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Chapter Text

It felt strange to be traveling alone. Most of the trips he took these days were to his daughter's piano concerts and his wife always accompanied him to those. But Charlotte got terribly seasick whenever she set foot on a ship, so she refused to come with him. And since the department absolutely insisted that he be the one to meet with the chief of police in New York City, here he was.

It also felt strange to be traveling in first class. Ever since Polly had married a professional violinist, he had found himself more and more in the company of high society. He always felt terribly out of place around them and were it not for his daughter and son-in-law, he would have preferred to keep his dealings with high society strictly professional. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, however, the Kerberos had no second class accommodations and it would have been highly embarrassing for Whitechapel’s chief inspector to be traveling in steerage, so first class was his only option.

The woman sitting next to him in the dining hall was as high society as one gets: impeccably dressed and a fervent gossip. Only her lack of a husband made her unusual. She was probably a widow, Alfred thought, though certainly not a recent one given the deep green color of her dress. Another woman was supposedly assigned to their table as well, though there had been no sign of her just yet. He felt terribly uncomfortable sitting there, not least of all because he couldn't shake the feeling that the man in the white suit at the table next to theirs was staring at him.

“Ms. Franklin, what a rare treat to see you up here so early,” said his dining companion, who had earlier introduced herself as Mrs. Wilson. She continued as the newcomer pulled out a chair and sat down. “Don't make such a face. I'm doing you a favor. I mean, I get it. I've traveled by myself for years now. I know sometimes it's preferable to seek solitude over company, but I also know how fast one is judged, and there are already rumors circulating. Is it true that you're a doctor?”

So this was the female doctor. Alfred had heard the rumor already. While he wasn't one to gossip himself, he tended to pay attention when rumors were floating about. There was always a kernel of truth in them somewhere that might prove to be useful later.

“My focus was... is on the human brain,” the woman, now identifiable as Ms. Franklin, said.

“Fascinating,” said Alfred. “I’ve heard that there has been significant study in that field in Austria at the moment. Are you familiar with that?”

“I presume you’re talking about Dr. Freud,” said Ms. Franklin. “I’m familiar with his work, though that isn’t my area of focus. Dr. Freud studies what people think. I am more interested in how people think. The biological side, if you will.”

“I see,” said Alfred. It wasn’t a subject he was keen to explore. He had seen many a human brain down in the autopsy laboratory, but he had never given much thought to how those lumps of organ tissue functioned. He was more interested in the thoughts people had - what drove a man to become a criminal, most especially. He’d read Cesare Lombroso’s Criminal Man and found it intriguing, though he wasn’t sure how much credence to lend to his theories. It seemed however, that he would not find a debate partner in Ms. Franklin.

“They let you cut up brains?” Mrs. Wilson asked.

“Women in England are allowed to study, not practice,” Ms. Franklin replied.

Mrs. Wilson began to ramble on about the others in the room, comparing their lots in life to Ms. Franklin’s. She seemed to know a good bit about the other passengers on the ship, more than he did, certainly. Alfred filed that bit of information away, might it prove useful later.

Mrs. Wilson and Ms. Franklin were engaged in a conversation that Alfred was only half paying attention to when a young man burst through the door. Alfred shot to his feet while the man shouted in a language Alfred did not understand. His first instinct was to arrest the young man. But he was not an officer on this ship and he wouldn’t have known what to do with the man once he was in custody. Alfred stood there pondering how to react when a group of officers - ones who did work for the ship - came through the same door that the young man had entered through just moments earlier, and dragged the young man away. The crew of this ship had things under control, it seemed. Alfred was relieved to see it. Though this was a work trip, he hadn’t planned on being on duty during the transit.

As Alfred sat back down, Ms. Franklin stood up. “I’m sure you can do without my company,” she said, before rushing up the grand staircase.

“Where is she off to? She hasn’t eaten yet,” Alfred remarked.

“Who knows,” Mrs. Wilson replied. “She’s a strange one, that Ms. Franklin.”

“That she is,” replied Alfred, before taking a sip of tea. Across the room, he noticed the man in the white suit looking his way. He was definitely staring, confirming Alfred’s earlier suspicion. Alfred studied him, wondering if perhaps the man had seen him before and the staring was simply an act of recognition. He didn’t look familiar, though Alfred had met so many people in his duties as inspector that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that they had met before.

“Would you excuse me?” he said, getting up from his seat. No use wondering. He would go ask the man himself.

As he approached the table, he noticed the priest sitting next to the man in the suit say something under his breath to his dining companion. It was a language that Alfred did not speak, though different from the one the man who burst through the door spoke. Italian, perhaps? The man’s dark features certainly made him look Italian, though he could really be from anywhere along the Mediterranean coast.

“Pardon me,” Alfred said to the man in the suit. “It seems you appear to recognize me from somewhere, though I don’t recognize you. Have you had many dealings with the London Police?”

The priest muttered something again, which the suited man seemed to ignore. “I’ve never been to London. I was just admiring your…beard,” the man in the suit said, gesturing at his own clean-shaven chin.

“I see,” he said, though he did not actually see at all. “Well. I’m here, I think it best to introduce myself. Alfred Hillinghead, Chief Inspector, London Police, Whitechapel division. And you are?”

“You can call me Ángel,” the man in the suit replied, though he did not get up to greet Alfred. Either the man had never been schooled in manners, or he was too wealthy to care. Judging by the suit he wore, it was probably the latter.

“Ángel. Pleasure meeting you.” Alfred instinctively went to tip his hat, before remembering that he was indoors and accordingly hatless. “And your friend here?” he asked, gesturing at the priest.

“My brother. Ramiro.”

Alfred nodded, though he felt a bit confused. They didn’t look like brothers. Perhaps one of them had been taken in as a child.

“Well. It was a pleasure meeting you both. See you again at dinner.” Alfred decided he had had enough of socializing with the upper class for now. He wasn’t terribly hungry in any event. Perhaps the ship’s library would have something interesting to occupy his time.

As he made his way up the stairs and out of the dining hall, he shot a glance over his shoulder to see if Ángel was watching him. He was. It occurred to Alfred then that while he hadn’t seen the man before, he had seen that look. It was a look that Henry used to give him. Ashamed, Alfred turned away and dashed up the stairs.

***

Most of the passengers were angry. Furious, even. Alfred could hear them out in the hallways, cursing and pacing about. All of them were dead set on getting to America. And earlier that afternoon, the ship's captain had taken them off course.

Alfred was not nearly as perturbed. Traveling to America had not been his idea in the first place and he wasn’t the one paying for it. If the department really wanted him in New York, they would pay for another ticket, no questions asked. They wouldn’t be happy about it, but that was out of his control.

There was another reason Alfred wasn't anxious to get to New York: Henry. Statistically, the odds of running into a specific person in a city the size of New York were low, but Henry had a way of showing up at places Alfred was required to be.

Four years ago, Henry's work had somehow caught the eye of the one and only Joseph Pulitzer. The famed newspaperman had offered Henry a job that paid nearly double what he'd been earning at The Star. Henry would have been a fool to turn it down, and Alfred told him as much. Henry promised to write of course, and he did - at first. But life had a habit of getting in the way. Eventually Henry's letters became fewer and fewer, as did Alfred’s in return.

Then came the letter in which Henry wrote that he'd met someone. Alfred tried telling himself that he wasn't hurt by it. They hadn't seen each other for nearly three years at that point and there was no realistic chance of Henry returning to England. Still, Alfred couldn't help but feel dejected, almost betrayed somehow. Even Charlotte noticed that he wasn't himself.

Alfred didn't know what he would say when he saw Henry again. If he said anything at all.

The din in the hallway suddenly grew quiet. Alfred rose from his perch on the sofa and made his way to the door to reconnoiter the situation.

The other passengers were lining the sides of the hallway, murmuring to themselves. At one end of the hallway, Alfred espied Ángel and his alleged brother Ramiro. They didn’t seem to notice him. At the other end of the hallway, Alfred could hear the murmuring get even quieter, followed by the faint sound of footsteps a little further away.

