The girl came up sputtering and they cheered for her. As she trudged back to the Instructor, Castor lowered his voice. “What did it feel like to you?”
He thought about the twisting vines and the power hidden beneath the waves. He pulled his blanket closer.
“It felt like life.”
The May Day festival bloomed in greens and reds and yellows, and the maypole had been staked in the very heart of the village green. Children ran about while girls in white dresses twisted flowers into crowns.
Abigail sat on a chair outside in her nicest white dress, the breeze making curls of her long, brown hair. The doctor had said she was healthy enough for the festival. Her friends had already garlanded her with flowers and ribbons, and she sat like a young fairy queen overlooking the festivities. Her blue eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them.
“May I have some cider?” she asked.
“Of course.” He kissed the top of her head, careful not to disturb any flowers, and found his mother behind a table laden with food and drink. She gave him a wooden cup of cider for Abigail and even snuck him a sweetmeat.
He sat with Abigail as the local musicians strung out song after song, laughing as a goat ate the mayor’s handkerchief from his back pocket. Someone announced that the girls should assemble for the maypole dance.
Looking across the green, his breath caught. Castor leaned out from behind the church, beckoning at him.
“I’ll be right back,” he told Abigail. Careful not to be seen by his parents, he snuck around the church to where Castor waited, beaming.
“I have something for you,” the boy said. Castor pulled out a green ribbon with a single rosebud tied to it, then wrapped it around his wrist.
“What if someone asks about it?” Bell argued, but Castor waved the worry away.
“Say it was from an admirer. I’ve seen you make eyes at Mary Baker before—say it’s from her.”
“You’re too reckless.” All the same, he took Castor’s hand in his own. “I don’t have anything to give you. I’m sorry.”
Castor tilted his head to one side. He had a familiar shine in his eyes, the one that usually preceded trouble. “I know what you can give me.” Castor tapped his lips.
“I-I can’t do that here!”
“Why not?”
“We’re in the open, and the church is right there, and—”
“No one can see us.” Castor’s brown eyes studied his face, taking in his reaction. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’ll settle for a smile, how’s that?”
When Castor was involved, smiling was always easy, a natural instinct at the very sight of him. So Bell smiled, and it was a true thing. They stood there for a moment, listening to the music on the green, hands held fast together. The rosebud brushed against his wrist.
Slowly, he leaned in until their lips met. It was warm and soft, like the petals of the rosebud. Castor touched the side of his face, and when they broke apart, the shine in his eyes was brighter. Bell wanted to tell him that he smelled of grass and clean linen and the sea, all things he loved.
Castor led him back around the side of the church to rejoin the festival. The girls were dancing around the maypole now, tying the ribbons into a pattern almost as complex as time’s. Abigail’s friends supported her on either side as she joined them in the dance, laughing and trailing a blue ribbon behind her.
Their hands were still connected. He laced his fingers with Castor’s and thought that this pattern was just as complicated, and just as wonderful.
Colton jerked himself awake as the airship shuddered around him. He wondered if something was wrong, but a glance out the porthole showed that they were merely descending.
He had wondered if he would have visions again, eager and afraid to learn more. The image of the sea was the most peculiar. He had never seen an ocean, although he knew what they were. As frightening as the vast waters had seemed, Colton thought them beautiful.
Even more peculiar was the boy who had walked into the ocean, the one who took care of his sick sister. The Instructor had called him “Bell.” Colton didn’t know anyone by that name. Beyond that, Bell’s interactions with Castor made him uncomfortable. Bell was obviously infatuated with him, and those feelings had invaded his thoughts and almost felt like Colton’s own. It seemed unfaithful to Danny.
Focus on getting to Agra, he reminded himself. Worry about this later.
But the visions left him in a strange mood. Not for the first time, he wondered if this was what people called dreaming. Danny had often told him of his own bizarre dreams. Humans seemed obsessed with the idea of them, and talked about them whenever they could.
“And then this big bird flew down and took the key right out of my hands,” Danny had once said, “so I couldn’t open the yellow door. But then I was sort of going through the keyhole, like I’d turned to smoke or something, and I saw that the room was filled with cakes.”
Colton, trying to follow the narrative with no luck, had to interrupt: “Why was it filled with cakes? And why would the bird want the key?”
“I don’t know, Colton, that’s the point. It was just a dream. They’re not supposed to make sense.”
Were these dreams, then? But they did make sense, and besides, he had never dreamed before. Why start now?
He knew the answer would have to wait. He gripped Big Ben’s cog and focused on the power it gave him.
The airship drifted down in a steady arc. Colton sensed the air shifting around the metal hull, almost the same way he could sense time moving. It had been a strange journey in that regard; his connection to Enfield had tapered off to little more than a faint flicker in the back of his mind. But here, time ran strong, shifting, shifting, until it settled around him like a snug coat.
The airship landed with a few bumps that rattled the floor. He stood and looked out the porthole. It was already evening, the skyline a swirl of purple and blue dotted with the outlines of strange trees.
The engines and propellers powered down. Fifteen minutes passed before the door connecting the hold to the rest of the airship clicked open. Colton braced himself, ready to run or hide, but it was only David.
“How was the ride? Are you feeling all right?”
“I think so.” Colton touched his side, which gave off a pang. “Am I getting off now?”
David rubbed the back of his neck. “About that. You can’t leave just yet.”
“Why not?”
“I just got word that they’re not unloading the cargo until early tomorrow morning. I thought I could sneak you out the passenger way, but even if I did, there’s nowhere for you to go in the compound without getting caught. You’re obviously not a soldier, or a crewmember. Anyway, the trains to Agra won’t run again till morning.”
Colton’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll have to stay the night in here?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t like it either. Brandon would have a fit if he knew”—Colton could not imagine Brandon having a fit of any kind—“but it’s the safest place for you.”