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his uniform. He had already searched two decks for the captain and there was no sign of him. A detour via his own cabin down on deck three would slow down the search briefly, but once no longer recognisable as a senior officer, he knew he would be able to pick up the pace. And anyway, he supposed, the chances were good that Johnny would find Ibsen in his quarters and that this search was pointless.
    Taking a crew only staircase hidden behind an unmarked door, he reached deck three in no time. Jake had worked on other cruise ships before coming aboard the Spirit of Arcadia, some of them considerably larger. Normally the senior officer cabins were on the upper decks, one of the privileges of rank. But Pelagios Line, who owned and operated the Arcadia, were not known for awarding perks or spending money on staff unnecessarily. The upper decks represented an important revenue stream, they weren’t to be wasted on pandering to the crew. So Jake, like all the other crew members, was based down here in the bowels of the ship. His cabin was barely big enough to house the double bed, small desk and chair, single armchair, wardrobe, television, and shower room that it was equipped with. Indeed getting around between these items of furniture more often than not involved turning sideways and walking like a crab.
    He changed quickly, jettisoning his navy blue jacket and swapping his previously white shirt, now turned grey by the ash, for a plain black t-shirt. With arms bare he noticed that the temperature had already begun to drop now that the heating system was off. He rummaged through a shelf of clothes in the wardrobe and found a grey sweatshirt, which he pulled on as he stepped back outside into the corridor. That was the moment he heard the first gunshot.

Eleven

    LUCYA AND GRAU knew before they arrived that there was going to be trouble in the medical centre. The corridor leading down there had been pressed into service as an overflow waiting room.
    “Oi, where do you think you’re going? Get in line you bloody queue jumpers!” A young bearded man was shouting at them. He had his arm around a small woman who had terrible burns to her face. She was weeping softly onto his chest. Several people turned to look, some began mumbling in agreement.  
    “Sir, I understand you are impatient to be seen, but I am the chief medical officer abroad this ship. It would be very much in your interests to let me and my colleague through quickly, so that we can start processing the wounded.”
    “Oh yeah granddad? And I’m the bleedin’ captain! Get to the back of the line and wait your turn!” Another man joined in, moving to block their passage.
    Lucya unhooked Grau’s arm from her shoulder, steadied him, and strode up to the angry passenger. Unencumbered by the wounded medical man, the stripes on her uniform were now plain to see. She wasn’t a tall woman, around five feet four in flat shoes, but when she spoke it was with a ferocity so unexpected as to stun all present to silence.
    “Now you listen to me, sir,” she stabbed her index finger towards his nose, emphasising every word. “This is not a military ship so we don’t have a brig where we can hold troublemakers. But personally, I’ve always been in favour of capital punishment as a way of maintaining order at sea. Doctor Lister asked you to let us through. I suggest you oblige immediately, or you are going to be in even more serious need of medical attention than you are now. Got it?”
    The man swallowed hard. Someone further down the line whooped, and a couple of people giggled, nervously. He stepped back in line, said nothing. Grau smiled, and hobbled on towards medical.
    Lucya was of the opinion that ‘medical centre’ was a somewhat grand name for what really amounted to a couple of small rooms stuck in the bows of the ship. With the number of passengers piled into the corridor outside, it had never seemed so inadequate. Two nurses were trying to maintain order and