Only Tom and Justice were still fighting, locked in battle like two titans. In the black light of the flame, Justice hauled Tom up out of the water, silhouetted for a moment, hitting Tom hard enough that he reeled, then hitting him again, and again.
Tom! The water was up to her waist and rising – Violet was wading to reach them, pushing hard through water as the black flame arced nightmarishly. It was very dark, most of the lamps jostled out and much of the cargo now floating, like nighttime icebergs.
She didn’t have a weapon; she just threw herself bodily at Justice, knocking them both backward into the water. There was a ringing crack as the sharp corner of a floating crate hit the base of Justice’s skull. His hands instantly went slack, and he floated, facedown and unmoving.
Violet was already splashing towards her brother.
‘Tom!’ she called out. ‘Tom!’ Tom’s face was white, unconscious – but he was breathing, and she could get him out of here. Alive, she thought, cradling Tom in her arms. But for how long?
She looked up desperately for a way out.
And saw the boy. Will.
He had the sword in his sights and was trying to get to it, rather than cowering back from the flame. He was going to try to sheathe it, she realised as her skin prickled over. The same idea that she had abandoned as impossible. Her first instinct had been to save her brother. Will’s had been to save everyone.
He was making gritty, determined progress. Straining against his chains towards the sword looked like straining against a battering force, and he was injured and weak. He’s going to make it, she thought in stunned disbelief, even as she squirmed at the thought of what it would be like to touch that horrifying weapon. At what might happen to Will. She had seen men collapse and vomit up black blood. What would it do to someone who touched it?
Will’s outstretched hand was six inches from the sword when he hit the limit of his chains.
He can’t reach it.
He couldn’t close the gap, his whole body straining. Unable to get to him, she remembered the moment when he’d begged her to unchain him. She had refused. She had damned them all: Will, Tom, even the captain, she thought. They were all going to die here in this hold.
And then she saw something that shouldn’t have been real. The sword hilt began turning towards Will, rotating until it faced him. Then, from one blink to the next, it was in his hand, as if it had jumped the six inches into his grip. That isn’t possible.
As soon as he had it, he drove it back into its sheath.
Everything stopped; the flame went out. The sickness ended, leaving her gasping. In the new ringing silence, the moans and sobs of the terrified survivors were suddenly audible, along with the rushing sound of water and an ominous groaning from the hull.
Violet was staring at the boy in disbelief. He pulled it to him. He pulled the sword to him with an invisible hand—
The boy was shaking. Curled over the sword, his eyes opened full of agonising struggle, as if it was taking everything he had to keep it sheathed. Just for a moment, he looked right at her.
‘I can’t hold it!’ he said to her. The sword was fighting him. ‘Go!’
‘Throw it!’ she said. ‘Throw it into the river!’
‘I can’t!’ said Will, the words forced out through pain. He looked like he was barely holding on. ‘Get everyone out!’
At the look in his dark eyes, she understood what he was telling her. If she could clear the ship, he would hold the sword here as long as he could. As long as he had to.
She nodded and turned.
‘Go!’ she said, roughly shoving at one of the stupefied men until he stumbled towards the stairs. The hold was a wrecked space rapidly filling with water. The exit was still half-blocked; three of Simon’s men were pulling desperately at the giant wooden beam that jammed it. At least half a dozen others were gasping and coughing, dragging themselves through the water, while several closer to her were clutching on to crates, just staring at the boy, their faces slack and eyes wide.
Others were dead. She had to get everyone out. Had to force her way around the lifeless bodies with Tom, pushing others through the water towards the exit. Some of the bodies were bloated and disfigured, as if the black flame had twisted them. She didn’t want to look at them. She saw a Steward floating facedown, and with a jolt recognised Justice’s black hair, floating in a dark corona around his head.
‘Go, there isn’t time!’ She grabbed another man by the shirt and hauled him forward. She couldn’t bear to be in here another moment, couldn’t stand to be near the repellant sword. Following behind the last of the staggering, drenched men, she took up Tom’s body and heaved its awkward wet weight up the stairs, until she finally emerged out of the hold onto the deck.