==Chapter 4==

Children's Crusade

November 22, 1895

Faux-Day 3

Sally got my phone back from the boys, so now I can journal again. The last time I made an entry was after the Watson's wedding—well, a LOT's happened since then. I don't have time to go into details at the moment, but I will soon. Will, one of the Baker Street Irregulars, and I are in Newhaven in Sussex to get passage across the Channel to France. It's awkward, too; we've only just met, and he's a teenage boy and I'm a teenage girl and we're traveling together! (I shudder to think of the fit Mama and Daddy would throw.)

We have to retrieve the Bruce-Partington plans, of all things! And in a very messed-up world—more than usual, that is.

I didn't really want to leave Sally, but she and the Irregulars will keep each other safe. And I think she might not have really wanted me to go, either, but I have to do this. I don't really have a choice.

And I'm so tired. I had a few hours of sleep before we left but I'd been awake for almost two days by then, and I've been mostly awake for at least a day since. I just want to sleep now, more than anything. Maybe I'll wake up and this really will have all been a nightmare. It sure feels like one.

And I hate this: going through Sussex. I can't help thinking about the retirement that Sherlock's supposed to start here in just ten years. Given how little I've discovered I know about him, I wonder if he even cares about bees, or if Watson made that up, too?

Beth stashed away her phone. She had been using it in the middle of an inn, the Ram's Horn, but she'd done so under the cover of rummaging through her bag for something. Having her phone with her was the one bit of comfort she had right now.

Will returned to their table with two mugs of beer and a platter of bread and meat. "'Ere we go," he said quietly. "Better eat quick, the landlord's lookin' at us funny." His already-soft tone dropped to a mutter. "Wish Mr. 'Olmes's brother'd gave yew somethin' else."

Beth paled at the mention of Mycroft, shivering slightly.

...hiss of air, whizzing sound…

...Mycroft's head suddenly half-exploding…

She swallowed hard, dragging her mind back to the present. "Still easier," she murmured, "to transport than the gold we would have needed otherwise." She took her mug and studied the beer. At this point, she really didn't care that she was underage; she desperately needed the warmth it would give her. She hadn't felt properly warm since she'd been in 221B.

Will nodded grudgingly and tucked into the beef. "'Cept them sparklers're too flash fer most, too easy fer the peelers to trace. Least gold can be melted down."

"Well, that's what we have," she snapped, "so there's no use in complaining about it!" She exhaled forcefully and rubbed at her face, fighting the urge to break down completely. "Sorry…"

He sighed. "All roight, let's 'ear it."

She frowned, then noticed in her peripheral vision that others were looking her way. She sank a little in her seat in embarrassment. "Hear what?"

Will gave her a pointed look. "Oi ain't blind, all roight? Cat's 'ad yer tongue since we got to Sussex." His tone turned slightly more gentle. "Wot's wrong?"

She gave a quiet, despairing laugh. She wanted to tell him, but… "Apart from everything?" She shook her head. "I'd really rather not talk about it." He might not even understand. She didn't know. She didn't know him.

He sighed again. "S'long as it's not about 'oo we're lookin' for – if we get split up an' yew know somethin' Oi should…"

She shivered and shook her head. "No, I've already told you all I know about him."

He nodded. "Drink up then, we still got ter find us a ship." He drained his own mug, took two bread rolls, and put them in his pockets.

Sighing herself, she took a half-hearted bite of her own bread, then stuffed it in her pockets as well. The next minute, she was blinking back tears as she drank as much of her beer in one go as she could. Before Mycroft's brandy, she had only ever had one drink in her life, and she was not at all used to it yet. She set down her mug when it was half-drained and gasped out, "How do you—oh, never mind." She took a gulp of air and then finished off her mug, still gasping at the end of it.

Will nodded approvingly. "Not bad—" he grinned teasingly—"bit more practice, yew'll be givin' Kelly—" a fifteen-year-old—"a run for 'is money." He stood. "C'mon."

She rolled her eyes but stood. "Right behind you…"

They exited the tavern and headed for the docks. Dull, partially obscured moonlight glimmered on the water, and the wind was blowing out of the south, chill and wet.

But a mere few steps out of the door, a trio of rough-looking men appeared out of a side street ahead of the teenagers. The leader grinned nastily at them. "'Ullo, boys!" His grin vanished. "Bag 'em."

