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Silently, Nichols slipped into the cargo hold, wooden bat in hand. From his spot in the shadows, he eyed the Formosan guard, Hok-Seng Lau, standing at his post, ever watchful as he kept vigil.
Just what could they have that required a constant armed guard? Nichols had tried to subtly prod the captain to see if he had any idea - really he should know all the goings on in his own ship - yet it seemed he was as clueless as the rest of them. If there was a secret so important it was kept even from the captain, then Nichols certainly wanted to be privy to it. And if there was something of value in there, something truly priceless... Perhaps he ought to take it for himself.
The moment Hok-Seng Lau turned his head away from Nichols, he sprang up and hit him over head, the bat colliding with his skull with a crunch. Lau dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. It was highly unlikely that he would be able to identify his attacker. Good.
Discarding the bat, Nichols picked up and lit his lantern, then threw open the door to the passenger cargo storage. Inside, there were a few normal looking boxes, but it was at once evident what the true treasure was - a strange looking chest. It seemed to open in two places - the top, which had a hefty lock built into it, and a small drawer at the bottom. Placing the lantern on the floor, Nichols gingerly eased the drawer open. He couldn't help but gasp when he saw what lay within.
It was some sort of shell - though no ordinary one, that was for certain. In the dark of the cargo hold, it shone brilliantly, an incandescent glow that bathed Nichols' face in its warm light. As he twirled it in his fingers, colours danced across its pearly surface - pinks, blues, greens, pulling apart, then melting back together, like waves in the ocean. Enamoured with it as he was, he did not at first hear the sound of footsteps entering the cargo hold. The voice calling out into the darkness.
"Hello? Who is there?"
The shell seemed to drown everything else out, pulling Nichols away from reality, leaving him deaf to the world around him. Pasqua’s approach, the creaking of the ship. None of it reached Nichols' ears. The entire universe was just him and this shell - it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Just what kind of price would it fetch? A piece like this would not be out of place among the Crown Jewels - surely it was worth a fortune. Even so... it was tempting to keep it for himself. Never before had he felt such an all-consuming desire for anything, a magnetic pull, an ache in his soul that cried out in anguish at the idea of parting from it. Only one word echoed in Nichols' mind. Mine.
"Who is that? Is someone hurt?"
At last, Nichols was jolted back to the real world.
"Eh?" He called out involuntarily in his surprise, then slapped his hand over his mouth, digging his nails into his skin. Idiot. If he'd just kept quiet perhaps he could have hidden.
Trying - and failing - to suppress the panic that was beginning to erupt within him, Nichols scrambled to put the shell away and got to his feet, stumbling back into the main area of the cargo hold as the boat tipped.
"Signor Nichols, is that you?" Pasqua asked, holding out a lantern to try and get a better look at him. "What are you doing down here?"
"Hello, yes!" Nichols said, unable to conjure up anything that sounded even vaguely natural to say.
Goddamnit.
What the hell was he supposed to do? If Pasqua told the captain that he'd attacked a passenger and was in the middle of stealing from them, he would be done for. There had to be something he could do to keep the man's mouth shut.
Nichols hadn't interacted with him much, but he knew that Pasqua was a principled man - he would not be bribed, that much was certain.
"All fine here. Just, ah, sorting some things." He said, trying to buy himself a few more seconds to think. Heart pounding, he slowly reached for his pocket. He had brought a... backup plan. Just in case.
"Watch your step." Nichols stepped towards Pasqua as the ship tilted once more. "Here, let me help you."
Placing one hand on Pasqua's arm, Nichols thrust the other into his chest, the blade slipping easily through his ribs.
The man cried out in pain, grasping feebly at Nichols, trying in vain to remove the knife, to undo what had already been done. But it was too late. Within seconds, the man’s strength faded, until he was completely gone.
Yanking his knife out of the corpse, Nichols shoved Pasqua away and staggered back, breathing heavily. Blood had splattered all over him, staining his shirt and white trousers with large patches of crimson.
Staring down at the body before him, Nichols dropped his knife, then raked his fingers through his hair, scraping across his scalp.
"Oh damn," he muttered, taking another step back, his boots sticking slightly to the floor from the blood. What the hell had he been thinking? What if someone had heard that? Getting caught stealing was one thing, but a murder? All he'd done was get himself in a bigger mess than he'd started with - and he was covered in the evidence of his crime.
