Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, the customs officer covered his mouth and descended the steps to inspect the corpse. He set aside the lantern, its orange flame warping the sailor’s waxen face.

‘No sign of black spots on him.’ The customs officer drew his dagger from its sheath and prodded the body with the tip of the blade. The sailor’s head lolled unnaturally to one side.

‘Looks like his neck is broken,’ said the constable, tightening his grip on the cudgel.

‘Perhaps he fell down the stairs?’ the watchman suggested hopefully.

‘Perhaps,’ murmured the customs officer, sheathing his dagger and picking up the lantern. ‘Let’s see if we can find the rest of the crew.’

Reluctantly the watchman followed the constable down the steps. He kept close to the pool of lamplight as his eyes flitted towards every nook and cranny of the lower deck. Shapes took form, then melted back into the shadows: wooden barrels stacked five high … piles of cotton cloth … rolls of expensive silk … hessian sacks of grain … a pair of gleaming black eyes –

The watchman let out a startled cry, causing the customs officer to turn sharply. ‘What?’ he snapped.

‘Someone’s there!’ the watchman whispered, pointing a trembling finger into the inky darkness.

The customs officer directed his lantern at a gap between two barrels. ‘I see no one.’

‘I tell ye, a pair of eyes was watching us.’

Raising his cudgel, the constable stalked forward to investigate. As he approached the barrels, there was a hiss and a black shape bolted from the shadows. The constable brought his cudgel down but stopped short as a furred creature shot between his legs.

‘It’s just the ship’s cat!’ the constable snorted, lowering his cudgel.

The customs officer scowled at the watchman, then turned away with a shake of the head and resumed the search.

‘It wasn’t the ship’s cat,’ the watchman insisted. ‘The eyes were human … or else demon!’

‘Pull yourself together, man,’ muttered the constable as he shouldered past.

Ignoring the watchman’s protests, they headed deeper below deck where they discovered the galleon to be laden with exotic spices from the Far East: clove, nutmeg and mace. A king’s ransom in cargo, destined for the London docks. But still no sign of the crew. The ship groaned as the hull shifted with the incoming tide.

‘Strange,’ remarked the customs officer, completing their sweep of the lowest deck. ‘Her crew must be somewhere aboard.’

‘Let’s try the hold,’ suggested the constable.

As the three men headed towards the ladder that descended into the ship’s bowels, a flicker of movement caught the watchman’s eye. ‘Over there!’

The customs officer swivelled round, the lantern light casting a yellow wave through the darkness. But there was no one to be seen.

‘Call yourself a watchman?’ sneered the customs officer. ‘You’re jumping at shadows!’