He didn’t need to wait long to see what was going on, as the Captain soon rounded the corner, followed by a posse of crew members. He was wearing a heavy black overcoat, one clearly not meant for peacockery, meaning that he was intending to go somewhere. Not on board the ship, or else there wouldn’t be such a fuss. They must have found the Prometheus, the missing ship that everyone on board had been talking about.

Alfred stepped into the center of the corridor as the Captain and his posse approached. “Captain, if I may,” Alfred said, “I'm an inspector with the London Police. I believe you could benefit from my assistance if you're headed to the Prometheus.”

The Captain nodded. “I think that's wise. Follow me.”

Alfred ducked back into his cabin to quickly grab his jacket, then fell in step behind the Captain and his crew. It was then that he noticed Ms. Franklin was also following along.

“Ms. Franklin,” he greeted her. “I assume you’re coming along to provide medical assistance.”

“Yes,” she replied, though from the way her voice wavered, she wasn’t expecting to perform any services for the living. “And you?”

“Forgive me for not introducing myself at breakfast,” Alfred said. “I am the chief inspector with the Whitechapel division of the London Police. Maritime investigations aren’t part of my usual repertoire, but I may be able to deduce what happened on that ship, with a seaman’s assistance.”

They had just about reached the end of the hallway when one of the crewmen, a young man, possibly younger than Polly, stopped. The young man said something to the Captain in German. His eyes were trained elsewhere however, namely, upon Ramiro.

The Captain responded to the young man by coming back to address Ramiro himself. “What’s your name?”

Ramiro looked at Ángel and exchanged words with him in their shared tongue. He appeared to be nervous; Alfred wondered if that was the result of a language barrier or for other reasons. If Ramiro didn't speak English, Alfred doubted he would find out anytime soon.

“Your name?” the Captain repeated.

“Ramiro. Padre Ramiro,” Ramiro responded.

The Captain looked towards his crew, then back at Ramiro. “The Prometheus has been missing for four months. I don’t know how many passengers are still alive, what they’ve gone through. But I’m sure it will comfort them to see you.”

Ramiro glanced at Ángel again, the look on his face indicating to Alfred that he had not understood a word the Captain had just said. Language barrier it was. Ángel nodded slightly at the Captain before whispering something to his brother. Despite not receiving an assent from the priest himself, the Captain rejoined his companions at the end of the hall and started towards the lower deck. Alfred followed in stride.

Ramiro moved quietly in his soft shoes and heavy robes. It was not until they had started down the stairs that Alfred even noticed he had followed.

“Si vis me sequaris,” Alfred said to Ramiro, as the priest came up next to him on the staircase. Alfred hadn’t spoken Latin in many years, and his learnings were more scientific than liturgical, but he hoped that his pronunciation and grammar were nevertheless good enough for the priest to understand him.

Ramiro nodded, though he seemed slightly confused. Perhaps he was not aware that most detectives were required to take a course in Latin as a prerequisite to the position. Ramiro’s lack of knowledge wouldn’t surprise Alfred. Alfred almost never spoke with members of the clergy as part of his investigations, due to the privileges they held with their constituents. Only in the most dire of circumstances did they ever contribute something useful to Alfred’s police work.

“Nos simul manere possumus,” Alfred added for extra reassurance.

The Captain led them down to an inset on the ship’s lower docks, where two crew members were already waiting. A single row boat was stowed to one side of the open room. It struck Alfred as strange that a ship of this size would have only one row boat for its crew to use. Then again, as he’d already admitted to Ms. Franklin, Alfred knew very little about ships. Whitechapel did not abut the river Thames, though even if it had, the waterway was so aplomb with activity that it had its own police force dedicated solely to it. The Thames also stunk to high heaven most days, so Alfred saw no reason to venture near it. His only experience with ships were the trips he made across the English Channel to holiday in France, and those were always brief.

A few of the crew members exchanged words with each other in German, before lanterns were handed to the two men who had been waiting for them. The crew members then maneuvered the row boat to the ship’s edge and lowered it so that the lip of the boat was level with the room’s floor.

“Get in,” the Captain directed. Ms. Franklin got in first, followed by Alfred and Ramiro, the two new crew members, a crew member with a large port wine stain on his forehead, and finally the Captain himself. The remaining crew steadily lowered them into the water.

***

The first thing Alfred noticed about the ship, besides the fact that the lights were all off, was the smell. The Prometheus reeked heavily of salt - not a pleasant smell like one could get from the deck of the Kerberos, but a saltiness so heavy that you might think you were at a meat locker. His first glance of the inset confirmed his suspicion. The seaweed hanging from the rafters could only have been put there by a storm, a fearsome one at that. It was a wonder that the ship was still afloat.

“Why is nobody here?” Ms. Franklin asked.

“Someone sent the signal,” said the Captain. “There have to be survivors.”

Alfred wasn’t so sure. Ms. Franklin was right, there did not seem to be any signs of life aboard this ship. Probably swept overboard, if the seaweed was any indication. As for who had sent the telegraph, Alfred supposed there might be a way to send an automatic signal. He had never seen such a thing before, but with the speed at which technology was advancing these days, he supposed it could be a realistic possibility.

The rest of the ship was covered in just as much seaweed as the bottom deck. For water to have reached all the way up to the ship’s helm, it must have been a storm unlike any Alfred ever wished to see. The ship had to have taken on a lot of water as a result. But where did that water go? Alfred wondered to himself.

Their search of the ship led them down to the ship’s dining room. It looked much like the one aboard the Kerberos, except all of the furniture had been overturned or broken. The others called out in various languages. Alfred didn’t bother. There was no way they would find any survivors here. Alfred decided to head back to the row boat. He doubted he would be of much use there, but he certainly wouldn’t be of any use on this abandoned ship.

Alfred had just exited the dining room when he heard two loud bangs. He immediately turned on his heel and ran back to where he had left his companions, fearing one of them had just been injured. Hopefully the injuries weren’t too serious, as they had not brought any medical supplies with them - a terrible oversight in retrospect. He heard two more bangs as he ran down the grand entry staircase.

Alfred held his lantern aloft. Across the room, he could just make out the figures of his five companions. Everyone was upright, which meant they would not have to carry anyone back to the row boat. But that did not explain the pounding.

Cautiously, Alfred made his way across the room. As his companions came into view the light of his lantern, he could see Ms. Franklin squatting on the floor. Ahead of her was a piece of furniture, which Alfred realized was a cabinet the closer he got.

Suddenly, Ms. Franklin abruptly stood up and jumped backwards. Alfred quickly closed the remaining steps to his companions to see what it was they were all examining. Making his way to the Captain’s right, he could see a boy, who couldn’t have been any older than 12. Unlike nearly everything else on the Prometheus, he was not covered in seaweed. And he certainly didn’t look as if he’d spent four months locked in a cabinet.

Something strange was going on.

Chapter Text

The boy they had found on the Prometheus was all anyone could talk about at breakfast the next morning. Especially Mrs. Wilson, whose questions were endless now that Ms. Franklin had not come to join them in the dining hall. Luckily, Alfred was a master at stonewalling, since nosy politicians and reporters were always sniffing around the department looking for information.

“Lovely sunrise this morning,” Alfred said, taking a sip of tea.

“Lovely sunrise?” Mrs. Wilson asked incredulously. “You found a single survivor on that ship and that's what you talk about? The sunrise?”

Mrs. Wilson's interrogation was interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Alfred turned to look at the newcomer. It was Ángel. Glancing over his shoulder, Alfred could see that Ramiro had not come down for breakfast either.

Ángel sat down in the chair, not even bothering to ask permission to join them. His lack of manners irked Alfred. Henry didn't follow many of society's conventions, but at least he still had the decency to be polite.

“Excuse me, and you are?” Mrs. Wilson demanded.

“Ángel,” the Spaniard replied, once again declining to divulge his full name. “I did not want to eat alone, so I decided to join Inspector Hillinghead.”

So Ángel remembered not only his name, but his title as well. The man had a good memory. Alfred made a mental note of it.

“Well,” Mrs. Wilson scoffed. “I'm no longer hungry. I shall take my leave. Inspector.”

