...dit dit-dah dit-dit-dit dah! Dah-dit-dah!
"Here, Inspector." The telegraph operator put down his pencil and handed the notepad to Lestrade. "Any message to send back?"
"I'll be damned..." Lestrade whispered, eyes wide as he read. "Ha-ha!" he crowed, and thrust the pad at Gregson. "Read that!"
LADY GODIVA LAST SEEN BY RAMSGATE STATION SEVENTEEN HUNDRED HOURS BEARING DUE EAST SIX KNOTS
"We've got them!"
"Not yet, we haven't," Gregson hastened to point out, though he couldn't completely hide a grin. "You do realise Moriarty probably changed direction once they were out of sight?"
"Don't ruin my good mood, Gregson," Lestrade chuckled, wagging a warning finger. "This could be the last time you ever get to see it!"
"Blimey... And on that disturbing note, I gather it's confession time."
"Yes..." Well, that had been nice while it lasted. "Thank you, young man," he added to the operator, who was busy stifling a yawn. "Scotland Yard appreciates your cooperation. Go back to bed."
Bryce handed the paper to an ensign. "Take that to navigation, I'll be there when I can. My thanks, gentlemen, you've saved us some time there, at least. But why do I have the feeling you've more to tell me?"
"Very perceptive, captain." Lestrade lowered his head humbly. "May we discuss matters privately? This isn't for the crew's ears, unless you decide otherwise. Even my two colleagues here have been mostly kept in the dark." He noticed Wiggins shifting uneasily, and smiled sadly down at the boy. "Gregson was right, Wiggins: it can't stay a secret any longer, not with so many innocent lives at stake!"
"I see," Bryce frowned, then sighed and shook his head. "Well, I suppose it's a little late for the brig now!"
He could very well change his mind in a minute or two, Lestrade reflected grimly as the four followed Bryce to his quarters. With everyone seated around the captain's table, Lestrade took a deep breath, and began.
"First, I'd like to beg everyone's pardon for not revealing what I'm about to tell you earlier. I haven't any proof, sadly – you'll just have to decide for yourselves whether to believe me or not. Yesterday morning at work started with a man getting his brains blown out by a sniper rifle... and it didn't get any less bizarre from there."
"...and Holmes dived straight off the roof, dragging me with him! I nearly had heart failure!"
"That was you?!" His colleagues' mouths had been gaping steadily wider as the tale went on, but now they looked... delighted? Well, Hopkins did, anyhow, while Gregson looked faintly disgusted as well.
"Pay up, Gregson!" Hopkins dug the man playfully in the ribs, who swatted him away.
"Wh-What?" Lestrade stammered.
"The stories we were hearing on crowd control at Baker Street!" Hopkins gasped, shoulders shaking. "And back at the Yard! All kinds of fantastic creatures flying over London, especially Whitehall! Angels, demons, fairies, dragons – you name it! I had a feeling you and Mr. Holmes might have had something to do with that, but I never imagined..."
"He wouldn't let me ask you about it," Gregson grunted, seeing Lestrade's dumbfounded expression. "Insisted you had enough to deal with and you'd tell us when you were ready – mind, I didn't really think there was anything to tell!" He shrugged, digging out his wallet with a look of saintly resignation, and handed Hopkins a fiver. "If it was anyone but Sherlock Holmes..."
"...Oh." Lestrade risked a glance over at the rest of his audience. Wiggins wore a broad grin, hugely enjoying the reactions of the other two, while Bryce's expression was... hard to read, though the captain was clearly listening intently. Oh well... "Well, anyhow, we still didn't know what had happened to Mrs. Hudson, or Wiggins, so we flew to Baker Street next..."
"...and when I came back, the window was wide open, and Holmes had dived through it and swooped up into the air before I could stop him. Damned idiot didn't spare a thought for how anyone in the street would react, we had a gawking mob down below in seconds!" Lestrade glared over at Wiggins, who had the grace to look sheepish. "He said he still didn't know where the ship was, but his guide would."
"I can't believe we missed that!" Hopkins groaned. "We'd only been gone ten minutes, for God's sake!"
"So who was this guide?" Gregson asked.
"Colonel Moran, Moriarty's lieutenant," Wiggins volunteered. "Dunno what the guv'nor said to 'im up on the roof, but next thing we know, they're both flyin' away 'long Pall Mall!"
"What?!" Gregson thundered.
"...Moran can fly..." Hopkins murmured faintly, looking aghast. "And Holmes just... left you both behind to follow him?!"
