The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)
By: Heidi Heilig
The morning had seen a flurry of activity as the crew—my crew—made ready for the journey. Bee and Ayen had inspected the ship, double-checking our repairs in case we encountered rough weather in the Margins. Rotgut organized the supplies he’d ordered—toothpaste, vitamins, even a mattress for Blake’s room. And Kashmir had taken Blake to get his vaccinations. When they returned, Bee clapped Blake on the shoulder.
“You make me proud!” Then she turned to Kashmir. “Did he flinch? You cannot flinch when you get your gaar,” she said, pointing to the scars decorating her forehead. “Or they cut you crooked and everyone will see you’re a coward. Your gaar are different than mine, but I knew you’d be brave. You did not flinch the first time.” She whacked Blake on the stomach, then, where the bullet had hit him. Then she hit him on the shoulder again, hard. “Why would you flinch the second?”
“Thank you for your faith in me. Though I should mention,” Blake added, his smile deepening. “It was the other shoulder.”
She laughed then, and hit him on the other side, and he did not flinch.
In preparation for our journey, I had spent some time cleaning the ship. Anything that wasn’t bolted down had to be safely stowed, and physical work was always calming to me. Besides, now that I’d given over my room, most of the mess was made up of my scattered possessions.
I carted my books to the captain’s cabin and shoved my clothes into my trunk, which Rotgut and Bee had moved to Kashmir’s room with much winking and mugging. Crowhurst’s letter, however, stayed with me. I didn’t want to let it out of my hands. It felt like a talisman—a promise. Besides, what if Slate found it? I couldn’t risk getting his hopes up, especially since I wasn’t yet certain that Crowhurst was telling the truth. I didn’t think my father could survive another disappointment.
I had not seen him since I’d told him I was taking the helm, in what might have been the least dramatic mutiny in history or myth. Even the crew had seemed unsurprised; Bee had only nodded at the news, and Rotgut had muttered that he’d known this day was coming. But as the wind breathed life into our sails and the sea unfurled before me, I couldn’t help but think of Slate, lying in his cabin three yards under my feet.
I was not yet accustomed to taking the helm without my father at my side. I gripped the wheel tighter; it was fashioned of teak and bronze and inlaid with the words of the wheel of fortune in Latin: regnabo, regno, regnavi, sum sine regno. I shall reign, I reign, I have reigned, I have no kingdom.
Absently, I ran my thumb over a blue patch of verdigris. The first time I’d read those words, the Temptation had been at half sail in a mythical version of the Pileh Lagoon, where limestone cliffs cupped the calm jade waters like the fingers of a benevolent god. Earlier that day, Rotgut had bought a box of fruit off a peddler’s colorful skiff; Slate had dumped out the produce and turned the box upside down, setting it before the wheel so I could reach the handles. Laughing, he’d stood behind me, adjusting my hands, showing me how to steer as lychee rolled this way and that across the deck. In the water, white hong swans with long flowing tails drifted around the ship, and their song was the sound of bells chiming.
But the Mer d’Iroise would be nothing like the still waters in Thailand. Would we be ready for the rough seas ahead? I swept my eyes across the deck to check the crew, but everyone was in place. Bee at the foremast, the cowbell clanging against her thigh. Rotgut up in the crow’s nest, peering out with bright eyes at the shining water. And Kashmir, near the mizzenmast, his knees bent, his body moving with the ship as she skipped over the rippling bay.
I had insisted on checking his jack lines myself before we’d left the harbor. He’d watched me fuss, his expression serious. Kash had changed clothes in preparation for visiting an older era—a white tunic over dark, slim-fitting britches—but as I’d tugged the straps of his harness, I’d noticed the lock was still at his waist, hanging from his black leather belt. Would it be a weight, or a buoy? Swallowing, I’d started checking the straps a second time, but he caught my hand. “Aroom bash, amira. The lines are strong. The only way I’ll be lost is if the ship goes down too.”
“That won’t happen,” I said quickly—to him, or to myself? But Kashmir nodded.
“Not with you at the helm.”
Now, I tightened my grip on the wheel, trying to focus again on the far horizon. But I was painfully aware of the distance between me and Kashmir. I wished he would trade places with Blake, who stood behind me on the quarterdeck. But Blake couldn’t handle a sail. He’d only wanted to observe the Navigation and had promised to stay out of the way—a promise he kept for nearly fifteen minutes.
“I’ve been wondering—”
“Of course you have.”
“Well, you can’t present me a puzzle and expect me not to try to solve it!” Blake clasped his hands behind his back. His boots were freshly polished; already he looked more like the dapper young gentleman I’d met strolling through downtown Honolulu. “How does it work, Miss Song?”
“What, exactly?”
“The Navigation! Is it magic?”
“I suppose that’s one theory.”