I hurried to board the schooner, where Mary and Wesley were already on deck. Eoghan was standing alone on the beach, looking studiously at the ground, clearly upset. I understood why he didn’t want to leave Mary’s side, but I agreed with her on this. We couldn’t afford to risk everyone.
“Eoghan!” Mary cried out as we began to pull away from shore, and blew him a kiss from the railing. He smiled at her, clearly unable to stay angry. Mary waved to the crowd as they cheered us off, their handkerchiefs waving in the salty wind.
I clutched the railing, suddenly afraid. I hadn’t been on a boat in years. The deck rocked fiercely from side to side beneath my feet and I stumbled to steady myself.
“It’s okay, Eliza,” Wesley murmured, his arms around my waist. I leaned back into him and closed my eyes. Together we listened to the ocean roar as the ship made its way forward. I could feel the mist damp on my face, like tears.
Finally, after a few moments, I opened my eyes. Mary was holding tight to the railing, still wearing her elbow-length white gloves. I thought about telling her to take them off, but didn’t have the heart. We all looked ridiculous, sailing out to a ghost ship in our gowns and tuxedos. Hopefully it would be a funny story we could tell our children someday—how we first met the other survivors on earth and welcomed them in black tie.
Our little boat dipped and rocked against the increasingly rough waves, sea spray covering the deck like rain. As we neared the mysterious ship, its form grew clearer and more monstrous. It looked just like the military officer had described it: enormous, bigger even than the palace. It was the largest ship I had ever seen.
There wasn’t a single light glowing on its surface, and its decks were bare, yet it didn’t look old or worn. A red and black flag that I couldn’t identify hung from its masthead, flapping violently in the wind.
I turned back toward the shore, to see the crowd of people on the beach, but they were all just tiny specks now. Still, I could imagine the hope on their faces as they squinted to keep track of us. Since the Seventeen Days, all of England had been waiting for any sign of life from the outside world. And though a few things had washed up on the shores of Dover from time to time—driftwood, billboards, even a red mailbox with the name Madame Verne on the side—this was the first sighting that gave us real hope.
As we pulled up to the side of the oil tanker, I saw that it wasn’t as new as it had first appeared. There were dents on the side, as if from bullet fire, and scorch marks. This ship had seen battle.
“Get us as close as you can,” Mary commanded. “We’re climbing up.”
The soldier at the helm of our boat nodded in the affirmative. He guided us alongside the ship and threw up a series of ropes, which hooked over the railing. My heart raced with a combination of excitement and fear.
“No communication or sign of survivors,” another of our soldiers announced into his handheld radio. “At the command of Queen Mary, we are climbing aboard.”
“Roger,” the steady voice across the water replied. “Proceed with caution.”
Mary reached eagerly for the ropes, determined to go up first. I followed her, with Wesley and the other soldiers behind me. As I climbed up the side of the ship in my velvet evening gown, my bare feet cold against the side of the tanker, adrenaline shot through my veins. This was crazy, I thought. We were all crazy. My hands slipped for a moment on the rope, and my heart skipped a beat, but I quickly regained my footing and kept going. “It’s okay, Eliza,” I heard Wesley’s voice below me, and I felt calmer.
Finally I reached the edge of the platform. A hand appeared over the side to help me up.
I realized as I grabbed it that it wasn’t Mary’s hand.
And the moment I stepped over to stand on the vast deck of the tanker, I knew that what I had feared all along was true.
We had made a terrible mistake.
7
“Wes—,” I started to say, but he was already clambering over the edge, standing next to me on the deck. He immediately raised his rifle. Behind Wesley, other soldiers began to appear. When they saw what we were facing, they quickly pointed their weapons at the ready. But there were only a dozen of us, and far, far more of them.
We stood, shivering and silent, in the middle of a forest of weapons. Swords, spiked iron clubs, and fierce bloody hooks gleamed in the moonlight. More terrifying still were the men who carried them. They looked like pirates from the storybooks Mary and I had read as children, with their strange assortment of clothing and their sunburned skin. Their eyes glinted dangerously.
