They were given thirty minutes to think about it.
Jeffers remained silent as they were escorted from King Slash's throne room back to their prison below. Once the door was closed and locked behind them the passengers and crew clustered around Jeffers and Claire, demanding to know what had happened.
Jeffers asked for silence, his face grim.
'This . . . Slash — he wants the ship,' he said. 'He wants us to lure Titanic into port, and then he will seize her. If we do not agree he will kill one of us every thirty minutes and roast our bodies on the fire for supper. He will keep doing this until we give up the ship, or until there's none of us left.'
They all stared at him. They had expected to die from the moment they were captured, but when it hadn't happened instantaneously they had allowed themselves some small measure of hope. But now this situation seemed even worse. They were being offered a chance to save themselves — at the expense of the ship that had saved them.
Dr Hill was the first to speak. 'We cannot risk the Titanic. There are hundreds of passengers and crew still on board — if they get the ship they will surely kill them as well as us. They have no reason to keep any of us alive.'
'We don't know that,' said Rodriguez. 'Maybe he just wants the ship — not the people inside.'
'If it buys us some more time,' said one of the passengers — Mr Robinson, clutching his wife's hand tightly — 'maybe we should agree. Captain Smith might be able to find a way to rescue us.'
Dr Hill shook his head. 'If Captain Smith becomes aware that we're being held hostage, he will not attempt a rescue. He will sail away rather than lose the ship.'
'But he can't sail away,' observed Claire. 'Not without the missing part.'
'We don't know that for sure,' said Dr Hill. 'Jonas may still be alive. He could still make it back to the ship.'
'He's gone,' said Rodriguez. 'If the cannibals didn't get him, the rats surely did. He could hardly walk when I saw him. The ship is dead in the water. We have to try and save ourselves.'
They argued back and forth. There was angry pointing and raised voices, threats and warnings and cries of despair. The only members of their company who did not contribute were First Officer Jeffers himself — and the Rev. Cleaver, who remained sitting, off to one side, hands clasped, eyes closed, his lips moving every so subtly, apparently in prayer. Claire looked at Jeffers two or three times; he was at the centre of the group, he appeared to be listening, but there was something about the distant look in his eyes that made her think he had zoned out, that he was thinking his own course through it all. Eventually, as they continued tearing each other's arguments to shreds, he pushed through them and went and stood in front of the door, just staring at it. Claire also detached herself from the group and stood by him.
Without looking at her, he said: 'There's something about this that isn't right.'
'There's none of it that's right.'
'No — I mean . . . I don't know exactly what I mean. It's about the show — the musical, the costumes — they're all . . .'
'Actors,' said Claire.
Jeffers nodded.
'Their language, the way they act — it's like a performance . . .'
Claire wasn't really sure what he was driving at, but she was prepared to trust his instincts more than most of those still arguing amongst themselves on the other side of the room. Dr Hill would go with whatever Jeffers decided. Probably the remaining crewmen would continue to obey orders. Ty would do the right thing, she was sure. The remaining passengers, though — they might do anything to survive, even if that meant betraying the Titanic.
Eventually, with everyone still arguing, the door opened and a Wolf Man entered. Silence fell immediately.
'Have you come to a decision?' He demanded. 'Are you prepared to give up the ship?'
They all looked to Jeffers. He nodded around them, then faced the Wolf Man. 'Yes,' he said, 'we will surrender Titanic.'
Claire's mouth dropped open. Although most of their group had argued for such a decision, to hear it coming from Jeffers was quite a shock.
'I am the senior officer present,' he said. 'I have made my decision. Dr Hill, you're in charge until I return.'
Claire never thought in a million years that Jeffers would give the Titanic up so easily. She was about to protest — though, she noted, nobody else was — when Jeffers addressed the Wolf Man again, 'The Titanic is yours, subject to one condition.'
The Wolf Man immediately barked: 'What?'
'That's between me and Slash.'
Because of his mask it was impossible to read his face. There was a long moment when nothing was said, before he angled his head to one side and snapped, 'This way.'
In turn Jeffers indicated for Claire to follow him. She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to be part of this great betrayal. But then she decided it would at least give her the chance to make one last effort to talk him out of it. As they were led back down the corridor she hissed: 'What are you doing? You can't give her up!'
He didn't look at her, and as he spoke his lips barely moved. 'I need you to trust me.'
Slash sat regally, with a Royal Butcher on either side. The Wolf Man bowed, approached and whispered in his ear; Slash nodded and the Wolf Man withdrew.
'A condition?' Slash sneered. 'You are not in a position to make a condition!
'I believe I am.'
Slash bristled. The Butchers inched closer; Claire was aware of their hands moving to the hilts of their swords.
'I am giving you the Titanic, said Jeffers, 'I believe that deserves something in return. All I want you to do is kill me and to let the rest of my party go free.'
Claire spun towards him. 'You can't—'
'Be quiet! It's my decision.'
This then was his grand plan — a noble sacrifice to save their lives . . . or an easy escape from the guilt of giving up his ship?
Slash's real face was hidden, but he sounded like he was smiling. 'You have my word. Now, how can you be so sure that you can deliver the ship?'
Jeffers looked emotionlessly at Claire. She knew immediately what was coming. 'Don't—' she began, but there was no stopping him.
'This is the daughter of the owner. If she sends a distress signal, they will come ashore to rescue her. They would only do it for her, not for me or anyone else. As long as you have her, you have the ship.'
Claire glared at him. 'You . . . you bastard! How could you?'
