Read Chapter 28: A Deadly Game

The whaleboat slid against the natural stone shelf inside the cave, and Harlow heard it before he saw it—the unmistakable click of a rifle hammer being drawn back.

“That’s far enough, Mr. Harlow.”

Mercer stepped out from behind a pillar of ice, his greatcoat crusted with frost, a Navy-issue revolver leveled at Harlow’s chest. Behind him, four men materialized from the shadows of the cavern, their faces half-wild with cold and hunger. They held their weapons loose but ready.

Harlow’s hand went to his own pistol, but froze when Mercer shook his head.

“Don’t be a fool twice in one day,” Mercer said, his voice thin but steady. His beard had grown ragged, his cheeks hollowed, but his eyes still burned with that old intensity—the same fire that had driven them all north in the first place.

Harlow forced his voice calm. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Supposed to be,” Mercer agreed, taking a step closer. The ice crunched beneath his boots. “And that suited me just fine. You see, James, I needed you to think I was dead. I needed *everyone* to think I was dead.”

Behind Harlow, Morris shifted his weight, his hand drifting toward his knife. Harlow held up a palm—a silent order to stay steady. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and standing on a stone shelf with open water at their backs.

“The charges,” Harlow said slowly. “The accusations about the supplies. The thefts.”

“Alive and well.” Mercer’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I planted those charges myself, of course. Left a trail of breadcrumbs pointing to Pence, knowing full well that a mind like yours would gnaw on the mystery until it found a solution that fit. You were my decoy, James. You and your righteous hunt for justice kept the crew distracted while my real work went forward.”

Harlow felt something cold settle in his gut that had nothing to do with the temperature. “Your real work.”

“The passage.” Mercer gestured past him, toward the open water that glimmered in the cavern’s dim light. “You think I came here by accident? This is no dead end, Mr. Harlow. This is the door.”

One of Mercer’s men—a large, scarred seaman Harlow vaguely recognized from the *Venture*, Mercer’s old ship—moved to block the path back to the whaleboat. The other three fanned out, creating a loose semicircle around Harlow’s party.

“I found the inlet five weeks ago,” Mercer continued, his voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “Followed a break in the pack ice that no chart showed. When I realized what it was—what it could mean—I knew I couldn’t have you mucking things up with your rules and your careful plans. So I vanished. Left enough evidence to suggest I’d gone through the ice. And I let you chase the smoke.”

Harlow’s jaw tightened. “The smoke. You lit that camp.”

“Not me.” Mercer shook his head. “That smoke you’ve been following? That’s my advance team. Eight men, two sledges, and enough supplies to establish a depot on the far side. They’ve been burning damp seal blubber every day for a fortnight, waiting for me to bring the rest through.”

“Through where?” Morris demanded, stepping forward. “There’s nowhere to go. This cave opens into a cliff wall.”

Mercer’s smile widened. “That’s what I wanted you to think.”

He turned and gestured toward the far end of the cavern, where the stone shelf narrowed into a crack barely visible in the gloom. Harlow squinted—and then he saw it. Faint, almost invisible against the dark rock: a seam of pale light, like dawn bleeding through a fracture in the world.

“The ice shifts in this passage,” Mercer said. “For two hours each day, when the tide peaks, a channel opens through that crevice. Wide enough for a whaleboat. Deep enough for a ship of Discovery’s draft, if she’s lightened and careful.” He paused, letting the weight of it settle. “On the other side is open water. Leads due east, toward the fishing grounds, toward rescue. Toward home.”

The word hung in the air like a prayer.

Home.

Harlow felt the pull of it in his chest, felt the frostbitten ache in his fingers sharpen with sudden, terrible hope. Behind him, one of the crew—Dawson, he thought—let out a low, involuntary sound.

“Then why not tell us?” Harlow said, forcing the words out. “Why the game, Mercer? If there’s a way through, we could have taken the ship together.”

“Because you would have insisted on caution,” Mercer replied, his voice flat. “You would have wanted to scout, to test, to wait for calm weather in a region that has never once offered it. I don’t have time for caution, James. My wife is dying in a boarding house in Portsmouth, and every day I spend frozen in this godforsaken waste is a day I’m not at her bedside.” His voice cracked, just slightly, on the last word. “I’m going through that passage. And you’re going to help me.”

Harlow stared at him. “Help you how?”

“The Discovery is still sound enough to make the run, if we move now and move fast,” Mercer said. “My depot crew can signal us through the crevice, guide us to safe water on the far side. But I need the ship. I need its hull, its stores, its guns. I need your crew.”

“Our crew,” Harlow corrected quietly.

Mercer’s eyes flickered. “I was captain of this expedition before you were ever first mate over my command, James. The men answered to me for three years before they ever looked to you.”

“And look what you gave them in return,” Harlow said. “Lies. False trails. A dead end that led them straight into your trap.”

“Not a trap.” Mercer’s revolver came up a fraction, level with Harlow’s chest. “An offer. Join me, and we take Discovery through together. We all go home. Or—” He gestured toward the water behind them. “Take your little boat and putter back out through that ridge of pressure ice you blew open. See how far you get before the hull gives out. Your choice.”

The cavern fell silent. Harlow could hear his own heart beating, could feel the cold sweat pricking beneath his collar despite the chill. Behind him, he sensed the rest of his landing party shifting their weight, heard the subtle scrape of boots on stone as they weighed their options.

Morris stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Captain. The pumps are holding, but not forever. If there’s a way through, even a narrow one…”

“You want to trust him?” Harlow asked, not turning.

“I want to live,” Morris said simply.

“We all do.” Mercer’s voice was almost gentle now. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? You’ve been so busy being right that you forgot what it was all for. We came here for glory, for England, for science. But at the end of the day, we all just want to see home again. I’m offering you that, James. A way home. All I ask is that you swallow your pride and let me lead.”

Harlow looked past Mercer, toward the crack of pale light in the dark rock. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Like a promise.

“And Cummings?” Harlow asked suddenly.

Mercer’s brow furrowed. “What about him?”

“He walked away from the ship. No word, no goodbye. I assumed he’d taken a boat and made for the Inuit camp.” Harlow paused, watching Mercer’s face carefully. “But if you had him killed, if he’s dead in the ice somewhere, I need to know before I make any choice.”

Something flickered across Mercer’s face—too quick for Harlow to read, but there. Confusion? No. Surprise. Genuine surprise.

“Cummings went missing?” Mercer said slowly. “I had nothing to do with that. He was supposed to be aboard Discovery, undermining your command until I was ready to move.”

Harlow felt the world tilt slightly. Cummings wasn’t working for Mercer either? Then whose—

“But if someone else has been moving against us,” Mercer said, a sharp edge creeping into his voice, “then we have a bigger problem than I thought.”

He looked at Harlow, and for the first time, something other than contempt entered his eyes. Caution.

“Either way,” Mercer said, raising his revolver another inch, “I need an answer. Join me, James, or get out of my way. But decide now—because the tide turns in less than an hour, and I intend to be through that door by sunset.”