CHAPTER NINETEEN
Masterton was moving even as he spoke, gliding through the ship and ducking under the low beams with more ease than Watters expected from such a big man. Watters followed, stumbling when Lancelot lurched before a heavy sea.
“In here,” Masterton opened a low door. The smell of paint caught at the back of Watters’ throat as he entered. Masterton scraped a Lucifer and applied it to the wick of a lantern that hung by the door. Yellow light pooled inside the cabin, revealing large tins of paint jammed together to keep them secure.
“There’s little room for powder kegs in here,” Masterton did not hide the relief in his voice.
“It will only take a single keg,” Watters said. “With all this paint burning, Lancelot would have little chance.” He began to move the cans, rolling the
