He squirted out of the room unobserved just as two Sanguinaire officers descended into the passage from above with half a dozen marines in tow.

The lieutenant snapped orders to his sergeant, “… stem to stern. Search every deck, every compartment, every single bag, barrel, and box. I want him found.”

Fear gripped Jean-Claude in an icy fist. Somehow they’d learned he was here. He must get off the ship. The quick launches were on the main deck, several levels away, plus there was a whole complement of marines loose in the corridors, and Builder knew how many Sanguinaires and Hasdrubal. He needed to give them something else to think about.

He sneaked into the carpenter’s bay, looking for something to burn. His disinclination to sabotage the ship he was on yielded to the more urgent need for a distraction. He needed tar, or wood small enough to be kindling. He pulled the top off a barrel and found nails, in another one paint. He tripped over a bag and nearly fell. It was filled with sawdust.

He thanked the saints, cut open the bag, and shook it hard, filling the air with dust from one end of the cabin to the other.

He snatched a lantern from its hook, turned up the pressure, and sparked it to life as he ran out the door.

He nearly barreled into a half dozen marines.

“There he is!”

Jean-Claude hurled the lantern back into the cloudy room with all the force he could muster. Glass shattered. He sprinted away. A bloodshadow slicked across the floor, caught his shadow and tripped him to the ground before he’d taken three steps. Pain gouged furrows in his mind. The marines reached for him.

Bright light. Fire. A sound so loud that it deadened the air. The wall of the carpenter’s bay blew outward. Flame filled the corridor. The pressure bowled Jean-Claude to the end of the passageway and slammed him into a wall. He couldn’t breathe. Blackness crept in where light had been. His lungs felt like they’d been run through a sausage grinder.

Finally his chest heaved and he drew breath. The air was hot, dry, dead, and dusty. The corridor was littered with corpses and men who might as well be. He managed to topple forward, crawl to the companionway, and fall down to the turvy deck. The air was cooler here. Strength eked back into his limbs.

Diversion accomplished. Alarm bells pealed. The ship was definitely on fire. Turvymen swarmed up from the turvy masts to help fight the blaze. Jean-Claude levered himself to his feet. Unfortunately, the fire was now between him and the part of the ship he needed to get to.