Will grabbed Beth's arm, and they turned to run but collided with another man. Will staggered back, letting go of Beth's arm, and Beth fell backwards, crying out as she fell and hit the ground. Before Will could recover, two men from a second group were holding him down and a third held a knife to his throat. Beth tried to get up, only to be pinned down by the first leader's boot on her stomach.

Will was very still, eyes wide, looking small and scared—though Beth, gasping around the boot holding her down, thought he was probably acting. The current leader of the Irregulars had too much fire in him. "Please, sir," he said, voice quavering, "don' 'urt us! We ain't done nothin' to nobody!"

The man atop Beth, the man who appeared to be the ringleader, barked a laugh. "Not yet, you 'aven't!" He leaned down towards Beth with a blackened, pitiless grin, his breath putrid and suffocating. She shuddered at a horrible thought: these men thought she was a boy… and what would they do to her when they discovered she was a girl? "Congratulations, my lads—you've just joined Their Majesties' navy!"

The men tied the teens' hands in front of them and hauled them down the side street to a waiting horse and cart. Beth and Will were then roped to the back of the cart in full view of a good dozen bystanders, none of whom said a word in protest at the kidnapping. Press gangs were agents of the Crown, after all—and a part of English history that Beth didn't typically like to think about.

As the wagon lurched forward and the teens were forced to follow, Beth kept her head down, partly in shame, partly in caution lest her rampant emotions dig her a deeper grave, partly in concealment. The absolute last thing she wanted was to give anyone the opportunity to realise that she was a girl. Well and truly terrified, she set her teeth and forced herself to breathe deeply and remain calm outwardly, if not inwardly.

It might not have been as bad a fix as having Colonel Sebastian Moran pressing a gun to one's head, but she had no idea how they were going to get out of this.

As they neared the edge of town, she and Will were regularly jostled together; when she was sure no one would overhear, she leaned in slightly, trying to make it look as natural as possible. "I really hope you have some kind of plan," she whispered.

Plodding along, Will kept his head bowed and shoulders drooped, looking the very picture of misery. "Wot d'yew think?" he breathed scornfully, and she flinched a little in response, stung. "Stay sharp."

She nodded, sighing. She'd been in tight situations plenty of times, but maybe none quite so miserable before…

They were headed for Brighton, taking the road along the shore. Fierce and bitingly cold, the wind blew in from the sea, pulling at hair and clothing and flinging up spray from the surging high tide into their faces. Beth tried but couldn't manage holding back soft noises of discomfort, every muscle in her body aching, wrists raw from the ropes, and every inch of exposed skin stinging from wind, sea, and cold. She wanted nothing more than to simply collapse on the ground and stay there—only her fear of what might follow kept her from trying it.

Will looked just as uncomfortable, muttering baleful epithets under his breath at the press gang. All the men were sheltered from the elements by oilskin capes and greatcoats, and only two were walking now: one beside the teens, and the other coaxing the horse along. The rest huddled together in the cart.

They reached the top of a rise and continued along the clifftop of a wide bay. Beth was struck with a wild thought, wondering if it were possible to survive a dive from this height. Even if she ended up killing herself, well… she knew what lay in store for her when they reached their destination. She couldn't possibly hide her identity forever.

The cart suddenly slowed, and the man leading the horse called to the others, "Oi, Ned! Take a gander at them birds! You ever seen an albatross that big?" Beth instinctively looked towards the sea and spotted said birds. Her eyes widened in surprise—they were huge. Offhand, the only birds she could think of that were that big were dodos, but even if frozen Time had brought them back into existence, dodos were flightless. So what were those things?

The ringleader sounded completely uninterested. "Keep yer ogles on the road, yer chub, and stow yer whids!" Beth stopped for a moment and stumbled, a chill flashing down her spine. She'd figured it out. There was only one thing those 'birds' could be. "Some of us is tryin' not to freeze to death!"

The next moment, there was a loud, leathery flapping noise, and one of the 'birds' came swooping up over the edge of the cliff, and looked as startled as anyone else to have company on the clifftop. Beth gasped. A pterosaur. Fully as large as Beth's body and boasting a wide wingspan, it was just about the most magnificent thing she had ever seen.

The pterosaur swerved in midair, just avoiding the cart, and screeched, deafening and unearthly. The poor carthorse, already at the end of its tether, panicked and reared, throwing the occupants of the cart backwards.

