The Last Scarecrow

9 | Below Decks

Twelve descended, lowering herself one boot at a time into the still, silent dark. A thin column of light pooled on the floor, illuminating several metres of gangway in either direction. Beyond that, everything was shifting shadows.

Nestled in Erin's hand, Raven's tiny claws scratched her pale skin. She whispered words of comfort to the blackbird before slipping him into the pouch on the front of her dungarees.

"We'll go round and check this level," Twelve said, surveying their surrounds. "Then move down."

The gangway led to the forecastle, through bulkhead after bulkhead. Twelve and Erin took it in turns to enter each doorway. Some opened easily, revealing personal sleeping quarters, meeting rooms or common areas. Others remained locked.

Those that did open were mostly in good order, but some had gaping holes through the hull where pale sunlight crept in. These rooms were a mass of splintered, charred furniture with arrows stuck in the walls and floors, piercing furniture and clothing.

Twelve collected handfuls of the discarded arrows, tucking them neatly inside her pirate jacket.

Raven muttered about the demons and The Scrapers from time to time, making Erin wonder why they had attacked this mighty ship. Surely, a warship like HMS Fortitude would have made quick work of an army equipped with bows and arrows. The gun turrets on deck alone could have reduced everything to crumbling stone and cinders in minutes.

After completing a lap of the deck, they descended again. As they got lower, the darkness grew, seeming closer, thicker. The next deck mirrored the one above—a few less holes, a few less arrows, but otherwise the same—and so they proceeded down and down and down.

Raven fidgeted nervously in Erin's dungaree pouch. The sound of the waves rustled against the side of the ship. She put out a hand and touched the cold grey hull.

"We're probably below sea level now."

"It's colder down here."

Raven agreed with a mirthless squawk.

Erin shuffled carefully down the long gangways of HMS Fortitude with her hands touching the walls on either side. At midships, she came to a large room, her footsteps reverberating noisily across the space.

In the dim light she noticed that the floor was covered with plastic linoleum and the furniture was made of metal. Erin smoothed her hands over the cool, almost wet-like surfaces. "Aluminium," she whispered.

"Metal tables and surfaces?" replied Twelve. "What kind of room is this?"

Erin was smiling, but no-one could see.

"The Galley," she said victoriously. "It's the kitchen and mess hall. If there's food anywhere on this ship, then this is the place."

The search began.

Twelve took all the high cupboards and shelves, while Erin plundered those below. They worked their way along one wall, down another, into a small windowless room that might have been meat cellar or walk-in refrigerator, and finally the pantry.

Erin found two dented tins of baked beans, one of peaches and four of tomatoes. Twelve discovered half full packets of flour, rice, and lentils.

Admiring their haul, Erin rested against what she thought was a table. Instead of finding a smooth edge to lean on, her lower back pressed against several round dials. They hissed, making her jump.

She turned instantly, running her fingers up and down, feeling the familiar shape of ring-burners. "A gas stove," she mumbled to herself.

Twelve shrugged through the gloom. "Does it work?"