Alfred nodded at her courtesy and watched her saunter off. He was a little surprised she had not stayed, given that Ángel was a potential source of information about the boy. Perhaps her standards as a society woman were more important than gossip. Alfred made a mental note of this as well.

“Do you smoke?” Ángel asked.

“In here?” Alfred inquired, wondering if Ángel really intended to light up a cigarette in the middle of breakfast. He wouldn't put it past the man.

Ángel reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled something out of it. “Here,” he said. “Consider it a gift.”

“No thank you,” Alfred said, waving him off. He didn't like gifts; they usually came with strings attached.

“I insist,” Ángel said, setting the item on the table. Without another word, Ángel stood up, tapped the item, and walked away.

Alfred picked up the item Ángel had just left on the table. It was a cigarette case, explaining why Ángel had asked him if he smoked. It did not, however, explain why Ángel had given it to him.

Alfred turned the case over in his hands. Portuguese filigree. Authentic filigree was highly sought after in London and this case would make him the envy of all of the society folk he consorted with these days. Which was precisely why he could not accept it.

Alfred slid the case into his own jacket pocket. If Ángel would not take the cigarette case back, Alfred would give it to his brother. He was likely to run into Ramiro later anyway, as he suspected his dealings with the Prometheus were not yet over.

After finishing his morning meal, Alfred decided it would be best to check on Ms. Franklin and the boy. With any luck, the boy would be willing to talk, but Alfred did not consider himself to be a lucky man. It was possible that he had said something to Ms. Franklin though and in any event, she would be able to update him on the boy's condition. It wasn't likely to lead him to any answers, but it was a start.

Ms. Franklin didn't seem surprised by Alfred’s presence and welcomed him in. She looked like she hadn’t slept much the night before.

The boy was sitting on the bed, alert and awake.

“Hello young man,” Alfred greeted him. The boy just stared at him.

“He won't talk,” Ms. Franklin said, with a hint of defeat.

“Does he speak English?” Alfred asked. Alfred had already met multiple passengers who did not speak his language, so it was very possible that this boy did not either.

“I think so,” Ms. Franklin replied. “He seems able to understand me. I asked him if he wanted breakfast this morning and he shook his head no. I think he's just traumatized. Shutting down like this is one way our brains process terrible events. He's been on that ship for four months. I don't know what he's seen.”

“About that.” Alfred pulled Ms. Franklin toward the other side of the room, far enough away so that the boy wouldn't hear what he was whispering. “I don't think he's been on that ship for four months.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked. “The Prometheus has been missing for four months.”

“Yes but look at him,” Alfred whispered. “He's well nourished. I've seen children who receive daily meals who are much less healthy than him. This isn't a child who's been surviving on scraps.”

“If he hasn't been on the Prometheus for four months, then where did he come from? Who would lock up a little boy on a ship and just leave?” Ms. Franklin asked.

“There are a lot of sick people in this world, Ms. Franklin,” Alfred said. Internally, he was asking himself those same questions. It didn’t make any sense, to maroon someone on an abandoned ship in the middle of the ocean and then leave. To drown them would have been far easier. Perhaps the boy had been rescued by someone, the same someone who had sent the telegram directing the Kerberos to their current location. But then, where was that person and why did they not locate them on their search of the ship? And why lock the boy in a cabinet if they wanted him to be found?

Alfred excused himself from Ms. Franklin’s room, feeling no more enlightened than he had when he arrived. The only person who knew for sure what happened was the boy, and he wasn’t speaking. Of course, it was not Alfred’s job to deduce what had happened aboard the Prometheus. His presence here was only happenstance. He ought to leave the job to someone being paid to do it. Still, the detective in him would probably not rest until he had answers. Whether he liked it or not, he had been fully roped into this mystery.

Alfred made his way down the stairs, passing the First Mate, who seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. Alfred had almost reached his room when he noticed a man emerging from one of the other rooms near the end of the hall.

“Ah, Ramiro!” Alfred called out to him, before jogging down the hall towards him. The priest was missing his cap that he'd had on the day before, something that Alfred attributed to the fact that it looked like the priest had just rolled out of bed. How nice it must be to sleep late on days that aren't Sunday, Alfred thought.

“Frater tuus hoc mihi dedit. Non possum accipere eam,” Alfred said in broken Latin, retrieving the cigarette case from his jacket pocket and handing it to the priest.

Ramiro’s brown eyes immediately became red with fury as he saw the object in Alfred's hand. It was not the reaction Alfred had expected.

“Obrigado,” Ramiro said through gritted teeth, his hands nearly shaking as he took the cigarette case from Alfred. After giving Alfred a nod, Ramiro quickly stormed off, probably to find Ángel, if Alfred had to guess.

Alfred knew then and there that Ángel had lied to him. These men were definitely not brothers.

***

After dinner that evening, Alfred sat in his room wondering what he ought to do. He felt he should apologize to Ramiro for getting between him and…whoever Ángel was to him. Of course, it hadn't been his fault that Ángel had left the cigarette case with him, but Alfred still felt guilty about it all the same. Alfred wasn't sure if his Latin was good enough to express the nuance such an apology would require.

Alfred supposed he could offer his apology to Ángel and ask him to translate it. But Alfred did not trust the man who had so early proven himself to be a liar.

He wondered if he could get Ms. Franklin to help. As a student of medicine, she would be well versed in Latin, much more so than he. She might be able to provide him with the words necessary to express his remorse.

Alfred's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a bell out in the hallway. Alfred stepped out of his room to see what was going on.

“Please assemble in the dining room. The Captain would like to address the current situation,” a bellman called out as he strolled down the hall.

Alfred sighed. Whatever the “current situation” was, it almost certainly had to do with the Prometheus. The Captain would be foolish to announce to everyone that they had only found one person aboard, though with the speed that gossip traveled among the upper class, it was likely everyone knew that bit of information already. Whatever the Captain wanted to announce, it almost certainly would not be good news.

Alfred followed the other passengers down to the dining room. Captain Larsen and his First Mate were already waiting there at the bottom of the grand staircase for everyone to arrive. The Captain looked very unsure of himself. Undoubtedly, he had many of the same questions on his mind as were on Alfred’s. Alfred glanced around the room. The Captain’s nervousness was not reassuring to the passengers, who were shifting and scuttling around waiting for whatever news was about to come their way. Alfred noticed that his frequent acquaintances Ángel and Ramiro were not present, which Alfred found curious.

“I’ve decided to turn the ship around and tow the Prometheus back to Europe,” the Captain abruptly announced after everyone had arrived. This caused an immediate uproar among the passengers, all of them upset that their holidays had just been derailed. Even the First Mate seemed upset by the decision.

The Captain continued speaking anyway. “The Kerberos doesn’t hold enough coal to tow the weight of the Prometheus to our destination. The miles behind us are less than the miles ahead of us, which is why we’re turning back around.”

Another passenger started shouting in French. As he finished his rant, Mrs. Wilson asked, “How many people are on board the Kerberos?”

“One thousand six hundred and thirteen passengers and crew,” the Captain answered.

“Well, I’d say that one thousand six hundred and twelve of those are against your decision to turn the ship around,” Mrs. Wilson replied.

One thousand six hundred and eleven, Alfred thought to himself. He did not care one way or the other whether the ship turned around or continued to America.

Mrs. Wilson continued to argue with the Captain about his decision, with many of the other passengers shouting in agreement. Alfred had heard enough.

“Captain, if that is all, I will take my leave,” Alfred said, hopefully loud enough for the Captain to hear him over the shouting.

“That is all. Thank you Inspector,” the Captain replied.

Alfred decided to return to his state room. A good book and some tea seemed like the perfect way to spend the rest of the evening. Unlike everyone else, he would sleep easy tonight.

***

Alfred was awakened by someone banging on his door. He blinked his eyes open, looking for the light streaming in through the porthole but found none. Throwing on an overshirt, Alfred made his way to the door to see who it was that deemed to wake him in the middle of the night. He was surprised to see Captain Larsen as the culprit.

“Inspector. We need your help. Urgently.”

