‘B-believe me, I saw a shadow move,’ replied the watchman, his breathing now panicky and shallow. ‘This is a ghost ship! We should leave. Right now.’

The customs officer raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘A ghost ship? I didn’t take you to be such a superstitious fellow. Get a grip of yourself! There’s no –’

His rebuke was cut short by a clatter as the constable’s cudgel rolled across the wooden planks and stopped at his feet. The two men glanced down at the weapon before peering nervously into the gloom for its owner.

The watchman’s eyes were as round as two full moons. ‘Where’s the constable gone?’

The customs officer held up his lantern, pivoting slowly to reveal yet more barrels, grain sacks and piles of cloth … but no constable. ‘Samuel?’ he called. ‘You playin’ games?’

Then the lamplight fell upon an open hatch. Through it, the customs officer could see body upon body piled like ballast in the hold. Their cold dead eyes stared blankly at him. The missing crew!

The customs officer stumbled away. His heart hammering in his chest, he spun back towards the watchman – only to see a black limb reach out and drag his companion away. The darkness appeared to swallow him whole, not even giving him a chance to scream. Dropping the lantern in horror, the customs officer fumbled for his dagger. But his sheath was empty. A moment later, the missing blade was pressed against his neck, the razor-sharp steel cutting into his skin and drawing a bead of blood. A shadow materialized in front of him, silhouetted against the guttering flame of the discarded lantern. Only a pair of demon-black eyes were visible.

‘Is this England?’ hissed the shadow, its accent strange and sinister.

The customs officer nodded, terror taking his tongue. The shadow held a piece of paper before his face. Upon it was a hand-drawn portrait of a young man with straggly straw-blond hair and ocean-blue eyes.

‘You know him?’ asked the shadow.

The customs officer shook his head. ‘W-w-who is he?’

‘Jack Fletcher, the gaijin samurai.’

The customs officer frowned. ‘I never heard of him.’

‘Pity.’

The dagger was drawn sharply across the customs officer’s throat and he collapsed in a spluttering heap. As his blood spilled over the wooden deck and flowed into the hold, three more shadows emerged from the darkness. On their leader’s command, they swiftly and silently made their way to the galleon’s upper deck. Then, vaulting over the side and down the ladder, all four ninjas disappeared into the night.

London, England, autumn 1616

‘Welcome to England!’ said Jack, spreading his arms wide with pride.