close. Luck was with him when a large wain filled with barrels rolled across the entrance, cutting off the fishmonger. More shouting and cursing rose into the early morning air as Louis dodged out the far end of the alley, across the lane and into another alley. He would take the back way home.

Many people would have gotten lost trying to take the route Louis had chosen. It was, to say the least, circuitous. At times he climbed drain pipes to cross rooftops and drop down into small courts. Once he had to climb through a window at the back of a carriage house and slip out of the door into a narrow lane between gardens, pausing to give the old dog meant to guard the place a friendly scratch behind the ear. It was when he climbed down the drain of the Snyder Fabric Mill that he noticed something that made his blood run cold. Two men were beating another.

"Merde!" swore Louis, slipping back into his native tongue.

He hung silently from the drain pipe ten feet off the ground, hoping the men would not turn around and see him. The men were completely focused on their victim for the moment and Louis decided to risk the last stretch. Once on the ground he could duck behind a stack of empty crates and wait for them to go away. He was just about to follow this course of action when he realized he knew the man being beaten.

"Dr. Watson? Merde!" he hissed through his teeth and dropped quickly down the drain pipe. He dodged under cover and peered out to see what the men would do.

"That's done for 'im, Cyril," the taller of the pair said.

"Snoopin' sod! I think he broke my nose," snarled the short one, Cyril. "Whot we do wiff 'im now, George?"

"Lady didn' want no killin', but I don' think she planned on this," George said. "Let's get 'im inside. Tie 'im up and ask 'er whot's whot."

Louis watched the two men lift the doctor and carry him through a plank door in the back wall of the mill. He swallowed hard and wondered what he should do. But that was easy. He would go to Mr. Holmes and tell him everything. And then he remembered the great man was not in London at the moment. Wiggins had said something about Mr. Holmes going up north somewhere. If that were true, who could he tell?

"Coppers?" Louis wondered out loud. "Won't believe me."

He peered at the door, half wishing he had never come this way. What could he do? He was just a boy.

"Wiggins would know what to do," Louis decided.

With that thought came action. He rose silently and darted off between the buildings of the mill until he had cleared its grounds. He didn't worry about taking a secret route back to the warehouse now. He made straight for it at a dead run. People called after him and even a bobby on patrol blew his whistle, but Louis never slowed down and never looked back. Dr. Watson needed help!

"Whacha mean the doctor's in trouble?" demanded Wiggins after Louis pushed through the loose boards and staggered up to give him the news.

"I saw him getting beaten," Louis panted, hardly able to breathe. "I got fish. I was taking the long way here. I saw him being beaten."

"What fish?" asked Jack Murphy. He was always hungry.

Louis slipped the cord from around his neck and dropped the fish on the dirty floor of the warehouse. Several of the boys sprang forward, their eyes wide and hands reaching. Wiggins laid into them with slaps and a kick.

"Louis says the doctor's in trouble," Wiggins snapped when the boys were sufficiently cowed to listen.

"So what?" Jack demanded, rubbing his cheek. "That's 'is lookout, ain't it?"

"Yeah?" Wiggins demanded. "And what happens if you break your foot again?"

The other Irregulars glanced sheepishly around. Jack dropped his eyes and licked his lips as though he would say more, but he nodded his head. They had a vested interest in helping the doctor if they could.

"Right, then," Wiggins said and pulled up his britches as if readying for work. "No one hurts our friends without they answers to us! We're the Irregulars and don't you forget it. Robby, you know where the mill is, right? Get on over there and watch that door. Keep your eyes peeled. I don't want them taking the doctor away without we knows. You lot, get the rest o' the fellas. I'll have the fish cooked by the time you get back."

When the boys scattered to gather in the gang, Wiggins snatched hold of Louis' arm, holding him back.

"Good work, Little Lou," he said. "You know right where the doctor is?"

"I only saw the door they took him through," Louis replied with a grimace.

"It's a start, anyway," Wiggins said. "Go on and bring me Finn. He's the best at this sort of thing. Should be down in his usual spot on the Strand."

Half an hour later the Irregulars had all returned. They sat or squatted around a low fire at the back of the warehouse where the roof had burned through. Wiggins had roasted the three fish over the coals and the boys were wolfing them down greedily while he outlined their campaign.

"First we'll spread out so we can see the place proper," he said, finishing a mouthful of juicy fish. "Me, Little Lou and Finn 'll go in and take a look. We'll find the doctor. After that we'll come back out and make a plan."

"Little Lou said they was men what nabbed 'im," Jack observed around a mouthful of fish.

"And?" Wiggins asked, eyeing the boy.

"Well," Jack said uneasily. "They's bigger 'n us. Maybe they gots weapons, too."

"Aye," agreed another boy, Tim Charfoot.

"Jack's right, Wiggins," Black Will Boggs said. He was one of the boys Wiggins listened to.

Wiggins reached into his pocket and came out with a gulley. He flicked the blade open and stabbed it into a blackened board next to him. Finn, the smallest and slimmest of the group pulled out a short length of lead pipe he'd flattened into a sap and laid it in front of him. Several other boys had knives. A couple had leather saps. Louis drew a piece of wrought iron out of his pocket. He'd spent hours rubbing it on the cobble stones outside the warehouse until a shiny point formed on one end.