Wringing his trembling hands, Nichols paced the cargo hold, trying to think of what to do, but his brain simply would not cooperate - it was like trying to wade through sludge. All he could think about was how the captain would execute him without a second thought if he found out what he'd done. The centre of his forehead felt cold, a phantom touch, a ghost of the bullet that would end him if he didn't do something. Turning his gaze to Hok-Seng Lau, Nichol's heart beat faster - he only had so long until the man awoke. Even if none of the Formosans spoke English particularly well, he could not afford to have a witness.
Pausing for a moment in an effort to steady his breathing, Nichols calmed himself. First, he needed to shut the drawer of that chest. Then... perhaps he could switch his clothes with Lau's? No, that wouldn't do. Even if the trousers were similar enough, the style was different, and they would not fit properly. Tampering too much would only create more evidence against him - he had to be careful. Even so, why not frame Lau? It wouldn't be difficult, with him in such a vulnerable state.
Picking up his knife, Nichols cautiously approached Lau, then placed it in his hand. Next, he smeared some of the blood on his clothes - hopefully that would be convincing enough. Before standing up, he collected his bat and put it back in his pocket, then looked over at the stairs. Short of undressing, there was no way to hide the blood, and Nichols had no desire to sacrifice his dignity. His cabin was so close to the stairs... if he could just make it up without being seen...
He gritted his teeth. There was nothing else for it. Hoping it was dark enough that no-one would see him clearly, Nichols rushed up and barrelled into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He winced at the noise. At least Davies was on duty - he wasn't around to hear him.
Quickly as he could, Nichols changed his clothes, then sat on his bed, head in his hands. What now? He couldn't just leave things as they were. With all the energy in his system, he couldn't just sit still or go back to sleep - and what about the bloody clothes? He needed to get rid of them.
Help - that was what he needed. Help.
Most would not be receptive to helping cover up a murder, but there was one man... Galligan. He had not just been a little interested in his theft plan, but eager. He would help. Despite how long Galligan had worked under him, Nichols was hesitant to truly trust him - or anyone - but here he had no choice.
As he left his room, Nichols caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror - he looked an utter wreck. Half of his hair was falling into his face, red dots were splattered across his cheeks, his shirt buttons were misaligned, and his eyes were wide and frenzied. God. Wiping away the blood, Nichols hurried to the stewards' cabin, where Galligan was asleep.
Gripping his shoulders, Nichols violently shook him awake. With a groan, Galligan attempted to shove Nichols away, before realising what was happening and opening his eyes.
Blinking, he stared up at his superior.
"Nichols, sir?" He asked, then got a proper look at Nichols' face. "Sir!? What happened?"
"Shh!" Nichols hushed him, then pointed downwards. Another steward was asleep in the bunk below - Perrott's boy most likely, though it was too dark for him to tell.
"My cabin. Now," he hissed, then practically dragged Galligan out of bed.
"Sir? What's going on?" Galligan asked when they were back in the safety of Nichols' quarters, his voice calm and measured.
Nichols scratched at his neck. "It's... it's Pasqua. He's dead."
"What!?" Gallican exclaimed, unable to contain his surprise.
"Be quiet! Are you trying to wake the entire ship?"
"Am I understanding correctly that you killed him?" For just a moment, disbelief passed over Galligan’s usually placid face.
"I... I had to! I was investigating what the Formosans are transporting, as we discussed, and he walked in on me. I had to get rid of him before he said anything!"
"Of course. You had to," Galligan said, but Nichols could hear the traces of doubt in his voice. Surely there must have been other options? Anything would be better than this mess. Even if Galligan did not say anything, Nichols could tell they were what he thought.
"Don't take that tone with me!" Nichols shoved Galligan into the wall of his cabin, waving a finger around in his face. "You only think you could've done it better because you weren't there."
"I didn't say-"
"You were thinking it."
"Sir, please. Let's calm down. You've had a difficult evening, but I can't help you if you're going to keep me pinned to this wall."
Sighing, Nichols withdrew. "Apologies, I'm just rather... agitated, is all."
"It's alright. Now, tell me everything."
As quickly as he could, Nichols recounted the entire grisly tale, sparing no detail.
"I see. Well, first off, what did you do with the bloody clothes?" Galligan asked when Nichols was done.
"I just put them in one of the drawers under my bed - the middle one. I didn't know what to do with them."
Crouching down, Galligan opened the drawer in question, then examined the garments.
"Hm... Doesn't look like I could get these stains out, especially not on short notice," he said, then stood up and opened Nichols' window, tossing them into the ocean.
