Sherlock Holmes and the Nefarious Seafarers

by C J Lutton

  “The good doctor is correct, Mr. Holmes,” remarked the dwarf, as he turned to busy himself with his charts. “It may well be the last time you will ever see the surface. Or the sunrise or the horizon. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

  “Hmm, you may be right,” Holmes did his best to sound resigned. “Although you do realise that by killing us, you’re no better than those whom you seek to destroy?”

  “That’s just it, Mr. Holmes. I do not pretend to be anything but what I am,” said the dwarf, as he ran a finger down his charts. “I’m not a zealot, believing my cause is just. I’m simply a very talented sailor —nothing more, nothing less. I created all of this as a means to an end. Admittedly, an ending sadder than I had hoped, but your brother is to blame for this.”

  Holmes swiveled the periscope slightly to the left and refocused the lenses. His body tensed. “You do know, Zeke,” Holmes said over his shoulder, “that your plan will never work.”

  “Of course it will, Mr. Holmes. Of course it will.”

  The dwarf was distracted by his charts, and he hadn’t noticed how my friend continued turning the scope ever so slightly, as if he were following the movement of someone or something. Finally, he stopped, and I saw by his manner that whatever it was, he could barely contain his excitement. Holmes shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. His hands tightened on the periscope. Just as Zeke looked up from the charts, Holmes spun the periscope back to its original position as he continued to look through the lenses.

  “That’s enough,” Zeke said, snapping the grips back to their vertical position. He pushed the lever forwards, and the periscope rose into the ceiling. “Well, what do you think, Mr. Holmes?”

  “I think my brother wasn’t worried about your stature. I am convinced that he didn’t promote you because you are insane,” said Holmes in a tone filled with conviction.

  “Take them below!” bellowed Zeke, rubbing his neck. “If they cause trouble, into the water with them! Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, blood and revenge are hammering in my head!”

  35

  “What are we to do, Holmes?” I whispered. The door to our cabin had slammed shut after the two men charged with moving us had left. Our escorts had not been gentle, so I rubbed my elbow where they’d banged it against one of the doorways.

  “Give me time. I must think,” he said. The words were heavy and pained.

  Though there appeared to be little hope of escape, I was struck by Holmes’ expression. After what he had been through, one would expect the light in his eyes to be filled with doubt and recrimination, but this was no ordinary man—and his vibrant intensity could leave little doubt as to my companion’s mindset. Holmes’ close-set eyes locked onto mine, and I felt their hypnotic power. “Watson, what did you see when you looked through the periscope?”

  “Why, let me see. I recall the divers in the water. And, oh, yes, those things attached to the hull of the ship. I assume they are explosives. Are they, Holmes?”

  “Yes. But did you see anything else?”

  “No. I wanted you to see the explosives and where they were attached. I spotted them and turned the periscope over to you.”

  Ignoring my question regarding our next move, Holmes told me what he had observed. “I saw the divers and the explosives, of course, but I also saw a man climbing down the ladder of the ship. Very reluctantly, I might add. From what I could see, I would say that he was being forced to cooperate. Carlo had his weapon trained on him, and after some heated words, the man pulled on the diving suit and swam away from the ship. Another diver swam alongside of him. But what was interesting was that Carlo did not swim with the other divers. He slipped beneath the surface a good distance away and to the left of them. The other divers just watched the reluctant diver and his companion go. That’s all I was able to see. Zeke was no longer distracted, and I felt him turning to watch me.”

  “But who was the man?” I wondered. “Was he the missing Prince? And where did he and Carlo go? What’s going on?”

  Holmes sat down on his bed, resting his back against the wall. “In answer to all of your questions, I don’t know who that first diver was, or the identity of his escort, although I have my suspicions. I am nearly certain we watched the young Prince swim away. But we haven’t the time to find out. The other divers should be returning shortly, and we have to get off this ship before they do.”

  “Get off the ship? What? Holmes, you’re mad! Just how do you propose that we do that? The hatch is locked from above, and there are too many of them to overpower anyway.”

