Chapter Twenty-Five‘Emmeline? Emmeline Muchamore?’
A woman’s voice—familiar, although I couldn’t place it—stirred me from a deep sleep.
I opened my eyes to see a porcelain-pale face bent over mine. Not Matilda. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I cursed at the pain from my arm. The bullet was long gone, and someone had wrapped a torn cloth around the wound. It was red and stiff with my blood, and stuck fast to the injury. I didn’t look forward to the day when it would be removed, but at least my activated silver would stave off infection. If Officer Dry had wanted me dead, he had failed.
‘Emmeline?’ said the woman again, and I focused on her properly. ‘Don’t you know your own ship-mate?’
Bing! said her tin locket, just as she took my hand in hers—rough and chapped still, from her fish-gutti