Chapter Text

It was not a situation Alfred expected to find himself in. The body of a dead girl, lying supine on the deck of the Kerberos. It was just his luck.

“Everyone please step aside,” he directed the crew that had assembled around the body. The Captain repeated what he had said in German, after which the crew did as asked.

Alfred squatted down next to the body to get a closer look. Her eyes were open and staring directly up at the sky. Her arms and legs were perfectly straight and uniformly positioned, indicating someone had moved the body post mortem. He didn’t notice any visible wounds, though an autopsy would reveal more later. No blood, although he would not have expected much if the body were relocated. Alfred picked up one hand to examine the girl’s fingernails. They were dirty and not well trimmed, just as one would expect of the poor. But there were no signs of any defense wounds on them either. Alfred then held his hand to the girl’s forehead. She was still somewhat warm, meaning she could not have been dead for more than a few hours.

“What does it look like, Inspector?” the Captain asked.

“This isn’t where she died, someone moved her. As for cause of death, I can’t say for sure until a physician examines her. Cordon off this area just in case. I’d like to be able to search the area in daylight,” Alfred reported.

The Captain wasted no time in giving instructions to his crew to cordon the deck. The First Mate indicated that he would go to find a Dr. Murray. Alfred sighed. He almost hoped the poor girl had died of something like shortness of breath, just so he wouldn’t have to open a murder investigation. What was supposed to be a simple Atlantic crossing had already been complicated enough with the matter of the Prometheus.

Of course, someone wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of moving the body and placing it in such an unnatural position unless they had done something to her beforehand. As the crew members were busying themselves finding rope, Alfred lifted the girl’s skirt slightly. She was still wearing undergarments, which appeared to be unsoiled. At the least the family would have that mercy, little comfort that it was.

There was not much else Alfred could do for now. A camera would have been handy, but by the time he would be able to question all of the passengers who might have one, too much time would already have passed. He didn’t think he’d be able to forget the sight of the girl’s body anytime soon anyway. With nary a second thought, Alfred scooped the girl up into his arms and carried her down to sickbay.

***

The Dr. Murray that the First Mate retrieved was a graying overweight man whom Alfred recognized from seeing him in the dining hall. He looked positively annoyed to be in sickbay at the moment. The doctor scoffed as he looked at the dead girl on the table. Still, he proceeded to the table and conducted his examination. “Skin is unbroken. Bones intact. No discoloration in the throat. Rules out poison. Looks like natural causes to me. Possible stroke or heart attack.”

“That's it? That's all you're going to say?” Alfred asked indignantly. Dr. Murray had spent no more than ten seconds examining the girl. Even the laziest coroners in London were more thorough than this man.

“Ever heard of Darwin? Survival of the fittest?” Dr. Murray asked, wiping his hands with a handkerchief before stuffing it back into his pocket. “It’s the process of natural selection. A way for God to clean out the bad seeds. Now if I can finish my breakfast.”

Alfred glared at him. As a matter of fact, he had read The Origin of Species. If this sorry excuse for a doctor had done so as well, he would know that it explained precisely nothing about this girl's death. But he wasn’t about to stop Dr. Murray on his way out. The man clearly cared more about food than medicine anyway. Instead, he turned to Ms. Franklin. “Ms. Franklin, have you ever performed an autopsy?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Women aren’t even allowed to observe them,” she said. “Although I met this girl two days ago in third class. She looked healthy, there was nothing wrong with her.”

“Well, heart attack or stroke can sometimes be sudden, but I’m inclined to agree with you that either of those is highly unlikely for a child in good health,” Alfred observed. “Perhaps you might be willing to perform an actual inspection of the body, even if you can’t look inside her. Without any gentlemen present if you prefer.”

“Gladly,” Ms. Franklin replied.

“In the meantime, I would like to begin interviewing anyone who might have any insight into this girl’s death,” Alfred said.

Captain Larsen approached him and gently pulled him over to one side. “Inspector. I appreciate your assistance, but I would rather news about this not get out,” he whispered.

Alfred took a step back. “Captain, with the way word travels on this ship, I suspect the news may have leaked already. But I assure you I will be discreet. Perhaps I should start with the person who found the body.”

The Captain looked defeated, like he could not deny that Alfred was correct. “Franz, geh mit Inspector Hillinghead. Benutz einen privaten Raum.”

The man with the port wine stain on his forehead nodded at the Captain, then motioned at Alfred to follow him.

“Ah, Captain,” Alfred interrupted before leaving. “I’m afraid I don’t speak German. I will need a translator.”

“No you don’t.” The crewman’s voice was deep and rough. To anyone else, he was probably very intimidating. To Alfred, however, he was just another potential suspect. They all had their breaking points, no matter how tough they seemed at first.

Without another word, he followed the crewman out of the room.

***

“I’ve been serving under Captain Larsen for 12 years. Do you really think I would kill a passenger?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m just gathering information.” Alfred pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He had a feeling it would bother Franz immensely to see him smoking in this room. Alfred didn’t want him getting comfortable.

The room Franz had chosen was an empty stateroom in first class. It wasn't ideal. All Alfred had to work with was a writing desk, which he had rearranged so that it was directly facing the sofa, where he had the person he was interrogating sit. He really wished Franz had found something starker. It was hard to get someone disquieted when they had a nice plush sofa to sit on.

“Well, I didn’t kill that girl,” Franz insisted. “I just found her.”

“So then tell me what you found,” said Alfred, taking a puff of his cigarette.

“Exactly what you saw,” Franz said. Alfred could tell he was starting to get angry, the way his port wine stains seemed to be getting darker. “The girl on the deck, just laying there like she’d laid down herself. I thought she was asleep until I saw her eyes were open. I didn’t touch her.”

Alfred set down his notebook that Franz had allowed him to stop and get from his room on their way here. He had intended the notebook to be a catalouge of things he saw in New York, which he meant to give to Polly should she and her husband ever plan to travel there. Now he would have to buy another one when the ship made port.

“Did you see anyone else there?” Alfred asked.

“Nein,” Franz replied. He scrunched his nose as Alfred took another puff of his cigarette. “The ship has a promenade for smoking.”

“Oh I know, but I will be too busy to use it for the next few hours,” Alfred told him, which was probably true even if that wasn’t why he was smoking at this moment. “What time would you say it was when you found the body?”

“Evening rounds. I always check for passengers on deck at sundown, since it’s not safe for them to stay up there overnight.”

Sundown- body found Alfred wrote in his notebook. Sundown, that was not long after the Captain had informed the first class passengers that he was turning the ship around. Alfred knew who he had to question next.

“Thank you Franz, that’s all for now,” Alfred informed him. “But before you go back to your duties, could you bring a certain Spaniard here?”

***

Though there was plenty of room between the desk and the sofa where Alfred was having the suspects sit, the desk was shaking from the way Ángel was tapping his foot on the floor. Ángel was already fidgeting profusely, and Alfred hadn’t even asked a question of him yet. It was a stark contrast to their earlier interactions.

“I don’t know why that brute dragged me here. But please, whatever you want, leave my brother out of it.”

Alfred had tossed his cigarette overboard while Franz was retrieving Ángel for him. Ángel would feel relaxed if he thought Alfred would let him smoke in the room, and he didn’t want Ángel to start getting cozy with him. Although seeing how on edge Ángel was now, it appeared Alfred needn’t have worried about that.

“Ramiro isn’t your brother,” Alfred said, leaning over the table slightly. It wasn’t relevant to what Alfred needed to know, but he wanted Ángel to think that lying was futile. The easiest way to get a suspect to stop lying was to call them out on the lies you already knew about. Most people were not very good at maintaining a cover story.

“Okay, you’re right, he’s not my brother,” Ángel confessed. His foot tapping grew faster. “Just leave him out of this.”

“You sound awfully protective of him,” Alfred observed. Based on his interactions with him on the Prometheus, Alfred sincerely doubted that Ramiro was capable of murder. The priest was far too timid to stomach it. Still, Ángel was clearly covering for him for some reason.

“He’s…been through a lot. That’s all.” The hesitation in Ángel’s voice was not doing him any favors.

