The stench of pickled herring was almost tangible. Lesandra curled up in the cracks of the oak barrel, her festering wounds pressed against the cold barrel wall, each rocking of the ship feeling like sandpaper rubbing against her face. From the deck came the coarse curses of sailors and the crack of whips, interspersed with the sharp clang of dragging chains—the cargo hold of the slave ship echoed with suppressed whimpers.
"New rat, get out here!" The barrel lid was suddenly flung open, and the one-eyed sailor Walker's face blocked the light, his yellow teeth emitting the stench of cheap rum. The shark-skin whip in his hand wrapped around Lesandra's ankle, dragging her out brutally.
The deck was drenched in rust-coloured twilight. Twelve newly captured "cargoes" were chained to the mast base, mostly emaciated slum boys. Walker yanked Laisandra's red hair, forcing her to look up, exposing the charred lion's head brand on her forehead to everyone's view.
"Look at the sheriff's handiwork! " He laughed maniacally, poking the festering flesh with the whip handle, pus and blood dripping down Lasandra's jaw. The chained youths recoiled in horror, except for a one-armed veteran who squinted his eyes—he was wrapped in a tattered blanket, leaning against the anchor post, his right leg below the knee fitted with a crude wooden prosthesis.
"The brand should be disinfected with gunpowder," the veteran suddenly spoke, his voice raspy like gravel grinding.
Walker turned and spat, "Lame dog Gideon, trying to play vet again?" The whip's tip hesitated before moving away.
Taking advantage of the moment, Lysandra suddenly collided with Walker's knee. As the sailor stumbled and fell, she had already seized the dagger from his waist and cut through the shackles. The deck erupted into chaos as sailors rushed in from all sides.
"Here!" Gideon suddenly threw a packet of lime powder. Lesandra flung it into the air, and screams echoed through the white mist. She pushed aside the obstructing sailors and leapt over the ship's rail. As the icy river water engulfed her head, she heard Walker roar, "Shoot! Even corpses can earn a bounty!"
The whistling sound of arrows hitting the water was like a swarm of death. Lysandra swam through the shadows beneath the ship's hull. As her lungs burned with pain, she finally felt the protruding rivet—Finn's final scream of "Under the ship..." had been referring to this!
***
The rusted inspection hatch led to suffocating darkness. Lysandra pried open the inner latch with her dagger and squeezed into the pipe filled with the stench of engine oil and rat droppings. The dull sound of gears turning echoed in the distance, and she crawled toward it until warm yellow light filtered through the iron mesh.
Below was the steam-roaring engine room. Rusted pipes coiled like giant serpents, but the most astonishing sight was at the centre—three modified boilers were running at full capacity, with steam pipes connected to two massive propellers at the stern. No ordinary merchant ship would ever need such power.
"Illegal immigrants?" A metallic scraping sound echoed from the shadows.
Lysandra spun and threw her dagger, but it was knocked out of the air by something. With a clinking sound, Gideon emerged, leaning on his homemade iron crutch, his wooden prosthetic leg tapping rhythmically against the steel plates. He bent down to pick up the dagger and tossed it back. "Nice workmanship, but killing sailors is useless." He pointed at the vibrating boilers. "This 'Sea Demon' isn't carrying slaves."
A suppressed cough came from beneath the iron mesh. Lesandra leaned in to look and was startled: there were no slaves in the hold. Hundreds of pale, emaciated children were huddled in iron cages, their ankles shackled with chains engraved with runes. Two men in white robes were using syringes to extract spinal fluid from the children, injecting the dark green liquid into lead-sealed steel cans.
"Send a hundred 'containers' to Shattered Reef Island every month." Gideon's single eye glowed like a tempered steel ball in the dim light. "The marquis used this to live to ninety."
Lysandra's stomach churned. The marquis's sacrificial incantation echoed in her mind, and the brand on her cheek suddenly burned with pain—Renard wanted her alive because she was the "key"!
"Why tell me?" she stared at the old soldier's empty right sleeve.
"That thing on your face," Gideon tapped his wooden leg with his iron crutch, "is the same model as the transmitter in my leg." He rolled up his trouser leg, revealing a copper lion's head emblem embedded in the wooden joint, "Those marked with the lion's seal are the living keys marked by the royal family."
The engine room suddenly sounded an alarm. The heavy iron door was smashed open, and Walker led a group of crossbowmen inside: "Capture them! Alive!"
