Devil's Cape had in fact been founded by pirates. The masked pirate St. Diable, scourge of the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico, and occasionally the waters of South America, Africa, and even Europe, had built a fortress in Louisiana to house his loot, his men, and his slaves. The fortress had ultimately grown to a city that rivaled its nearby sister, New Orleans, in size. Once years earlier at 221B Baker Street, Holmes had declared it the most corrupt and dangerous city on the face of the planet. "It is a city that swallows law, Watson," he had said. "That embraces corruption on such a grand scale as to make it almost a separate nation unto itself."

Lestrade's nose wrinkled. "So that is your conclusion, Holmes? The Friesland Friesland was attacked by pirates from Devil's Cape?" was attacked by pirates from Devil's Cape?"

Holmes nodded. "St. Diable, the city's founder, is long dead. But a succession of crime lords has followed, ruling the city from behind the scenes. The most recent, O Jacare, or 'the Alligator,' adopted St. Diable's style of piracy wholesale. After the demise of my long-time adversary Professor Moriarty, I had occasion to review some of his correspondence. Moriarty and Jacare had developed a friendship and wrote each other about such diverse topics as Calvinism, forgery, fencing, the ancient game of Go, and how best to dispose of me. Jacare is cunning and ruthless, certainly capable of orchestrating this ma.s.sacre if the motivation was strong enough, and I believe it was."

Lestrade snorted. "The attack ended many lives, but his pirates didn't even get what they came for."

"Didn't they?" Holmes smiled thinly. "The Jacare sobriquet is misleading. For while he is certainly as fierce as an alligator, he is much less single-minded. He has a labyrinthine brain. I shouldn't be surprised if he had several goals in this single attack." He held up a finger. "The first was the subterfuge with the uniforms. Had we not pierced this veil, it could have led to a war between Denmark and the Netherlands, and quite possibly other nations in the region."

Powell frowned. "But a naval war is a grave danger for pirates. Patrols increase. More warships head to sea." He shook his head.

"Yet the war creates predictable patterns," Holmes said. "The escalation you describe is regionalized. Other areas become more vulnerable. By creating conflict here, O Jacare could create opportunity elsewhere." He held up a second finger. "Your inventory confirmed that none of the works of art had gone astray. That was the element of your tale that originally struck me as most intriguing. But consider forgeries. If the pirates indeed stole several paintings, but left reasonable facsimiles in their place, it might take years before the truth came out. I predict further investigation will verify this." He held up a third finger. "The key to the third and final motive, however, lies in the cabin before us."

I stared past him. "You said the Americans were not in league with the pirates, Holmes," I said. "So they were his targets? Who were they?"

Holmes smiled slyly, a magician about to commence with the most astounding stage of his illusion. "You should know, Watson. After all, you have beheld them with your own eyes."

"What!"

"Examine the room, Watson. Point out the remarkable details."

I was about to retort that I saw nothing remarkable about the room at all, but stopped myself. I would never outpace Holmes, but if I applied my own powers of observation carefully, I could at least keep from being left behind. I pursed my lips. "The chair," I said. "The cots would not be comfortable for sitting, yet there is only a single chair."

"Go on."

I stared at the cots, then blushed. "The men's cots are pushed closely together," I said.

"And what do you conclude from that, Watson?"

"Well, I say, Holmes!" I blushed further. "I think that should be quite clear without speaking it aloud. It's hardly unheard of, after all, even in London."

"Why, Watson! How cosmopolitan of you!" Holmes chuckled. "Though somewhat off the mark. Did you notice the shoeprints in the rug? And the depression the chair makes in it?"

With Holmes stepping aside, I walked into the room, careful to avoid the rug. "The depression is quite deep," I said. "Whoever sat in it must have been heavy. The footprints are deep as well," I added, "though the shoes are not particularly large-perhaps my own size." I blinked. "And there's only the one pair."

"Excellent!" Holmes said. "Now, Inspector Lestrade. Would you please examine the chest wound of the pirate in the doorway?"

Lestrade crouched and looked as carefully as he could without touching the body. Long experienced with Holmes's oddities, he even sniffed the dead man's chest. Finally he stood. "Clean shot to the heart. No gunpowder on the shirt, so the shot came from several feet away at least."

