‘My name’s Will,’ he said. ‘If you helped me, I’d—’
‘I don’t have the key,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t help you even if I did. This is Simon’s ship. He wouldn’t have you here unless you crossed him.’
‘He’s going to kill me,’ said Will.
Everything seemed to stop. She could hear the sounds of fighting as she looked at the boy’s bruises, the dried blood on his face and shirt. ‘Simon doesn’t kill people.’ But as she said it, she felt a pit opening up underneath the words, no longer quite certain of anything.
‘You could find the key,’ said Will. ‘I could slip out during the fight. No one would ever know you were the one who—’
‘Check every inch of the hold.’ A man’s voice. They both jerked their heads towards it.
A woman answered him, ‘If Marcus is here, we’ll find him, Justice.’
Will realised at the same moment she did.
‘Hey!’ called Will. ‘Over here!’
‘No—！’ She spun around to shut him up – too late. The two came striding around the corner.
Stewards.
It was her first time seeing them up close, in full armour and white livery with a silver star. Will’s eyes went wide.
The first of them was a tall man who looked like he might be Chinese. He was even more imposing than the others, wearing an expression of purpose and concentration. Justice. Beside him was the woman who had spoken. She was a similar age to Justice, perhaps twenty, her voice containing the hint of a French accent. They both wore the same white surcoat over silver armour. They both had the same cut of hair: shockingly long for a man, half pulled back from their faces with a tie, to then fall loose down their backs.
They both had swords. Not the thin whippy cutlasses that brigands still sometimes used to overrun barges on the river, but two-handed broadswords, the kind that could cut a man in half.
Her thoughts raced to her brother. Tom. She remembered how easily the Stewards had killed Simon’s sailors, cutting through their bodies like butter. If two of them were down here, what was happening above deck?
Violet was grabbing a broom handle and stepping forward to stand in their way before she knew what she was doing.
Her heart was pounding. Facing her, the Steward called Justice was overwhelming, not only handsome but radiating nobility and power. Violet felt small, insignificant. She stayed where she was anyway. Tom was brave, she thought. If she could slow them down, even for a moment, she could buy her brother time above deck. Her eyes met Justice’s.
‘It’s not Marcus,’ said the French Steward, holding Justice back by the arm. ‘Simon’s keeping prisoners down here. A girl and a boy. Look.’
‘If you let me go, I’ll give you anything you want,’ said Will.
Justice looked past Violet towards Will, and back again. ‘We’ll help you,’ said Justice. ‘We’ll help both of you. But right now it’s not safe on deck. You have to stay down here while we clear this place out—’
‘Clear it out?’ said Violet. He thinks I’m a prisoner, like that chained-up boy. Her hand tightened on the broom handle.
‘Justice. There’s something else down here.’ The French Steward had taken a step away from the three of them into the dark of the hold, with a strange expression on her face. ‘Not the prisoners, something—’
Justice frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, can’t you feel it? It’s something dark and old, and it feels—’
Violet could feel it. It was the same sensation that she’d had coming down into the hold, like there was something down here that she didn’t want to go near, and she was closer to it now than she had been on the stairs.
She knew that Simon brought artefacts back from the digs he had scattered across the empire. She had even seen some of them, sneaking after Tom on the days he did business on the docks. Pieces of armour in iron caskets. Strange chunks of stone. The broken-off limb of a statue. Simon’s operations were a constant stream of digging and taking. What if the item Tom had procured was here, what if it was what was causing her to feel—
‘It’s the reason for all the guards,’ said Justice grimly. ‘It’s not Marcus they’re protecting, it’s something on this ship—’
A pistol shot rang out from the stairs.
Everything after that happened in a jumble. ‘Get down!’ Justice shouted, throwing himself between her and the pistol. She was enveloped by his warmth, his body curving over hers protectively. She felt him jolt, with a sound of pain through gritted teeth. When he pushed her back a second later, she could see the red stain blossoming on his shoulder.