“Over by the pigs, looking terrified.”
Irving moved his gaze over to the livestock pens and smirked at the sight of a well-dressed woman, her nose pinched between her thumb and forefinger, frantically shouting orders at her farmhands. She was so agitated that she lost her footing, overbalanced and ended up trapped amongst the squirming pigs. She screamed.
Irving laughed. “She’s in her element.”
“I’ll handle this one. You laughing won’t help us.” Nora patted him on the arm and then gestured with her thumb, pointing behind him. “Besides, it looks like the boss wants you.”
Moriarty had appeared on the walkway above them. He stood there silently, looking out across the hold. Irving, not wanting to draw any attention to them, slowly climbed the steps up to him, until they stood side by side.
“Do you know why they own all these possessions, while you own so little, Irving?” the professor asked, while making sure his pocket watch was fully wound.
“They earned it in some clever way, I guess.” Irving shrugged. He had never been one to question his status in life. There did not seem much point, given there was so little that he could do to change it.
“They earned it?” Moriarty raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “Not the farmhands who tend to those pigs, or the young soldiers that the Major-General sent to their deaths?”
Irving shrugged again.
“The likes of you must have Karl Marx spinning in his grave.” Moriarty shook his head sadly. “Economics is just another branch of mathematics. I see the equations to which you are blind. Where you see only chaos, I can see intellects manipulating the values. It truly is the perfect crime. None of you can even see the riches that have been taken from you.”
“What can we do about it?” Irving shrugged.
“We can take it back.”
“You see yourself like a Robin Hood then? You steal from the rich, give to the poor?”
Moriarty laughed. “What a fantastical notion. An honourable crime.” The smile faded from his face. “No, I don’t steal from the poor, because the poor have nothing worth stealing. Why pick a pocket, when you can empty a safe? Why rob a craftsman of his tools, when you take his valuable skills and enslave him for a pittance of pay? The only way to have any power in this world is to take it from those who have it. To not be enslaved by dictates of others. That is what I do.”
Irving nodded. He had no qualms about stealing from the people here. He had no qualms stealing from anyone. He needed to make sure he had clothes on his back, food in his stomach and a dry place to sleep; those were his priorities. As long as Moriarty offered him those, who was he to question his motivations or instructions?
“Go and have dinner, Irving. Then catch a little rest in your cabin if you can.” Moriarty clicked his pocket watch closed. “You have exactly nine hours. The explosive charge is in place, the captain will be detonating it at ten minutes after midnight. Nobody will ever guess what started the fire in the engine room. Let Emma know. Be ready.”
Moriarty turned on his heel and left via the door to the deck.
Irving stared at the sprawling contents of the hull. It really was a shame that such riches were going to go straight to the bottom of the ocean. He felt especially sorry for the pigs. They would drown. Nobody would care.
Irving was sitting on the edge of his berth, waiting for the inevitable explosion. He envied Moriarty his pocket watch, the man was undoubtedly calmly counting down the seconds, but Irving had no way to measure the time. Pocket watches were expensive. He had not slept. All he could do was anxiously wait for the explosion, never knowing exactly how close they were to the moment of detonation.
Would he even know it when he heard it?
He had his answer a moment later. There was a short, sharp bang, followed by the scream of tortured, twisting, juddering metal. A vibration ran through the walls and flooring, shaking the room. A moment later, there was the sound of doors opening, followed by voices in the hallway outside, as worried passengers left their staterooms. Irving rose to his feet and opened his door, to find Major-General Fitzwilliam and a host of other passengers standing outside, discussing the noise. As a noticeable burning odour slowly filled the air, their faces paled. The major-general muttered the one word that no sane person on a ship ever wanted to hear.
“Fire.”
An alarm bell began ringing.
Taking charge, Major-General Fitzwilliam marched off down the hallway in search of the captain, so Irving followed. He did not want to let his target out of his sight. The agitated man rudely pushed past Nora and the heiress, to be confronted by the captain coming the other way.
