The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)

 

I frowned; our hold was nearly empty. “What dead weight?”

 

“Mr. Hart comes to mind.”

 

I made a face, grabbing for the halyard. Kash had been born a thief, and Blake a gentleman; they hadn’t had much in common, and that was before Blake had tried to stop the treasury raid. “He saved my life, you know.”

 

The laughter in Kashmir’s eyes faded. “For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

 

Together, we loosened the sail to take better advantage of the wind. The mast creaked as the sail billowed, straining against the ropes, and the Temptation surged ahead. She was a fast ship—a caravel, lateen rigged—and her black hull cleaved the white waves like a shark’s fin. Still the steamer gained. I could make out the figures on her deck now—men in dark blue jackets and gleaming white pith helmets. The uniform of the Royal Hawaiian Guard. As we dipped on the waves, the sun flashed off their long rifles.

 

“Can the captain Navigate with them so close?” Kashmir asked. “They’ll see us disappear.”

 

“They’ll see us sail into the fog,” I corrected.

 

“A rather sudden fog!”

 

“We don’t have many options,” I said, staring at the guns. A flag was running up their slender mast, flapping blue and gold against the black coal smoke . . . a semaphore signal.

 

Rotgut, in the crow’s nest, sang out its meaning. “Kilo!”

 

Beside me, Kash frowned. “What’s that one again?”

 

“They wish to communicate with us,” I said crisply. He scoffed.

 

“If wishes were fishes, aquariums would be much more terrifying.”

 

On the quarterdeck, Bee drove her heel down hard, making the bell at her waist swing as she rapped—one, two, three—on the ceiling of the captain’s cabin. But the door did not open, the captain did not appear, and still the ship behind us gained. The riflemen were formed up along her prow; they could not shoot accurately at this distance, but there were so many of them, they wouldn’t really have to.

 

I scrubbed my palms on my trousers. Could we escape if I took the helm? I’d gotten a glimpse of the map of Tahiti. Maybe I could take us to the South Pacific.

 

Then again, I’d only Navigated twice before—I was by no means an expert, and the price of failure was high. The Margins were a strange place, difficult to find and even harder to leave: an ocean between worlds, inhabited by nameless creatures breaching in the waves, or far-off ships with tattered sails crewed by lost souls unable to escape the fog. Ancient sailors used to believe you would drop off the edge of the earth if you sailed beyond the borders of their maps, in the places where there be dragons.

 

I shuddered at the thought. They didn’t know how right they were.

 

“Lima!” Rotgut called out as the steamer raised the next signal flag: Stop your vessel immediately.

 

Where was the captain? I ran to pound on the cabin door. “Slate!”

 

No answer—I tried the handle. The door swung open to reveal my father, vomiting into his laundry hamper.

 

I froze on the threshold. This was not the first time he’d been through the pain of withdrawal, but this was certainly the worst time. In more than one way. He blinked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry, Nixie, I—”

 

But a voice interrupted him, carried on the following wind. “Ready!”

 

And on the deck of the ship behind us, the men lowered their rifles.

 

We’d let them get too close. Swearing, I ran up the stairs to the helm. Bee raised one scarred eyebrow. “You can do it?”

 

“I’ll have to.” I spoke with more conviction than I felt, but she gave me a taut smile.

 

“That’s my girl,” she rasped. Then she went back to the main deck, leaving me alone at the helm. Trying to ignore the crawling feeling of the target between my shoulder blades, I focused on the map of Tahiti, the lovely string of islands like scattered pearls.

 

Almost immediately, the fog drifted up like smoke on the horizon. My breath caught in my throat. It was easier than I’d expected; I hadn’t spent more than a few minutes looking at the map. But it had always felt right to me—standing at the helm of the Temptation. My heart filled with pride; then it skipped a beat at the officer’s shout.

 

“Aim!”

 

I gripped the wheel, my palms suddenly slick. Kash and Bee were on the main deck, shielded from fire by the height of the stern, but Rotgut was a sitting duck in the crow’s nest, and I was standing with my back broadside to the riflemen. Trying to concentrate, I drew the fog closer. Through it, I watched for a glimpse of Tahiti, 1901: the craggy green mountains, the pale sand of the beaches, the crystalline water. Gauguin and pearl divers and—