"Not much," Jack said, laying his own knife on the stone floor.

"It'll be enough, Jack," Black Will said.

"We'll just be careful, is all," Wiggins told them, giving a nod to Black Will. "Make them play our game, not theirs."

The boys finished their meal and filtered out of the various openings in the walls of the warehouse. Old habits kept them from all taking the same route. Traveling in ones and twos, the boys would attract less attention. Each knew where they were to go and by instinct they would find their lookout posts.

Once Wiggins and his two companions snuck onto the mill's property he had Finn lead the way. The mill, having shut down for reasons only the owners knew, sat silent and deserted. The three boys eased between buildings, staying to the shadows as much as possible until they arrived in the wide avenue where Louis had seen the doctor being beaten. Finn just looked around for several minutes without a word. Then he turned to his friends and waved them to follow. They slipped across the space and up the same drainpipe Louis had come down earlier. Finn hardly paused as he pushed open a tall window and slipped inside. Wiggins and Louis followed him into the dim interior. Weaving machines sat silently below them. They stood on a narrow catwalk that ran the length of the wall, erected so that overseers could monitor the workers. There was no one in sight.

"How we going to find him, Wiggins?" Louis asked nervously.

"Come on," Wiggins said and pushed past Finn.

On silent feet they descended the steep stairs to the factory floor. Wiggins eased along the wall under the catwalk towards the door where the doctor had been brought in. Months of disuse had left a film of dust over everything and Wiggins could see scuffs and tracks made recently. By the door there was little dust, but a clear path showed someone had walked towards the far end of the building.

"It's you Finn," Wiggins whispered.

With a nod, Finn crept stealthily forward. He stopped next to one of the massive looms and waved his companions on. Wiggins and Louis followed, making not a sound. Finn advanced to the next loom and again waved them on. They proceeded thusly, their eyes and ears alert, the whole way to far end of the room where Finn stopped to wait for his companions. He pointed to a doorway from which flickering light emanated.

"Wait here," Wiggins whispered so softly the other boys barely heard him.

Louis watched, holding his breath, as Wiggins eased up next to the open door. He slowly peered around the frame to look inside, but then jerked his head back. Louis and Finn dodged back behind the loom and hunkered down waiting for some noise or any other indication that they had been discovered. Nothing happened so after a minute the boys looked back around the loom to find Wiggins quietly creeping their way.

"Doctor's in there," Wiggins breathed. "Looks bad. They done roughed him up something fierce."

"Let us get him out of there, then," Louis whispered and made to rise.

"No!" Wiggins hissed and pushed him back. "There's two in there with him. Playing cards. Might be another sleeping. I didn't get much of a look."

"What now, Wiggins?" Finn asked.

"If the doctor can walk, we can take him out the door," Wiggins said. "If he can't, we'll have to figger out something else. Either way, the doctor's tied up and we'll need time to get him loose. Come on. Let's look around."

~-)o(-~

Dr. Watson blinked awake. His right eye was swollen nearly shut and he could still taste blood in his mouth, but the pains of his body were less. He had not expected the men to attack when he'd begun asking questions. Holmes had warned him to be careful, but he hadn't been careful enough and apparently hadn't looked enough like a businessman interested in purchasing the Snyder Fabric Mill to convince the ruffians.

"I'm tellin' you, George, I heard somefin'!" said a harsh voice from his right.

Watson turned his head to find the two men who had beaten him standing near the open door of the room he had been taken to. Carefully he flexed his arms to test the ropes they'd bound him with, but they were no more slack now than they had been.

"I didn't hear nothin'," the man called George growled at his smaller partner.

"There it is again!" the smaller man said.

George seemed to be listening for a moment and then he turned and looked at Watson.

"Alright, Cyril," he said turning back to his partner. "You and Henry go an' 'ave a look. I'll keep a eye on 'im."

Cyril walked to the darkest corner of the room and nudged something with his foot. Watson heard a grunt and a curse.

"Come on Henry," said Cyril. "We got vist'rs."

"Vist'rs?" the man called Henry asked and rolled to his feet.

"Come on," Cyril said crossly.

The two men shuffled out the door, each carrying a short cudgel. George sat down in one of the wooden chairs by the small table and looked at Watson. After a few minutes they heard the men speaking in low tones, but the words were unclear. George glanced over his shoulder and adjusted his seat so he could see both the door and the doctor.

"You would be better off if you untied me and made a run for it," Watson said. He hoped these men were not too loyal to whoever it was employing them. He felt his best chance at surviving this ordeal was to convince them to find some other patron.

"You'd be be'er off if you kep' your mouth shut," George growled. He pulled a cigar stub from his pocket and leaned close to the oil lamp on the table to light it. Just as he took his first puff a crash sounded in the factory beyond the door. George rose and went to have a look.

"Think about it, man," Watson pressed. "That could be the police, right now."

"What's happening?" the ruffian bellowed to his friends.