“We have a fire in the engine room,” the captain announced, pointing along the hallway. “I need you to make your way to the lifeboats! Now!”
Panic-stricken gasps rippled along the hallway.
The illusion of polite society dissolved in a moment, as people began fleeing, not paying any attention as to whether they were stepping on their companions. Major-General Fitzwilliam stormed back down the hallway, but, just as Moriarty had predicted, he hesitated by the door of his stateroom and then made his way back inside. The heiress, shrieking in fear, flew back into her room and slammed the door.
Irving glanced at Nora, who at some point in the last few hours had acquired a large oilskin coat and a sailor’s canvas knapsack, which she was carrying over one shoulder.
“Given the situation, is there anything in the world you would go back for?” he enquired.
“My daughter,” she replied, without hesitation. “Everything I do, I do for her. My respectable family disowned me when I had her out of wedlock, left me to fend for myself on the streets the only way I could; so my daughter is the only thing in the world that I would risk dying for. You?”
The frank answer took Irving by surprise, so much so that his own answer had turned sour in his mouth.
“No,” he muttered. “There is nothing I would go back for.”
He had never understood before quite how little he had. He did not even own the clothes he was wearing. He had nothing.
Irving leaned into Major-General Fitzwilliam’s cabin, to check on the man’s progress. The major-general had quickly pulled on his uniform’s scarlet jacket, and was now down on his hands and knees, dialling numbers into the lock of his safe. He slammed his fist against the metal door in frustration, evidently having made an error in his haste. Irving had no idea how long it would take for the ship to sink, but he knew this was no time for delays. The hallway was rapidly filling with smoke.
“Help me, man!” the major-general cried frantically, not questioning why Irving was lingering in his doorway. “Get me that bag!”
He pointed to a leather satchel that had been discarded by his berth, which Irving dutifully fetched, as the soldier finally managed to get the safe open. Inside were stacks of white paper notes. It was more money than Irving had ever seen in his life. The major-general quickly rammed the money into the bag, along with various other deeds and bonds, most of which were beyond Irving’s understanding.
He also saw a military revolver go into the bag.
He would have to make sure that the weapon somehow parted company from the man, as otherwise events could quickly spiral beyond even Moriarty’s control.
“You must tell nobody how much I am carrying! Understand me?” the major-general barked at him as he made his way out into the smoke-filled hallway, momentarily moving in the wrong direction. “The world is full of thieves and villains these days.”
“This way!” Irving grabbed him by the elbow, guiding him back towards the lifeboat. The man almost certainly now owed Irving his life, but he did not stop to express any gratitude. He barrelled down the hallway, running for the door to the deck.
Glancing back down the hallway, Irving could see the heiress, still stuffing a handbag with necklaces and other pieces of jewellery. Nora fought to shepherd the distraught woman out on to the deck, but she eventually had to abandon a
ll manners and brutally shove the woman outside. Irving followed them out, pulling the door shut on the smoke-filled hallway.
The nearest lifeboat was crammed full of frightened people.
Smoke was blossoming out of almost every vent in the rear of ship.
Irving leaned against the railing, trying to find a way to board the already packed boat.
Moriarty was crouched at the end of the vessel, helping the heiress aboard, taking a moment to reassure the frightened woman and guide her to a seat. He produced a cork lifejacket, which he helped her into, then fastened around her. She was so taken in by his duplicitous charm that she hugged him for a moment and kissed him on the cheek, complete unaware that she was pouring her gratitude on to the man whose ruthlessness was responsible for her plight.
Nora was already on-board, seated beside the heiress, pulling on her own cork lifejacket.
“This is all the passengers from the first class,” Moriarty shouted above the noise of panicking passengers and alarm bell. “How much longer should we wait?”
He threw the question at the major-general as if it were a dagger. He was an adept manipulator; he knew there was only one answer a frightened, selfish man would give.
