"So 'e didn' recognise neither of 'em?"

"I didn't really expect him to, lad, but it would've been a waste not to try." Lestrade leaned back in his seat in the hansom and closed his eyes. Lord, what a day... and the likelihood of getting any kind of decent sleep in the next twenty-four hours seemed low. Maybe he could snatch forty winks on the way back to the Yard...

"But what I don' get is, why didn' Moriarty take 'im as well? I mean, it's good 'e didn', but you saw 'im, it woulda been easy!"

"Mm..." Privately, the Inspector felt that Moriarty might not have thought there was any point. How in the world had the youngest brother turned out so different to the other three? At least now they had evidence from multiple sources that the Lady Godiva existed! She simply had to be the right ship... Lestrade could feel in his bones... how close they were getting...


Assistant Commissioner Howard sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "But is there no actual written evidence that Messrs. Sutton or Drummond are in the employ of Professor Moriarty? Or that the Lady Godiva is currently one of his organisation's assets?"

"No, sir," Lestrade answered woodenly, gaze fixed on the wall behind his superior's head. "There were no incriminating documents of that sort among the records seized by Constable Turner." The poor fellow might be a dab hand at the clerical side of policing, but it simply hadn't occurred to him to check for hidden compartments in the company's office! And now it was far too late to go back.

"Or any evidence that the ship in question has ever been used in illegal activities of any sort?" Howard tapped Lestrade's freshly written report in front of him with his finger. "Even your sole witness insists that he saw nothing of a criminal nature."

"The Coastguard can help with that, sir," Lestrade persisted. "They might have seen her entering and leaving port at times and dates that don't match the company's official log books. Some of the more experienced hands might even have noticed if she was riding lower than the weight on her cargo manifests. If you'd just..."

"Lestrade!" Howard cut in sharply. "I appreciate that you have been under great personal strain with this most recent case. Perhaps foolishly, my colleagues and I have allowed you greater latitude than normal, given the nature of your relationship with Mr. Holmes and the hostages. Under the circumstances, however, I simply cannot justify requesting the Navy's assistance in hunting down a lone sailing vessel, if you still have no solid proof that she carries any persons of interest!"

Lestrade's brow furrowed. "Shouldn't that be up to Commissioner Bradford, sir?"

"Indeed it would be, if he were present. The commissioner has been called away on other urgent business, which I am not at liberty to discuss. Oh, and speaking of unusual business..." Howard suddenly looked awkward. "I believe you were witness to some slight public disturbance outside Mr. Mycroft Holmes's Pall Mall residence, correct?

"Yes, sir." He could see where this was going. "Constable Carson assisted me in moving people on. No one was injured, thankfully."

"And were you able to determine the reason for this... disturbance?"

"I'm as much in the dark as you are, sir," Lestrade answered innocently, inwardly cursing all amateur detectives ever born. He could well imagine the wild tales that were now also flying around the streets. "But to my mind, breathing in smoke from a burning flat stocked with chemicals is bound to make a person see all sorts of things!"

"Ha, yes indeed." Howard's expression lightened. "Thank you, Inspector, that will be all. And for the love of God, man," he added earnestly as Lestrade began to turn away, though not unkindly, "go home! Eat, sleep, and for all our sakes, bathe! You seem to have brought the monkey house back with you."


" 'E ain' wrong, guv'," Wiggins sniggered as Lestrade strode through the corridors towards his own office. "Yer do smell like the bottom of a monkey cage! Look it, too!"

"Thank you!" Lestrade snarled. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." The Irregular produced a paper bag from behind his back. "Wan' a pie?"

"What! When did you...? Never mind!" Lestrade grabbed the bag as Wiggins held it out and inhaled with relish – steak and kidney! "Thank you," he repeated, much more sincerely this time, and set to without further delay.

Wiggins nodded, grinning. "Figured yer'd be a while goin' over the ship's papers an' all, so I wen' roun' to the Red Lion. They've got better grub than the canteen."

Lestrade nodded mutely, mouth full. He wasn't going to ask how Wiggins had paid for this, he'd settle up with the landlord later if necessary. "Ohh, I needed that!" he breathed at last, brushing pastry crumbs from his coat, wincing as he took a good look down at himself for the first time since leaving Mycroft's roof. Perhaps a wash and change of clothes was in order before he threw away his entire career... but then he'd planned on retiring after this case, anyhow.

