Chapter 15
Chapter
McGann, McNeil, and Rogers are still poring over the navigation tables when the alarm comes clanging through the ship. McGann’s head snaps up at the sound of the shouts erupting through the calm afternoon.
No.
The cry of “Fire!” is the most feared sound on a sailing ship because it represents the worst disaster possible at sea.
A bloody goddamned fire.
It’s the last thing they need.
“Fire stations,” McGann yells, and the three men quickly break apart.
McNeil goes back to the wheel to ensure they remain on course, Rogers to direct the men into the fire teams, and McGann to find Catherine.
Catherine, Catherine, Catherine.
Her name repeats in his head amid the shouts of the men responding to the alarm.
He takes the rungs of the ladder below deck two and three at a time and then he rushes through the long passageway to their cabin.
Must find her.
He takes note of his surroundings as he flies past. Rogers’s door is closed, the crew berths are empty, and there’s something dark smearing the deck.
Is that blood? What in hell?
He throws open the door to their shared room, but she isn’t inside.
“Menace!?!”
She isn’t there.
Where is she?
He can hear the crew moving into positions and Rogers giving commands. McGann has personally overseen their training for this eventuality, drilling the men over and over on the protocol for fire. He trusts them to take their stations and do what needs to be done.
“Menace!” he yells again as he searches their cabin and water closet, and then makes his way out into the passageway.
He begins at one end and works his way down to the other, methodically examining each space as he goes.
Find her.
Save her.
“Fire in the mess!” He hears Rogers yell, and then the scuffle of men and boots as the buckets are hauled to the mess to douse it.
But then, “fire in the rigging!” And, “fire in the berthing!”
What in hell?
There are fires everywhere. And no Catherine. He can hear the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Where is she?
“Update?” McGann yells to Rogers as they pass in the corridor. “Three suppressed, the men are working on a fourth. Where are they coming from?”
“I’ve no idea,” McGann answers as he hurries down the ladder to the ship’s hold.
There are barrels and barrels of whisky stored there.
If even a single flame hits the alcohol, they’ll go up worse than if he doused the decks in paraffin oil.
He shudders at the memory of how fast that fire had moved aboard the East Indiaman vessel.
And how quickly the whole ship had gone down after.
If one of the fires had been in the hold, they’d have lost the ship, their livelihoods, and probably their lives already.
“Menace!” he roars again, flinging himself down the last few ladder steps.
It’s quiet and dark there in the hold, removed from the noise and chaos of the upper decks. No sound, no movement. He sniffs the air. No smoke.
“Lass?” he calls out, his senses on alert.
Four fires, seemingly random but none down here, where it’s most dangerous. It doesn’t make sense, but he can’t spend the time puzzling it out now.
“Menace?”
And then he sees her, one slender hand on the ground, peeking out from behind a whisky barrel. He drops to his knees, his stomach in his throat. She lies face down on the deck, the back of her head bloodied from a blow.
He holds his breath and presses his fingertips to her wrist, searching for a pulse. His own heart hammers in his chest so hard he almost doesn’t feel the light throb beneath her skin. But he does, finally, he does.
There it is.
Thank Elphame.
He keeps his fingers where they are a moment longer, just to be certain.
Her pulse. It’s there.
And then he lays a hand on her back, where he can feel her chest rise and fall with her breath. She’s alive, and he almost weeps in relief. He reaches for her, scooping her up and out of the pool of liquid she lies in.
Is it water?
His fingers brush through it.
No—oil.
He touches it to his nose. Not paraffin. Not an accelerant. Perhaps a leak from the barrels, and she slipped, struck her head?
He’ll puzzle it out later. What’s important right now is getting her back above deck and checking in with Rogers. Something has gone very wrong on his ship today, and he is bloody well going to find out what.
“Menace,” he whispers, carrying her in his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”