With Ángel so nervous, Alfred decided to get straight to the point. “Where were you last evening during the Captain’s debriefing?”

Ángel’s foot abruptly stopped tapping. The man was now frozen in place, like a squirrel facing down the eyes of a hawk.

“My room,” he said.

“And Ramiro? Was he also in your room?”

“Yes,” Ángel squeaked.

“Doing what?”

Ángel looked like he was about to bolt out of the room at any second. Luckily, Alfred had already accounted for that possibility by locking the door with the skeleton key that was now resting in his jacket pocket.

“Doing what, Ángel?”

Ángel’s breaths were growing quicker and beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead. Alfred had to admit, he hadn’t expected Ángel to crack this easily.

“Reading.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m sorry for coming onto you, okay?” Ángel blurted. “I thought maybe you were…you gave off this aura of…just arrest me now.” Ángel stuck out both of his arms, as if he meant to be placed in handcuffs. “Send me back to Spain when we get to England. Just leave Ramiro out of it, please.”

It was then that Alfred realized he had been giving Ángel the entirely wrong idea.

Alfred sighed, inwardly cursing himself for wasting his time on Ángel. “You weren’t wrong about that. I don’t intend to arrest you for whatever crime you think you’ve committed against me. Or Ramiro for that matter. I just want to know whether you encountered a young girl last evening.”

Ángel breathed a heavy sigh of relief, although the tension had not left him completely. “No. Ramiro and I didn’t leave our room until morning.”

Alfred stood up from the desk and pulled the skeleton key from his jacket pocket. He didn't need Ángel to tell him what they had been doing last night. He'd already seen it in Ramiro's eyes when he returned the cigarette case.

As Alfred was unlocking the door, he decided to address Ángel’s concern. “You might be right about me, but I already have someone. As do you, apparently. My advice? Cherish him while you still can.”

***

All Alfred had written down in his notebook was “Sundown- body found” and Ángel’s name, now crossed out. Alfred tapped his pencil aimlessly against the page. He should have been thinking about the murder and where he was going to find his next lead. Instead, all he could think about was Henry.

Alfred had spent the last year or so telling himself that he was over Henry. It was more wishful thinking than anything. He knew why he wasn’t. Henry was the first time that Alfred had pursued what it was he truly wanted. Alfred didn’t have the audacity, or the protection that came from wealth, to openly flirt with other men like Ángel did. He got lucky with Henry, to meet someone that not only had the same proclivities but was also interested in him personally. Hoping that it would happen again was like asking for lightning to strike twice.

It wasn’t as though Alfred would spend the rest of his life alone. He still had Charlotte, who loved him even though Alfred suspected she knew about his secret double life. And he would always have Polly. But it wasn’t quite the same.

Alfred’s thoughts were interrupted by the pounding on his door. Expecting it to be the Captain or perhaps Franz, Alfred went to open it. This time, the young crewman was there to speak to him.

“Inspector, you should see this.”

Chapter Text

Three more bodies. Either there was a quick and deadly virus spreading around the ship or there was a murderer on the loose. In either case, it was not good news for everyone on board.

“Who found them?” Alfred asked, looking at the bodies laying on the floor. Two men and one woman, all supine and splayed exactly as the little girl was.

The First Mate pointed at Franz. Alfred eyed him suspiciously.

“These aren’t the only ones,” Franz said. “Eugen found three more in crew quarters. All like this. No blood, no bruises, nothing.”

Alfred sighed. “I don’t suppose anyone saw anything.”

“You’d have to ask them,” said Franz, the annoyance evident in his voice. “I was coming back from steerage. I just spoke to the girl’s sister and I found them here.”

“You spoke to the girl’s sister?!” the First Mate exclaimed indignantly. “The Captain told you not to say anything!”

“Someone had to tell them!” Franz spat back. “They deserved to know. Were they supposed to just keep searching forever?”

“Gentlemen,” Alfred said, trying to broker some peace between the two. “I need to speak to the girl’s sister. In sickbay, preferably. This could be something contagious and I don’t want it spreading to first class if I can help it.”

“I’ll get her,” Franz grumbled.

The First Mate glared at Alfred. Alfred shrugged it off. He wasn’t interested in the ship’s politics. If the First Mate needed to discipline Franz, he could do it on his own time. “Tell the passengers to sequester in their rooms,” he directed the First Mate.

“You don’t give the orders here,” the First Mate said snippily.

Alfred was beginning to feel irked by him. “I’m the only person on this ship who has dealt with a mass death event. Unless you want to lose any more souls, I suggest you do as I ask. Sir.”

The First Mate scoffed at him, but headed off down the hallway, hopefully to speak to the Captain. Alfred looked at the bodies on the floor. First the Prometheus, now this. Alfred directed the remaining crew to remove the bodies, and headed to sickbay.

***

Franz arrived in sickbay shortly after Alfred, with a young woman heavy with child following closely behind him. The young woman had the same white blond hair and blue eyes as the deceased girl. Alfred presumed this to be her sister.

“Thank you for coming. I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Alfred said to her. Franz said something in German to the young woman, to which she responded in kind.

“She doesn’t speak English?” he asked Franz.

“The family is from Scandinavia. But she speaks some German,” Franz reported. That meant Alfred would need to use Franz as a translator. Alfred didn’t trust Franz, given his penchant for attracting dead bodies, but Franz would have to do for now, since the Captain and First Mate were busy carrying out Alfred’s instructions to sequester the passengers.

“Ask her if the girl showed any signs of illness,” Alfred directed. Franz said something to the young woman in German.

“Ada,” the young woman said. “Hun hedder Ada.”

Alfred didn’t need a translator to understand what the young woman said. “Ask her if Ada showed any signs of illness.”

After Franz spoke to her, the young woman shook her head no.

“Ask her if anyone else in her family is ill,” Alfred directed.

The young woman began to shake her head, but then stopped and said something to Franz. “She says her mother. But she’s been ill for seven months,” Franz reported.

“What kind of illness?” Alfred asked.

The girl pointed to her head. Aside from rabies, Alfred wasn’t sure what kind of brain illness would cause a quick death like the one the girl suffered. Conveniently for him, there just so happened to be a brain doctor on board. He would have to ask her as soon as he was done here.

“Has anyone been following Ada?” Alfred asked, jotting down a note about the mother’s illness in his notebook.

The young woman shook her head no.

“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?”

The young woman hesitated after Franz translated for her. “Not anymore,” Franz translated after she finally spoke.

Alfred had no reason to suspect the girl’s - Ada’s - family before. He did now. Perhaps the death of the three people in the hall and the three people in crew quarters were revenge killings. That would explain why the bodies were all laid out exactly the same. That did not explain the manner of death, nor did it explain why the newly deceased had killed Ada in the first place. Alfred pondered for a moment. To kill six people in the span of a few hours would take multiple people. And since three of the dead were crew, Ada’s family would have required the assistance of at least one crew member. Alfred had a pretty good idea of who that might have been.

“That’s all for now. But I may have more questions later,” Alfred said. Franz translated for him and then escorted the young woman out. Alfred had plenty more questions he wanted to ask the young woman. He simply didn’t trust his current translator. He would need someone else who spoke German. The Captain was the most obvious choice, but Alfred didn’t want to detract from his duties in running the ship. The First Mate perhaps, although that man seemed rather annoyed with Alfred for reasons he could not explain. The Captain was likely to know of someone who could assist him, at least.

Before finding a new translator, however, Alfred decided to follow up on his other theory. For that, he needed to pay a visit to Ms. Franklin.

Ms. Franklin allowed him into the room when he arrived, even though she indicated that the passengers were under a sequester order. Alfred was glad to hear that the First Mate had done as he asked. The boy was in the room with Ms. Franklin. He was sitting on the bed, just as he had been the last time Alfred had paid a visit, and gave him the same blank stare as before. It unnerved Alfred.

“Is he speaking?” Alfred asked Ms. Franklin.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” she answered. “Though you didn’t come to talk to me about the boy.”

“Did you find anything when you examined the girl’s body?” Alfred asked.

