One lunged at him.

His father brought the hook sharply down, catching his assailant in the side of the head with a sickening crunch… the shadow crumpled to the deck.

‘Come on!’ his father roared. ‘You may be phantoms, but you still die like men!’

Two of the shadow warriors attacked. One was armed with a vicious-looking blade attached to a chain, while the other rapidly twirled two small scythes, but neither could get close. The group circled Jack’s father, waiting for him to tire.

Jack couldn’t bring himself to move; his feet were nailed to the deck with fear. He’d never used a knife in battle before. He raised his father’s blade with a shaking hand, steeling himself to attack.

Then one of the shadows threw a glimmering star…

Everything was dazzlingly bright. Jack squinted into the daylight. His body was on fire and his head pounded. A dull ache pulsed in his left arm. He lay there, unable to move, staring at a ceiling of polished cedar. This wasn’t the ship…

His father didn’t see it coming, but Jack did.

The shuriken struck his father on the bicep. John Fletcher grunted with pain, then ripped the metal star out with disgust. A thin stream of blood seeped from the wound. His father laughed at the pathetic little weapon.

But the shuriken was not meant to kill; it had merely been a distraction. A shadow dropped silently out of the rigging immediately behind his father, a spider pouncing on its prey.

Jack yelled a warning, but his voice was choked with panic.

The shadow slipped a garrotte round his father’s throat and yanked back hard. Jack felt utterly helpless. There were too many. He was just a boy. How could he possibly save his father?

In utter despair, Jack screamed and made a courageous charge with his father’s knife…

Disorientated, he turned his head, the muscles in his neck stiff and sore.

There, kneeling quietly beside him, appeared a tiny woman. She looked familiar but he couldn’t be sure; everything was out of focus.

‘Mother?’ asked Jack. The woman edged closer. It must be his mother. She had always nursed him when he was sick, but how could she possibly be here?

‘Yasunde, gaijinsan,’ came the gentle reply, as soft as the trickle of a stream.

The woman was wrapped entirely in white. Her long black hair brushed his cheek as she pressed a cool cloth against his forehead. Its feathery touch reminded Jack of his little sister… Jess’s hair was just as soft… but Jess was in England… this woman… no, she was a girl… looked like… an angel all in white… was this Heaven?… A veil of darkness enveloped him once again…

The shadow warrior stared directly at Jack.

A single emerald-green eye baited him with vindictive pleasure. The shadow had Jack by the throat and was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

Jack dropped the knife and it went clattering to the deck.

‘Rutter?’ hissed the green-eyed shadow, turning to Jack’s father.