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I am not my thoughts. I am not my memories.
Mina was relying on him to be strong. To conquer his demons.
No sentries watching the stairs down to the hold—everyone watching what was happening on the deck, riveted by Mina and the Inspector.
He heard her voice ring out, so bold and brave.
“I’m MissWilhelmina Penny,” she shouted.
That’s right, Le Triton. You’ve met your doom.
Darkness behind him. Small space. Panic seeping in at the edges of his mind, spilling through the cracks, ready to flood his mind until he drowned.
He steadied his breathing as he inched along the narrow corridor. “Rafe,” he called in a low voice. “Rafe, are you there?”
“Thorny?” came a thin voice. “Is that you?”
He followed the sound, feeling his way along the wall, fighting panic with every step. The feel of the ship rocking beneath him. The smell of salt water and unwashed male.
He stopped to retch.
Rafe needed him. Mina was relying on him.
No one guarding Rafe. They’d stuffed him in a small cell under the stairs, hardly big enough to contain him. Drew rattled the door. It was locked.
“Rafe,” he said through the rusted iron bars covering the small square hole in the door. “I’m here to rescue you.”
“Thorny.” Rafe’s voice was weak. “You came.”
“Of course I came, you big idiot. Now who has the keys to this door?”
“Hanging... on the hook.”
Drew’s eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. The keys were hanging on a hook on the wall facing the door, a cruel location meant to humiliate the prisoner who could see the keys but never reach them.
His hands trembled as he opened the door. Corbyn was watching the entrance to the stairs. “Hurry,” he hissed. “Something’s happening up here!”
Drew fit the key into the lock and turned. The door creaked inward. Rafe was lying on the floor, his leg twisted at a bad angle.
“How did you know where to find me?” Rafe asked.
“Mina and I translated your diary.”
“Who’s Mina?”
“Never mind, we have to hurry. Mina and Inspector Langley of the London Metropolitan Police Service are out there right now risking their lives, distracting Le Triton so that I can rescue your undeserving arse.”
“But—”
“There’ll be time for all of these questions once you’re safely in a bed at Thornhill House with a physician attending you.” Drew hauled Rafe upright. “Can you walk?”
“They broke my leg. I can hobble.”
Rafe’s face was white and his leg dragged along behind him. It made Drew sick to look at it. He tore the cork off his flask and handed it to Rafe.
“Drink this.”
Rafe downed the whisky in several gulps. “I’m ready.”
