“Hello!” I call. “If you can hear me, young man, I wish to speak to you. I saw you above deck, and I know you are a spirit.”

No answer comes. I start down the hall with Nicolas right behind me. With each room we reach, I open the door to peer through. I am backing from one when a face shoots in front of mine so fast and so close that I let out a yelp and stumble back into Nicolas, who catches both me and the lantern before I drop it.

I shake myself and push upright from his grip.

“I am not your enemy, young man,” I say briskly. “Do not pull such tricks on me, please. Not unless you wish to squander the rare opportunity to communicate with one who can hear you.”

“What did he do?” Nicolas asks.

“I am fine. However, I think you should carry the lantern, to be safe.”

He holds it up for me as I continue down the hall. There is no sign of the boy who attacked and then disappeared. I am braced now for such shenanigans, or so I tell myself, but when he does it again, I still yelp and fall back. Then I stamp my foot.

“You are being rude,” Nicolas calls to the ghost. “I cannot hear or see you myself, but I can tell you are being most ungracious. Miss Hastings is offering her assistance. If you do not wish it, have the courtesy to say so.”

Silence. I peer around and resist the urge to listen as well. Unless the boy speaks, I will not hear him as ghosts make no sound when they move.

I take two more steps, and he lunges from a closed door farther down. I tense, ready for attack, but he stays there, poised in the hall, his glare fixed on Nicolas.

I see the boy clearly now, and what catches my attention most is a terrible scar across his throat. Could that be how he died? I have never seen a ghost with signs of its passing still evident, but those who have say they see the wounds as they were at the time of death, and this one seems healed.

“Hello,” I say. “I know you are angry but—”

He flies at Nicolas again, and I have only time to wheel and start to call a warning when he strikes. He runs right into Nicolas, and Nicolas’s head jerks, his eyes widening in that same look of abject terror. He falls back, staggering, and the lantern crashes to the floor, the glass breaking, the fire igniting dried bits of rotten wood.

I run and stamp out the flames as Nicolas slumps against the wall, hands to his chest. Fire out, I steady him, but he’s already recovering, breathing deeply.

“Do I wish to know what happened?” he says.

“You were attacked. Again. I fear this is a fool’s errand. The boy is angry, and if he has never done this to you on your visits, then perhaps I am acting as some sort of conduit permitting physical attack. Either way, we cannot remain, or I fear he will give you heart failure next time.”