"Oh," was all Nichols could say, his face flushing slightly. He should've thought of that.
"Next, we ought to get you presentable," Galligan said, turning back to Nichols. "Chances are, there are only a few hours between now and Pasqua getting found at most, and we won't have time after. Why don't you take a seat?" He gestured to the stool next to Nichols' bed, and the man obliged.
Grabbing Nichols' chin, Galligan roughly washed his face with a damp cloth. Next, he rinsed the rest of the pomade out of Nichols' hair, then pulled back to examine his handiwork.
"Much better," Galligan said, then paused. "Would you like assistance fixing your shirt... sir?"
"I am perfectly capable of dressing myself," Nichols insisted, face reddening. Galligan glanced down to Nichols’ hands - even now, they were still trembling.
"...Fine," he relented. He refused to look at Galligan as he unbuttoned and rebuttoned his shirt, staring pointedly at the wall. "Thank you," he muttered.
"Only doing my job."
Nichols was fairly certain that 'helping your officer get away with a murder' was not part of a steward's job description, but he was hardly going to complain.
"Now, why don't you try and get yourself some sleep while you still can?" Galligan suggested, "At this point, interfering further is only likely to draw more suspicion onto you. You stay put, and I'll come up with a plan for what to do when they find him."
"Alright. Yes, yes, of course."
"See you in a few hours, sir," Galligan said as he left, leaving Nichols on his own.
Uneasy, Nichols got into bed and tried to sleep, though he wasn't particularly successful. His brain was alight with energy, all the outcomes of this night whirling around in his head, a chaotic storm of possibilities, most of which landed him with a gun pointed at his head and his skull exploding. He could not let that come to pass. No matter what. And yet there was nothing he could do at that moment. His body was telling him to leap up, to act - now - but he knew he would only entangle himself in more mistakes. He had to try and relax.
He slipped in and out of sleep, though how long for he did not know. He was roused by the rushing of footsteps throughout the ship, and then a pounding on his door.
"Nichols?" Hoscut's voice came through the door, "You need to get up - now."
"Just a moment!" Nichols said, leaping out of bed and quickly pulling on his shoes. He'd never felt more awake.
"What's going on?" Nichols asked as he joined Hoscut. Before the other man could say a word, a cry came from the other end of the ship:
"Murder!"
Nichols’ head snapped towards the sound. "Is someone dead?" He asked, feigning shock. Hoscut's face was grave.
"Yes. One of the passengers - Nunzio Pasqua. One of the crew found him a short while ago. We're looking into it now."
"And what do you want me to do?" Nichols asked, hoping that he'd have some role in the investigation which would allow him to sabotage it.
"You will be helping Davies to keep the crew calm, while the Captain, Perrott and myself try to get to the bottom of this mess. Can't make heads nor tails of anything with everyone running about like headless chickens, so you two need to get everyone on deck and do a headcount to make sure no-one else is missing."
Nichols' face twitched with annoyance. He hoped Hoscut didn't catch it. "Alright, I'll head up."
"Good. Do not let anyone come near the cargo hold."
"Understood."
With some effort, Nichols pushed the crowd of unruly sailors, yelling at them to get on deck as he made his way towards the stairs, clearing everyone out as he went.
"Everyone on the main deck!" Davies' voices carried over the commotion as he stood by the stairs. A few more people seemed to be coming up from down below, but it seemed that most were out of the way.
"Lovely start to the morning," Nichols said once he was close enough, trying to sound casual. Keep attention off of him. Or did that make him more suspicious?
"A start for you perhaps," Davies said yawning, "I haven't slept all night - and now it doesn't look like I will. Still - a man has died on our ship. That comes first."
Ever the noble one, Davies. Nichols had always found it grating.
"Of course." Nichols gave Davies a pitying smile, then looked up to the main deck. "I suppose we ought to get up there."
"Right," Davies agreed, and the two men ascended the stairs.
The crew were rowdy and disorderly, and confusion ran rampant. With some difficulty, Nichols and Davies managed to get them quiet and gave a brief explanation as to what was going on. Someone was dead and they needed to make sure no-one else was missing. That was all. There were a few gasps of shock, some cries of outrage that rippled across the deck, but the officers managed to keep them quiet.
Painfully slowly, Davies made his way through the crew manifest, calling out names and ensuring everyone was present. Every passing moment the anxiety in Nichols' stomach tightened, its tendrils spreading through his body like a fungus, perspiration forming on his brow and threatening to melt away the mask he wore. How much had the investigating officers found out? Would they come on deck and tie him up without asking a single question? Would he get a chance to defend himself or would they just arrange his execution?