'Be quiet, Claire. It's done.'
Slash stood from his throne and stepped down, rubbing his hands together. 'It has been a pleasure doing business with you. Now, my Butchers, take him away and—'
Jeffers shook his head and said, 'No.' Slash stopped. 'That wasn't the bargain. My condition was that you kill me.'
Slash laughed. 'And get blood on my hands? I don't think so. Guards, take . . .'
Jeffers suddenly took a step forward and ripped the jewelled dagger from the sheath on Slash's waist. Before Slash or the Butchers could react he plunged it into his own neck.
Claire screamed.
But instead of blood spraying out, instead of Jeffers collapsing down dead by his own hand, he stood where he was.
No blood.
Unharmed.
He turned swiftly to one side and chopped one of the Butchers across the neck; as he fell, Jeffers spun and punched the other. As he tumbled backwards and Slash stood, stunned, Jeffers calmly bent and lifted one of the samurai swords, stepped forward and thrust it deep into the king's chest.
Slash took a step back.
But he remained standing.
Claire stared — shocked, mesmerised.
He has a sword sticking out of his heart. Why isn't he dead? Why isn't Jeffers?
Her questions were answered almost immediately as Jeffers pulled the sword out of the king — again there was no blood and no gaping hole — and showed it to her. 'See? Retractable blade! It's not real, Claire, it's a theatrical prop!'
He threw it down. Behind him the Royal Butchers were groggily getting back to their feet, but he ignored them and instead took hold of Slash's lion mask.
'No . . . !' Slash cried, but it was too late. Jeffers ripped it off his head to reveal — well . . . someone very, very ordinary.
Claire was looking at a quite pleasant-looking man, perhaps in his mid-thirties; he had short, sandy hair, a wispy moustache and a pair of glasses. His face was pale, and now that Claire could properly see his eyes she realised that they were wide and fearful and blinking uncontrollably. Instantly all of her fears and concerns evaporated.
'Please — don't hurt me . . .' Slash took a step back. Now that the wooden lion mask wasn't acting as a buffer to his voice, making it deeper and causing it to echo, it sounded really ordinary.
Jeffers spun towards the Butchers. 'Yours too!' he snapped.
The Butchers hesitated for a moment, looked at each other and then rather sheepishly removed their cheetah heads. If anything, the two men inside were even less impressive to look at than Slash.
Claire was utterly astounded. 'I don't understand . . . what . . . ?'
'You know already, Claire,' said Jeffers. He shook his head at Slash and the Butchers. 'You're actors — you put on your masks and act scary and people fall for it. Isn't that right?'
Slash nodded warily.
'Please,' begged one of the Butchers, 'you can't tell anyone.'
Jeffers ignored him and pointed at Slash. 'You. What's your name?'
Slash cleared his throat. 'Billy. Billy Whitehouse. I, uhm, received a Tony Award for my role in The Jungle King. I—'
Claire had heard enough. 'Let's just get out of here — stop even talking to them, they're still cannibals . . .'
'No,' said one of the Butchers,'we're really not.'
'Honestly,' said the other.
Jeffers looked from one to the other. 'Tell me.'
But it was Slash — Billy who stepped forward. 'Please — this is all my fault. We haven't done anything wrong — we're just trying to, you know, get through this . . . You have to understand — we were rehearsing up here when the plague struck, there were twenty of us. . . and somehow it passed us by. We knew there were other survivors out there, but we stayed hidden in here, scared and hungry and . . . well, there were rats down in the basement, we killed some of them and I . . . well, when I wasn't working I used to have a job in a restaurant, so I know how to cook, so I made this stew out of them, managed to rescue some spices, dried vegetables . . . and it was really not bad. Soon we were making it every day and word got out that we had fresh food and other survivors started to arrive and they ended up laying siege to the theatre and so we had to come up with a plan . . .' He shrugged helplessly.
'We put on our costumes,' said one of the Butchers. 'We opened the doors and let them all in, we put on our show for them, and then we fed them — and halfway through Billy told them that we were cannibals, that they were eating human flesh, and that we would continue to feed them if they followed our commands — and that we would eat anyone who didn't. You have to understand, we are good actors, we play terrifying very well . . .'
'They so absolutely believed us,' said the other Butcher, 'and there's an inexhaustible supply of rats down there — they come up through the sewers.'
'So they only think they're cannibals?' Claire asked.
'Yes!' said Billy. 'We are not monsters. We only have the appearance of monsters.'
'But what about the people you capture? The bones down at the harbour?'
'It's just a charade! If we capture someone, we tell them that they're going to be eaten, we turn it into a big party, we make a huge rat stew, and then right before we're supposed to kill them we "accidentally" leave their cell unlocked. They escape and when they get outside the city they tell everyone they meet that cannibals control New York, which scares people from coming in, so we're left in peace . . .'
'You're left in charge, you mean,' said Jeffers.
'It's not like that. Please believe us. Even the bodies that we burn, it's all stage dummies and special effects and make-up. There are millions of bones lying about, we just carve a few up to make it look like they've been skinned and toss them on the fire. It's all basic stagecraft.' He sighed. 'Look, we've . . . gotten used to doing it. It's been a real kick, but we knew it couldn't last. We honestly haven't harmed anyone, we just came up with a scheme to keep people in line as a way of protecting ourselves. The problem is, it's gotten a bit out of hand. It started out with just a few believing us — but now there's thousands of them and they all think they're cannibals. But if they find out it's all been . . . a trick . . .'
'They'll eat you alive,' said Jeffers.