“No,” Arthur said, making it as much of a protest as he could. “No, of course not.”
“You do. That’s why his magic isn’t working on you.”
The joints in Arthur’s elbows didn’t want to support him. He collapsed a little closer to the floor, his limbs trembling as Sebastian leaned closer.
“I need to know which relic it is,” he said, his hand going into Arthur’s vest pocket—
As Sebastian’s fingers brushed the compass, he gave a shout like he’d touched a live wire and jerked his hand away.
But the contact with blood magic, with Rory’s magic, had been enough to break his spell, and as the weakness vanished from Arthur’s limbs he snapped up fast as he could, snatching the Mauser out of Sebastian’s hands and turning it around on him.
“No more of that magic, if you please.” It had been a long time since Arthur had held a gun, and never a Mauser, but his hand was steady as he kept it trained on Sebastian. He held the compass in his other hand, the brass cool against the wound Pavel had sliced into his palm. Rory’s magic was still in the compass, and he trusted it implicitly to keep protecting him from Sebastian’s magic, even without the link.
He smiled flatly. “Your surrender, if you don’t mind?”
With a very irritated look, Sebastian raised both his hands resignedly.
“Thank you,” he said politely. “Now, where’s my antiques dealer? You might as well tell me; I’ll find him eventually.”
Sebastian huffed but answered. “First-class promenade, at the stern, last time I checked.” He paused, and then said, “Hyde’s with him.”
Arthur’s stomach turned over, but he kept his expression steady. “I expect he is. Is he a friend of yours? And fair warning, if you say yes, I might shoot.”
“No.” Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “We’re flies in the same spider web, and you and Giovacchini should not have been caught too.” He glanced up at the ceiling, like he could see through the many levels of the ship to the promenade above. “You should take me with you.”
Arthur scoffed. “You just tried to kill me.”
“Of course I didn’t. If I had actually wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” Sebastian said impatiently. “Hyde’s dangerous; you shouldn’t face him alone.”
“I know.” In one swift move, Arthur cracked the butt end of the pistol against Sebastian’s head, sending the other man crumpling to the floor. “But I don’t think I have a choice.”
Chapter Thirty-One
There was a second, smaller luggage room for the ship’s most valuable cargo, about the size of a small office. Magic or not, Sebastian would be out for some time; between boxing and his football arm, Arthur could deliver one hell of a blow. He locked Sebastian’s unconscious body in the office and then, Mauser in hand, he began searching for the way up.
This was madness, going after Hyde alone. But he had Rory at his mercy, could be torturing Rory that second. Arthur couldn’t bear that thought, not when he could distract Hyde at least, give him a target that wasn’t Rory.
Outside the baggage storage, he found a narrow flight of stairs up that led to the fourth-class bunks for single men. The smell of stale smoke clung to the walls of the windowless space. Some of the mattresses had a motionless man perched on the edge. A group of men were sitting cramped between bunks, playing cards spread on the floor in front of them as they stared blankly into space, like they’d gone into their trances in the middle of their game.
The men didn’t notice him as he hurried across the room in his tuxedo. Arthur wasn’t sure where exactly he was headed other than up. The ship was enormous and despite his many transatlantic trips, he didn’t know the layout of this ship—or, he realized grimly, the layout of the steerage parts of any boat.
There was another door at the end of the room, which led to a passage, and then he walked out into the freezing air of a small deck strewn with cigarette butts. It was deafeningly loud and smelled like oil and the fourth-class toilet, which must have been just below his feet. There was a small staircase at the end, roped off with a small sign that readStaff Only.
He maneuvered over the sign to the first stair and began to climb, keeping his footfalls as soft as he could as his dress shoes slipped on wet metal stairs. He went up two more decks via staff stairs, emerging through an opening to the top level of the ship onto the first-class promenade. He’d never taken a voyage on this line, but this promenade had the same elegant seating and choice location as all the other ships he’d taken. It was a far more familiar sight than the fourth-class bunks.
He climbed over the ropes surrounding the opening. The wind whipped across the ship, the sky black and full of stars as Arthur slowly moved forward through the shadows toward the stern, passing the library, the giant windows of the two-deck-high social hall and winter garden.
But as he took another silent step outside the tearoom, a potent stench swept down the promenade, vilely sweet, like rotting flowers and rancid perfume.
Arthur retched before he could stop himself, the smell overwhelming, a tangible decay that scorched his throat and turned his stomach inside out.
The pomander was out of its box.
He managed a single step forward before a huge figure materialized out of the dark, fist flying at Arthur too fast to dodge.
The sucker punch hit Arthur in the stomach. He stumbled, crashing into a wooden deck chair as the air rushed out of him. He hit the deck, trying to suck air in through his nose and choking on the smell.
“Lieutenant Kenzie.”
