Slowly, night suffused the cabin. Marius stifled a moan of despair as his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, picking out details in the room he knew he would be unable to see with living eyes. He heard bells sound to end the evening watch, and shortly thereafter, the muted barrage of feet thundering through the ship as weary sailors headed below to their hammocks for a few hours rest, and their replacements headed upwards to take up their stations. After that there was silence, other than the creaks and groans of a ship under sail, and the occasional sharp call as an order was relayed from mate to crew. A single toll of the bell marked off each hour. Then, just as midnight sounded, Marius heard a scratching outside his door. He sat up, suddenly alert. Three quick knocks rapped against his door, then a pause, and two more. He smiled. The never-changing nature of the boy child – a secret escapade must have a secret knock. Marius would almost lay money on being gifted a secret password by the end of tonight’s jaunt. He opened the door a crack.
“What’s the password?”
Figgis stood outside, a look of fear suddenly filling his features.
“You didn’t give me one,” he began. “Do you think we need–”
“I was just kidding.” Marius stepped outside and crouched on the narrow walkway. “Are you ready?”
Figgis nodded. “The captain’s sleeping at his desk, and Mister Spone’s in his bunk. As soon as…” He stopped as running footsteps sounded across the top deck, and crouched down next to Marius, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry,” Marius whispered. “It’s just the changing of the watch. Give it a minute.”
They waited in silence until the footsteps died away, and normal sounds returned. Marius laid a hand on Figgis’ shoulder. The cabin boy was shivering, whether from the cold or fear, Marius could not be certain. “Go on,” he whispered.
“Mister Hongg is master of the watch,” he said. “He likes to catch a wink in the lee of the mizzenmast. It looks like he’s standing watching the crew…”
“Not likely to see us if we use the near stairs, then?”
Figgis shook his head. “As long as we’re quick, and quiet.”
“Oh, I’m good at quick and quiet,” Marius said, then bit off the rest of his comment. Figgis lived amongst sailors, true, but there was no need to expose him to more bedroom wit than was absolutely necessary. “Let’s go, shall we?” he said instead, and ushered the young boy ahead of him.
The space between decks is a gloomy place at the best of times: packed tight with sweating bodies; badly lit; piled high with supplies necessary to survive a long voyage. Whilst the top deck may be polished smooth and presentable to visiting investors and dignitaries, no such effort is wasted on the lower areas. The wood is rough, the angles tight, and what little room is left for movement is cramped, fetid, and jealously guarded by anyone who manages to carve out a tiny allocation of personal space. As mindful as he was of the desire to hurry, Marius forced himself to step carefully through the maze of cargo. Far worse than missing out on the captain’s treasure room would be the consequence of discovery should he upset some precariously balanced box of victuals and ruin the contents by crashing them onto the floor. He tested each creaking step before he committed his full weight to it, slowly slinking down until he and his companion crouched beneath the steps.
“Which way, Master Figgis?”
The young cabin boy pointed deeper into the bowels of the ship. “At the end of the corridor, sir. The mate’s cabin is just down there, and the powder room, then the locked room before the rear food store.”
Marius nodded, memorizing the layout as Figgis spoke. It was all fairly typical of a Scorban trader, a layout refined through several centuries of sea-borne trading. The mystery room would normally be reserved for assorted junk that fit nowhere else – spare weaponry, maps of regions not visited upon the particular voyage, whatever items of trade the captain wished to keep for his own personal collections. It was tiny, perhaps three feet in either direction, the perfect sized for a moderate haul of purloined gold, or valuables not originally belonging to the ship’s owner. A ship is the same as a man, in certain ways. Never steal anything the ship cannot swallow. Marius nodded, and indicated the darkness before them.
“Lead on.”
Figgis took an uncertain step forward. Marius followed, observing the space around them as they crept. The Minerva was a working ship. Every ounce of available space was crowded with spare ropes, tools, boxes of tallow and wicks, hides, baubles, whatever the captain might be able to trade to islanders for valuable works of art, fruit, and delicacies. Whatever benefits society might obtain in bulk for a pittance, without having to waste valuable powder and ball. Marius did not need to pry open any of the boxes around him to see the cheap glass beads, thin blankets, and cotton bolts within. He’d packed such boxes himself, and spent his profits like any other sailor. Figgis reached the alcove he had dubbed the mate’s room, and stopped. Theatrically, he raised his finger to his lip, and peeked around the thin wall at the short wooden bunk inside. Marius followed his lead.
Mister Spone lay with his back to the world, his massive frame balanced precariously on the slim wooden bunk. Marius was impressed – the man appeared to be in a deep sleep, despite being crammed into a space far too small for his hulking body. Then he saw the familiar square bottle of Borgho Wharf Brandy sitting empty on the floor, and raised an eyebrow in understanding. Medicinal purposes only, of course. Figgis snuck past, and Marius followed, cocking an eye over the spare space. No personal effects crowded the single shelf, or poked out of the locked chest. No other items of furniture either. Unless he maintained an apartment somewhere onshore, and Marius had never known a sailor so sure of returning from any given voyage that he was willing to leave his possessions in the care of another, everything the big man owned lay inside that miserable alcove. Marius felt a wave of sympathy for the sleeping sailor. It was a long time at a hard life, to be able to carry everything you owned on your back, even if you had to be a giant of a man to pick it up. Figgis was already half a dozen footsteps ahead of him, and he quickly turned to catch up.
“Here,” the cabin boy said, indicating a rough-hewn door a few yards further down the corridor. Marius nodded and slipped past his companion, testing the handle with a quick twist of his wrist. It was locked. Marius grunted in disappointment. He had known captains so hard that they left doors open, knowing that reputation alone would ensure no disobeying of an order not to enter. Bomthe was obviously no such captain. Marius knelt and eyed the lock mechanism, gently snorting as he reached into his jerkin and removed a set of picks. Bomthe might be no terror, but he was no spendthrift either. The lock was as basic as it could be and still be called by the name. Marius made sure Figgis was watching, then deliberately closed his eyes and sprung the mechanism.
“Magic,” he said in answer to Figgis’ gaping eyes. “And a cheapskate with no notion of security.” He stood, and indicated the door with a flourish. “Care to do the honours?”
Figgis shook his head. Marius shrugged, and carefully lowered the handle. No good giving the game away with a squeaking handle, he supposed. He leaned gently against the door, and it swung open soundlessly. The two interlopers stepped inside quickly, and Marius drew the door shut behind them.