“Please,” Mary began to say, “we come in—”
But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. A spear shot through the air toward her, to land squarely in the chest of the soldier next to her. He stumbled backward against the railing, blood oozing from his mouth, and crumpled into a heap on the deck.
“Eliza!” Wesley immediately threw himself in front of me, shielding me with his own body as he fired shot after shot with his pistol. But anger coursed through me. I picked up the rifle that the fallen soldier had dropped and stepped out from behind Wesley to start shooting. Only then did I see Mary running across the deck, a clear target.
“Stay here!” Wesley cried, knowing what I was about to do. “I’ll get her!”
But just as he started to move for Mary, a frightening figure tossed some kind of weighted net over her. She tripped and fell, tangled in the wires of the net, letting out a raw, angry scream that cut through the cold night air like the blade of a knife.
I turned and yanked the spear out of the fallen soldier next to me. It was still warm, mottled with blood. Around me the deck was a swirl of chaos—clashing weapons, gunfire, bodies falling. But my vision narrowed, reducing everything to a distant clamor except for one figure. Wesley.
I hurried after him, covering his back as he moved forward to cut Mary out of the net. A tall man with crooked teeth appeared, an iron spike in his hand. I slammed the spear into the side of his head, knocking him forcefully to the deck without slowing down. I had to get to Wesley.
Mary was still yelling, her eyes bloodshot and wild, thrashing desperately about in an attempt to break free. “Mary, stop!” I screamed. The more she panicked, the more tangled she became.
I hurried toward her and slipped on a pool of blood, falling with an angry thud to the surface of the deck. My left knee hurt. I tried to shove the pain aside, but I couldn’t regain my footing. Another of the pirates was approaching, a wicked smile on his face and a knife in his hand. I fumbled behind me for the rifle I’d dropped. He was right over me, the knife raised, the moon glowing behind his outstretched arm. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the rifle—
A gunshot tore through his head.
“Eliza!” Wesley appeared and reached to pull me to my feet. “I told you to stay back!”
“Just get Mary!”
Seeing both of us running toward her, Mary stopped thrashing about. Then her eyes grew wide with terror, and her mouth opened in a wide, terrified O.
“Look out!” she screamed.
A spear shot through Wesley’s side.
Everything slowed down, as though time had suddenly become liquid, something I had to wade through. I watched, frozen in shock, as Wesley staggered backward, trying hopelessly to pull the spear from his body. The sound that escaped from his throat was deep and guttural, almost inhuman.
“Wesley!” I tried to run to him but someone was holding me back. The moist, ropey arms around my waist belonged to one of them—one of the pirates. “Stop!” I cried, struggling to free myself. “Let me go!”
But a pirate with tattoos all over his arms struck Wesley from behind. He fell to the ground with a lifeless thump. I screamed in mindless, endless terror as the man picked him up and tossed him overboard, with no more care than if he’d been a dead fish.
The arms holding me back released me, and I ran, stumbling, to the railing. The waves crashed below, shining black in the moonlight, edged in white foam. I co
uldn’t even see the splash that marked where he’d fallen. “Wesley!” I screamed uselessly, over and over again, beating my fists against the railing until they were bruised.
He was gone.
It had happened so fast. I stood there for a few moments, trying to understand, but I couldn’t process it. All I could do was stare into the rough water while the sounds of gunfire and suffering echoed behind me, the slicing of skin and bone. I could still hear Mary screaming. What if I just fell overboard, joined Wesley in the sea? I thought woodenly.
Then I heard laughter behind me. It woke me from my trance, and I turned around to observe the fighting. Our soldiers were all dead or at gunpoint, Mary was still in the net—and Wesley was gone. The pirate covered in tattoos, the laughing one, was coming toward me, holding a fierce-looking club in his grip.
