“I’m coming with you,” I said.
EARLY THE NEXT DAY, our carriage rumbled south of town to the Isle of Dogs. I pushed aside the gauzy curtain. Outside, the massive hull of a cargo steamer rose toward the sky, dwarfing the fleet of barges that clustered around the dock. Everywhere men swarmed like insects, hawking services or bearing trunks twice their size.
Beside me, Montgomery compared a handful of banknotes against a small ledger, erasing and redoing sums with a frown. I wondered if he thought me a burden.
He looked up, as if sensing my question. The carriage lurched, and the ledger slid from his lap. We both reached for it, our hands grazing. I pulled back.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said.
I shook my head and concentrated on the ships outside. I’d made my decision. We had argued all day and night since I had shown up at his door. He’d flatly refused at first. He said the voyage was long, with a rough crew, and the island was no place for a lady. I told him I certainly wasn’t a lady, thanks to my father’s abandonment, and it was either the island or the streets. Or worse, prison. I didn’t tell Montgomery my other motive, the one deep within my rib cage that beat in time with my heart: The world knew my father as a villain. I knew him as a thin man in a tweed suit who carried me on his shoulders during the Royal Guard’s parades. I needed to know which man my father was—the monster, or the misunderstood genius.
In the end, Montgomery conceded only when I dragged him to the window and pointed out the prostitute my age. He said nothing of how Father would receive me on the island, and I didn’t press.
“Is our ship like any of those?” I nodded toward the magnificent four-masted cruisers lined up in port.
Montgomery barely glanced at them before giving a hint of a smile. “I’m afraid not.”
“It’s an older ship?”
“Most likely. The reputable ships turn us away. They don’t like Balthazar’s appearance. Nor our destination.”
Outside, the relative order of Union Docks gave way to a more run-down part of the wharf. I covered my nose against the smell of rotting fish. Here, the docks were crammed with rusted parts and torn netting. There were no women—even the prostitutes stuck to the better end of the quay.
As we came around the bend, Montgomery pointed to a hulking two-masted brigantine docked alone at the Isle of Dogs. “There,” he said. “The Curitiba.” I frowned. It looked far too old and neglected to sail more than halfway across the Pacific. A windy storm might blow holes straight through it.
The driver stopped the carriage and we paid him a few coins. He seemed glad to leave us.
“There’s Balthazar,” I said, shading my eyes. He sat by the gangway on a steamer trunk that looked more like a child’s toy chest next to his size. A rabble of dirty sailors threw him uncertain glances as they dawdled around the rest of the cargo; rough as they looked, even they gave Balthazar a wide berth. A skeletal older man with a grizzly beard stumbled down the gangway in a mildewing black jacket that looked robbed from the dead. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Balthazar and went the other way.
“Is that our crew?” I asked Montgomery hesitantly.
“Afraid so.”
“They look a shady bunch. Good thing Balthazar could knock them flat if they tried anything.” I watched as Balthazar hoisted the trunk and carried it onto the ship.
“He’s not a fighter. But luckily for us, they don’t know that.” From the rigid outline of the muscles beneath his shirt, I realized Montgomery probably could have knocked them all flat, too. He was no longer the gentle-natured little boy who caught kitchen mice and placed them outside to save them from the cat’s sharp teeth.
He took my carpetbag. “Come on. Lady or not, I’m going to lock you in your cabin. I don’t trust this lot.”
I followed closely. My head spun as we crossed the gangway to the deck. A short walk, but a scary one. The ship’s odd swaying made my legs quake. There were a handful of men on deck, though I hesitated to call them sailors. Pirates might have been more accurate. Montgomery pulled me out of the way of two men loading a trunk.
“You’ll get used to the rocking in a few days,” he said, leading me toward the quarterdeck. My mind whirled at his easy confidence. He carried himself almost as surely as the sailors, though he was far younger than most.
A monstrous barking tore through the air, and I nearly leapt into his arms. A pair of cages stood on the deck, containing three snarling bloodhounds and one matted sheepdog who barely lifted its head, a web of drool dangling from its jowls.