Suddenly, Will was free and cutting Beth's ropes with a knife. "Run!" he hissed.

Not thinking, acting purely on instinct, she took off running for the cliffs. There were no sounds of pursuit, only shouting—the press gang were obviously too concerned with the 'demon bird' to worry about a couple of small fry escaping, at least just yet. Shots rang out, and Beth hoped they hadn't hit the pterosaur, though she didn't look behind her to find out.

Will followed her to the edge of the cliff. "Wot're yew doin'?" he panted, wide-eyed. "Them devils'll be nestin' down there!"

And she dearly hoped that these pterosaurs were the fish-eating-only kind. The one that had given them their escape was rather small… Not hesitating, but taking great care on the wet rock, Beth began to climb down. "Who would you rather take your chances with?!"

A few seconds later, Will was beside her, shaking his head. "Cor," he said in a tone that almost sounded admiring, "madder'n the Guv'nor, yew are!"

She barked a short laugh, ignoring the sudden pain in her chest and hoping that Will would never know the half of it. Going on was terrifyingly difficult. There wasn't an inch of rock beneath their hands and feet that was dry, and the wind continued to buffet them, although at least their backs were now mostly to it.

After an eternity that was probably only a minute in reality, Beth caught sight of an overhang that looked big enough to shelter them both, and made her way over to it. "Oh, thank goodness," she gasped as she reached it, able at last to take the strain off her overtired limbs.

Just as Will reached it, voices sounded at the top of the cliff. They strained their ears to listen, but the wild wind prevented any chance they had of understanding the words. For the moment, they were stuck where they were, until the press gang left. As luck would have it, a pterosaur intervened again, screeching in the distance. The noise of the horse's hooves faded quickly, lost in the howl of the wind and the roar of the ocean.

Beth relaxed further, though that in itself was hard, as the wind was still assaulting them and beating the breath right out of their bodies as they huddled together. She glanced at Will. "Which way should we go?" she said hoarsely. "Up or down?"

Will peered down, looking about as skittish as the horse had been. She didn't need to—she'd already looked and knew that there was very little beach below to be had. "Up," Will said firmly, "an' stay orf the road." He looked at her in concern. "Yew all roight?"

Grateful for the concern, she smirked tiredly and shook her head. "Not a bit." She inched her way back out into the open and up. "How 'bout you?"

He shrugged wearily. "Been better. Unce we get orf this ruddy cliff, we orter find us a kip."

A head popped over the cliff edge above. "Ahoy, there!"

Beth very nearly lost her footing, startled, and Will did, swearing and treading air for a moment. "Will!" Beth cried. He regained his footing, and she gulped in relief.

She couldn't make out the stranger's face, but he sounded annoyed with himself when he spoke next. "Sorry, lad. Need a hand?"

Beth glared up at him. "Tha' depends on wot kind of 'and it is, now, don't it?"

She could just make out a shrug. "Well, we can throw you a line—" he nodded at something she couldn't quite turn to see, but she assumed to be more pterosaurs—"or you can stay there and feed the lizard birds. What'll it be?"

She sighed and carefully pulled herself further up. "If yew turn out t' be loike the last lot, Oi'll 'ave wished Oi 'ad…"

There was a snort of laughter, as if at some private joke. "Lower away, boys," the man called. A moment later, a rope appeared with a small loop at the end, and snaked its way down towards them.

Will grabbed hold and put his foot in the loop. "Oi'll go first, scout 'em out," he said as quietly as he could, given their location. "If anythin's orf, get down to the beach—Oi'll find yew, all roight?"

She bit her lip, not wanting to lose him as well, but nodded. "Be careful," she breathed.

He gave what was probably meant to be a reassuring grin. "'Course."

"Haul away!" the stranger called.

Will was raised swiftly and smoothly, and helped over the edge. He didn't call down right away, or even a few seconds later. Her body chose that moment to remind her that it had almost reached its breaking point; stiff, tense, soaked to the bone, and overtired as she was, she began to shake, her fingers starting to slip from their holds. No, no, not now, Will, where are you? Please be all right, please don't leave me here, I can't hold on much longer, please…

Will's head reappeared over the edge, and the rope slithered down towards her again. Trying to push away the dark thoughts creeping into her mind, she took it and had a moment of panic before her foot was firmly in the loop and her hands tight around the rope. She fought down the urge to scream as she rose up the cliff face—she was suspended in the air over an almost sheer drop to nothing but sea rocks a good twenty feet or more below, and even floating in space with the Doctor's hand around her ankle had felt safer.