I didn’t stop to think. I just ran toward him empty-handed, ready to claw out his eyes. People always underestimate how much damage you can do with fingernails. Even if it was my last act, I swore to myself, I would rip him to pieces.
I saw his eyes widen in surprise as I jumped on him, snarling like a wild thing.
But then I felt a sharp pain at the back of my head, a crack beside my ear. And everything went black.
8
I woke to the sound of a nightmare in the dark.
Mary was whimpering, tossing and turning in the shadows near me. We were in some kind of prison cell, our wrists bound with rope. There were no windows. I had no idea how much time had passed, whether it was still night.
“No! Stop!” Mary cried out in her nightmare. I considered waking her; but whatever she was dreaming, it couldn’t be worse than the horror we were living.
That’s when I remembered that Wesley was dead.
He was dead, and I never even told him that I loved him.
The knowledge of it tore into me with sharp, angry teeth. “No,” I whispered, echoing Mary, closing my eyes—but that only made it worse. The images played on my mind in a relentless, cruel loop. The spear in Wesley’s side. The shock on his face as he registered the wound, crumpled weakly to the ground. His body tossed overboard into the freezing, black sea a hundred feet below.
I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to cover my face with my bound hands, and began to sob.
“Eliza?” Mary mumbled, sitting up.
“I’m here.” My voice was flat.
“Where are we?” We both felt a rocking underneath us. “We’re still on the ship,” she breathed. “Where are they taking us?”
“I don’t know.”
She must have heard the grief in my tone. “Eliza. Is Wesley …”
“He’s gone. We’re the only ones alive.”
Mary closed her eyes and took a breath. “I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” I said.
“I’m the one who wanted to board a strange ship. And Wesley—” Her voice broke. “He died trying to save me.”
“He knew the risks,” I managed, starting to cry again. “We all did.”
“Oh, Eliza,” Mary whispered, scooting over to pull my head onto her shoulder, just like she used to when I was a little girl. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’ll all be okay,” she repeated over and over, the way she always did. But this wasn’t a skinned knee or a loose tooth. It was Wesley, and it would never be okay again. I gave up and let the tears come, crying and crying until I had finally cried myself dry.
Time felt strangely fluid, here in the dark. It may have been minutes or hours when the door finally opened and a light turned on in the room, from a single bare bulb on the ceiling. “Greetings, Your Highnesses,” a voice called out, and a figure stepped inside.
He was tall and imposing, dressed in heavy leather boots and dark clothes. His sun-streaked hair fell past his chin. He wore a heavy gold necklace and several gold rings, and a fur cape fell across his shoulders. I couldn’t help thinking of Vikings, the way they attacked England in medieval times from their great wooden ships.
He stood silently and watched us, contemplating something I couldn’t gauge. His eyes were a blue so light they almost looked white.
Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Who are you, and what do you want?” I yelled.
He looked at me in mild confusion, as if a kitten had suddenly spoken. Then slowly, never taking his eyes from mine, he pulled a sword from the holster around his waist. I flinched as he raised it high above me, and hated myself for it. Mary whimpered next to me. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact—only to hear the loud reverberation of steel against the metal floor next to me.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” He leaned close to me, so that his face was inches from mine.
I said nothing.
“On my ship, Princess, you do not speak unless you are spoken to.” He put a slight emphasis on princess, making it sound like an insult. His accent was Scandinavian, or maybe Slavic mixed with German, but I couldn’t place it. “Do you understand?”
I still said nothing.
“I want to hear you say, ‘Yes, Master.’” His voice was low, dangerous.
I clenched my teeth, refusing to answer. And moving lightning fast, like a snake, he whipped the flat side of his sword against my knees.
The pain of the impact sent waves of agony through my legs and up my spine. I blinked at the black spots dotting my vision. Dimly, I heard Mary begging me to obey him. “Eliza, please just say it.”