Folding his arms behind his back, Nichols pinched at the skin of his wrists to distract himself. He had to get out of his head - the worrying was only going to make things worse for him. Had the crew manifest always been this long? How long was he just going to have to stand here for?
At last, Davies made it to the bottom of the list. Everyone present. Everyone accounted for. Well - not quite everyone. Four now had died since the Obra Dinn had set sail. Nichols would do anything in his power to ensure he was not the fifth.
Shortly after, the captain, as well as Hoscut and Perrott came up on deck.
"Attention, everyone!" The captain yelled, and the entire crew turned at once at the sound of his voice. "I know that this has been a difficult start to the day, but we need to stay on track. I expect everyone to work as usual, but we will be taking people aside one by one for interviews. Is that understood?"
A rumbling of assent spread across the ship, and then everyone just... went back to work. Back to normal, like nothing had happened. None of them had anything to worry about. At least interviews were a good sign - that meant they weren't certain of anything yet.
Before Nichols could dwell on anything further, he noticed the captain beckoning him and Davies. They went over and he brought them, along with the other two mates down to the wardroom on the gun deck.
Silence hung heavy in the air, permeated only by the muted sounds of feet above and the ocean outside. Nichols scanned the others' faces - never before had he seen such a set of identical grim expressions. Their eyes, too, flicked around the room, analysing, probing, examining their fellow officers for any hint of weakness. For any hint of guilt. Did they see it on his face? Written in his eyes, in the creases of his brow? 'Guilty' embedded into his skin, right in the centre of his forehead, plain as day for anyone to see. Witterel, Hoscut, Perrott, Davies - he felt their looks crawling on his skin, grasping at the edges of his fasçade, threatening to pull it down.
Unable to bear the silence, Nichols cleared his throat and looked at the floor.
"So, what were the results of your investigation?" He asked.
The captain pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Pasqua was well liked, nobody as far as we can tell at this point held any sort of grudge - though I suppose we'll know if that was really the case after the interviews. Hok-Seng Lau seemed to be holding the murder weapon, but the way he was found he looked as much a victim as Pasqua. It looked like someone had hit him in the head." He sighed. "He's the only person on this ship likely to have any answers and we can't understand a word he says."
Nichols didn't know whether to be relieved or worried - on one hand, he was not a suspect. On the other, his attempt to frame Hok-Seng Lau was insufficient, and the captain would not rest until someone had been punished. How long did he have before someone uncovered the truth?
"You don't have any suspects at all?" Davies asked, his brow creasing with worry.
"No. None." The captain folded his arms, a cold fury on his face. While the man certainly had his faults, he was dedicated to his crew - a rare trait in a captain. Many were happy to treat those that worked their ship as expendable, and might just dismiss the murder of Pasqua as a quarrel that had gotten out of hand. But not Robert Witterel. He would not let a crime like this go unpunished. Nichols almost wished he worked for a more corrupt man.
"Best to start these interviews sooner rather than later, then," Perrott said, leaning against the wall, "Everyone has been put on edge and they won't settle until we have answers."
The captain nodded. "Hoscut and I will conduct them. Davies, get some sleep, Nichols and Perrott, keep the ship running."
The captain left the room before anyone could say anything, taking Hoscut with him. Hoscut briefly looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Nichols for a moment, an expression he could not discern on his face, then he turned back and followed the captain.
Nichols went cold. What was that for? Did it mean anything?
"Well, gentlemen. If you'll excuse me," Davies said, then disappeared to his cabin. The two remaining men turned to look at each other.
"We ought to get back to it, then," Perrott said, straightening up.
"Yes, yes of course." With the captain gone, Nichols' nervousness was slipping back out, and though he tried to squash it, he could not stop it escaping.
Perrott paused. "Everything alright, son?"
"I'm fine," Nichols said quickly.
Slowly, Perrott approached him, and he fought the urge to take a step back.
"Are you sure?" Perrott raised a hand and Nichols flinched, only for it to be gently placed on his shoulder. "If there's anything you need, just let me know."
"Oh. Well, um, thank you. I will do." That was not at all what Nichols had been expecting. "I just need to uh... find Galligan- and sort some things." He winced. That excuse again. "I didn't have a chance to properly get ready this morning."
"That sounds like a good idea," Perrott said, "I can't imagine it was particularly enjoyable to stand in the wind this morning with your hair down like that."