Holmes looked at me. "Watson?"

Had I not known from Holmes's expression that Lestrade had missed something, I would have drawn the same conclusion as the inspector. As it was, I continued staring at the fatal wound for close to a minute before drawing back in surprise. I took Holmes's excellent magnifying lens and looked more closely. "Good G.o.d," I said.

"What is it?" Lestrade demanded.

"The injury is nearly circular, but not quite," I said. "This man wasn't shot a single time. He was shot four times, all in the same spot, all at more or less the same moment."

"How is that possible?" he asked.

"Watson," Holmes said. "Surely you remember now where you saw these men? That circular we noted at Piccadilly Circus this Sat.u.r.day past, some twenty feet south of the haberdashery?"

"Holmes! The Siamese twins?"

"Ja.n.u.s and Harvey Holingbroke. The circular proclaimed them the greatest sensation and greatest marksmen of the Wild West."

I looked at the fallen pirate. "Four shots aimed in perfect synchronization," I said. I turned to Holmes. "I read about them in one of my medical journals the next day, as a matter of fact," I said. "They are called parapagus twins. Their upper torsos are separate, but they share the same body below that point." I nodded back at the room. "That explains the single chair, the cots, the deep depressions from their shared weight."

"And the signatures," he said. "The 'J' in John Smith was quite bold and confident, while the rest of the name was more hesitant. And the 'Har' in Harold Smith was similar."

"For Ja.n.u.s and Harvey," I said, understanding. "Each hesitated when he began to depart from his own name." I looked at Powell. "The brothers made a fortune mining for gold in California and retired to Devil's Cape."

Powell glowered. "Devil's Cape," he said, shaking his head. "You are familiar with the story of Lady Danger?" he asked.

If Holmes was surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation, he didn't show it. "She was a privateer," Holmes said. "A masked heroine who served the English court and often crossed blades with St. Diable. She disappeared near Devil's Cape more than a century ago. Her real name was Lady Penelope Powell." He raised his eyebrows. "Ah," he said.

Powell nodded. "My great, great aunt," he said.

"I read a biography of her as a boy," I said gently. "It suggested that she and St. Diable were in love."

Powell spat upon the floor. "The man was sc.u.m," he said. "Some of the stories make him out to be a glamorous rogue, but a masked pirate is still a d.a.m.ned murderer. He undoubtedly killed Great Aunt Penny. They say that she loved him. But how could you love someone you worked against? An adversary? It makes no sense to me. Hogwash."

I couldn't help but glance at Holmes. He knew something of the attraction an adversary could have, his own experience with "the woman," as he called her, the mysterious Irene Adler.

But he merely nodded at Powell and walked down the pa.s.sageway to the exit.

"O Jacare arranged all of this to murder these twins?" Lestrade asked.

"Murder would have been simpler," Holmes said. "Though I'm sure that the a.s.sault on the ship appealed to Jacare's pirate instincts, his goal was clearly to kidnap the brothers while they were traveling incognito, ensuring that no one knew that he has them in his power, or indeed that they are still alive."

"But what does he want them for, Holmes?"

"When Dr. Watson and I get to Devil's Cape," Holmes said, "we shall ask him."

I had a.s.sumed that the long summer boat journey, particularly the sweltering leg that took us through the Caribbean Sea and into the Gulf of Mexico, had prepared me for the heat of Devil's Cape, but I was wrong. It was a tangible, constant presence, like walking through water.

Holmes and I emerged from the steamship that had carried us there-not that different, really, than the Friesland Friesland-squinting into the sun, having left our trunks behind with instructions for them to be transported to a nearby inn where I had arranged rooms. The docks were a swarm of faces and voices. A crew of black men was singing a chantey while unloading our ship. Three Chinamen hawked cool beverages and roasted nuts, arguing about prices and stirring cinnamon-coated pecans over small pails of hot coals. Ma.s.ses of people milled back and forth, shoving and swearing. I heard traces of French and Portuguese and Hindi. I stared openmouthed, taking it in.

