The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - By John Joseph Adams Page 0,238

lead in our walk through the fog, but he stopped now in front of the Friesland. "Lieutenant-Commander, it is a logical fallacy to reject a conclusion simply because it is unsavory," he said. "However, I applaud your caution in this matter." His eyes flashed with anticipation. "I was struck by one element of your tale, an element that perhaps might elude others." His gaze encompassed Inspector Lestrade, who flushed and twitched his ratlike nose in annoyance.

I forced a chuckle and mopped my brow again. "Well, it eluded me, Holmes," I said. "Perhaps we should proceed aboard, though I am reluctant to see with my own eyes the sad scene that Lieutenant-Commander Powell described."

And with that, we proceeded aboard the Friesland and embarked on one of the more remarkable adventures of Mr. Sherlock Holmes's long career.

The Friesland was an iron steamship of the relatively new "three island" design, with a casing in the center, a monkey forecastle, and a short poop deck forming three "islands" above the main deck. She bore two masts with limited sail, and Powell estimated her weight at over two thousand tons. She bore the flag of Koehler House, one of perhaps a dozen such ships. As we boarded her, I took note of two large holes in her hull, above the waterline, as well as the jagged stump of the front mast. Still, the ship seemed quiet and secure against the dock, the water lapping gently against it. The Friesland did not look like a ghost ship.

"Early last week, the Friesland traveled from London to Stavanger, Norway. She left Stavanger five days ago and set course for Newfoundland. Yesterday evening, a Royal Navy patrol discovered her adrift thirteen miles off the coast of Scotland, near Aberdeen," Powell said, leading the way to the deck. He was repeating facts he had shared with us earlier in the day in our parlor at 221B Baker Street, perhaps to distract himself from the sights he would soon reencounter. "In addition to several tons of a fish oil product processed in Stavanger, the cargo included an exhibit that the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam intends to share with the Roscoe Clay Hall of Culture in Vanguard City. The collection features paintings by Vermeer and Rembrandt. As far as we have been able to determine, the cargo is still intact." He stopped and turned to face us as we stepped onto the deck. "The Navy ship discovered no living souls on board." He shook his head. "Many of the crew are missing, quite likely thrown overboard. Two American passengers, John and Harold Smith, are missing as well. We found the bodies of ten crewmembers throughout the ship, most shot dead, a few stabbed. And we found three other bodies in the ship's corridors, all dressed in Royal Danish Navy uniforms. Our Navy brought the Friesland here so we could learn the truth before informing the Dutch and Danish governments of the gruesome discovery."

"The ship's course would have taken it near Iceland?" Holmes asked. He was peering past Powell's shoulder, toward the body of a crewman, arms splayed out, laying face down on the deck.

Powell nodded.

Holmes walked purposefully toward the body.

Lestrade coughed. "The Danish government has been strident in recent years about steamships fishing near Icelandic waters," the inspector said, "and the appropriate distance for fishing boats to keep from Iceland has been in dispute. Danish gun ships have chased off British fisherman, for example. The newspapers call it the Cod War."

Holmes, kneeling by the body, chuckled and stood back up. "The only fish of concern here isn't cod," he said. "It's herring. The red variety." He addressed Powell. "I'll need to see the bodies of the alleged Danish sailors," he said. "But I doubt seriously that next week's newspapers will be reporting war between the Netherlands and Denmark."

The carnage aboard the Friesland was grim indeed. The Dutch sailors had not died cleanly. Most were shot several times, and many bore gruesome knife wounds. One had been decapitated, the poor soul's head staring balefully from one end of a corridor while his body rested at the opposite side. And wherever we walked, we saw blood, much more blood than the bodies we encountered could account for. "I'm not sure I've seen its like since the Battle of Maiwand," I said quietly.

Holmes investigated in turn each of the three men in the uniforms of the Royal Danish Navy. We came to the final such body in the entryway to the cabin assigned to the Americans