Wink nods vigorously.
“Thanks, lads.” It doesn’t feel right imposing on Charlotte, but the thought of spending the night in the same room as Bo makes my chest flutter. I run my fingers through my clipped hair, wishing feelings could be trimmed away as easily as a few locks. As if sensing my discomfort, Bo stores his tools under his bunk and busies himself in his seabag.
“Charlotte’s place will stink less and be safer,” Jamie says. “How about you take my place at dinner?”
Wink and Olly launch themselves off the top bunk. I pull down the wall chair and sit heavily. “No. I don’t have an appetite, and I want to stay put somewhere awhile.”
He nods and hefts the slipper bag. “I’ll see if I can store the money with the purser.”
Bo gives me a brief smile before following the others out. “Lock the door, Stowaway. And congratulations on the meeting.”
I’ve only known him a few days, but our brief moments together have already etched themselves in my mind. How long before time rubs them away? The less I think about him, the faster it’ll happen.
A bright knock interrupts my brooding. When I open the door, Drummer’s narrow face peers back at me. He’s holding a piece of White Star stationery. He glances into the room. “By yourself?”
“Yes. Aren’t you going to dinner?”
He shakes his head. “I am needed in Boiler Room 6.” Fireman Brandish must need Drummer’s help to put her “on the boil” again. “But first, I am writing a letter to my wife, Chin Chin. I want to end the letter with something”—he clears his throat—“poetic.”
I force back a smile as Drummer fiddles with his paper, a sheepish look on his face.
“What do you think?”
I take the letter from his suddenly reluctant hands, smooth out the wrinkles, and read the last line.
Thoughts of you float across my mind like lotus petals on the pond.
The simple verse presses a tender hand on my heart. “I think it’s perfect.”
I lock the door after Drummer leaves so I can change. Marigold Fantasy sticks to me like damp seaweed. Pulling it off, I discover a label stitched to the waist stay that readsLucile, Ltd. Why did April send me one of her competitor’s dresses? Or maybe Lucy sent the dress. But if so, how did she get it into April’s suitcase? I snap it out and hang it on a wall hook. I suppose her kind doesn’t need to provide explanations to the likes of me.
I slip on Jamie’s spare shirt and stick a leg in his extra set of trousers. The door latch clicks. I stumble backward, my legs tangling in the trousers. “Who—?”
Skeleton appears and locks the door behind him.
“H-how dare—”
With sickeningly quick movements, Skeleton pounces on me, knocking me to the ground and clamping a hand over my mouth. My head bangs against the linoleum. “Don’t you scream, if you know what’s good for you.”
31
I try to scream anyway. But Skeleton weighs more than his skin-and-bones appearance suggests, and with his hand covering my nose and mouth, I can scarcely draw a breath. His red-rimmed eyes peer down at me, the reek of alcohol seeping through his pores.
“I know you’re a lassie. I’ve got a beak like a shark.” He takes a deep sniff, as if to prove it. “You reek the same, whether you’re in fine dresses”—he cuts his eyes to the Lucile hanging on a wall hook—“or those sailor dregs your mateys wear. Like extra-fancy bergamot soap.”
My limbs feel sluggish, but I grab at his arm, trying to pry it off. But it’s like a steel post pinning me down, his crazed eyes promising violence.
“Now, I’ll overlook your crimes, as soon as you bowf up all that money you got paradin’ around the deck. Hand it over, and my lips are sealed. Blink if you agree.”
My lungs squeeze, begging for air, and I blink my assent before he suffocates me.
His hand lets up, and I suck in sweet breath.
Then something depraved gropes at his face. His saddlesmile drips with venom, his gaze a lewd caress against my skin.
But I have not come all this way to be done in by him. Something growls within the caverns of my soul. I glance around for salvation, and under Bo’s bed, I find it.
When Skeleton shifts, fumbling at his pants, I wrap my hand around the handle of one of Bo’s carving tools—a gouge. I strike, stabbing the man in the side.