“Listen to your sister.” The man’s voice ricocheted around the small room.
My eyes burned with tears, but I would not say it.
He looked down at me with his lips pursed, a slight frown on his face. “It’s too bad,” he said softly. “But I really only need the other one.” He lifted his sword ahead, this time to split my skull.
“Eliza!” Mary screamed, at the very moment that I said it: “Yes, Master.”
I felt sick from the words, but a smile spread slowly across his face. He brought one of his hands down and patted the top of my head as though I were a dog. “Good girl.”
Mary and I held tight to each other, our arms trembling. “So,” he said, turning to Mary, his eyes grazing her in a way that made me want to claw them out. “This is Mary, England’s girl queen. I’ve been listening to your radio broadcasts.”
He laughed and launched into a falsetto British accent, clearly mocking her. “‘Hello, is anyone out there? People of the world, survivors of the Seventeen Days, this is Mary, queen of England. If you can, please reply to this message; let us know we are not alone. We were devastated, but we are rebuilding—and what we have, we are happy to share.’” He dropped the cruel imitation and returned to his own voice. “A promise is a promise, Queen Mary. I expect you to share.”
Silent tears streamed down her face, but there was a dignity to Mary, even in the face of this. “Who are you?” she said quietly. “Where are you from, and why are you doing this to us?”
“All in due time,” the man said.
“You should know our military is on its way,” I called out to him. “Our biggest ship, the Royal Voyager—”
He burst out laughing, cutting me off. “Look around, Princess,” he said. “Maybe you can’t tell, but we’re underwater now, miles from anywhere your so-called military would even think to look.”
We were underwater? That meant this ship was both a regular tanker and a submarine—which explained how it had disappeared before my eyes that first night I saw it. It had sunk below the surface.
Mary and I were silent. This was far, far worse than we had realized.
“So, I have Mary and Eliza,” the Viking said. “But where is young Jamie? I’d hate for him to be left out of the fun.”
“He’s dead,” Mary shot back without hesitation. “He died of the poison that killed our mother.”
I was amazed that Mary could think quickly enough under the circumstances to lie like that. It was a smart lie—whoever this man was, it sounded like he had come after us deli
berately, knowing we were royal. This was her best chance at protecting Jamie.
“Unfortunate,” he said, clearly not caring at all. “But in this world, it’s survival of the fittest.” He called out something in a foreign tongue, and one of his pirates entered from the hall.
“Untie them, and escort them to the girls. They look terrible,” he ordered the pirate. Then he turned back to Mary. “Once you’ve been cleaned up, I’ll tell you who I am. I do think we’ll enjoy working together, Your Highness.”
9
The Viking swept from the room, and the sailor who’d been lurking in the shadows by the doorway made his way toward us. I flinched as he pulled a knife from his holster, but then he stepped toward Mary and in a swift motion cut through the binds on her wrists. The rope fell to the ground with a thud.
When he turned toward me, I met his gaze—and almost stepped back in surprise. The boy was younger than I realized, about my age, with dark hair and brown eyes that were surprisingly warm. He wasn’t what I had expected our pirate guards to look like at all.
I studied the knife, wondering if I could make a move for it, wrestle it from him, and turn it to his throat. He was tall, his strength evident in the build of his shoulders, but I would have the advantage of surprise. Could I hold him as hostage and bargain for our escape?
I glanced at Mary. She must have seen my plans on my face because she was shaking her head, her lips pressed together in warning. I knew that look like the back of my hand. She didn’t want me to do anything risky.
“This way,” the boy said, holding the door open for us to pass through. “And don’t try anything, or I’ll have to tie your wrists again.”
He led us through a maze of the tanker’s passageways, turning again and again until I was so confused I almost felt dizzy. It was when we passed a dented doorway for the third time that I realized he was doing this on purpose—deliberately leading us on a rambling zigzag path so that we wouldn’t learn the layout of the ship. He was making sure we couldn’t escape.