Sebastien perked up in his chair. Perhaps Kostas wasn’t as immovable as he seemed. Here was a chance to influence him.
“I think your staff and crew just want to have some power over their lives,” Sebastien said, the expression on his face now sincere. “This ship is our home. These latest restrictions tell us we have no control, no autonomy. Please, sir, retract these rules and give us some of our humanity back.”
Kostas seemed to roll Sebastien’s words around in his head. Finally, his eyes darted across the desk.
“Not everyone can be trusted with power,” he said, delivering his verdict with a sigh. “That’s why the powerless will never possess it.”
Sebastien looked away. It felt like he’d been tricked into lowering his defences.
Nice move.
“It’s getting late,” Sebastien said. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to head back to my cabin before the curfew.”
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Goh. Come see me if you hear anything that can help the investigation. You’d be rewarded generously for your co-operation.”
Sebastien stood up and remembered what was clutched in his hand. It was the photograph he had taken of the Kourakis family in the atrium the previous night. They hadn’t come to retrieve it. The portrait was displayed in a shimmering silver frame. He held it out to his father across the desk.
“I brought this for you,” he said. “A gift.”
The following day would be spent at sea as the Glacier sailed toward the island of Crete. For several crew members, it would also be their last full day on board.
While everyone was sleeping off the effects of the night’s revelry, a pack of security guards was unleashed throughout the lower decks of Hades. They knocked on cabin doors and escorted groggy crew members to the medical clinic on B Deck, all the while crossing names off a list. The targets had been identified as participating in “suspicious conduct” the previous night and were required to undergo mandatory drug and alcohol testing. By six in the morning, a line of irate and confused crew members displaying various degrees of intoxication snaked out the medical clinic’s doors and along the main passageway of Styx.
Within two hours, letters of immediate eviction had been handed out to nine servers, eight housekeepers, six cabin-service attendants, six cooks, and three deck cleaners. Members of the more privileged class of staff escaped the witch hunt except for two male musicians — one bassist from the jazz quartet and the pianist who had often accompanied Contessa’s solo performances. They had been seen violating the sexual morality code in creative ways in a dark corner of the crew bar.
Thirty-four employees were dismissed in total, the largest cull of the ship’s staff and crew in years. The official reason for most of the evictions was failure to pass the mandatory drug and alcohol testing. Despite the fact that alcohol was generously and encouragingly served to staff and crew, being intoxicated was officially forbidden. Drunken sailors weren’t of much use in times of nautical emergency. This rule was generally ignored, but it proved to be a convenient way for the commanding officers to eliminate people who were problematic.
Kostas’s revenge had begun.
Sebastien spent most of the night staring up at the bottom of Ilya’s bunk above him. His nerves felt frayed, crackling with electricity. Diya could have been right. Maybe they’d started something they could no longer control. Perhaps Kostas was right, too. Had he gone too far?
He replayed scenes from the previous two nights over and over in the projection room of his mind. Diya calming herself with a mug of hot tea. The reassuring feeling of Ilya’s hands on his face. The little black stud in the middle of Nikos’s palm. Kostas accepting Sebastien’s gift, arm outstretched with a gracious smile.
The end of the reel was always the same — little Kristo’s eyes staring up at him, wide, fearful, shining with hatred.
That hadn’t been part of the plan, but there was nothing he could have done to stop it. He knew that violence lived in everyone, but he was scared by his inability to control his own.
Sebastien imagined the checkerboard he and his mother had made with cardboard and felt pen when he was a child. Ruby would always be calm as she played, while he would often fidget with anxiety, worried about making the wrong move. “You have to think three steps ahead,” she would say. “And while your opponent thinks he has the upper hand, you better make sure your next move counts.”
They’re here.
Ilya sent the signal to Sebastien through the messaging app used by most staff and crew on their phones.
“Good morning!” he said even more cheerfully than usual. The lights reflected off the mirrored walls of the fitness studio as his next class entered. They were a strange sight in their gym outfits. In soccer shorts and cotton T-shirts, they were mere mortals without the power of their imposing white uniforms. Kostas and Giorgos could pass as harmless dads fighting off the greying, sagging effects of age. Most of the other officers were younger, but even they looked weathered now, standing in the same room as the sunny Ukrainian.
“Wake up, boys! You know the drill. I want to see you move like you mean it.” Ilya led the elite group of officers through the same kickboxing class every Thursday and Sunday morning. They never missed a class. He was surprised to see Giorgos come out of hiding, looking like he had plenty of sweat and aggression to release.
“Take it easy on us, Mr. Tereshchenko,” Kostas said. “We’ve had a long night.”
“What do I say to that, everyone?” Ilya asked, stretching his muscular arms above his head.
“Accept no excuses,” the group of officers responded in a chorus of limp voices.
“That’s right!” Ilya flashed his signature smile. “Make it count or you might as well go back to bed.”
Several levels below the fitness studio, Sebastien climbed up the stairwell to the officers’ quarters on A Deck. He tucked his phone with Ilya’s all-clear message into his pocket and pushed open the door.