“Let’s go now! Many more and we will overload the boat.”
Moriarty spun to face the deck, his finger pointing directly at Irving. “You there! Operate that winch! “ Moriarty ordered. “Lower us into the sea!”
Irving glanced at the winch, which controlled the ropes at the prow and stern of the little craft. Was he to be left behind on the sinking ship? He did not put it beyond Moriarty. It would save paying him later. Nonetheless, he found himself obeying the order, turning to the winch and spooling out the rope. He had been complicit in these events, so the least he could do was make sure these people survived. The little boat hit the dark ocean, with a splash that sent a small wave crashing over its own side, eliciting surprised screams from all on-board, except Moriarty.
“Come on, man!” Moriarty shouted. “Get aboard.”
Irving did not hesitate. There was so much smoke billowing out of the ship that he had nowhere else to go. He clambered over the railing, hanging on to the rope, and attempted to climb downwards. He lost his grip and fell.
The cold water consumed him, closing over his head, sucking him down.
He flailed blindly in the dark for a moment, unable to breathe, unsure which way was up and which was down. Was this how he was going to die?
It turned out he did still own something that he did not want to lose: his life.
He broke through the surface of the water. He heard Nora yelling at him. He saw Moriarty’s hands reaching out towards him. Before he could draw a breath, a wave closed over him, pushing him down. He had never felt so cold in his entire life.
He gave one last kick, but was not strong enough to reach the surface again.
Moriarty’s fingers wrapped around his wrist.
Irving gasped for air.
The star-scattered night was gone, replaced by the pure blue of a daytime sky. The world spun around him, tilted over and then spun back around the other way. His stomach heaved, so he scrambled up on to his knees and vomited over the side of the boat.
His wet clothes had been removed, replaced by the warm blankets, an action that would almost certainly have stopped him dying of hypothermia. He briefly wondered to whom he owed thanks, until he realised that Nora was sat beside him.
“It’s nothin’ I ain’t seen before,” she whispered, winking at him, pushing his clothes back into his hands.
Irving took hold of the ruined shirt and suit, which had been dried in the sun, and put them back on. Somehow, now they were crumpled and damaged, he felt more at home in them.
“Perhaps now he is awake again, you would like to ask his opinion too!” Major-General Fitzwilliam’s angry shout smashed against Irving’s already throbbing head.
“Oh, I shall,” Moriarty replied from his seat at the back of the boat. “What is your name, my good man?”
Irving blinked. “Isaac Brewer,” he replied.
It was a simple question, but not asked for simple reasons. With one enquiry, Moriarty had been able to determine secretly whether Irving was in control of his wits. By answering with his correct pseudonym, he would have proven to Moriarty that he was sufficiently recovered to participate in whatever game he intended to play.
“This young lady is hoarding fresh water and food.” The major-general scowled at Nora. “And despite being trapped together for the best part of a day, she refuses to share.”
“I expect him to pay its worth,” Nora corrected. “Not a difficult concept for an honourable soldier, is it?”
“That’s extortion!”
“You’ve got money, a bag full.” Irving laughed, deliberately belittling the man.
Major-General Fitzwilliam’s face reddened, his fist balled, his anger and fury rising to the surface. It was at that moment that Irving remembered he also had a revolver in the bag.
“This is a perfect example of Alfred Marshall’s theory of supply and demand, sir,” Moriarty explained slowly, patronising the angry man, trying to break his resolve. “She has the only supply, we need the water, so the price is high. It’s simple mathematics. You cannot argue with whatever price she names.”
“I should just take it from her.”
“I would stop you,” Irving replied. It was a dangerous response. A few punches he could handle, but a bullet was quite another matter.
“And how will you pay?” the major-general taunted Irving.
“His is free, sir,” Nora interjected. “His reward for having offered to defend me from you, if required.”
“Have a pity, woman.” The major-general seethed. “I have just lost everything I own!”
