“We’re over the coal bunkers, I think,” Sam said.
Ten more feet, and Remi said, “Bulkhead coming up.”
They stopped. The sound of Remi’s fingers tapping and probing the bulkhead filled the crawl space.
Snick.
“Eureka,” she said. “Another hatch.”
She crawled through this opening and disappeared. Sam heard the clang of her feet hitting grated steel. He crawled to the hatch. Directly ahead was a stanchion; he grabbed it and used it to ease himself out.
They were standing on a railed catwalk. They walked to the edge and shined their headlamps down, illuminating shadowed shapes of machinery, girders, and piping.
They walked along the catwalk to the aft bulkhead, where they found a short ladder leading upward to yet another hatch; once through this hatch, they found themselves hunched over in the four-foot-tall aft hold.
Sam panned his light around, trying to orient himself. “We’re directly below the wardroom. There’s got to be another—”
“I found it,” Remi called from a few feet away.
Sam turned to see her standing before a dangling ceiling hatch. She smiled. “Crafty devil, the Sultan,” she said. “Do you think this was for his harem?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Sam waddled over and formed stirrups with his hands. “Up you go.”
ONCE ON THE DECK ABOVE, they found themselves standing in a thirty-foot-long corridor. At their backs was the Shenandoah’s third mast, the mizzen. Along the starboard side of the corridor were five doors. These would be officers’ quarters.
Sam checked the first door. “The head,” he whispered.
In turn, they checked the remaining doors. The second and third rooms were empty, but not so with the fourth and fifth. Lying faceup in each of the tiered bunk beds was a skeleton.
“Buried alive,” Remi murmured. “My God, I wonder how long it took?”
“However long it took, it must have been a nightmare.”
AT THE END OF THE CORRIDOR, they turned right through another doorway and into the port-side corridor heading forward. One side was lined with more quarters. On the other, a single door led into the wardroom.
“Do you want to look?” asked Sam.
“Not particularly. It’ll be more of the sa
me.”
“One more room to check, then.”
They turned around. A few feet aft was a thick oaken door with heavy wrought iron hinges and a matching latch handle.
“Captain’s quarters,” Sam said.
“My heart’s pounding.”
“Mine too.”
“You or me?” Remi asked.
“Ladies first.”
Sam aimed his headlamp over Remi’s shoulder, helping to illuminate her path. She stepped up to the door, placed her hand on the latch, and, after a moment’s hesitation, depressed the thumb lever and pushed. Half expecting the clichéd creak of hinges, they were surprised when the door swung noiselessly inward.