Oh, fuck that. Alfred had enough experience in the wider world to know he didn't want to go messing around with magic he didn't understand. That was what had caused the whole Irvingly fog thing, wasn't it? People went mucking around with foreign magic and ended up dead, and then the damage spilled out into the streets. Like hell was he about to risk his own life and possibly set off something like that within the confines of his ship, surrounded by men who were trusting him to keep them from getting killed.

He let go of the knife right where it was, awkwardly sticking out of the crack between the chest and its lid, and slid back along the deck until he was several feet away from it. He eyed it for a moment, waiting for it to do something else, though he wasn't sure what. After a very uneasy few seconds where he and the sailor waited warily, Alfred rose to his feet.

"We'll have it moved to my cabin. Magically — I don't want anyone else to touch it. And..." he sighed, already thinking of the logistical nightmare this would cause with the two ships he was accompanying. It couldn't be avoided, though... or at least, it couldn't be avoided if he wanted to keep his ship and sailors safe. "And we'll set a course back to London."