  Sherlock Holmes smiled. There was a light in his eyes that suggested what he was planning.

  “You are indeed mad!” I protested. “Even if we were able to get out, where would we go? You heard Zeke—he’s going to destroy the ships. We’d only be postponing the inevitable.”

  However, Holmes had made up his mind. “Would you rather sit here and be part of the maritime forces that start a war? And kill an heir to a throne? Hmm?”

  I scoffed. “Of course not. I would rather go down with a sword in my hand than sleeping in my cot!”

  “Good. Then grab hold of anything you want to keep, although I cannot imagine what that might be.”

  I looked regretfully at my newly cleaned topcoat. It would be hard to replace but honestly, what difference did it make? I was probably a dead man who would never wear a topcoat again. With a jerk of my chin, I pointed towards the hall. Holmes smiled and slapped me on my shoulder. Together we padded silently down the hallway and the length of the ship. I held my breath and followed Holmes down the metal curling stairs and into the diving room.

  “I hope you were paying attention when they dressed in these,” my friend said. He was now preoccupied with the task of climbing into a diving suit. Reluctantly, I struggled into one myself. As I did, Holmes bounded about, examining this and that, turning things over and over thoughtfully. When he had touched every article scattered about, he rummaged through the crates and lockers in the diving compartment. Meanwhile, I took off my socks and turned them into saps. I filled each one with nuts and bolts before tying off the necks. As a weapon, it was not elegant or fancy, but I knew from personal experience that a well-placed blow could bring a man down.

  Holmes attached various items to his belt. Wordlessly, I handed him a sap. He rewarded me with a quick, “Well done.” I noticed that he’d selected a lantern, a flat piece of black material that resembled a child’s chalkboard, a loop of rope, and other sundry things. Meanwhile, I sat on the lip of the diving well, mulling our predicament.

  “Watson,” said Holmes, “see if you can find anything to wedge into that rail that guides the hatch up there. Something to jam up its movement. They mustn’t be able to open that hatch from above or from here. Hurry, man, our lives depend on it!”

  After a quick scan of our environment, I grabbed a length of metal tubing and climbed the ladder. Remembering the hatch slid to my right to open, I wedged one end solidly between the wheel and the rail. Once it was jammed there, I pulled down on the tube until it broke with a snap. I did the same with the other rails and wheels, until I had blocked all the ways to open the hatch. By the time I turned ’round to see what Holmes had been up to, he had an assortment of weapons and gear piled in the center of the floor. We’d both tucked our saps into pockets on our suits.

  “Come on,” he said. “We haven’t much time. The divers should be returning. Grab a couple of those crossbows and all the darts you can.”

  “I still don’t know what you have in mind.” I tucked the crossbows into the waistband of my diving suit. The darts went into a pocket.

  “It’s simple, really. Unless Zeke has a means of communicating with the divers out there, they are unaware of our present circumstances.”

  “I see where you’re going, Holmes. Since they don’t know what has happened here, they’ll be expecting to return to a friendly environment.” My heart quickened as I readied myself for a surprise attack.
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br />   Holmes nodded that I’d understood his plan. “Exactly. We must act as if everything is normal. We’ll assist them into the ship and render them unconscious. When we have them all, we’ll pitch their helmets and breathing tanks into the diving well. The apparatuses will sink into the sea. Of course, we’ll do the same with the extra diving suits and equipment. That way they can’t come after us.”

  Breathing heavily from the exertion, Holmes was busily tearing strips of cloth from a pile of oily rags he’d found stuffed in a bin.

  “Watson,” he said, tossing me the rags, “finish ripping up these rags, while I see what else we can use to slow them down.”

  His exuberance was contagious, although the thought kept running through my mind, Where do we go from here? I had ofttimes placed my trust and my very life in his hands, before I knew that he had a plan. Was this particular adventure any different? The gurgle of water coming up through the divers’ well suggested it was. This time I could not run away and seek shelter, not that I ever would.