But Will grabbed hold of her hands when she was close enough and pulled her up and over, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. "S'all roight, they won't 'urt us." He nodded at a handful of men in eighteenth century clothing, each of them armed to the teeth. Pirates? She looked apprehensively at Will, wondering what he had gotten them into.

The stranger spoke then. "All right, lad?" She turned, and her eyes went very wide. As if it hadn't been bad enough that Sherlock and Watson resembled their Granada counterparts so closely! The man, obviously the leader, possessed clear-cut, tanned features and piercing blue eyes, a tricorn jammed onto his black curls. He wasn't a perfect match, but their rescuer was very nearly the spitting image of Benedict Cumberbatch.

She shrugged slightly, hoping the man hadn't noticed her staring. "Been be'er."

He nodded. "Sorry we couldn't help before—not that you needed it, that was a rare brush!" He looked more than a little impressed.

She frowned slightly. "Wasn' e'zactly planned." Who is this guy? And why—no, she wasn't going there; he was definitely not handsome. He absolutely is, a treacherous voice in her head whispered.

The thoughtful look in the man's ice-blue eyes was terribly familiar. Zed, she didn't need this. "So what'll you do now? The gang's shabbed back off to Newhaven—" he grinned—"likely to find a cannon." His men laughed. "I'd steer clear of that town for a while."

Beth sighed. For gosh sakes, she couldn't keep up the Cockney; she dropped it but continued to pitch her voice slightly deeper so that she wasn't instantly recognisable as female. "We find another way across the Channel. We don't really have a choice."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly at her change of voice, but he rubbed his chin and gazed at her speculatively. "Well, now… could be I might know of someone tracking that way—what's it worth?"

Well, she certainly felt more and more inadequate for this entire thing by the second, but she desperately hoped it didn't show. It seemed as though the occasional stakeout for a paranormal (or was it extraterrestrial?) being had done little to prepare her for serious field work. "A sapphire," she said quietly. Surely that would cover the cost even of a ride across dangerous waters? "We need to get to Paris, as quickly as possible."

The man arched an eyebrow in an unspoken 'Well, then?', clearly more than a little sceptical. Zed, that look was way too familiar—the face was way too familiar! What was with her and the Tall, Dark And Handsome types, anyway?

Will withdrew the right stone from its hiding place and let it catch the light of one of the lanterns for a moment. The men gave a chorus of exclamations, and one in particular chimed, "Dang me, Cap'n, that's a rum bauble, an' no mistakin'!"

"Stow it," the captain snapped.

Will hastily tucked the stone away again.

"Not you, lad—" the captain sighed—"no matter, keep it till we're clear."

"Will you take us, then?" Beth ventured. Forgetting herself, she smiled slightly. "Captain?"

He smiled back resignedly. "Call me a sap-scull, but it's a bargain. I can carry you as far as Dieppe." Two of the crew came forward with scarves. "And you'll have to be blindfolded—can't have you blabbing to any excisemen."

Beth eyed the scarves warily—this could still be a trap; it wouldn't be the first time prisoners had escaped from one set of kidnappers only to be snapped up by another… But… they needed to take a chance. They had to get to Paris asap. She nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

The captain took one of the scarves himself and approached Beth. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, which were covered a moment later. Then she shivered, feeling warm breath in her ear, and heard the captain's tenor murmur, "No Turks, lass, my word on that."

She exhaled sharply, heart racing, head spinning, and nodded slightly. How had he…? No, calm down, you'll pass out.

"Right, boys," said the captain, "we're shifting ballast—let's rattle."

As Beth was shuffled off, a hand took hold of hers, rough and slim. Will's. She gripped his hand and squeezed it briefly, grateful beyond words for the contact.

The boat they hired turned out to be a rowing galley, maybe forty feet long, with a crewman at each of the twenty-four oars. The ship cut through the icy waves with the speed of an Olympic sculling team. The teenagers' blindfolds had been removed once they were far enough away from the shore.

