The heavy airtight hatch in the ship's side closed behind them.
Metal locking bolts clamped shut one after another, giving off low, clipped thuds.
In that instant, the sea breeze, crashing waves, and clamoring voices outside were sealed beyond the steel.
The passage was narrow and low, lined on both sides with cold gray steel plates, without an inch of unnecessary decoration. Rows of rivet heads studded the walls, dense and orderly, like the exposed joints of some enormous beast.
An explosion-proof glass lamp shone every few paces.
Their covers had yellowed slightly from prolonged exposure to heat. The light wavered, stretching the men's shadows into broken fragments.
Oland led the way, his steps too steady for an old man.
He stopped before an unusually heavy watertight door and raised a hand to pat the solid copper knob beside it. The metal rang clear and firm.
"I've divided the entire ship into forty independent watertight compartments." Undisguised pride filled the old man's voice as he turned the knob, showing Louis the complex locking mechanism.
"Even if a torpedo hits it, or pirates punch through the hull, it'll float like a cork as long as these doors are sealed. Comfort is a luxury here. Staying alive comes first."
Louis reached out and touched the steel plate.
Its cold, rough texture traveled through his fingertips, reassuring him more than any expensive silk ever could.
"You're right, Oland," Louis said approvingly, withdrawing his hand. "At sea, survival is the only elegance that matters. Even if we have to die, we'll die charging forward, not drowning in a leaking coffin."
Oland paused, then nodded emphatically.
They continued downward. The closer they came to the lower hold, the hotter the air became, and the more pronounced the vibrations beneath their feet grew.
Even with its