"By rights, we shouldn't be here at all." Bryce led the way into the officer's mess, took a bench at a central table and waved the four to sit down opposite, while his crew remained on guard just inside the door. "Chatham Dockyard did have spare berths, but I like the tides there even less than this stretch of the river. We'd have been standing around for hours before we could dock and begin repairs."

"I see." Lestrade slid along the bench to let the others in. "...Not that I'm complaining, but what makes you so willing to hear us out?"

"Couldn't say. Possibly because I don't care for being given orders on my own ship by some jumped-up little copper."

Lestrade opened his mouth to protest, then realised in time that Bryce didn't mean any of them. "Ah." No, Howard had never been noted for his diplomatic skills.

"At least you three haven't been throwing your weight around here – well, not much." Bryce grinned at Lestrade's blush. "Oh, I'm well-acquainted with Staff Sergeant Jackson. The man's a nasty little tick, so I'm more inclined to say 'Bravo' there. Thank you, men, we'll take those here."

A pair of able-seamen with a tray each had halted a few feet away, coming forward to place them on the table when the captain beckoned.

Bryce gestured invitingly to his erstwhile guests. "Coffee, gentlemen?"

"Yes, please!" Wiggins piped up at once. "Black wi' two sugars – if yer please, sir," he added hastily.

"Certainly, young man." Bryce poured out, and handed Wiggins the cup. "The Inspector said your family was kidnapped," he said, in a much gentler voice. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Th-Thank yer, sir," the boy stammered, reddening again.

"When did it happen?"

"Yesterday. Me an' Charlie was at Mr. 'Olmes's 'ouse – Mycroft 'Olmes, that is, not the guv'nor..."

"The... guv'nor?"

"He means..." Hopkins began helpfully, but Bryce held up a hand.

"I'd rather hear it from the boy. Go on, Mr. Wiggins."

Wiggins took a fortifying gulp of coffee. "I mean Mr. Sherlock 'Olmes, sir. 'E's our boss, sorter."

"Sherlock Holmes... You don't mean the detective?"

The Irregular brightened. "Yer've 'eard of 'im?"

"He's famous, lad! So you're one of his... helpers?"

"Yeah!" Wiggins said with obvious pride. "Me an' Charlie an' Gil an' Sam an' Billy..."

Lestrade concentrated on pouring coffee for himself and the other three men as the Irregular spouted on, trying hard not to roll his eyes. Someone on this ship was an avid reader of the Strand... but it had to be said: Wiggins's meandering yet consistent account of himself and the other boys, their 'guv'nor' and his latest, most dangerous case, and Moriarty taking all of their loved ones hostage was doing far more to win Bryce's sympathies just now than anything Lestrade and his colleagues could have said. The lad was also taking great care not to mention anything too fantastic under the captain's incisive questioning, repeating Lestrade's earlier explanation that Holmes had unexpectedly left them at Pall Mall to chase down a mysterious lead of his own.

"An' it's all my fault!" Wiggins suddenly wailed. "I knew 'e shouldn' go off alone, an' I still 'elped 'im give the Inspector the slip! An' now 'e's gonna get killed fightin' Moriarty!" He balled his fists into his eyes, a very real watery sniffle escaping. Lestrade could only sit helplessly while Hopkins, sitting nearest, awkwardly patted the boy on the back.

Bryce waited patiently until Wiggins's breath stopped hitching, the captain's slight wince as the boy wiped his face with his coat sleeve confirming Lestrade's growing suspicions that their host had children of his own. "But, lad, why would Mr. Holmes have to fight Moriarty by himself? He couldn't possibly have gotten to the Lady Godiva first, not without doing all the things you and the Inspectors did!"

"Actually..." Lestrade ventured, before Wiggins could react, "I've been thinking about that. Our backup plan, if there was no ship here, was to approach the Coastguard. If Holmes went straight to one of their stations on the river mouth with the few details he did know about the Lady Godiva, he'd probably be able to deduce which of the ships they'd seen passing was the right one. From there, it'd just be a matter of finding a suitable ship for hire..."