  “Hullo, what’s this?” Holmes remarked, looking into a small leather pouch he’d found.

  His eyes twinkled as he tossed me the bag. Catching it with one hand, I spread the neck of the pouch apart and emptied the contents into the palm of my hand. “Diamonds!” I said.

  “These will be put to good use,” Holmes said, taking the gems from my hand and dropping them back into the bag. Pinching the leather closed, he tucked the bag in his web belt and was about to speak when he grabbed my wrist tightly. With a silent word, “Look,” he directed my attention. His eyes stared into the diving well, as a canopy of bubbles floated to the surface.

  “Here they come,” he whispered. “Watson? I’ll help them out of the water and maneuver them so that their backs are to you. It’s your job to deliver a blow to their heads. Get ready.”

  36

  I grabbed my sap and hid it behind my back. My blood raced with anticipation, and then with sudden dread.

  “Holmes,” I hissed. “Their helmets!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already thought of that. Now, get ready—here he comes.”

  The water was a roiling mass of bubbles as the first diver’s helmet broke surface. Holmes loosened the chain so that it lowered the lifting bar. The diver grasped the bar with both hands, as I held him out of the water. Holmes turned the lever locks on the collar ring and prized off the helmet.

  Placing the man’s helmet on the floor, Holmes pulled on the opposite chain so that the diver rose from the water. Holmes assisted the man in stepping over the lip and, just as my friend had indicated he would do, Holmes turned the man ’round so that his back was facing me. I raised the sap and brought it down on the back of the diver’s head. The man collapsed in an unconscious heap, and I dragged him out of the way and out of sight. Repeating the scene with little variation, all the divers were neatly stacked in a pile off to one side while Holmes and I made short work of binding them hand and foot and stuffing cloth gags in their mouths.

  We had little chance to savour the success of our work, because a loud, clanging sound reverberated throughout the ship. Holmes pointed to the hatch that I had jammed closed. I noticed the slight rise and fall of the plate as it strained to open.

  A thin smile of satisfaction crossed Holmes’ face. He tossed the divers’ helmets and tanks into the diving well. We watched the apparatuses sink. Everything we weren’t going to use was thrown into the hole. The pounding from above grew desperate, and this time, it was I who smiled proudly. I’d done an excellent job jamming the hatch shut.

  My friend gathered a number of buckets and filled them with sea water. “Watson, stuff some rags in the scuppers of that trough over there. Then fill it with water.” Pointing towards a compartment with connections to the engine, Holmes told me, “We want the batteries in there to be completely immersed. Move!”

  I did as instructed and soon had the batteries covered with salt water. The results were immediate. The lights began to flicker, as the corrosive salt water began reacting with the batteries’ plates.

  Holmes raised his head to study the flickering overhead lights. “Excellent job, Watson. Come here, I need you, and bring a rag.”

  I walked to the rear of the compartment to where Holmes was standing next to the round fitting that held the spinning propeller shaft in place. On the top of the metal ring, a funnel had been hammered into the oil hole. Smiling, Holmes poured the diamonds into the funnel. Then he reached for the rag in my hand and stuffed it down the throat of the funnel. As the diamonds cut deeply into the revolving shaft, they made a piercing, grinding shriek.

  “The strongest mineral known to man,” Holmes said. “With any luck, this bit of sabotage will cripple the Stratford-Upon-Avon.”

  The lights dimmed. Sparks flew out of the batteries. “It’s time, Watson,” Holmes remarked, surveying the compartment. “We’ve done all that we can. You have the crossbows and the arrows? Attach them to your belt. Good. It’s time to leave the ship.”

  My claustrophobia came roaring back with a vengeance. My mouth went dry while my palms turned wet. The pounding of my heart caused a loud sound inside my head. I felt my fear growing, as Holmes handed me the helmet and placed the tanks on my back.