Other than the offices of Kostas and Nikos, the entire deck was unfamiliar territory. He walked along the main corridor toward the stern of the ship where the commanding officers lived. He knew this elite wing was where he would find cabin A66.
Dressed in the borrowed grey uniform he had worn the other night on Riviera Deck, he hoped to be ignored as a cabin-service attendant by any officers he might encounter along the way. He had even practised holding the shiny tray and cloche in his hand in front of the mirror. Even though Ilya had confirmed it all looked convincing, he could feel the sweat forming underneath his matted hair and bellboy cap.
He walked past an officer he recognized as one of Nikos’s friends. Keeping his eyes fixed ahead, he sensed the man slow down with suspicion. He braced himself for being identified, but the young officer walked on without a word.
The locked door that required key-card access appeared at the end of the corridor. He had tested the skeleton key on a few random doors earlier that morning and was relieved to find it still worked. Nikos either hadn’t discovered it was missing or couldn’t deactivate it.
He glanced around before inserting the cold rectangle of black plastic into the slot above the handle of the door. His breath caught in his throat as he waited for entry to be granted or denied. A gush of air escaped his mouth when the green dot of light appeared. He steadied himself, nearly dropping the silver tray in his hand.
The hallway on the other side of the door was far less utilitarian than any other corridor below decks. As Ilya had claimed on the day they first met, the entire wing was covered in plush carpet the colour of Concord grapes. The decorative wallpaper mimicked dark-green panels of wainscotting.
The wing was deserted. Most of the commanding officers were either at work on the navigation bridge or attending Ilya’s kickboxing class, but there was always the chance of someone popping in or out of a cabin. He had to move quickly.
As he crept down the hall, he realized he had never seen Nikos
’s cabin. The opposite had also been true until the previous night, when Nikos appeared at his door unannounced to escort him to Kostas’s office. The only place they were allowed to be themselves was the House of the Heel. It had to be hidden away, kept secret like the one he was about to uncover.
He found his destination as he turned a corner at the end of the hall. As with the other cabins, the address was engraved on a bronze plaque affixed to the front of the door: A66.
He hesitated as he stood in the corridor with the skeleton key pressed between his fingertips. Something bad was behind this door, according to Dominic. Something he wasn’t supposed to see. Something his father was hiding.
With a deep breath and a determined shake of the head, he inserted the key and pushed open the door.
FIFTEEN
Six Little Circles
The cabin was simple and modestly furnished, yet larger and more comfortable than those the staff and crew called home. A bed sat in the far corner to the right, its sheets twisted together like a braid. A chest of drawers and a desk were anchored against the wall to the left. The sea churned outside a rectangular window with rounded corners and large hexagonal bolts holding its thick frame.
Sebastien scanned the quiet cabin and almost didn’t notice the young woman sitting in the corner with her back against the wall. Her long hair fell over her shoulders like the mane of an ebony horse. She had rich Mediterranean skin. Her eyes were wide as she clutched a pillow against her chest.
He recognized her immediately. She was the woman Nikos had led out of Sirens through a hidden door in the wall the night they sailed away from Mykonos. Her clothing was similar to what she wore that night, jeans and a T-shirt, black from head to toe.
“I’m sorry.” They were the first words that came to mind. “I didn’t know there was anyone in here.”
The startled look on her face dissolved into panic. “Help me.” Her voice was hoarse as it caught in her throat. It rang out across the room more clearly the second time. “Help me.”
“Who are you?” Sebastien inched toward her with his hands held up to show he wasn’t a threat. “It’s okay. I’m a friend.”
“We need to get out of here.” The pitch of her voice heightened. “They’ll be back soon.”
“Who?” He kneeled in front of the young woman. She was frightened. The classical features of her face and the contralto of her words hinted she was Greek.
“The men in the white suits.”
“Are you trapped here?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
Her eyes shot to the floor as she tightened her grip on the pillow. “I borrowed money from them I can’t pay back. They told me I could work off the debt in three months at a clothing factory in France. They told me I would just have to sew.” Her body started to shake, her words distressed. “They’re liars. They haven’t let me out of this room since I came on board in Athens. I don’t know where I’m going or what they’ll do with me once I get there. You need to help me.”
There was desperation in her eyes.
“Did you say you boarded the ship in Athens?”
She nodded.
“That means you would’ve been here just about a week.”
“I think so,” she said, unsure.
Dominic had been escorted off the ship the same day she came on board, which meant he couldn’t have seen this young woman. Whatever he stumbled upon here happened days before they docked in Athens. He must have seen something else — or someone else.
Another woman. The thought echoed through his mind like a whisper. There was another woman here.
“We need to go.” Sebastien sprang to his feet and held out his hand. She hesitated before grabbing hold.
“The door locks automatically from the outside,” she said, tossing the pillow onto the bed. “We won’t be able to get out.”