"Not so fast," Holmes said, darting out an arm and catching a street urchin by the ear. The lad, blond-haired and tan as leather, winced as Holmes took hold of his elbow and forced a wallet out of his hand. My own wallet, I recognized. "Tut, tut," Holmes said, handing my wallet back to me, and I wasn't certain if he was scolding the boy or me. He gave the boy a quick kick in the rump and sent him scurrying off.

I nodded my thanks. "Not unlike one of the Baker Street Irregulars," I said. "Where to, Holmes?"

He pointed at a black hansom drawing up, pulled by an Appaloosa horse. "I believe our transport has arrived," he said.

The driver stepped from the cab and swaggered to us. He was smartly dressed in a tailored suit, the jacket open in front, a diamond gleaming from a ring on his pinkie. He had tanned skin, a handlebar moustache, and a confident smile. A golden police badge shaped like a sail was pinned to his jacket. "Holmes and Watson, right?" he asked in what I'd later come to identify as a Cajun accent. "I hope you not been standing here too long, you." He shook Holmes's hand, then mine, his grip forceful enough to grind my knuckles together. "My boss, he ask me to show you around town real nice and send you back where you belong, see," he said. "Now, my cousin, he ask me to help you any way I can." He grinned, showing an infectious smile and a chipped tooth. "I'll leave you to guess which one I'll listen to best. You got some boys bringing your things to your rooms?"

I nodded.

"That's good," he said. "We can start right quick, then, though I fear your entire trip's been a waste." He patted the hansom. "Hop in, gentlemen," he said. We climbed inside, and he climbed above us, taking the reins. Then his head popped up in front of us, upside down, as he looked through the front of the cab. "Aw, h.e.l.l," he said. "I forgot to introduce myself." He smiled again. "I'm Deputy Chief Jackson Lestrade. Welcome to Devil's Cape."

As the hansom rolled away from our ship, we pa.s.sed several older sailing vessels permanently lashed to the dock. They were brightly painted and adorned with pirate flags and cannons.

"Part of our history," Deputy Chief Lestrade said with a chuckle. "One or two of them even sailed under St. Diable's flag. That one there"-he leaned down and pointed at one decorated in garish pinks and purples, a rather undressed figurehead on the prow-"is Madame Beth's Bordello. Finest in all of Louisiana. Would you care to stop?"

We demurred, and his chuckle bubbled into a guffaw. A scandalously dressed woman waved a feather boa from the deck of the ship and called out, "Come here, Jackie," but Lestrade pressed on.

He led us out of the wharfs up a bl.u.s.tery road he identified as Cap de Creus Street. The wind did little to cut the heat. As we made our way through Devil's Cape's notoriously curving, crooked streets, we pa.s.sed bars, a single ornate church decorated with mismatched gargoyles, and shops selling voodoo curses, hardware, and firearms. One pharmacy quite frankly advertised its selection of cocaine, heroin, and opium. Taking it in, Holmes's eyes took on a particular focus.

"Did you know to expect this Lestrade, Holmes?" I asked.

Holmes blinked slowly, then turned his attention to me, his lips twitching in sardonic acknowledgment of my distraction. "A cousin to our own ally," he said. "The inspector mentioned him before we left. He cabled ahead as a courtesy."

"Quite fortuitous," I said.

Holmes frowned. He lowered his voice to a faint whisper I could barely hear over the clopping of the Appaloosa's hooves. "I have made unkind a.s.sessments about the intellect of our own Inspector Lestrade in the past, but he is at heart an honest man. Do not a.s.sume the same of his cousin. If you expect that this Lestrade is a viper-or, to respect the fauna of our location, a copperhead-poised to strike at the earliest opportunity, you would not be far from the mark."

I glanced nervously upward, as though to see this Lestrade through the roof of the cab, but of course Holmes would never be overheard unless he intended it.

"His clothing, that ring. These are not the marks of an honest policeman," he said. "I may be doing him a disservice, but it is wisest to show him only whatever trust he earns. He is likely in the employ of O Jacare or someone like him." He leaned out of the cab, slapping the roof smartly to draw Lestrade's attention. "I presume by our course that you intend to take us to your home for dinner?" he asked.

Lestrade yanked the reins, jerking us to a stop at the edge of the street, and I noted for the first time the rough scars along the horse's back. The man vaulted down beside us, eyes wide in astonishment.

