Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [43]
Sherlock’s hand crept down to the jacket pocket where he had stowed the copy of Plato’s Republic that Mycroft had given him. It had been an unexpected gift, and Sherlock intended to read the whole book – even if it was in Greek.
The ship’s engines, deep within its belly, were running up to speed now, and Sherlock could not only hear their rumbling but feel it through the wood of the deck as well. He had a sudden, horrible realization that the noise of the steam engines would be their constant companion for the next eight days. How would he sleep? How would he be able to hear anything anyone said to him? The only consolation was that he would probably get used to it, but at the moment he couldn’t see how that would be possible.
The ropes attaching the SS Scotia to the dockside were being released now from the bollards they were tied to, fluttering down to the side of the ship like ribbons even though they were hawsers as thick as Sherlock’s fist. The enormous paddle wheels started to turn, churning the water beneath them and gradually levering the ship forward. A steam whistle sounded, and at the signal the crowd on the dock let out a huge cheer, as if nobody had ever seen such a sight before. Caps and hats and bonnets were flung into the air, and the passengers gathered on the ship’s deck responded in kind.
A sudden shaft of guilt and sadness penetrated Sherlock’s heart. He wanted Matty to be there with them. He wanted Matty to be safe. His mind kept sidling around to images of what might be happening to his friend, and he kept having to force it away. Ives and Berle had no reason to hurt Matty. He was their insurance policy.
The question was, did Ives and Berle think as logically as Sherlock?
Looking around to distract himself, Sherlock noticed a man nearby. He was standing by himself, holding what appeared to be a violin case, but instead of gazing at the crowd he was looking in the other direction, out to sea. He was thin, with black hair longer than was usual in a man, and his jacket and trousers appeared to be of corduroy. Sherlock guessed him to be in his thirties. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and Sherlock noticed that his fingers were long and thin. He suddenly looked sideways at Sherlock, and he smiled, touching his forehead in a casual salute. His eyes, Sherlock noticed, were green, and the wideness of his smile revealed a gold tooth set far back in his mouth.
‘The start of an adventure,’ he called. His voice held a slight Irish brogue.
‘Eight days at sea with nothing to do but walk around and read books,’ Sherlock called, emboldened by the excitement of their departure into talking to a complete stranger. ‘Not much of an adventure.’
‘Ah, but think of the miles and miles of water that will lie beneath us as we travel. Think of the wrecks of other ships that litter the bottom of the sea, and the strange creatures that swim there, in and out of the portholes and around the bones of drowned sailors. Adventure is all around, if you know where to look.’ He raised the case that he carried. And if all else fails, I can take some time to practise my music on deck, beneath the stars, and serenade the mermaids.’
‘Mermaids?’ Sherlock asked sceptically. ‘More likely to be dolphins, or some other kind of marine life.’
‘A man can dream,’ the stranger said. He nodded genially at Sherlock, tipped his cap and moved away through the crowd. Sherlock kept track of his long black hair for a while, but eventually lost him in the press of people.
‘If you want to wander off and explore,’ Amyus Crowe said from behind him, ‘you go ahead. We’re gonna be on this ship for a week or more, an’ I have no intention of shepherding you all that time. As long as you don’t fall overboard, there ain’t nowhere you