Want to know more about The Stolen Child? Here’s a little taste of what’s to come...

At the far end of the room she spotted a ladder leading up to a small loft space. When she reached the top she found a small nook, formed where the walls of the hull met at the nose of the ship. Two portholes and a single lamp provided light to a space that had been mostly filled by a beaten up old couch and a pair of well worn armchairs. Arsha was huddled up against one arm of the couch, eyes red, wetness glistening on her cheeks.

“Go away,” she said.

“Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry,” Rachael said. Slowly, she eased herself down into the nearest armchair. “I didn't mean it, what I said. I was just... I didn't mean it.”

Arsha's eyes seemed to study her for a moment.

“Yes you did.”

“Yeah. Alright.” Rachael pulled her knees up. “Maybe I did a bit. But it wasn't right to say it, so I'm sorry for that.”

“Fine. What's it matter anyway, if you're sorry or not? Dad's still going to go to prison, and Uncle Abasi's still going to lose his ship, and Micah and Ilona won't have jobs, and everyone's going to leave, and I'll just be...”

As her voice choked off into a sob, Arsha wiped a hand across her reddened eyes, leaving a damp smear across her cheeks.

“They shouldn't never have come for me,” Rachael said. “Your dad, and the others. Even if they meant right and all, even if I'd wanted 'em to... It weren't worth it. Not for me. Putting all these people through this. Taking all those risks. And putting you in the middle of it and all. He didn't have no right to do that,” she continued, growing agitated as she spoke. “Why'd he have you out there nearly getting killed and all that? Why did you have to be a part of it?”

She saw the girl's expression shift slightly, anger turning to resentment.

“Because I asked to. Because I wanted to help you,” Arsha said, bitterly.

“Help me? Why?”

“I don't know. Does there have to be a reason to want to help someone?”