The Baker Street fire had been such a convenient excuse for his superiors to suspend work on the case, hadn't it – too bloody convenient by half! Just how far did Moriarty's web extend in this place? He didn't have time to worry about that now, though. His greatest concern was how to convince the commanders of any available Navy vessels to cooperate in the search for the Lady Godiva, without official paperwork! If any of them got suspicious and decided to double check with the Yard...

"Then what if yer jus' typed up the paper yerself an' signed it?" Wiggins asked, as the pair reached Lestrade's door. "What're the odds any Navy people know what Howard's signature looks like?"

"It's a nice idea, lad," Lestrade sighed, fishing out his keys. And a horribly tempting one, too... "But I'm afraid we can't."

"Well now, that's a shame," a voice tutted behind them. "Why not?"

Lestrade spun around, sagging on seeing Gregson. "When did you get back?"

"Just now. Turner came to Baker Street and asked to swap with me on crowd control. Said he thought I was needed here more." Gregson ambled into Lestrade's office, nose wrinkling as he passed his colleague. "Looks like he was right!"

"You've smelt better," Lestrade retorted, ushering Wiggins inside as well and shutting the door. Gregson stank of smoke, his hair was all on end, and his face and clothing wore a noticeable patina of soot. "Why would Turner think I needed you?"

"Because according to him, the search for the hostages is at a standstill. The shipping company raid was a bust, and our superiors won't sign off on asking the Navy for help, will they? Which means we have a problem."

"We?" Lestrade frowned.

"Well, I'm sure you hate admitting it as much as I do..." Gregson shook his head with a wry grin. "But let's face it, none of us would be where we are in our careers without that infuriating nitwit. We owe Holmes one... several," he corrected. "And I, for one, would quite like the chance to discharge some of that debt, preferably before the fire's completely out and the brass start counting heads. As would Hopkins, Patterson, Bradstreet, MacDonald... you get the idea, I'm sure."

"Gregson, I... I can't ask any of you..."

"You're not asking," Gregson replied coolly. "This is me telling you what's happening, so shut up and listen. Wiggins, watch the door. Now," he went on once the Irregular was at his post, "Howard's not stupid, despite all appearances. It seems a fairly safe bet that he won't just blithely trust that you'll follow orders. If he isn't sending messages right now to every coastal navy yard to detain you on sight, I'll be very surprised!" He waited a moment to let Lestrade finish swearing, with an odd little smile, then added, "I'll bet there's one he's forgotten, though."

"Which one?"

"Woolwich, of course. It's been closed down since the river silt got too high for the Navy's ships to navigate."

"Well, how does that help us? It's being used as an ordnance depot now, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it isn't closed entirely. Navy vessels still go there for repairs if there's no room anywhere else. If there's even one ship in dock, we might be able to commandeer it before the crew officially return to duty. After all," Gregson chuckled, "Wiggins was right! What are the odds that anyone there will have the least idea of what our Assistant Commissioner's signature looks like? All we need is a typewriter, and a blank piece of stationery with the Scotland Yard letterhead."

"Gregson, you're insane! This is never going to work!"


"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Lestrade grumbled as the four-wheeler set off, resisting the urge to wipe his palms on his coat. He'd only just washed and changed clothes back at his lodgings, and he needed to stay looking tidy.

"And here was me thinking that borrowing a ship without permission was your idea!" Gregson answered cheerfully, also newly scrubbed and laundered. "Hopkins didn't have any qualms about typing up that letter – did you, old chap?"

"None at all," Hopkins smiled, patting his inside coat pocket. "Cheer up, Lestrade. If there's no ship to be had, we'll have to think of another plan, anyhow. No one will ever have to know."

"You'd better start thinking, then." Lestrade was trying not to think about how their arrival at Woolwich would appear in the small hours of a Sunday morning: himself, Gregson, Hopkins… and Wiggins, who would only have ridden on the back of the cab if they'd tried to leave him behind. Hopkins had managed a compromise by persuading Wiggins to wash his face, comb his hair, and wear the closest jacket to his size that they could find in Lost Property. The Irregular might just pass as some kind of junior aide, as long as he kept his mouth shut.

"But, er, Lestrade..." Hopkins had said hesitantly while cleaning the boy up, "why is Wiggins with us? Where's Mr. Holmes?"

"Gave me the slip in Pall Mall," had been Lestrade's terse reply, giving Wiggins a warning look. "And no, it really wasn't possible to follow him."

"Oh dear," Hopkins had murmured. "I hope he'll be all right!"

Gregson had merely snorted. "Thought you'd lose him eventually. Don't worry, Stanley – knowing Himself, we'll find him on the Lady Godiva with everyone already in handcuffs, wondering loudly what took us so long!"