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a soothing tone. “We won’t be in the water long. But you must listen to me now.” Holmes looped a coil of rope and tied it ’round my waist, then tied the other end ’round his. “This will keep us together,” he continued. “When we go in, I’ll go first. I noticed some hand grips in the water as I helped the divers. I believe they run the length of the barge. I’ll hold onto them until you’re in. Then, as soon as you can, I’ll move aside and you must grab onto the handles. Don’t let go of them until I signal like this.” He clenched a fist, then opened it quickly, as if releasing something.

  I nodded. My helmet was heavy as I held it under one arm.

  “Remember, don’t let go of the handles until I signal. The speed of the ship and the water’s current are going to pull on you heavily. As long as you hold on, we’ll be fine. Just grip the handle until I find it.”

  “Find what?” I asked. My voice cracked with agitation.

  “A cable. It has to be there,” he responded. “Once I’ve located it, I’ll signal you to let go of the handles so we can follow the cable to its end. I’ll tap you on the shoulder when we’ve arrived at our destination. That’s a signal to have the weapons ready. I’ll go inside first, and you follow right behind me. Do you understand?”

  I nodded glumly. “I guess so, but go in where? Where are we going? What cable?”

  Holmes said, “Don’t worry, Watson, all will become clear to you. Are you ready?”

  My eyes must have been wide with alarm. Holmes gripped both of my shoulders with his hands and repeated in a sonorous tone, “All will be well. All will be well.” Since he’d hypnotized me numerous times, my body quickly responded. It was like falling asleep with my eyes open, because I felt all of my anxiety loosen its hold on me.

  Holmes noticed and said, “Good. You are going to be all right.”

  A little voice inside me reminded me that we were probably going to die, but I still felt calm. Holmes continued, “Do your best to breathe normally when we are in the water. Don’t be alarmed at the lack of visibility. At this depth, we won’t be able to see too far. Remember this won’t take long. Ready?”

  I nodded. Holmes lifted my helmet over my head, aligned it with the top of my canvas suit, and used a set of locking clamps to secure my headgear. I did the same for him. He motioned for me to turn the valve of my air supply, and I did as instructed. A soft hiss affirmed that the gases were flowing into my helmet. Through the small glass window of his helmet, Holmes’ eyes shone with steely determination. Stepping awkwardly in our weighted boots, we strode to the diving well. Holmes climbed over the lip. Looking up at me, he lowered himself into the water. I saw that he had a firm grasp of the handles that lined the sides of the well.

  As I l
owered myself over the lip, I took one last look at the diving compartment. A small, bluish fire had broken out next to the batteries. An eerie glow filled the room, and the fire jumped to some of the oil-soaked rags. Seconds before my vision was obscured by the metal wall of the diving well, I saw the hatch to the upper deck as it sprang open. Right before I was submerged, I glimpsed the soles of a sailor’s shoes while he raced down the stairs. The chase for us was on!

  37

  Panic nearly overtook me as I descended into the water, moving lower and lower, hand over hand. Just as Holmes had warned, once I came out of the tunnel that was actually the diving well, I was buffeted about by the current. I struggled against my own fear, as my breathing became fast and shallow. Reaching out for the handles that ran along the bottom of the barge, I became dizzy. Fortunately, Holmes got a grip on my hand. His gloved hand guided mine until my fingers were tightly wrapped ’round one of the handles. Once I had that tactile reassurance, I concentrated on consciously controlling my breathing.

  Holmes had been right: in those black waters, I could barely see his shadowy form. But my eyes slowly adjusted, and I realised he was staring at me. His expression was concerned. I bobbed my head up and down in an exaggerated fashion to let him know that I was fine. And I told myself repeatedly that I was just that: fine.

  The pull of the water strained every muscle in my body. I struggled against it in the current. Holmes faded in and out of my view. I assumed he was searching for this mysterious cable that he had mentioned. Suddenly, his hand popped up, right in front of my face. I watched with giddy fascination, as he balled his hand into a fist then snapped it open repeatedly. Placing my trust in Holmes and God, while silently blessing the rope that leashed us together, I let go of the metal handle I was clutching.