"It's boys!" Cyril shouted back from somewhere deep in the factory.

"Coppers, eh?" George sneered at Watson. He straightened to his full height, throwing out his chest and puffing on his cigar. "Think a pack o' boys is gonna rescue you, Doct'r?"

Watson didn't let his feelings show, but he did not think boys would even be interested in his plight. They'd, like as not, run when they realized these men meant business. He was about to try another tack when something sailed through the door and splatted wetly on George's cheek.

"What the… !" snarled George, ducking back and pawing at the uncouth missile. It left a dark brown smear across his face and the man wrinkled up his nose before shaking the mess off his fingers. Watson heard childish laughter and scampering bare feet.

"Little bastards!" roared George out of the door and snatched up his cudgel before storming out.

The smell of manure wafted across the room to Watson and he frowned. There was something afoot, but he didn't have time to consider what it might be. Out in the factory he could hear angry shouts and the laughter of boys as they played whatever bizarre game this was with his captors. Watson rolled to his side and struggled to get his hands down to his ankles. If he could untie the ropes hobbling him, he might be able to make good his escape while the men were occupied. His stiff fingers had just found the knot when a slim form darted through the door.

"Doctor!" the boy said dropping to his boney knees next to Watson.

"Who are you?" Watson asked, confused by the faded French accent.

"Louis Duchene," said the boy and pulled out something that glinted in the lamp light. He began working at the ropes on Watson's ankles, but the blade must have been dull. The ropes creaked and rasped, but they did not part. "We are rescuing you!"

"We?" Watson demanded, keeping an eye on the door. If this boy were trapped in here with him when the men returned it might be the end for Louis.

"Wiggins and the Irregulars," Louis said and hooked the tip of his tool under the rope, giving it a sustained pull.

The rope snapped and suddenly Watson's legs were free. He saw movement at the door and lunged to push Louis aside with his shoulder. In the same instant he recognized Wiggins framed in the light of the factory. Ragged, panting and grinning as if this were all some playful lark, Wiggins dashed across the small room to help Watson to his feet.

"Come on, sir!" Wiggins cried. "Time to go!"

Watson lurched to his feet, his legs stiff and a little wobbly. The boys supported him as best they could, but they were so small and skinny. Out in the factory Watson saw the men running down the rows of machines, shouting and gesticulating as more of the Irregulars hurled manure and taunts. In spite of his situation the doctor grinned. Brilliant little scamps! Stones might have made the men take cover, but the stinking lumps they threw were more insulting than painful and provoked the men into headlong rushes that the boys easily evaded.

Wiggins began pulling Watson desperately towards the door and the one called Louis was pushing from behind. Watson stumbled along, happy to be leaving. His legs were beginning to work and he thought they might be scot free when he heard a bellow of alarm.

"Cyril! Henry!" George yelled. "He's gettin' away."

There was an instant of silence before the three men all shouted inarticulately and charged towards the doctor and his rescuers. Wiggins pulled harder and Louis pushed more urgently, their efforts combining to nearly topple Watson over.

"Hurry!" Wiggins panted, fear suddenly replacing the gleeful look on his face.

"Run boys!" Watson commanded them. "Leave me!"

"Go!" Louis screeched. "Run!"

"Come on!" cried Wiggins and they were at the door. He kicked it open and they exploded out into the wide lane between the factory and the warehouses of the mill.

The men were right behind them and Watson was sure the game was up. His hands were still tied. He couldn't defend the boys, but he could block the door long enough for them to get away. He began to turn, but Wiggins hauled him onward towards one of the warehouses. Stumbling for a few paces, Watson tried to stop. The boys wouldn't let him, though. From behind came George's shout and then from several points among the empty crates more irregulars popped up. They hurled a storm of clattering stones and the men caught coming out of the door all shouted and cursed as they were pelted.

Watson began to laugh. Wiggins had deployed the boys in two rows. The first row had stopped the charging men with their stones and were now falling back under cover of the second row. It was a tactic he had witness numerous times while serving in Afghanistan and it worked just as well for stopping these three brutes as it did for stopping charging cavalry. The men were taking too many hits to do more than curse the Irregulars and withdraw into the safety of the factory. By the time Watson and the boys ducked between the warehouse buildings the men were no threat. They paused long enough for Wiggins to saw through the ropes binding Watson's wrists and then they were off again.

"You're safe now, Doctor," Wiggins said ten minutes later as the three of them walked along Tumblety Court at the head of the Irregulars. "Tell Mr. Holmes we're ready to help whenever he needs us."

"Oh no, my lads," Watson said, grinning broadly. "You all deserve a proper reward."

Half an hour and many strange looks later, Watson and the Irregulars, with freshly scrubbed hands and faces, sat in Mrs. Hudson's sitting room eating thick sandwiches and drinking hot chocolate. The good woman had objected to the boys at first, but when the doctor had described their part in his rescue she welcomed them warmly. While they'd been washing, though, she had taken the precaution of spreading old blankets over her furniture and removing anything that might go missing while they were there.

Days later Holmes brought his case to a close. The three men were awaiting trial, but Mrs. Snyder had taken her own life.