Lestrade had grimaced as the other two snickered. He was going to enjoy the look on Gregson's face so very much when he learned just how Holmes had gotten ahead of them...


The cab ride to Woolwich took at least an hour, time which Lestrade would have loved to spend getting a little more sleep, but four-wheelers weren't dubbed 'growlers' for nothing. Besides, Hopkins was anxious to hear how Lestrade had connected Moriarty to the right ship, and with almost no help from Holmes. Lestrade might have found it easier to explain what he could of his and Wiggins's adventures without sounding like a lunatic, if he hadn't had Gregson's sardonic visage directly across from him. He was painfully aware of how feeble his reasoning probably sounded to both his colleagues, when you got right down to it. Hell, if he'd been in Howard's shoes, he'd probably have slapped down any junior officer presenting him with such flimsy evidence! The longer they drove, the lower the Inspector's spirits sank; it did seem increasingly likely that they were all going to end up in prison for one of the more serious types of fraud.

At last, they reached Greenwich, and Gregson directed the driver to turn off Woolwich Road and stop at Maryon Park.

"Why are we stopping here?" Lestrade bit back another massive yawn as he climbed down.

"Oh, I thought we could all use a short break, stretch our legs," Gregson said innocently. "I hear the view from Cox's Mount is quite something."

Wiggins brightened. "We're spyin' on the dockyard, ain' we, guv'?"

"Right you are, lad. We should be able to see from the top of the hill if any ships are berthed, it's close enough. Pardon me, driver, but we'll be needing a light." Gregson unhooked one of the lamps from the front of the carriage. "Stanley, wait with the cab. We'll back soon."

"And if there aren't any?" Lestrade frowned, following the other two through the park gates, and turning left along the path towards the hill.

"Then we carry on to the Coastguard station at Sheerness. We can find out there on the quiet whether the Lady Godiva passed by, and on what bearing. If someone did see her heading out to sea, then we can try to commandeer one of their cruisers. If our letter's good enough for the Navy, it ought to be good enough for them!"

Lestrade had to admit, it was a reasonably good plan – as long as the Coastguard's ships had better guns and armour than Moriarty's!

Five minutes later, the Inspectors were climbing the steps leading to the top of the Mount, Wiggins out in front.

"Wiggins, stay close, and stay on the path!" Lestrade called. "If you step in a rabbit hole now..."

"I'm at the top!" the boy called back. "Cor, Inspectors, you should see this!"

Lestrade had to admit when he got there, the view had been worth the climb. Neat rows of houses slumbered below them; across the Thames glimmered the lights of Silvertown; and there on the south bank, looking almost near enough to touch, was the imposing sprawl of the Woolwich Dockyards. And what was that at the western end?!

"You're seeing this, too, right?" Lestrade exclaimed to Gregson in excitement. "There is a ship, in the outer pool! She's not even dry-docked!"

"Which means if she's not sea-worthy yet, she soon will be," Gregson nodded in satisfaction. "Let's get back to Hopkins."


"All right, boys, this is it," Gregson murmured brightly as they all climbed out, for what Lestrade dearly hoped was the last time. "Chins up, walk like you own the place!"

Except that it wasn't the Force that owned this place, Lestrade reflected anxiously, it was the British Army and the Royal Navy! Did either branch shoot first and ask questions afterwards?

The great white stone gateposts seemed to glow eerily in the gloom as the four approached. Under a single hanging oil lantern, a pair of armed sentries had been drowsily leaning on the posts until a few seconds ago, but were now standing stiffly at attention, the very picture of vigilance.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"Scotland Yard. Inspectors Lestrade, Gregson and Hopkins to see the commanding officer of that Navy vessel you have docked here." No turning back now... Lestrade stepped forward and held out Hopkins's letter to the nearest sentry, who unfolded it and squinted, though he wouldn't be able to discern much more than the Scotland Yard crest in this light.

"Are you expected, sirs?" the other sentry asked slowly.

Gregson skewered the luckless soldier with a glare. "Don't be daft, man! Who would have an appointment at this hour of the morning? Now, are you going to announce that we're here, or not? We have urgent business with whoever's in charge on that ship!"

"That'd be Captain Bryce, sir, but... he'll likely be in bed." The first sentry's expression begged to be told it wasn't really that urgent.

"Then someone will have to go and fetch him, won't they?" Gregson snapped, then softened his voice slightly. "Like your sergeant, perhaps, who's currently having forty winks in the nice, warm guardhouse, leaving you two standing alone in the cold and damp."