“Nothing. She looked healthy,” Ms. Franklin reported.

Alfred pulled out the chair from Ms. Franklin’s writing desk and sat down on it. The boy looked at Alfred as though he were displeased about it. Such a strange child, Alfred thought.

“The girl’s sister said that their mother has been ill for the last seven months with something affecting the brain. Are you aware of any infectious diseases that would alter the mind?”

“Meningitis, encephalitis, fungal infections…” Ms. Franklin paused. “You aren’t thinking that people are dying of disease, are you?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Alfred admitted. “My latest theory is that the recent deaths were revenge killings for the girl, but that doesn’t explain the death of the girl herself. I need a reliable translator before I can explore that theory further. Frankly, there are very few people I trust aboard this ship.”

Ms. Franklin nodded. “Something is definitely going on. I can’t shake the feeling that it has something to do with the Prometheus.”

“The Prometheus?” Alfred asked quizzically. “The abandoned ship?”

“Eyk said that whatever happened on that ship, the Captain must have written it down in the logbook,” Ms. Franklin replied. “He wants to go look for it. I think we ought to go with him.”

If people were dying of a disease that came from the Prometheus, then he, Ms. Franklin, and everyone else in their search party would have been infected with it. As far as Alfred knew, none of them were dead or even showing any sign of illness. Additionally, no one from steerage had been part of the search party, so they wouldn’t have been exposed to whatever it was the search party had brought over from the Prometheus.

Yet for some reason, Alfred had a hunch that Ms. Franklin might be onto something. What that something was exactly, he wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to follow up on it.

“I’ll get my coat,” said Alfred. “And there’s someone I want to bring along.”

***

“I told you, Ramiro and I were in our room all night. Whatever is going on, we don’t have anything to do with it.”

Ángel was panicking at Alfred’s appearance at his door. Alfred couldn’t blame him, since it hadn’t been that long since he had finished questioning the Spaniard. Still, Ángel was not who he was here for.

“Is he ill, Ramiro?” Alfred asked. “If not, I would like him to come to the Prometheus with us again. Ms. Franklin and the Captain think we missed something the first time and I have a feeling they are right.”

“Um. No. He’s not ill. Ramiro!” Ángel called out to his companion. Within a few seconds, Ramiro appeared at the door. Ángel said something to him in Spanish, before Ramiro’s eyes went wide and he started speaking rapidly to Ángel. “He says he doesn’t want to go back to that ship.”

“Ramiro, homines moriuntur. Auxilionem tuum postulo,” Alfred said, addressing the priest.

“Why are you speaking Latin?” Ángel asked.

“I speak neither Spanish nor Portuguese. Latin is the only language we share, limited as my knowledge of it is,” Alfred explained.

Ángel looked completely puzzled by his explanation. “What makes you think Ramiro speaks Latin?” he asked.

“All priests are trained in Latin, or so I’m told,” Alfred answered, confused as to why Ángel would not know that, given that he was traveling with a priest.

“All priests…” Ángel pondered, before turning to Ramiro and saying something in Spanish, the only words of which Alfred could clearly make out were “plan estúpido.”

“Fine,” Ángel said. “Ramiro will come on two conditions. One, no more Latin. And two, I come too.”

“Good,” said Alfred. He still didn’t trust Ángel entirely, but given his reaction to being interrogated, he had a feeling Ángel would be eager to help him catch the real killer. “I can use all the help I can get.”

***

“Dios mio,” Alfred heard Ángel mutter, as the row boat pulled alongside the gargantuan ship. It was the Spaniard’s first visit to this ship. Ramiro didn't have much time to forewarn his companion, since Alfred had whisked them off as soon as they had grabbed their outerwear. Alfred thought that Ramiro could have told Ángel what to expect as they were rowing over, but Ramiro had been silent the entire trip, his eyes flitting nervously between the Prometheus and Alfred. Hopefully, Ángel would not be as unnerved as he was during the interrogation.

Alfred was not immune to being unnerved himself. Somehow, the Prometheus was even more imposing than the first time they had rowed over to it. Nothing about it had changed - the same salty smell emanated from its orifices and every meter of it was adorned with seaweed - but it still seemed even more dead than it already was. Alfred didn't know how such a thing was possible, but he didn't like it one bit.

Once Captain Larsen had secured the row boat to the ship, the five of them climbed up to the Prometheus’ loading dock.

“Ms. Franklin and I will look for the logbook. I presume you will take these two with you, Inspector,” Captain Larsen said, gesturing at Ángel and Ramiro.

“Yes,” Alfred replied. “We will meet you back here when we've finished.”

Captain Larsen gave Alfred a nod before setting off with Ms. Franklin.

“What is it we're looking for, exactly?” Ángel asked, wrapping his coat around himself a little tighter.

“I don't know just yet,” Alfred admitted. “Anything that seems out of place. Other than the ocean detritus.”

Ángel said something to Ramiro, who responded in kind. Ángel then reported, “Ramiro says this whole ship seems out of place.”

“I can't say I disagree with him,” Alfred said. “But I mean something smaller than that. We'll start in sickbay. If this ship is laid out identical to the Kerberos, which I believe it is, I know where to find it. Follow me.”

Alfred led his companions down to the ship's sickbay, stepping over broken objects and semi-dried seaweed all along the way. It was dark in the bowels of the ship, which would not make their job easy. The lanterns they were carrying only produced a limited amount of light that could only be used to inspect items within a few centimeters of its glow. There was a reason Alfred usually didn't examine crime scenes in the dark.

Sickbay was just as much of a mess as the rest of the ship, if not moreso. The doors to the medicine cabinet were wide open and its contents emptied, meaning that there was likely to be broken glass strewn across the floor.

“Watch your step,” Alfred warned his companions.

From the entryway, Alfred could see that the medicine cabinet was also missing one of its drawers. Something appeared to be hanging out of the empty slot, but he couldn't tell what from this distance. It was as good of a place as any to start.

Alfred tiptoed across the floor around broken vials to the medicine cabinet. When he reached the cabinet, he squatted down on the floor to get a closer look at the object in the empty slot. Even close up, he could not tell what it was. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked like some sort of metallic slab, too large to be a paper weight but too plain to be a decorative object. Alfred would have thought it to be a case of some kind, were it not for the fact that it was hanging out of the cabinet by a set of electrical wires.

Alfred set down his lantern and grabbed the object to try to hold it closer to the light source. As he did, the object suddenly gave off a light of its own. The surface that was totally black a second ago was now covered in white triangles pointing in all four cardinal directions.

Startled, Alfred dropped the object. “Fuck,” he cursed, as it clamored against the wooden handles of the cabinet drawers. Alfred stared at it. The triangles were still there, giving off a faint glow.

Alfred grabbed the object again, more cautiously this time. Pulling it closer to the lantern, he ran his hand across the surface of the object to see if the triangles were engraved in its surface. It was smooth to the touch. But the triangles inexplicably disappeared and a set of words appeared in its place. “Invalid entry,” it said. Alfred touched it again. This time, the surface returned to total blackness.

Alfred did not believe in magic or curses. He thought all of the claims about people who could communicate with the dead were pure hokum. But this thing - it was not of this world. And for reasons he could not explain, Alfred was almost certain that it had something to do with the people who were dying aboard the Kerberos.

Chapter Text

Alfred awoke from his sleep with a start.

In his dream, Alfred had found himself on the streets of Whitechapel, where two bobbies had arrested a thieving young boy and his mother. The boy made a brief attempt to escape, but Alfred was able to grab him before he got far. Alfred had just handed the boy back to the officer when the street lights began to flicker. They appeared to be almost aflame when suddenly the lamp nearest him exploded. It was this explosion that aroused him.

Alfred recalled the boy and his mother - the boy was well known among the local shopkeepers for pilfering from their stores, until he died of dysentery before reaching adolescence. He did not recall ever witnessing a street lamp exploding and that was certain to be a thing he would have remembered. His mind must have twisted his memory to add an element of shock to an otherwise mundane occurrence. Alfred made a mental note to ask Ms. Franklin the meaning of it later.

