left Holmes napping in their cabin and hazarded a trip up on deck to judge for himself just what sort of quandary they had stumbled into. He doubted that he would encounter the toughs again. They were street ruffians, not sailors.
None but a damn fool would walk the promenade on a night like this.
Nevertheless, he tucked his Smith & Wesson top-break, single-action Model 3 into his coat, just in case.
The damn fool might just be me
, he thought wryly.
13
BESIDES PASSENGERS AND CREW, THE GREAT SHIP CARRIED A FULL cargo of tobacco, leather goods, and lard. Douglas thought she was less than six years old, from the looks of her, and as fit as any vessel put to sea. Then again, he doubted that her mettle had been tested in a storm of such magnitude.
He watched her bow rise and dip over angry black water that seemed not so much beneath as all around her, while above her the twilight sky was a patchwork of mist and fog and flying scuds of rain, so that there was no respite to be had, either above or below.
If she sank beneath those fulsome waves, succumbing to a watery grave, the only thing left afloat would be the lard.
He walked back to their cramped quarters, having discovered nothing of import. Neither he nor Holmes had a notion what the next move might be, but one thing was certain. Since they could not discern friend from foe, for the time being they would keep the assault to themselves.
“I say we go to the saloon and have some dinner,” Holmes said, “as if nothing had transpired. We simply keep our wits about us, and judge if anyone is surprised to see us there.”
“Our other alternative is to remain where we are,” Douglas said, only half joking, as he already knew how that suggestion would be received. Holmes frowned his disapproval and put another round of carbolic acid and water on his wounded cheek—after which the men silently dressed for dinner and exited the room.
* * *
The moment they stepped outside, the wind seemed to want its pound of flesh. It howled through each crack and cranny of the long, dank passageway, whipping up whorls of dust like ghosts rising up and taking form. They could hear the water slosh against the great ship’s sides as she forced her way through the swells.
Douglas bent his knees to lower his center of gravity. He had long grown accustomed to the motion of a ship, and could anticipate the
Sultana
’s moves and coordinate them with his own. Holmes, on the other hand, was attempting to ride her, to beat her, to wear her down. He treated every sway as combat, pitting his balance and reflexes against her feints and jabs. Watching him, Douglas became concerned that his young friend would soon land upon his head—so he decided to act the role model.
He grabbed the handrail.
“You will find this to be of service,” he said, hoping his tone would carry a warning.
Holmes assiduously ignored him.
Douglas abandoned the futile effort and let go.
No use providing an object lesson
, he mused,
when the student pays not the slightest heed
. Not to mention that the effort to stay upright actually seemed to be having a positive effect on his friend. It was the first time he’d seen Holmes act even remotely carefree since they’d boarded.
At that very moment a shadow crossed their paths, quick and fleeting. Douglas instantly laid a hand on the gun in his coat pocket. The move did not slip by unnoticed—Holmes glanced at him, curious, especially once the shadow proved to be a play of the light, and nothing more.
Douglas laughed. “There’s nothing like a ship, once the sun has set,” he said, “to give true meaning to the term
eerie
.”
“You are allowing your nerves to get the better of you,” Holmes said, and he smiled. “Though I grant you this journey has not been terribly peaceful thus far—”
“Your cut is bleeding, Holmes,” Douglas interrupted, proffering his handkerchief. Holmes took it with a gruff “thank you,” and then pulled the jar of salve out
None but a damn fool would walk the promenade on a night like this.
Nevertheless, he tucked his Smith & Wesson top-break, single-action Model 3 into his coat, just in case.
The damn fool might just be me
, he thought wryly.
13
BESIDES PASSENGERS AND CREW, THE GREAT SHIP CARRIED A FULL cargo of tobacco, leather goods, and lard. Douglas thought she was less than six years old, from the looks of her, and as fit as any vessel put to sea. Then again, he doubted that her mettle had been tested in a storm of such magnitude.
He watched her bow rise and dip over angry black water that seemed not so much beneath as all around her, while above her the twilight sky was a patchwork of mist and fog and flying scuds of rain, so that there was no respite to be had, either above or below.
If she sank beneath those fulsome waves, succumbing to a watery grave, the only thing left afloat would be the lard.
He walked back to their cramped quarters, having discovered nothing of import. Neither he nor Holmes had a notion what the next move might be, but one thing was certain. Since they could not discern friend from foe, for the time being they would keep the assault to themselves.
“I say we go to the saloon and have some dinner,” Holmes said, “as if nothing had transpired. We simply keep our wits about us, and judge if anyone is surprised to see us there.”
“Our other alternative is to remain where we are,” Douglas said, only half joking, as he already knew how that suggestion would be received. Holmes frowned his disapproval and put another round of carbolic acid and water on his wounded cheek—after which the men silently dressed for dinner and exited the room.
* * *
The moment they stepped outside, the wind seemed to want its pound of flesh. It howled through each crack and cranny of the long, dank passageway, whipping up whorls of dust like ghosts rising up and taking form. They could hear the water slosh against the great ship’s sides as she forced her way through the swells.
Douglas bent his knees to lower his center of gravity. He had long grown accustomed to the motion of a ship, and could anticipate the
Sultana
’s moves and coordinate them with his own. Holmes, on the other hand, was attempting to ride her, to beat her, to wear her down. He treated every sway as combat, pitting his balance and reflexes against her feints and jabs. Watching him, Douglas became concerned that his young friend would soon land upon his head—so he decided to act the role model.
He grabbed the handrail.
“You will find this to be of service,” he said, hoping his tone would carry a warning.
Holmes assiduously ignored him.
Douglas abandoned the futile effort and let go.
No use providing an object lesson
, he mused,
when the student pays not the slightest heed
. Not to mention that the effort to stay upright actually seemed to be having a positive effect on his friend. It was the first time he’d seen Holmes act even remotely carefree since they’d boarded.
At that very moment a shadow crossed their paths, quick and fleeting. Douglas instantly laid a hand on the gun in his coat pocket. The move did not slip by unnoticed—Holmes glanced at him, curious, especially once the shadow proved to be a play of the light, and nothing more.
Douglas laughed. “There’s nothing like a ship, once the sun has set,” he said, “to give true meaning to the term
eerie
.”
“You are allowing your nerves to get the better of you,” Holmes said, and he smiled. “Though I grant you this journey has not been terribly peaceful thus far—”
“Your cut is bleeding, Holmes,” Douglas interrupted, proffering his handkerchief. Holmes took it with a gruff “thank you,” and then pulled the jar of salve out
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