The sentry's eyes widened, looking a good deal more cheerful. "Is that an order, sir?"

"Direct from Assistant Commissioner Howard." Lestrade nodded at the letter. "The sergeant can read it for himself."

"Yes, sir!" The sentry tucked the letter carefully into his belt pouch, saluted smartly, and marched away.

Unable to exchange glances with any of the other three under the eyes of the remaining sentry, Lestrade settled for staring straight ahead and looking as bored as possible, imagining a uniform inspection line at the Yard. Good Lord, if his younger self could see him now...

"How did you know about the sergeant?" he heard Hopkins murmur to Gregson.

"Because it's what I would've done," Gregson murmured back.


Phweeee-eeeet!

"Captain on the deck!"

"Stow that whistle, Mr. Crossley, before I make you eat it!" Captain Daniel Bryce eyed the group, his expression precisely what Lestrade would expect from a man of advancing years who'd been roused from a cosy bed two hours before dawn. "Gentlemen..." The captain held up Hopkins's letter, which a petty officer had taken from Lestrade when they had been granted permission to board. "What can the HMS Sharpshooter do to help Scotland Yard at this hour?"

"Our deepest apologies for disturbing you, Captain," Lestrade answered sincerely – his own mouth felt like cotton by now and his eyeballs were gritty. "I'm Inspector Giles Lestrade, and these are my colleagues, Tobias Gregson and Stanley Hopkins."

"And your... other companion?" Bryce slanted a bushy eyebrow at Wiggins, who shuffled further behind Hopkins. The captain chuckled. "Don't be afraid, boy, I won't bite."

"This is David Wiggins, Captain," Lestrade replied simply. "To make a very long story short, he's with us because his family has been kidnapped, and taken aboard a brigantine, the Lady Godiva. She's had several hours' head start, and we need a ship to go after her. Your vessel being docked at Woolwich seemed like Providence – depending on how long she'll take to repair, of course. How soon could you be ready to sail?"

Bryce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well now... My chief engineer tells me the new air pump rods have come back from the smithy, and the main boiler's mostly re-patched. We should have her seaworthy again in a couple of hours, three at the most."

Lestrade frowned. "Re-patched?"

"Oh, aye, the old girl's always breaking down," Bryce replied cheerfully, almost affectionately. "If it's not one of her boilers, it's her engines; if it's not her engines, it's the seams. On her very first run, five of the crew were scalded and ended up in hospital."

"I don't believe this..." Lestrade heard Gregson mutter, keeping his own countenance with difficulty.

"We're sorry to hear that, sir. With no disrespect to you or your vessel, it seems we'd be wise to make other arrangements." Thank God they had a backup plan. "It was good of you to meet with us, but we won't trouble you any further."

"And where would you be planning to turn instead?" Bryce's voice was still cheerful, but with an odd undertone that raised the hair on Lestrade's neck. "Showing up at this time of night at a closed shipyard, desperate for the first Navy vessel you can lay your hands on, no matter what shape she's in... Why not go straight to Sheerness, or Chatham, where you could be sure of a seaworthy vessel? Unless, of course, you thought they might turn you down, for some reason..."

Lestrade swore inwardly, most of it directed at Gregson. Howard had thought to send a message here, it seemed! But then... why had Bryce taken the time to meet with them, instead of telegraphing straight back to the Yard, or having them taken into custody on arrival? Besides, the Inspector was just too damn tired to even try to be clever right now, especially if it involved matching wits with someone who'd just gotten a lot more sleep than he had.

Bryce smiled suddenly, as if reading Lestrade's thoughts, gesturing along the deck. "Follow me, gentlemen."

"T' the brig?" Wiggins gulped, as a handful of petty officers fell in behind them.

The captain gave a bark of laughter. "If you insist, boy! It's quite comfortable, I'm told!"

Wiggins shook his head sheepishly, cheeks red.

"But as it's roughly three hours until the galley serves breakfast, I'm thinking there's time for that 'long story' of yours before I need to wake anyone on land... or decide what to do with this tidy little forgery."

Lestrade nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders draining away. Bizarrely, being caught so early was actually a relief... and with this man, it was clear that their only hope of safety – or assistance! – lay in honesty. If he could only be sure how much to reveal, when he hadn't even told his closest colleagues the whole truth! His own prison sentence could so easily be commuted to an extended stay in Bedlam... "Well, Captain, it looks as if we're entirely in your hands. Lead on."