He had not told anyone about what he had found in the Prometheus’ sickbay, not even Ángel and Ramiro. They would surely think him mad if they thought he suspected extraterrestrials were involved. Alfred himself wondered if he'd gone mad.

Alfred showered and made his way down to the dining hall for breakfast. To his dismay, the only person seated at his table was Mrs. Wilson. He was not in the mood for gossip today.

“Where's Ms. Franklin this morning?” Alfred asked as he pulled out his chair.

“Who knows what that woman is up to. I haven't seen her here for a meal in two days ,” Mrs. Wilson replied. “Oh, have you heard? Passengers in steerage are starting to die. More than a dozen, I'm told.”

“Yes, I've heard,” Alfred said, pointedly ignoring her while pouring himself a cup of tea. A dozen was a higher body count than when he'd left for the Prometheus last night. He hoped Mrs. Wilson was exaggerating, or else he would have a very busy day on his hands.

“Of course you have, you're a police inspector,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Do you have any theories? Some of the crewmen think there might be wolves involved.”

Alfred dropped the spoon he was using to stir in sugar, splashing tea all over his teacup saucer. “Wolves?!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly for their surroundings. “You really believe they were killed by wolves?”

“Of course not, don't be ridiculous,” Mrs. Wilson said, taking a sip of tea. “I'm sure you have a perfectly plausible explanation.”

“I'm working on it,” he muttered. Alfred decided to excuse himself, even though he was terribly hungry. He had already heard enough of Mrs. Wilson's nonsense and he had work to do. He would call on Franz to bring him an early lunch later.

***

Alfred had spent over two hours in the ship’s library pouring over every science book he could find. He supposed he ought to be interviewing more witnesses, but he simply could not get the mysterious object out of his head. Despite all of his searching, he was coming up empty handed. None of the science books contained anything that even remotely explained what it was he had seen.

Taking a bite of the sandwich a porter had brought him, Alfred’s eyes landed upon a book entitled Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf. Alfred shook his head. If he was considering that crazy theory, then he was truly out of ideas.

With his research hitting a dead end, Alfred decided it was high time he stopped obsessing over the Prometheus and return to what it was he did best: detective work. If Mrs. Wilson’s tidbit about the number of bodies was accurate, then he had a growing list of suspects to interrogate.

Alfred reshelved the books and turned off the lamp in the room. He opened the door to leave the library and stepped out into the hallway.

Except it wasn't the hallway he saw. Alfred found himself not on the Kerberos, but on the streets of Whitechapel. Two bobbies had arrested a thieving young boy and his mother. The boy made a brief attempt to escape, but Alfred was able to grab him before he got far. Alfred had just handed the boy back to the officer, when the street lights began to flicker. They appeared to be almost aflame when suddenly the lamp nearest him exploded.

Then another exploded, and another, all the way down the street. People stood around dumbfounded for only a second or two, before returning to their usual business, as if nothing had occurred.

Alfred beckoned for one of the bobbies to follow him. The two of them headed over toward Longharvest Lane, a regular hotbed of criminal activity. Normally it would be drunkards and workers of ill repute that the bobbies would catch unawares. This time, however, an officer informed him that they had found a naked corpse lying in the middle of the lane, “like he'd fallen from the sky,” he said.

As the crowd dispersed around him, the body came into view, just as it had been described. Alfred looked at it curiously. The dead man had a cut on his forehead, a tattoo on his wrist, and most curiously, a bullet hole through his left eye socket.

“Give me back my camera, it's my property.”

Alfred swiveled his head over his left shoulder. Standing there, just down the lane, was Henry, arguing with Officer Webb, one of the bobbies on the scene.

“Henry?” Alfred asked. Henry didn't answer. He didn't even seem to notice Alfred.

As Alfred stood up from the body, Officer Webb threw Henry against the brick wall and began punching him in the stomach. Alfred ran towards the Officer and grabbed his waistcoat. Officer Webb was a much larger man than he, but Alfred outranked him, and the officer knew it.

“Officer Webb. Go home at once. You're to be docked a day's wages,” Alfred insisted. Officer Webb looked none too pleased about it but skulked off anyway, though not before giving Henry one last shove.

“Are you alright, Henry?” Alfred desperately wanted to touch him, to soothe him, but he couldn't, not with a crowd of people still being escorted away from the scene.

“How do you know my name?” Henry asked.

“What do you mean, how do I know your name? Henry, we -” Alfred didn't know what to say. Five years they had spent loving each other. How could Henry possibly not recognize him? Unless…unless this was a dream. He had been aboard a ship only a few minutes ago. Although usually when he dreamt, he wasn't conscious of it. So what was going on? Why were his insecurities manifesting themselves in this manner? He needed to get out of this place and go somewhere he could clear his head. This being Longharvest Lane, there was the perfect location close by.

“I need your photographs. Take me to your studio.”

“Okay,” Henry said. “But you haven't answered my question.”

“I will answer it once I have the evidence I need,” Alfred said, finding it as good an excuse as any. “Please, lead the way.”

Henry looked at him skeptically, but turned and started walking in the direction towards the entrance to his flat. Alfred followed close behind, not that he needed to. He knew the way there by heart.

Henry looked over his shoulder at Alfred as he opened the door to his flat building. It was so unlike him to be this unsure of things. It had been he that pursued Alfred initially, not the other way around. This was a dream though, Alfred reminded himself. The person he was looking at wasn't Henry, but a manifestation of his own self conscience. Or so he surmised.

Alfred watched as Henry entered the building. It had been a long time since he'd been here. So many nights he had spent basking in the glow of the stars shining through Henry’s windows. All for it to crumble due to time and distance. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing it again, for all the pain it was sure to bring him. Alfred took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold…

Into his stateroom on the Kerberos.

Alfred looked around the room, utterly baffled. He swore he had been in the library just moments ago. He must have walked all the way here in a haze.

“Strange,” he mumbled to himself.

Alfred opened the notebook, currently sitting on his desk, that he'd been working out of. His page of notes was still largely barren, but on the following page he had the night before attempted to sketch the strange glowing device. Alfred had included some of the triangles he had seen as well, though he didn't remember the precise pattern, having only seen them for a few brief moments. Nothing about it made any sense to him. Nothing about anything on this voyage made any sense to him.

Alfred was just about to turn the page to start brainstorming when he heard a pounding on his door. Someone must have needed him urgently with the ferocity with which they were knocking. He had a terrible feeling that Franz had returned to tell him that he had found more bodies.

On the other side of the door stood not Franz, but a woman with a rifle in her hand. She barged her way into the room without a word. Three more men, all obviously from steerage from the smell of them, followed behind her. Alfred watched as they immediately began rifling through his things.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

“Apologies, Inspector.” Alfred turned to see that the First Mate had followed the pillagers into the room. “We're merely looking for the boy.”

“I could have them all arrested for interfering with a police investigation,” Alfred said.

“Your investigation is unofficial. The only people with that authority are myself and the Captain,” the First Mate responded.

“And one of you authorized this, did you?” Alfred asked.

The First Mate did not immediately respond, as he appeared to be transfixed by something. Alfred followed the First Mate’s line of sight, which led directly to his open notebook. Alfred walked over to the desk and slammed the notebook closed.

The First Mate snapped out of his trance and addressed Alfred again. “We'll be needing your keys, Inspector.”

“I'm not giving these people anything,” Alfred insisted.

“It would be better if you did.” The First Mate held out his hand expectedly. To one side, Alfred heard the sound of a gun cocking.

Alfred scowled at the First Mate. Reluctantly, he reached into his jacket pocket and handed the man his room key.

“Thank you,” the First Mate said snidely, taking the key from him.

The others filtered out of the room, not having found what they were looking for. The First Mate was the last to leave, shutting the door - and locking it - behind him.

Chapter Text

Alfred didn't think he would be needing his lock picking kit on this voyage. He had only brought it as part of a demonstration he intended to give in New York. Yet here he was, fiddling with the lock mechanism on the door to his stateroom.