“And yet you still have more than I have ever had,” Irving replied, unable to quash the idea that Moriarty had seeded; that people like Fitzwilliam had somehow been cheating him since the very moment of his birth in ways he did not even understand. “Perhaps we should all step off this boat as equals.”
The major-general snorted his derision. “We are not equals. I am an officer and a gentleman, from one of the most respected families in all of England. What are you?”
“An orphan, with little education.” Irving stood up and advanced on the man, until they stood nose to nose in the centre of the boat, barely a handspan separating them. It was a short enough distance that Irving could throw a punch, long before the soldier had retrieved the revolver from his bag. “Does that make me less than you? We all need water.”
The heiress coughed, delicately attempting to defuse the argument.
“I shall pay my share. I need the water,” she said, shattering the tension. Her cotton-gloved hands pulled gold chains and bracelets from her handbag. “Provided it covers a supply for my farmhands and the staff from the ship.”
“Noble sentiments,” Nora replied, taking a bottle of water from her knapsack and handing it over to the heiress, in exchange for the bag of riches. “Naturally, it shall.”
“Fool!” the major-general exploded, his envious eyes fixed on the bottle. “Now you have lost everything!”
“Now I have nothing,” the heiress replied glumly. “Save for my life. But for that I shall be eternally grateful.”
“Come, sir.” Moriarty leaned forwards, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “This is but a microcosm of the real world. Embrace the misfortune of circumstances with good grace, pay the lady what she is due.”
“I shall.”
There was no intonation of acceptance in the soldier, just resolve and anger, as he turned and picked up his satchel. Irving had been in enough disagreements to know when a person had reached their breaking point and was reaching for a weapon. The major-general’s hand plunged into the bag of pound notes, but pulled out the revolver.
Irving grabbed his arm, turning it out to sea, as the shot exploded out of the barrel. The shot passed harmlessly into the waves. He
punched the soldier in the side of the head, knocking him down.
Moriarty moved quickly, pulling the gun from the man’s hands. He looked at it for a moment, appearing disgusted, before throwing the weapon out into the ocean, making it disappear from the world for ever.
Moriarty rounded on the officer, grabbing him by his uniform’s lapels.
“I have never witnessed something so abhorrent!” Moriarty seethed, physically shaking the already befuddled man. “To threaten and extort what you want from an innocent person, it is contemptible. You are no gentleman! You are no better than a criminal!”
The words sounded genuinely heartfelt, but they were laced with so much hypocrisy that Irving was surprised Moriarty could even say them. Nora coughed politely, precisely imitating the sound the heiress had made earlier.
“Let us finish out transaction, sir. Pay me for the water, or die of thirst.” Nora smiled. “Your choice. See if anyone else here cares.”
Moriarty let go of the soldier, letting him fall to the deck.
The major-general glanced around the little boat. He was suddenly adrift in a sea of horrified faces. He was outnumbered nineteen to one. He threw the bag of money at Nora. One or two of the white paper notes took flight, fluttering out into the ocean.
Nobody chased after them.
Irving was woken by a kiss.
He was lying in a warm bed, in a luxurious seafront hotel, with Nora’s naked body partly coiled around him. Given the amount of times he had woken up in an alleyway, cold and alone, things were definitely looking up.
A distant clock tower tolled the time, while Nora nuzzled in his ear.
“We’re supposed to be meeting Moriarty for breakfast in an hour,” she whispered.
“An hour?” he responded, turning to meet her lips. “Best not waste that time then.”
An hour later they had dressed, and made their way downstairs to find Moriarty sitting by the window reading the newspaper. The front page was filled with photographs of RMS Heroic, the newspapers were still obsessed with stories of the passengers, all of whom had survived the disaster. Even the captain, who had stayed with ship until the end, had apparently been pulled from the sea, having managed to cling to wooden wreckage that had drifted towards shore. He had been given an award for his bravery.
The Mammoth Book of the Adventures of Professor Moriarty Page 32