"I have but studied a map and used some elementary deduction," my companion explained. "The Holingbroke brothers' estate is to the northeast, near the Chien Jaune River. The police headquarters is in Government Center, also north of here. We pa.s.sed our inn several minutes ago and also half a dozen serviceable taverns and restaurants. Since we turned off of Cap de Creus Street, you have headed almost exclusively eastward, away from any other logical destination."

Lestrade flashed that chipped tooth again. "You really are all they say." My eyes were drawn to the ring Holmes had mentioned, and the cut of his clothing. "My wife, she'll treat you to an etouffee make you sit up and take notice," he said. He was broader and more handsome than our own Lestrade, more confident and charming. But his eyes were hard, and a chill swept through me despite the heat.

Lestrade's home was long and narrow, one and a half stories raised nearly six feet above the ground on brick piers. "Keeps us safe in floods," he told us. "And the air underneath cools us." The house had a gabled roof and curved, ornate bra.s.s decorations. It was the largest and finest along his street, and did nothing to disprove Holmes's theory.

Madame Lestrade was a stout, handsome woman, her accent so thick I could scarcely recognize that we spoke the same tongue. She greeted us warmly and then retired to the kitchen, where we could hear her instructing her two menservants in hushed, urgent tones.

"My cousin cabled me," Lestrade said, "that you think O Jacare rustled up an attack on a European ship? All to kidnap Ja.n.u.s and Harvey Holingbroke?" He clucked his tongue dismissively.

"I'll admit that it seems rather elaborate," Holmes said. "Yet the facts support it." He described the evidence in detail. By the time he was finished, the servants had dished up the promised etouffee. It was a dish of shrimp, peppers, onions, rice, and spices so flavorful and fiery that I feared poison, yet Holmes dug into it with relish.

"Even saying that someone from our city did this," Lestrade said. "Why suspect O Jacare?"

Holmes arched an eyebrow. "Oh, come now, Lestrade," he said. "Jacare is the current heir apparent to St. Diable. Every strand of crime committed in and from this city leads into a web, with Jacare the spider at its center. It could be no one else."

"But why?"

Holmes took another spoonful of etouffee, then dabbed at his lips with his napkin. "I was hoping, deputy chief, that you could tell me. Do they hold some sort of power over him?"

"Ja.n.u.s and Harvey? Nah. They could shoot him, I suppose. They're real good at that. But they'd have to find him first, and he's a slippery one."

"You know the Holingbrokes, then?"

"Oh, sure. They're real popular, them, despite being a couple of freaks."

"Popular enough that he might prefer it not be known that he engineered an attack on them?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "They're charming, and near rich as Rockefeller."

"The gold?"

"Sure. They found a mountain of it out in California a while back."

"And their fortune is kept in a bank?"

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. He looked toward the kitchen and snapped, "Them sausages coming out anytime soon?" He pushed his plate away. "Nah," he said. "Every once in a while, they show up with a new gold bar. Got their stash hidden away somewhere good."

Holmes smiled with satisfaction. "Motive enough," he said.

"You don't understand. O Jacare, he doesn't need money, not that bad. He got more than he can spend."

"I understand him better than you might think," Holmes said. "It is not the gold he seeks, but the satisfaction of the mystery solved."

It was late when Lestrade pulled the hansom up to our inn. The heat hadn't subsided, and I looked forward to a bath and sleep.

"You still want to search for O Jacare tomorrow," Lestrade said, "come down to the station and I'll help you as I can. Like as not, though, if he has them, they'll be dead."

Holmes stepped out of the cab. "We followed quickly on the heels of whatever ship Jacare sent to Europe," he said. "They only need to hold out against his scrutiny for a short time. And I have set things in motion." He turned to me. "What time is it, Watson?"

I consulted my watch. "A quarter past ten o'clock."

"Ah, then. They shall be free by midnight."

Lestrade gaped. "You know where they are, then?"

Holmes smiled. "An a.s.sistant of mine does," he said. "He shall take care of the details on our behalf." He bowed slightly. "Good night, deputy chief."

Lestrade looked shaken as he climbed back into his carriage and snapped the reins.

"Holmes!" I said, watching Lestrade depart. "Who is this a.s.sistant you're referring to?"