***
A fierce battle erupted in the narrow space. Gideon swung his iron crutch, smashing the boiler pressure gauge into the pursuer's eye socket. Amidst the surging hot steam, Lesandra climbed onto the pipe, with crossbow bolts embedded at her feet, sparks flying. She leapt onto the hoisting cable and slashed the securing rope with her dagger—
CRASH! The suspended spare boiler crashed down, instantly turning two sailors into pulp. Walker cursed and raised his hand crossbow, but as Lysandra flipped down from the air, Gideon threw his iron crutch to deflect the crossbow bolt.
"To the wheelhouse!" the veteran shouted, prying open the hidden door in the floor. "Destroy the navigational instrument!"
Lysandra crawled into the pipe, hearing the sound of bones shattering and Gideon's muffled groan behind her. She crawled forward with determination, pus and blood flowing into her mouth, tasting salty and bitter. When she emerged from the ventilation shaft, the salty sea breeze hit her face—before her was the wheelhouse with its brass compass, but fixed on the control panel was a blood-red crystal ball, containing the eyeball of some creature.
"The Royal Bloodline Compass," a voice behind her said with a laugh.
Orion Blackwood leaned against the doorframe, tossing an apple back and forth. Moonlight illuminated the scar on his left eyebrow; his expensive velvet coat clashed with the rusted ship's hold. A dagger spun between his fingers, emitting a cold glow: "A navigation device made from your younger sister's eyeball—its accuracy is remarkable, isn't it?"
Lysandra stepped back abruptly: "Royal lackey?"
"Hound?" Orion chuckled, then suddenly threw the apple at the crystal ball. In the instant before the fruit struck, Lysandra saw the pupil inside the ball contract sharply—an instinctive shudder made her dive forward to block the apple!
Sizzle! The fruit grazed her arm, leaving a trail of green smoke from the corroded steel plate. Poison!
"Passable reaction." Orion clapped, his icy blue pupils devoid of humour. "Now choose: help me destroy this ship, or be turned into the next navigation device."
Gideon's furious shouts and the clanging of metal echoed from outside the cabin. Lysandra wiped the blood from her face, the brand glowing menacingly in the moonlight like a living creature: "What can you offer me?"
The blond nobleman pulled out a velvet pouch from his chest and emptied it—not gold coins, but dozens of blood-stained children's milk teeth!
"Thirty-seven children's ransom money." He crushed a milk tooth, and the powder drifted toward the blood-red compass. "Renaud is collecting debts at the 'Golden Rose' casino tonight. The evidence is in the pouch's lining."
The iron door to the wheelhouse burst open. Walker dragged the unconscious Gideon, grinning savagely: "The nobleman has come to meet his end too?" Behind him, sailors raised poison-tipped crossbow bolts.
Orion sighed as he undid his cufflinks: "I hate getting my coat dirty."
***
The next sixty seconds became a lifelong nightmare for Lysandra.
The blond nobleman turned into a blur. As the dagger pierced Walker's throat, Orion spun around and snapped the crossbowman's neck. The sound of cracking bones echoed like popping beans. He moved with fluid grace, breaking arms, crushing throats, and piercing eyes, as elegant as a death waltz. The last sailor collapsed and fled toward the deck, only to be impaled through the back by a flying dagger and pinned to the cabin wall.
"Navigation device." Orion shook the blood droplets from his hands, as if he had just plucked a flower.
Lysandra swung the fire axe at the crystal ball. As it shattered, the blood-soaked eyeball suddenly glared at her! A piercing screech pierced her brain, and a flood of memory fragments rushed in: the boy sacrificed in the cellar, Renard counting gold coins, and Orion... He was holding the lifeless body of a blonde girl, screaming in the rain-soaked night, with a deep gash on his left eyebrow exposing bone!
As the illusion faded, the entire ship shook violently. The "Sirens" ship, now without navigation, spun like a drunken man, and the sound of steel cans shattering echoed from the lower deck. Emerald-green liquid seeped through the door cracks, corroding the iron plates it touched with a hissing sound.
"It's time to go, little kitten." Orion stuffed the bloodstained money bag into her arms, then walked toward the porthole. "Remember to burn the evidence."
"What about you?"
The nobleman turned and smiled, moonlight illuminating the bloodstained apple core in his hand: "Go feed the fish."
He leapt into the raging waves. Lysandra gritted her teeth, hoisted Gideon onto her back, and climbed into the lifeboat. As she severed the ropes, a violent explosion erupted in the lower hold. As flames engulfed the "Sea Witch," she caught a final glimpse of the wheelhouse porthole—Orion's head bobbing in the waves, his fingers flinging the apple core into the gaping maw of a shark.
The lifeboat drifted into the darkness. Lysandra opened the inner compartment of the money bag. The bloodstained shipping manifest bore the royal lion emblem. The cargo column read: Live Key Candidate—Lysandra Thorn.