Prologue
Shrouded in fog,still as death upon the dark water, the ship lay in wait.
As dawn's chill seeped through the boy's thin rags, he fought off a shiver and kept the snarl fixed upon his face. Inside, he was trembling worse than a leaf.Whatever happens, show no fear. Be brave. Look strong.Ten years in the stews had taught him what happened to the weak. Once, he'd been foolish enough to hope for mercy, and now he was paying the price.
"Step lively now, or you'll feel the lash of this 'ere whip!"
The guard's warning prodded him to fall in line with the other convicts. He stumbled up the gangplank to the ship, irons clanking heavily against his ankles. He kept his head down; he couldn't look at the looming hell that was his future. The hulk's fetid breath wafted over him, and his insides lurched. Misery—he knew it by stench. Had lived and breathed it in the flash house he'd called home.
"Move on," the guard shouted.
Heart thudding, the boy realized he'd reached the ship's entrance. His feet wouldn't move; for some reason, he couldn't make them.
"What 'ave we 'ere? A troublemaker?" A hand wrenched him up by the scruff, and the boy found himself staring into the guard's cruel eyes. "Well, 'ere on the hulks there's a place for guttersnipe like you—to the Tiger's Den!"
The boy struggled, lashing out futilely with his arms and legs while the other prisoners roared with laughter. The guard dragged him aboard the ship and to a trapdoor crisscrossed with chains. Releasing the padlock, the man shoved him toward the gaping hold.
"No!" Despite his earlier vow to be brave, the plea was wrung from the boy's lips. He couldn't return to the darkness, he couldn't. "Please, sir, have mercy—"
With a rough thrust, the guard sent him down the steps into the shadows. Frantically, the boy tried to climb back up toward the door, but the square of light disappeared with a slam. The chains clanked, sealing him in. Trapping him in the stinking black bowels. Memories of darkness spiraled around him: the ash-choked stacks, the master's chamber. A sob wedged in his throat.
"What's this? Fresh meat to feed the tigers, eh?"
A match rasped, and the shadows below parted to a horror dream. Monsters emerged from the cramped pit below, gathering at the base of the steps, hunger gleaming in the slits of their eyes. Dizzy with panic, the boy banged his fists against the door. "Let me out. Please let me out—"
A hand grabbed his elbow, and he screamed, kicking out blindly as he was dragged down the steps. A slap snapped his head back. Rust exploded in his mouth.
"Shut up, you l'il bugger." His captor had a snake-like face and oozing, blistered lips. "Else I'll tear your tongue out an' eat it for supper, you 'ear me?"
A low voice cut in. "Leave off the boy, Sykes."
"Or else what?" Through a haze of horror, the boy felt Sykes' fingernails biting into his arm. "I got to the pretty brat first, so shove off."
A figure separated from the shadows. A huge man, bearded and menacing. "Let 'im go," he said in tones rumbling as thunder, "and I'll spare your neck."
Sykes hissed, and the boy saw something flash in his hand. "Get out o' my way before I gut you like a fish."
"'Ave it your way, then." The man made a beckoning movement.
Blade raised, Sykes went at him. The man dodged the first swipe easily. Paralyzed, the boy watched as the two grappled while the other convicts formed a ring around them, chanting for blood. Sykes gave a wild swing, and the crowd roared when the blade nicked his opponent in the arm. The bearded man sidestepped the next attack, turning so quickly that Sykes plunged off balance. He caught Sykes's arm and wrenched it; the knife clattered to the ground.
"Don't 'urt me. The boy's all y-yours. Swear it on my mother's grave," Sykes whimpered, his face contorted with pain.
"Get out o' my sight," the other man said with quiet menace, "before I change my mind."
With a shove, he released Sykes, who clambered away. Grumbling at the lack of bloodshed, the other prisoners disbanded into the shadows. The boy shrank back as the man approached. All he could see was the thicket of whiskers, and he remembered another man. Another hell.
"You alright, lad?"
Blinking, breathing fast, the boy could not find his voice.
"You ain't daft, are you? You won't last long, if you are." The man's lip curled in disgust. "Sykes's not the only one in 'ere with a taste for—"
At that moment, the boy caught a flicker of movement behind the broad shoulders. Words burst out of him on instinct. "Behind you!"
The man pivoted. Two brutes faced him this time. Quick as lightning, the man reached to his boot. Steel glinted in his hand.
"Now I've a thirst for blood," he snarled. "One at a time or both at once?"
