Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [59]
The flotilla of home-made craft had almost reached us by now, or we had almost reached them. The sailors in the lead were already holding aloft their wares and shouting out how fine a bargain they were for two handsome gentlemen such as us. The beggars who had hitched lifts with them, or who piloted their own boats, were crying out for alms.
'Baksheesh!' they implored, their voices rising and falling like the wails of seagulls. 'Effendi, baksheesh!'
'Breakfast?' I asked the Doctor.
He grimaced.
'With and without,' he murmured, 'have and have not: Then, pulling himself together, 'Yes, I'll take breakfast with you.'
I was just about to lead the way when a lone voice seemed to rise above the chorus below. An English voice. A voice I recognized.
'Watson! Watson! Save some breakfast for me!'
I glanced over the side again. There, in the lead boat, was Holmes, dressed in a striped, one-piece bathing costume.
'Good Lord,' I muttered inanely.
'I saw him at sunrise,' the Doctor said. 'He said he was going to swim to shore for some exercise. He did ask me if I wanted to join him, but I declined.'
'Do you swim?' I asked.
He gazed up at me levelly.
'If pushed,' he replied. He turned and walked off abruptly towards where breakfast awaited. I made to follow, but as I did so I noticed that the wood of the rail where his hands had rested was perfectly dry, and the spray from the waves had dampened the deck all around except for two footprints where he had been standing.
Before we could even get to the hatch and descend to the saloon for breakfast, the vanguard of the local flotilla had glancingly docked with the SS Matilda Briggs. The crew attempted to fend it off with long poles, but a handful of entrepreneurs scurried up dangling cables and the anchor chain to the deck. There they proceeded to buttonhole the passengers and display the cheap gewgaws and gimcracks that they had brought with them.
'Mr Mackenzie! Mr Mackenzie!'
An insistent merchant in a ragged robe plucked hold of my sleeve. For some reason they always referred to gentlemen as 'Mr Mackenzie' and ladies as 'Lillie Langtry.' I pushed past him and was three steps down the stairs when I realized that the Doctor had paused to watch. The Arab scrabbled around inside his robe for a moment, and brought out a day-old chick. I had seen hulley-gulley men before: their conjuring tricks with livestock were superficially fascinating, but no better than a second-rate music hall magician could have managed and certainly not deserving of reward. I watched impatiently as, before the Doctor's eager eye, he passed a hand in front of the chick and made it disappear. The Doctor smiled in innocent delight. The smell of bacon drifted up from the galley below. I sighed.
For the next few minutes, the hulley-gulley man plucked little cheeping bundles from his fist, his mouth, thin air, the Doctor's ears and the sleeves of passing passengers. He juggled with the creatures, carelessly dropping one over the side of the boat but carrying on like a trooper. He made them do tricks: running up his arm and back, weaving in and out of his fingers, climbing atop one
another to form a rough pyramid. The Doctor was entranced. Eventually the conjuror finished, threw them roughly into his pocket and held out an eager hand to the Doctor, saying, 'You like, Mr Mackenzie, you like?'
The Doctor nodded, beaming happily, and took off his hat. Reaching inside, he pulled out a large white rabbit and handed it to the astounded conjurer.
As the man stared at it in bemusement, the Doctor walked over to join me with a quizzical smile upon his face.
We quitted the deck and made for the dining room. Holmes appeared just as I was chasing the remnants of my fried egg around the plate with some toast.
'I see that you haven't been wasting the morning,' he said cheerfully, pulling up a chair.
'Swimming obviously agrees with you,' I riposted. 'You should do more of it.
Perhaps a dawn dip in the Serpentine every morning. As your physician, I strongly