Now that his key was in the hands of the First Mate, who was most likely connected to a string of murders, Alfred was no longer safe in his room. Luckily, he still had the key to the room Franz was letting him use for interrogation. That would be his new base of operations, whenever he got himself out of this one. His notebook was now safely tucked under his arm, beneath his jacket. No one else was going to touch it or even lay eyes on it from here on out.

He knew he had succeeded when he heard the distinct pop of his door unlocking. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. Step one, accomplished.

There were few people Alfred felt he could trust on the Kerberos - only three of them, in fact. Ms. Franklin was likely in hiding, with an angry mob currently after the boy. Ángel and Ramiro, however, were likely to be locked in their room as Alfred had been. After packing up his lock picking kit, that was where he headed.

Alfred knocked on the door first, lest the two men inside think that the steerage passengers had returned for them. There was no response. Alfred knocked again and shouted “It's Inspector Hillinghead! Open up!” Again there was no response, not even the sound of footsteps.

Alfred tried the door handle to see if it was locked. To his surprise, it was not.

“Hello?” he called out as he stepped into the room. Its contents had clearly been pilfered by the steerage mob, but the room was otherwise empty, with no sign of either man. Alfred frowned. He didn't know where either of them would have gone and he was not about to search the entire ship for them.

Dismayed, Alfred returned to his room. He set down the lock picking kit and grabbed his sidearm, another item he hadn't anticipated using on this trip. It probably wouldn't be much good against a barrage of rifle fire, but it was better than nothing.

This time, Alfred set off to find the Captain. With the First Mate escorting around the steerage passengers, the Captain was likely to be in one of two positions: either at the helm giving orders, or dead. He wasn't sure which option was worse. Either way, things had gotten out of control quickly. It was no wonder why the Captain had wanted to keep things quiet.

Alfred had just about reached the stairs when he saw someone come around the corner. It was the pregnant woman, and she was carrying a rifle. Alfred immediately aimed his sidearm at her.

“Ikke skyde!” she shouted, throwing both arms in the air. “Ikke skyde!”

Alfred motioned at her to put the rifle down. She seemed to understand, setting the rifle against the wall.

“Franz. Boy,” she said.

“You're looking for Franz and the boy?” Alfred asked her. Knowing she spoke no English, he made a motion with his free hand like he was peering out across the water.

The woman shook her head no. “Franz,” she said, then forcefully grabbed her wrist with her other hand. “Boy.”

Alfred lowered his sidearm. It wasn't an accident that he ran into this woman. She was looking for him. She wanted his help. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

Alfred pointed at her, then to himself, then to the stairs, hoping she would put the pieces together. She nodded, then started her way down the stairs. Alfred followed.

The woman led him all the way down to steerage, then through a series of corridors until they reached a door. Rather than opening it, she stopped, putting a finger to her lips. He watched as she leaned against the door, pressing one ear to it. Alfred did the same.

He couldn't tell what was being said inside the room, only that a woman was giving an impassioned speech in a language that he did not understand. Alfred watched the young woman as he listened, trying to gauge her reaction. So far, she hadn't given away anything.

“What's going on in there?” he asked, mostly just to himself.

The woman stopped leaning against the door. “Mor. Franz.” The woman pointed at her temple. “Boy.” The woman made a choking gesture. “Ada.”

Alfred stood up from the door as well. “They think the boy killed Ada?” That seemed like an implausible theory. Not as implausible as werewolves or aliens, but implausible nonetheless. There was something off about the boy, certainly. But in his nearly 30 years on the police force, Alfred had never heard of a child committing murder. And as healthy as he was, the boy was not large enough to kill an adult, let alone a dozen of them.

The boy was a scapegoat. But for who? Franz? That seemed plausible, though there were more people involved than just one man.

There was a small porthole in the door. Cautiously, Alfred moved to peer in. The woman who was giving the speech wasn't visible, as a crowd had gathered around her. But there was one person in the crowd who Alfred recognized.

Of course. It made sense. He was escorting steerage passengers around the ship looking for the boy. He was focused on Alfred's sketch of the object on the Prometheus. He had found the doctor who declared Ada dead of natural causes. He had not been pleased by the Captain’s decision to tow the Prometheus back to Europe. And he was consistently displeased with Alfred's insistence on conducting an investigation into it all.

The next chance he got, Alfred was placing the First Mate under arrest.

“Hey.” The young woman had stood up and was gesturing at Alfred. From inside the room, the clatter of footsteps was audible even without leaning against the door. The mob was on the move.

***

It was pouring down rain outside. Alfred wasn't sure when it had started, as he didn't recall it raining when he was in his room earlier. He wasn't sure when it had gotten dark either. It seemed like not long ago that he was listening to Mrs. Wilson gossip over breakfast.

A large crowd had amassed on the ship’s deck, probably 30 or 40 people by Alfred’s estimate. It was far too many for him and his female companion to take on alone. Most of the crowd had their backs turned to them, their eyes focused on the woman that Alfred had heard speaking in steerage earlier. The crowd was too thick and Alfred too short for him to be able to see her.

Alfred hung back by the stairwell, staying just out of sight while he debated his next move. The young woman he was with was not willing to wait, and immediately started maneuvering her way through the crowd. Alfred briefly thought about stopping her, but decided it would be futile. These were her people and she would know how to handle them. In any event, they shared no language, which made forming a joint plan impossible.

As Alfred watched the young woman move out of sight, he felt a rumbling coming from the stairwell next to him. He had a bad feeling about what was coming. Alfred cocked his gun and took a few steps back.

Captain Larsen was the first person to emerge from the stairwell. As soon as he did, he pointed a pistol into the air and fired off a shot. The Captain then charged toward the mob, followed by Ms. Franklin, Ángel, Ramiro, the two crewmen who had accompanied them to the Prometheus multiple days ago, and a number of other people Alfred did not know. None of them noticed Alfred as they poured out onto the deck.

“Stop!” Ms. Franklin shouted. “Don’t do this, please! He’s not the reason people are dying.”

There was a brief moment of silence, before the woman leading the mob shouted and someone else fired off another gunshot. Fists started flying as the Captain’s group tried to take down the mob. Alfred had too many options and not enough time. He could get Ms. Franklin to the boy, inform the Captain of the First Mate’s treachery, protect his Spanish companions, or take down as many of the mob as his sidearm would allow. He opted for the first. The boy was the most vulnerable person on the deck; everyone else would have to fend for themselves for the time being.

Alfred rushed forward from behind the stairwell. He was too late. Ms. Franklin had already started to shove her way through the crowd and Alfred quickly lost sight of her. Someone tried to throw an uppercut at him. He easily ducked it, then clocked the man on the side of the head with the butt of his sidearm, sending the man to the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred spotted the First Mate squeezing his way along the railing, trying to escape the brawl. Another member of the mob blocked Alfred from moving any further. The First Mate used that as his opportunity, and dashed into the stairwell. Not wanting the First Mate to get too far of a head start, Alfred shot the foot of the person blocking his path and shoved them aside.

Alfred was soaking wet, which made running down the staircase precarious. But he could hear the First Mate not far in front of him and Alfred did not want to let him get away. Now was not the time to be tentative. Alfred ran down the stairs as fast as his legs would allow, steadying himself on the railing to avoid falling. It was still not fast enough, as the First Mate remained always two steps ahead.

Alfred stopped abruptly when he reached the bottom. For some inexplicable reason, the First Mate was just standing there, as if he were waiting for Alfred.

“You're under arrest,” Alfred barked, aiming his sidearm at the man’s head.

The First Mate pulled an object from his pocket. It was another object that Alfred had never seen before. There was one familiar thing about it, however. It had triangles printed on its face.

The First Mate swiped his thumb across the face of the device. “I knew adding you to the simulation was a mistake,” he said.

“What-” was all Alfred could get out before everything went black.

Chapter Text

“How did things work out with the inspector? Did he find the key?”

“I'm afraid not. He had more in common with the Spaniards and didn't get as close to Maura as we hoped,” Sebastian reported, bending the truth only a little. Henry didn't need to know how close they had come to being discovered.

“Then remove him,” Henry said. “We'll find the key some other way.”