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I narrowed my eyes at the insult. “Superior? Doubtful.”
“Go back downstairs. Nobody has to get hurt.”
“You already poisoned Diesel.”
“He’s only unconscious.”
I glanced down at Diesel while he wheezed for breath. Natalya slid her foot forward. Her gun gleamed in the starlight.
“Listen, darling,” Natalya said. “You brought a sword to a gunfight.”
Then why wasn’t she firing?
I decided to find out. I feinted right and swung left at Natalya’s neck. Natalya ducked—the blade whistled past her ear—and kicked me in the kneecap. My leg buckled before Natalya shoved me sprawling. I crashed onto the deck. The blonde aimed a kick at my face. I rolled away and sliced at her leg.
Natalya retreated. “Put down your pretty little sword.”
This pretty little sword wanted to taste blood. Chun Yi’s thirst pulsed in my hand.
Muscles bunching, I surged upright and lunged at Natalya. I judged the angle to hit a vital artery and swung Chun Yi.
But there was a blur of movement.
Pain exploded in my head. Pistol-whipped, I crashed onto the deck. Stars danced before my eyes and stole my breath away for a minute. I clamped down on my fear and pushed it far away. Fear could be fatal.
Blinking fast, I crawled to my knees. Where was Natalya?
I heard a grunt, followed by a scraping noise.
Head spinning, I staggered to my feet. Natalya dragged Diesel to the railing, hefted him onto the steel, and pushed him overboard. She watched him fall and waited until the splash. Then she glanced back at me.
“You saw nothing,” Natalya said. “If you want to survive.”
She vaulted over the railing. I rushed to the edge.
A long way down, the choppy waters of the English Channel unfurled.
Nausea washed over me and I retched. I stumbled to the stern, where the giant propellers of the steamship churned the waves. Out in the darkness, between tatters of fog, I saw a light bobbing in the waves.
A boat.
Shadowy figures dragged two people aboard—Diesel and Natalya. The light flickered out before the boat vanished into the night.
I slumped on a chair in the deserted dining saloon. The electric lights stabbed my eyes, and my stomach still churned.
The steamship captain scratched his mustache. “Diesel must have been drunk.”
“I didn’t see him drink any wine,” Carels said. “Diesel was an abstemious man.”
Nearby, Luckmann wrung his hands and kept quiet.
The captain bent down to my level. “You saw him fall overboard?”
When I nodded, the movement nearly made me vomit.
“There—there was a woman,” I stammered. “A waitress. She was pretending to be a waitress. She gave him poisoned coffee.”
“Poisoned coffee?” The captain folded his arms. “On my ship? Preposterous.”
