Waves lapped close to my head. The wind blew without buffer, though no sails rippled overhead. Wood scraped against metal in a repetitive pattern, followed each time by the splash of water. Labored breathing seemed to punctuate each movement—scrape on the inhale, splash on the exhale.
So we had left the Sea Witch. Very well. Calhoun was a dead man, just as soon as we reached land and I managed to get a hand free. Unfortunately, patience wasn’t my strongest virtue, especially while trussed like a pig on the way to market. I hated being restrained, and anger alone kept me from tumbling headfirst into panic, the blistering heat melting any crystals of fear that strayed too near.
Seagulls screeched above. Minutes passed and the physical discomforts became increasingly difficult to ignore. My shoulder throbbed from the odd angle, and a miniature drum pounded in my head. The constant smell of cinnamon was making me queasy, and I had to clamp my teeth to keep from gagging around the binding lodged in my mouth.
Worst of all was the burn on my neck. Not that being freed would have any effect on such an ailment. I would either have to wait for Cate, or try to mend it myself, though I’d had no significant luck with self-healing yet.
Someone groaned at the far end of the boat. I tilted my head toward the noise, startled by another presence onboard
“About time, you worthless bit o’ rubbish,” Calhoun growled. “Get your lazy bones up here and help with these oars.”
“Do it yourself,” the girl moaned. “I’ll not be moving yet.”
My stomach turned over at the sound of her voice. Cailleach’s descendant. Our lineage made us mortal enemies. Attacking me on the ship earned a resentment that went far deeper than blood.
Movement rocked the boat. I rolled sideways, smacking my elbows against something hard.
“Hold up there,” Calhoun barked. “Thought you was staying put.”
Violent retching answered, along with a sudden dip to one side. I hit the back of my head this time, wincing from the pain.
“Stop jerking about so,” he said, “or you’ll be swimming the last, mind you.”
The girl moaned, and I would have smiled if not for the gag. What goes around comes around. By the sounds of it, she had gotten a dose of her own medicine. The boat rocked again, more gently under her shifting weight.
“You missed Dunmore dock,” she said, clearly miserable. “Do you intend to go it on foot then, and leave the caravan behind?”
Dunmore... The map from Cate’s library popped into my head with the village of Dunmore East printed in black ink just south of Wexford.
“Don’t be thick in the head,” Calhoun said. “Thanks to Mrs. Murphy’s hollering, half the village will be barking up our backsides if’n we go there first.”
“Didn’t take so good to the tonic you sold her, eh?”
Calhoun blew out a hard breath. “Woeful bad. Nearly did her in from the retching.”
The girl rasped a laugh. “Serves you right, mixing bat dung with bloodroot and mercury. She could’ve died, then you’d be swinging for murder.”
“You’ve some cheek sounding so pleased with me failure. Even after all I’ve done, you’d just as soon spit on me grave than help make a bit o’ coin.” His voice came out gruffer than usual from the effort of rowing. “I’ve a mind to tie you up tonight for that stunt you pulled on the Sea Witch. A brazen lass, you’ve become, and I’ll not have you run off without a thought to me purse strings.”
There was a tense pause. Splash...scrape...splash...scrape... The oars continued their repetitive motion.
“Don’t bother yourself,” the girl said sullenly. “I’ve nowhere to go.”
“Remember that so. ’twas Calhoun who kept you from starving all these years. And how do you go about repaying me? By trying to warn the one bit o’ luck to cross our path. Well, I’m fed up with the ingratitude. Paddy can have you when we return home.”
She gasped. “No! You promised not to make me!”
“Circumstances changed, me lass, and I won’t be needing you for a while. Paddy’s got a fancy for you, so he can see to blackening your eyes when you need it.”
Her battered face filled my thoughts. I tried to push it way, but it refused to move, even when I squeezed my eyes shut. Bugger that! After what she’d done, the girl didn’t deserve an ounce of pity from me. As my enemy and attacker, she deserved a swift kick to the shins, though that would only serve to bruise my own shins in turn.
The screech of seagulls grew more persistent. The sound of the waves changed, breaking closer against the shore. I began to wiggle my wrists in a desperate attempt to get one free.
“I hate your blooming guts,” the girl mumbled. I stopped moving, startled by the gruff admission.
“What say you?” Calhoun growled.
“Nothing.”