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Uncle fixed his gaze on something across the room, piquing my curiosity. A second assistant rolled a coffin-type contraption onto the stage. Holes were cut out near the top, bottom, and sides of the strange box. Lengths of rope were lassoed about each end and also looped over the shoulders of the female assistants.
“Oh, good,” Thomas said blandly, “I was hoping they’d wheel the dead out before dessert. Entrails go better with the main course, don’t you agree, Wadsworth?” He crinkled his nose. “Totally wrong for sweets.”
“Be serious.” My heart raced despite my admonishment. “No one is going to spill entrails.”
He cocked his head. “I am being serious. That box is used to saw people in half. One wrong move and those in the front row will have blood splatter and severed organs sloshing onto their tables. Messy business for the mousse and berries. Though if we do have a murderer aboard, this might be the spectacle killing we feared.”
Jian sheathed the swords he’d been swinging about and made a show of inspecting every inch of the wooden box. Liza and the second assistant stood to either side, smiling broadly as if one of them might not be cut open before our very eyes. I subtly wiped my hands down the front of my skirts. Part of me was morbidly fascinated. And the other part disgusted by that same fascination. Some days I despised the contradictions of my mind and the darkness in my heart.
“You don’t think Liza will be the one…” I stopped speaking, eyes fastened to Jian as he stepped up to the edge of the stage and lifted a hand to his face as if he were shielding his eyes from the sun. The dining saloon quieted a bit, but noise persisted.
“A volunteer,” he grumbled, a slight accent apparent. “Now.”
No one seemed inclined to offer themselves up as a potential sacrifice. And I couldn’t blame them. Who in possession of their logical senses would do such a thing? Jian’s mask glinted as he stalked to the opposite end of the stage. He glared at a table full of young gentlemen. “You are all cowards—not worthy of meeting my blades.” He turned to the assistants onstage. “Liza!”
My cousin’s smile was frozen, though her throat bobbed and her knees locked, betraying her fear. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. Before I knew what I was doing, I was out of my seat, tossing my napkin onto my half-eaten food.
“Wait!”
“Ah.” Jian grinned, wide and toothy. “We have an assistant after all.”
Even though I was standing, half ready to run across the stage and throw myself into that box of death, the knight’s gaze was not directed at me. He was looking across from where I stood, knees wobbling, to where Thomas was already making his way up the stairs and onto the stage, steps sure and unhurried. The precise opposite of my heartbeat. Everything inside my body went numb and prickly at once.
“Thomas, please don’t.” I stared, hands clenched at my sides, as he paused before the coffin and, after winking at me over his shoulder, climbed inside.
“Sit, dear,” Mrs. Harvey whispered, reaching for my arm. “You appear a little peaked, have some wine. It soothes the nerves.” She signaled to a waiter who poured a deep red blend from the carafe he held. I tried not to think of Miss Prescott’s blood as it sloshed into my cup. “There you are, be a good girl and take a few sips.”
Without argument, I plopped back into my chair and took the proffered glass, bringing it to my lips, barely registering the sour-grape taste as it slid down my throat in quick drabs. I didn’t care much for wine, but it did distract me. Briefly. I dabbed at the corners of my mouth with a linen napkin, attention straying to where Thomas poked his head, arms, and feet out from the coffin-shaped box, then stayed perfectly still.
Flashes of him lying dead on a morgue table assaulted my senses, and it took every last bit of my self-control to not rush the stage and drag him into my arms. The rational part of my brain knew with certainty that no harm would come to him. Carnivals were in the business of selling tickets and creating spectacles. Not murdering patrons.
Even if that was precisely what had happened last night.
I could not shake the tension from my limbs as Liza and the second assistant covered the wooden box with a lid, and nodded to Jian. I sat straighter, easing the boning from my center. The room suddenly felt hotter, and I wished to be outside on the deck, the icy winter air waltzing along beside me as it drifted through the covered promenade.
Uncle huffed at the sight of Thomas shoved into the box, but I noticed the crease of worry that appeared between his brows. It did nothing to assuage my own fears. “Foolish boy.”
I clutched my mother’s heart pendant hanging around my neck, ignoring the bite of metal in my palm. Thomas removed his arm from view, then brandished a card when he stuck his hand back out. I could have sworn the massive ship encountered turbulence as I swayed in my seat.
People in the crowd laughed at the ridiculousness of Thomas’s disembodied arm fluttering the card about, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the enormous saw both assistants walked over to the knight. Metal teeth on the blade glinted, ready to sink into the wooden box—and Thomas’s flesh—should anything not go according to plan. Or perhaps his murder was the plan.
A bead of sweat rolled down my spine. All it would take was one false move and his lifeblood would spill—
“There, there, dear.” Mrs. Harvey patted my hand. I let my breath out and she smiled. “It’s only an illusion. What happened yesterday was terrible, but the odds of murder happening a second time, well, it’s simply not probable. Our Thomas knows what he’s doing. Hmm?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. I knew she was correct, but my heart didn’t want to listen to reason. It quickened at the thought of all the horrible things that could happen. Thomas knew what he was doing, even if what he was doing was an awful idea.
Liza shot me an unreadable look over her shoulder. I tensed all over again as Jian lifted his saw above his head. I nearly ran for one of the kneeling performers, ready to seize one of their swords should Thomas be hurt.
“You can see the blade is very real. Isabella, if you would. Demonstrate.” He nodded toward the second assistant. Isabella stepped forward and hacked at the saw with a sword she’d picked up from the table, the metal clanging for all to hear. I gritted my teeth at the noise. A young man at the next table covered his ears. “It is also very sharp. Liza?”
My cousin flourished a filigree mask hidden on her person and set it on top of the box. Jian carefully sawed back and forth until it snapped in two. I tried not to dwell on the fact it had only taken three passes for the blade to break the metal in half—it was much too sharp to be anywhere near my beloved Cresswell.
I took a deep, steadying breath as Jian prowled around the box, saw lifted proudly above his head. He stopped near where Thomas’s center would be, then motioned to Isabella. She picked her way across stage, grinning widely, hands planted firmly on her hips like a ballet dancer. She stood opposite the knight—apparently the sawing bit required two people. I twisted the napkin in my lap as Jian fit the blade into one side of the box and pushed it over to Isabella.
“On the count of three,” he ordered. “One. Two. Three!”
Metal on wood screeched in a scritch scratch, scritch scratch pattern, the blade sinking deeper and deeper into the box.