Lestrade nodded, shame-faced, slumping down in his chair. "I should have known what he was going to do! Even if he couldn't fly, turning my back on him like that, even for a moment...!"
" 'm sorry, Inspector," Wiggins mumbled, hanging his head. "D'yer think 'e got there all right?"
Gregson nodded, patting the boy's shoulder. "If the Professor was expecting Holmes, Wiggins, it'd be more than Moran's life is worth not to get him there in one piece!"
"And after that?" Bryce rumbled unexpectedly, speaking for the first time.
"With Moriarty holding most of the people he cares about hostage?" Gregson shook his head. "God knows!"
Bryce nodded, looking grave. Rising, he walked to the door and opened it. "Able-seaman Potter!"
"Sir?"
"Is Petty Officer Donovan still below?"
"I think so, sir."
"Very good. Tell him the captain sends his apologies, and he can resume his duties immediately."
"Aye, sir!"
Bryce shut the door again, shaking his head ruefully. " 'Two men, captain! Flying over the Thames, they were, just like a pair of ruddy gulls!' Those were Donovan's very words last night... and the rest of us thought he'd been on the grog!"
Lestrade could have wept with relief. "You believe me, then."
"We all do." Hopkins gripped Lestrade's shoulder, giving him a friendly little shake. "It's a shame you didn't trust Gregson and I sooner, but... well, we can understand why you didn't!"
"Thanks, Stanley." The Inspector gave Hopkins a sheepish grin, which suddenly blossomed into an enormous yawn. "Oh, I'm sorry..."
"Good God, man, no need for that!" Bryce exclaimed. "You're almost dead on your feet, all four of you!" He put his head out of the door again and whistled. "Go along with the crew, they'll see about finding berths for you all. I'll be on the bridge."
"...spector? Inspector!"
"Uhhh..."
"Inspector, please wake up!"
"Wha'? Wha's it?" Why was he being shaken so hard? Who was this?
"I'm sorry, sir, but the captain's sent for you. You're needed on the bridge, urgently!"
"...bridge?" Lestrade slowly levered himself up on his elbows. Ugh, his mouth felt disgusting...
"The Sharpshooter, sir!" A canteen was pushed into his hand. "We're going after the Lady Godiva, remember? But there's... been a problem."
Lestrade mechanically raised the canteen and gulped some water. "Thought you'd fixed the boiler..." Why was that his problem?
"It's not the ship, sir, it's the boy!"
And suddenly Lestrade was very much awake, the empty berth that Wiggins should have been occupying gaping in his blurred vision like a sinkhole. "What's happened? Where is he?!"
"Up on the bridge with the captain – no one's been hurt yet!" the crewman called as Lestrade flung himself out of the sleeping compartment and towards the stairs, the floor lurching drunkenly under him.
Was that supposed to be comforting? Lestrade staggered up the steps, using both handrails, shielding his eyes as he burst into the full light of day.
"Come with us, sir!" Two strong pairs of hands took hold of his elbows and bore him along the deck.
Lestrade didn't even try to resist, they were getting him there faster than he could have on his own! "Is Wiggins all right?!" No one answered, and now that he didn't have to worry about falling over, new concerning details were starting to filter through: the dockyard seemed to have vanished, and the ship was now being tossed on a heaving grey platform... no, wait, they were at sea? Had they caught up with the Lady Godiva already?
By the time Lestrade and his escorts reached the steps to the bridge, he was able to stay sufficiently upright to climb them unaided. "Wiggins?! Are you all right?"
"Don' come up, Inspector!" came a frantic shout, turning Lestrade's blood to ice. " 'E's got a gun!"
"By all means, Inspector, do come up!" rang out a strange, rough voice, the amusement in it making Lestrade feel even sicker than the motion of the deck. "I have a gun!" No, it couldn't be...
But when Lestrade reached the top of the stairs, his worst fears were confirmed. Bryce was standing protectively in front of Wiggins in the far corner, holding fast behind him to the boy's jacket as if to keep him from making any sudden movements. The captain's eyes were fixed murderously towards the opposite corner, where...
"Ah, Inspector." Colonel Moran never turned his head, the pistol in his right hand aimed directly at Bryce's heart with remarkable steadiness. "Lestrade, isn't it?" And Lestrade saw then, with horrifying clarity, that the Colonel wasn't moving with the ship like the rest of them – he was floating an inch above the deck. "A pleasure to meet you at last. I think it's high time Scotland Yard and I had a little chat."