"It most certainly was not." Nichols laughed awkwardly, backing away from the conversation. "I'll be back soon."
Fortunately, Galligan did not prove difficult to find - he was just leaving the stewards' cabin as Nichols went to check it.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Galligan asked, his face betraying no sign that anything was amiss.
"We need to have a talk. Is this room empty?"
Galligan nodded, and Nichols brought him inside.
"What happened while I was asleep?" Nichols asked, anxiety creeping into his voice.
"Nothing, really. I decided against going to the cargo hold - didn't think it would reflect well on either of us if I were seen going down there. Tried to falsify you an alibi though, sir - I had Davies' boy get something from your room so he'd see you were asleep in there."
While Nichols did not appreciate the invasion of privacy, he did have to admit it was a clever idea.
"Do they suspect you?" Galligan asked.
"No, not yet. At least I don't think so. But they don't suspect Hok-Seng Lau, either. The captain thinks he's a victim too."
"Still," Galligan said, noting how Nichols paced the room with agitation, "No reason to assume they'd come to the conclusion it was you. The captain trusts you, Hoscut trusts you. Even if someone were to suggest it, it would take decisive evidence for them to take it into consideration."
"I just- I don't know." Nichols gripped at his scalp, "Every time they look at me I feel like they know and they're just waiting for me to slip up. Besides, they won't rest until they find someone to blame, and if they didn't take the bait with Lau then what the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Sir, you need to keep your voice down," Galligan said. Nichols didn't understand how he always managed to stay so calm. "Take a deep breath. Now, didn't you say you thought that Li Hong seemed the sort to be amenable to helping with the original theft plan?"
"Hm? Yes, what of it?" In his confusion, Nichols briefly forgot his worry.
"Well, I was just thinking, sir. He speaks Chinese. It isn't quite the same as what the Formosans speak, but it's close, and I imagine the captain would quite like a translator for Hok-Seng Lau. Perhaps... a discussion with him is in order?"
The gears finally began to turn in Nichols' head, like he'd taken a gasp of fresh air after having his head submerged beneath the waves.
"I could bribe him," he said, as the realisation dawned on him.
"Indeed you could," Galligan replied, a slight smile on his worn face. "I suggest you find time to do so sooner rather than later."
"Could you find him for me? Send him to my cabin," Nichols instructed.
"As you like, sir," Galligan said, then bowed his head slightly and left. Nichols meanwhile went back to his room and began reapplying pomade to his hair - he'd been so distracted with everything else that he hadn't been particularly focused on it, but it had been frustrating with it always touching his face. He much preferred it out of the way where it couldn't bother him.
Just as he was finishing, there was a knock at the door.
"Yes? Who is it?" He asked.
"It's Li Hong. Galligan said you had something you wished to discuss with me?"
"Ah, yes. Come on in."
The man entered, a look of slight unease on his face.
"Close the door behind you," Nichols said, and Hong obliged.
"Have I done something wrong?" He asked, "Is this about the murder?"
"No- well, sort of. You've done nothing wrong, but it is about the murder." Nichols examined Hong's face, but all he could see was concern. "I have a... proposition for you, is all."
"A proposition? What kind of proposition?"
Nichols took a small leather pouch from his pocket, throwing it up in the air and catching it. The metal coins clinked inside.
"Hok-Seng Lau is an important witness for this case. I think the captain would quite like a translator."
"I don't-" Hong tried to explain, but Nichols cut him off.
"Let me finish. I would like you to act as this translator. However, there are a few... embellishments I'd like you to make."
"What is it you're asking of me?" Li Hong said, frowning. Nichols walked towards him, so close that there was hardly any space between them.
"Ten pounds," Nichols whispered into Hong's ear, holding up the pouch for him to see, "Ten pounds for you to translate whatever Lau says as a confession."
Hong's mouth moved, though no words came out, his morals and his desires at war in his mind. Nichols didn't push. Waited for him to come to his own conclusion. He knew the man would come around.
"Ten pounds?" Hong asked, his voice barely audible.
"That's right. I'll give you half now, and the other half once it's done."
Hong bit his lip, trying to convince himself he was undecided when Nichols could see in his eyes that he'd already made up his mind.
"I'll do it."
"Good. If all goes well, I have something else I'd like to discuss with you after, but that can wait. Why don't you go and offer your skills to the captain?"
Li Hong nodded, then left the room, and Nichols left shortly after. Hopefully Perrott didn't think he'd taken too long.