Out on the Channel, there wasn't even the light of the false dawn that had illuminated London just slightly. But the closer they got to France, the more light flashed and thunder boomed, and it wasn't the performance of nature. Elizabeth I's fleet and Bonaparte's army were battling. Beth caught a glimpse of a grim smile from the captain as he manned the tiller, and she thought perhaps she understood: that battle was where Will would have ended up if they hadn't escaped. She was still very much not thinking about where she would have ended up.

Better to wonder about the identity of a certain nameless captain. Pirate? Smuggler? Whoever he was, she was seriously starting to believe in reincarnation, at least on a purely physical level. He was better-built than Benedict Cumberbatch, which meant that his face was not so thin as the actor's, but there remained a curious fragility to his features. Benedict, she would have called ethereal, but there was no hint of otherworldliness in this man. He was less of a Tolkien Elf and more of a Greek statue. She groaned softly. Why?

She wasn't the only one studying the captain, either: Will had been doing so practically since his blindfold had been taken off. The captain finally arched an eyebrow at the boy's scrutiny. "Your ma ever teach you it's rude to york?"

Will shrugged.

The man sighed. "All right, out with it."

"Yer Tom Johnstone," Will said softly, "ain't yew?"

The man grinned innocently. "Who's he, then?"

Will grinned back, looking more than a little awed. "Oi knew it!"

Beth frowned. Despite her obsession with history and British history especially, she wasn't familiar with the name. She turned to Will. "Care to elaborate for those of us that aren't local?"

Will gave her a disbelieving look. "Yew ain't never 'eard o' Tom Johnstone?"

Well, hello, I am American, thanks.

Johnstone looked amused and not a little flattered. "Should I be worried?"

"Me uncle's a mooncurser—'e told me stories o' yew when Oi was a nipper." Will murmured to Beth, "We're on a guinea run: carryin' British gold to pay Boney's men."

Beth frowned, replaying that statement in her head, then her expression cleared in understanding. "Oh." She grimaced in distaste. Ordinary smuggling, she would actually understand, but not selling out one's own country. And you had been starting to like him, too…

Johnstone caught her eye and arched another eyebrow, steel in his gaze. Okay, okay, she could take a hint; she wouldn't make a fuss. She shook her head and sighed. "I have mooncursers in my family, too," she said quietly, wryly. There was a reason why her ancestor was one of the most upright officials in Scotland Yard. She shrugged. "It makes for an interesting time, with others in the family being policemen."

Johnstone chuckled. "Never mind, lad, no family's perfect."

Will snickered.

Beth sighed again. It was going to be a long boat ride.

Five hours long, as it turned out. At least, that was what Beth figured, dozing on and off the entire voyage. The tide was low when they reached France at last, beaching below the cliffs some ways west of Dieppe. Beth and Will were blindfolded again once they disembarked.

"Sorry, you two," said Johnstone. "You can take them off when it's buried."

Beth smiled resignedly.

Johnstone proceeded to lead them up away from the beach, leaving his lieutenant to oversee the unloading of the cargo. When they'd stopped, he waited with them until a whistle came from the direction of the boat, then removed the scarves.

"I know we're paying you," Beth murmured, "but thanks, nonetheless." The man hadn't needed to help them up the cliff, or take them across in the first place, or protect Beth's identity, after all.

Johnstone smiled, and she thought her heart fluttered slightly. "A pleasure, milady." He gave her a slight bow.

Will handed over the sapphire, and Johnstone pocketed it with the scarves, nodding his thanks. "Much obliged. Now, I suggest you don't wait around for the lobsters to come digging, they might just get the wrong idea…"

Beth smiled and nodded. "Safe journeys." She glanced invitingly at Will, then started to walk south and inland.

She looked back to see Johnstone raise a hand in farewell. "Good luck!" Will echoed the gesture, still looking a bit starry-eyed. Johnstone turned and headed back down to the beach, and Will turned and followed Beth.

Ria: While researching Tom Johnstone, we had to laugh at how closely his physical description matched Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock! Didn't he want to be a pirate when he was a boy? =)

Sky: It was too good to pass up! I'm seeing Benedict Cumberbatch with Han Solo charm? Yeah, let's go with that. =D

On a more sober note, wow, what a journey! The poor kids... At least they hit a lucky break with Johnstone! The press gang was just awful.

Last but not least, please, please, please, if you enjoy our story, review! We're dying to hear from all the people that we know are reading this!