Sherlock Boxed In by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Author:Tracy Cooper-Posey [Cooper-Posey, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, Victorian Romance
Publisher: Tracy Cooper-Posey
Published: 2017-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Forced by the threat of bodily harm, I left my perch on the packing crate, and allowed myself to be led across the dock and up the gangplank of the ship, the captain and his armed crewman close behind me.

The second officer was on the main deck, watching the loading. He turned as we approached and his face sagged when he saw me. He let out a curse.

“A stranger, you said, Sarawan!” he snarled at the captain.

The voice told me what my eyes had not seen. Ten years in prison had not smoothed Moran’s tones. It had only deprived him of the flesh of easy living and sucked the mark of an outdoors-man from his skin. The excess skin lay in folds and creases about his frame, prematurely aging him. But the eyes were unchanged. They held the same hatred and venom I’d last seen in the empty house over a decade earlier.

The captain was puzzled. “So he is.”

“He is only Sherlock Holmes’ right hand man, by Christ!” Moran snarled. He looked at me. “The years have treated you kindly, Dr. Watson. As you can see, they have done very little for me.”

“One of the side benefits of being a criminal, I would suppose,” I remarked.

“Where is Sherlock Holmes?” he asked abruptly.

“I don’t know,” I replied, truthfully and without hesitation.

Moran chuckled. “Yes, I expected that answer, or one similar. You’re not going to force me to apply the tedious process of torture and question, are you Doctor?”

“That’s not necessary. I am telling the truth. I don’t know.”

Sarawan, the captain, spoke up. “He may not, Colonel. He’s been here all afternoon, alone.”

“It will be easy enough to find out,” Moran murmured, studying me. “It is not very complex information I am looking for, so I do not have to be careful how I go about extracting it. I can apply whatever messy and expendable process I believe will give me the answer soonest.”

“My answer would remain the same.”

“I beg to disagree, Doctor. With your medical knowledge, you should know the physiological effects sudden and overwhelming pain can have on a body. Now, if we were to apply mental pressure at the same time….” He looked me up and down thoughtfully. “As a doctor, you depend upon the use of your hands as an aid to diagnosis, and also as a writer of your damnable chronicles, too. What if we were, say, to cut off your right index finger and thumb? Or are you left handed? We could cut off both, perhaps. Have you ever tried to cope without that opposable digit, doctor? It is simply impossible to lift anything. Imagine going through life trying to cope without being able to pick things up. Your clothes, your food, your pen….”

The grisly discussion was quite disturbing in that scurrying, mercantile atmosphere. I controlled the shiver it gave me and tried to maintain my steady gaze. I remained silent. Moran would never believe I truly did not know where Holmes was, and it

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