From there, it was business as usual, though Nichols could constantly feel the weight of what he'd done pressing on him - sometimes when he turned his gaze, it was almost as though he could see Pasqua's restless spirit in the edges of his vision, watching him. Reminding him. And if that wasn't bad enough, he was painfully aware of Perrott keeping a close eye on him. If he wasn't a suspect, why was he being watched like a hawk? Perrott's eyes were like two little blades in his back, and yet Nichols had no choice but to grin and bear it.
A few hours passed, and Nichols was almost able to believe it was just another ordinary day aboard the Obra Dinn. But before he could really relax, he heard Hoscut calling for him.
"What is it?" He asked, as Hoscut approached.
"Just wanted to see if you're handling everything alright," he said, leaning his back against the guardrail and looking up at Nichols' face.
"Of course," Nichols replied. It was best if he said no more than was needed.
"You sure? You know you can tell me if you're having any trouble. It'll stay between us."
"I assure you, I'm fine."
"...Martin tells me you seemed quite out of it this morning," Hoscut said, and then something clicked in Nichols' mind.
"Did you have him watch me?"
"Ah, noticed that, did you? I'd hoped he'd be a little more subtle. Didn't want to embarrass you. It's just... I know that you find situations like this... difficult." Hoscut kept pausing as he tried to find a way to phrase it delicately, but Nichols got his meaning loud and clear.
All the other officers thought him a coward. The staring, the looks... keeping him separate from the investigation, making sure there was always another officer with him... It wasn't suspicion. They just didn't think he could manage it. God. Was he really so pathetic? Did everyone see him as some pitiful wretch that would crumble under the slightest bit of pressure?
"I don't need you coddling me, Hoscut," Nichols spat, "I know we've known each other a long time, but I am closing in on thirty and yet sometimes it feels as though you still see me as the twenty year old that first boarded the Obra Dinn. This is my job! Do you have any idea how humiliating it is when you do things like this? When you treat me like a child while acting as though Perrott and Davies are above me?"
"Edward listen-" Hoscut tried to reach out for Nichols, but he pulled away.
"Stop calling me that!" Nichols began to shake, not from fear this time, but rage. "How many times do I have to ask?"
He needed to control himself. At once. Yet he couldn't help the anger surging through him - this day had been taxing enough, and Hoscut had made the mistake of pushing him over the edge.
"Alright, alright. Nichols, please." Hoscut looked around. Some of the crew were starting to take notice of their argument. "I am not trying to coddle you. But part of my job is knowing who is best suited for each task, and I know you aren't up for things like this - and I think you know that too. You are an excellent navigator, one of the best I've seen. Under normal circumstances, you are the perfect man for anything I could ask of an officer. But in emergencies, you panic, you get impulsive, and you have a tendency to make things worse than how they were to start with - and that's fine! We all have different strengths, and this is why we have a team. Martin, for example, is brilliant in a crisis. I'm not treating him like he's above you, I am just asking him to do a job I know he can do well. Alright?"
Nichols deflated, only feeling more embarrassed. As much as he hated to admit it, Hoscut was right. Had he not just proven him so by blowing up in his face?
"...Yes. Apologies, I just..."
"Tough day, I know," Hoscut gave him a sympathetic smile. "At least it'll be over soon. We think we have our culprit, though we still need to interview you, Martin, and John. It's more of a formality than anything, so don't you start worrying about it."
"Right." Nichols nodded.
"Good man." Hoscut stood properly and patted Nichols on the arm. "Let's get that out of the way then, shall we?"
The interview took hardly more than a few minutes. Hoscut and the captain were clearly both tired and thought they had their man - all Nichols had to do was say that he'd slept through the whole thing and they believed him. The moment it was over, he couldn't help but smile. He was going to get away with it.
The execution didn't take long to be arranged. The Formosans pleaded with the captain - or tried to - but their cries fell on deaf ears. Witterel could be a difficult man to persuade at the best of times when he had made up his mind, and that was without a language barrier.
Still, Nichols knew he could not afford to get complacent. He needed to get off this ship sooner rather than later, and that shell would certainly be worth taking with him... He'd nearly forgotten about it with everything that had happened, but picturing it in his mind once more, he knew he had to have it. Going alone would be impossible of course, but he knew a few people that make a good crew. To think he'd been so worked up about getting caught - it had been easy to pass the blame onto someone else, really. If getting away with a murder was such a breeze, theft should be no issue at all.
He would finally get to live the life of luxury he deserved.