“I have a key.” Clothes spilled out of the woman’s suitcase at the bottom of the closet. He rummaged through the contents before holding up a cap and hooded sweatshirt. “Tie your hair back and put these on.”
She did as she was instructed while Sebastien paced across the floor with his hands in his hair, straining to formulate a plan.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she pulled the bill of the cap over her eyes. He surveyed her with approval. She looked less memorable.
“I know a place. To get there, we need to cross the officers’ deck where someone might recognize you. It’ll draw attention if we go together. I’ll walk ten paces in front of you. Just follow me.”
She nodded, the fear returning to her eyes.
“If anyone tries to talk to you, just keep walking. Ignore them. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She tilted her chin down and pursed her lips. Her hands were balled into fists.
Sebastien inserted the skeleton key into the door and exhaled in relief as the green light appeared. After poking his head out to scan the empty hallway, he motioned for her to follow.
He hurried along the carpeted corridor with the woman trailing behind. He braced himself for one of the cabin doors to fling open, but they remained closed like sleeping eyes, keeping their secrets safe within. The exit at the end of the hall seemed impossibly far until the door finally materialized in front of him. The metal handle felt cold as he balanced the shiny tray in his other hand. He turned to look at the woman who stood exactly ten paces behind him.
“This leads to the officers’ deck,” he whispered. “Remember what I said. And if anyone stops me, just keep walking.”
She tilted her chin forward in a stealthy nod.
Sebastien pushed open the door and stepped onto the grey metallic floor. There were a couple of white suits in the distance, but the deck was mostly clear. If they could make it to the stairwell that led to B Deck below, they’d be able to use the network of hidden stairs and passageways that snaked throughout the ship’s interior.
The woman’s footsteps could be heard behind him as they marched past Nikos’s office. The door was closed.
A young officer with close-cropped hair and a faint goatee turned a corner and passed Sebastien, his pace unhurried.
“Are you lost, beautiful?” His voice was boyish and suggestive. The woman’s footsteps continued on without missing a beat. “I asked you a question,” the officer called out after her. He muttered something under his breath as he walked away in defeat.
Sebastien quickened his pace when he saw the white door that led to the staircase. His lungs released a sigh as he stepped onto the landing. The woman appeared seconds later.
He had learned how to traverse the ship through the hidden passageways. Staff and crew used these tunnels and stairwells to reach all corners of the Glacier without being seen by guests. It didn’t take long for them to climb several levels above to Riviera Deck.
Sebastien guided the woman by the hand as they stepped through the doorway and onto the familiar seafoam carpet. “It’s just at the end of the hall,” he said, flashing her an encouraging glance.
With the skeleton key in his fingers, he opened the double doors and pulled the woman inside the sanctuary. It looked untouched since the last time he had been there. Piles of white sheets were laid across the floor of the raised stage. The glass panels along the walls cast a warm glow throughout the egg-shaped room.
“Where are we?” She shook her hair out of the cap and wiped the sweat that glistened across her forehead.
“You’re safe here,” he said. “This is the House of the Heel.”
The day after Sebastien’s nineteenth birthday, Sophie baked him a cake. He told her it wasn’t necessary, that his mother had already baked him one the previous night, but she didn’t listen. She had a way of turning everything into a production. “Birthdays are important,” she said.
She held the cake in front of her ceremoniously as she sang, taking careful steps toward him. Nine candles were blue and ten were white. They flickered softly, casting shadows on her face. She placed the cake in fro
nt of him on the Lamoureux family dining table.
“Make a wish,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.
He paused, then blew. Every candle flickered out except for one. She took a seat beside him at the table fit for ten.
“What did you wish for?”
He knew she was going to ask that exact question.
“A baby goat.”
Sophie giggled and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Be serious.”
“Seriously. I want a baby goat. And a time machine, but I guess I only get one wish.”
“Then you’re going to be very disappointed in the gift I have for you.” Sophie climbed onto his lap and straddled his waist. Her mouth tasted like icing sugar. His body flooded with warmth as she ran her fingers through his hair. This was all very new to him still. Ever since she had shown him the things he could do with his body a few months earlier, he craved her like nicotine. Their parents didn’t approve, but that was tinder to the fire. They would be ridiculed as a couple, so they kept their friendship private. Come September, they would part ways for different schools in different cities where they would become different people and begin different lives, but until then they found home in each other’s bodies.
Sophie’s dress was halfway over her head when they heard the front door open, echoing across the high ceiling of the foyer. She pulled her clothes back on and slid off Sebastien’s lap in one seamless motion.
Her father appeared at the dining room entrance a second later. He was large and intimidating, dressed in a wool suit. The knot of his red tie hung loosely against his wrinkled shirt. A black leather briefcase was clenched in his fist.
“Daddy,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant while straightening her hair. “You’re back from work early.”
“What’s he doing here?” His eyes shot from the burned-out candles on the cake to Sebastien’s tousled hair.
“It’s his birthday,” Sophie explained.
Sebastien stood up. “I was just heading home, sir.”
The Rebellious Tide Page 15