Bryce looked at him oddly. "That's a lot of 'if's and 'maybe's, Inspector!"

Gregson snorted. "You wouldn't say that if you knew Holmes, Captain! I won't pretend the man isn't a total... an irritating know-it-all most of the time," he corrected hastily, "but there have been moments when I've wondered if he isn't a bloody clairvoyant! If anyone could get to the Lady Godiva ahead of all of us, it'd be him."

"But... are you seriously saying that Mr. Holmes would be stupid enough to walk right into such an obvious trap, without waiting for any kind of reinforcements?"

"Yes!" three men and a boy chorused in unison.

"Sorry, Captain, we didn't mean to shout," Hopkins added sheepishly. "It's been a long day for all of us."

"I'm sure it has," Bryce answered slowly, brows knitted. He glanced across at his officers standing at ease, all of them trying very hard to look like they hadn't been listening the whole time... "Mister Crossley, go and see how they're getting on in the galley, please. Our guests look hungry."

"Aye, sir."

"Oh, and while you're there..." The captain reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. "Just throw this bit of rubbish in the fire, will you?"

"Ah, crewman... I'm sorry to interrupt, but have you seen my colleague? The taller one with the fair hair?"

"Oh, I think I saw him on the quarterdeck, sir. I can escort you if you like."

"Thanks, but no, I'll be fine. I won't touch anything important." Lestrade passed along the upper deck towards the stern, where the Royal Navy's colours fluttered gently on the flagstaff. Not long till dawn, now; the ship's lamps were glowing paler as the sky grew lighter, the houses and factories of Woolwich and Silvertown slowly emerging from the dark. Already, the Inspector could hear wheels rattling somewhere in the nearby streets outside the dockyard, probably a dustman's cart.

Gregson was leaning on the railings, staring out over the inky, ruffled water of the basin, but something about his posture told Lestrade that his colleague wasn't admiring the view.

"Coming to breakfast? There's porridge. Not much else, sadly, but at least it isn't hard tack!"

"Or the Yard canteen." Gregson's voice stopped Lestrade cold, he'd never heard his colleague sound so dismal before.

"Gregson? What's wrong?"

"...were right..."

"...What?" No, surely not...

"Don't make me say it again," came the curt response.

All right, maybe he had heard correctly! "Fine, fine... Just for the record, though, right about what?"

"About the bloody letter not working!" Gregson snapped.

"Well, all right, not the way we hoped it would, but..."

"The only reason we're not clapped up in the brig right now is because Wiggins saved all our skins!"

"Bryce was going to help us anyway," Lestrade grinned, "he just wanted us to sweat a bit first. Fair play to the man, we did get him out of bed!"

Gregson eyed him suspiciously. "How do you know?"

"Because, as you're so fond of saying, it's the sort of thing you would have done. Look, you said it yourself, it was a risk – one that paid off, thank God! We'll be heading after the Lady Godiva in less than two hours."

"...Do you really think Holmes is on that ship?"

Lestrade sighed, wishing he wasn't so bloody certain. "Your guess is as good as mine, Gregson."

"That's not a 'no'," Gregson answered grimly, turning to look his colleague straight in the eye. "For God's sake, Lestrade, isn't it time you stopped fooling about? What aren't you telling us? You looked as shifty as hell while Wiggins was talking to Bryce earlier, like you were terrified he was going to blurt something out and ruin our chances. Now, I'm sure you think you've got good reasons for keeping quiet, but in case you hadn't noticed, we're on a Royal Navy gunboat! With live rounds and torpedoes! And we're about to head out to sea in pursuit of a much smaller sailing vessel, with a hold full of innocent civilians, who we could potentially blow to kingdom come if Moriarty refuses to surrender! If you know something that might help us to keep that from happening, then for the love of all that's holy, let's hear it!"

Damn... Lestrade bit his lip, then nodded. "Where's Hopkins?"

"With Wiggins, they're getting a tour."

"Well, when they come back, we'd best go and see the captain. There's a lot you three need to know, and I only want to have to say it once. But first... you and I have one final errand in Woolwich."

...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 was 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 sighted 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 stood 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."