The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)
By: Heidi Heilig
What did it all mean? Last night, I had fled before I could find out, but it was easier to be brave in the light of day. Perhaps I should go back and ask him. I put the mug upside down on the sideboard and started down the hall.
“You don’t want a pancake?” Rotgut called after me. “This one is shaped kind of like a heart.”
“Maybe later.” I left the galley, but the smoke clung to my hair. I wrinkled my nose; if I was going to go back to the square, I’d need to change, and not just to get rid of the smell of breakfast. In this era, a woman wearing trousers in broad daylight would call attention I didn’t need. I slowed as I approached Kashmir’s door. My clothes were in there—but so was he.
What would I say to him? He wasn’t happy we’d come to Ker-Ys in the first place—and the events of last night had scored points in his favor. Would it be an insult to ask him to accompany me to the square? Not for protection. Not only for protection, anyway. But because I wanted him to help me talk through the mystery of the madman’s words.
And because I missed him.
But when I knocked, there was no answer, so I opened the door and found Kashmir’s nest of pillows empty. The slight breeze stirred the poems tacked to his wall—Rumi and Hafiz, Frost and Angelou. Love and caged birds and roads diverging. Where had he gone? Disappointment warred with fear in my stomach as I went to my trunk.
Digging through the clothes was like archaeology. The top layer was modern—the tank tops, the denim shorts with the gun still in the back pocket. Beneath those, the clothes I’d worn in Honolulu: tropical Victoriana, pinafores and bustled dresses in light colors. What to wear in winter in seventeenth-century France? My hand hovered a moment before I found a bell-shaped wool skirt folded in the bottom of the trunk. And here, a white linen shirt with long puffed sleeves and tiny buttons. Over that, I laced up a bodice cut from black velvet.
It was a suitable outfit for the era, and not too showy—the last thing I wanted was to be singled out, a strange girl with foreign features in a small town. Hopefully no one else would call me a witch. But just in case . . . I dug back through the pile of discarded clothing and pulled out the gun. Tucking it into the lining of my cloak, I felt foolish, but less afraid.
Leaving Kashmir’s room, I saw Blake coming from the galley, brushing crumbs from his lapel. He was wearing another of Kashmir’s old jackets, this one a rich green wool trimmed in gold braid, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw me. “Good morning, Miss Song. When I woke, I worried you’d gone back to your hammock.”
Rotgut tsked from the open doorway. “Boy trouble.”
“I slept in the captain’s cabin,” I said loudly as I headed toward the hatch.
Blake climbed up after me. “Before that, you left the Temptation.”
I made a face, though he couldn’t see it. But he had always been observant. And nosy. “I’m surprised you didn’t follow me.”
“I considered it,” he said, his voice mild, his eyes sharp. “But I noticed the captain had abandoned ship as well, and I didn’t want to risk another lost map.”
Sighing, I gripped the rail at the stern; the brass was cold as ice. So he had seen Slate leave; had he seen me lead him back from the edge of the wall? I did not know how to discuss it—the captain’s condition. More than that, I didn’t want to discuss it. “I went exploring.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“I love a good adventure.”
“So do I. Did you find one?”
“Blake . . .” I bit my lip—but maybe he could help sort this out. I tapped my fingers on the rail, considering my words. Overhead, the sky had lightened to a lovely shade of sapphire, and the thin light of dawn washed the deserted wharf. “I found a madman in the square last night,” I said at last. “At least, I thought he was mad.”
“That does sound like an adventure.”
“More of a mystery. He claimed to be the king, and he wore a brass key on his neck. He mentioned the devil and the dark horse, and a daughter lost to the sea—”
“Like the myth?”
“Yes. He spoke like a prophet. Like he knew the ending of the story. But he also claimed there was a monster in the castle and a man in a pit, and that’s not part of any legend I’ve read. Plus, he called me a witch.”
“It’s not exactly an unfair criticism, Miss Song.” I whacked his shoulder with the back of my hand, but he laughed. “Well! Didn’t you agree that Navigation is something like magic? The whole reason you’re here is to learn to work wonders.”
My smile fell away. “That’s the other thing about last night. I—I met Crowhurst. Back on the dock.”
Blake’s eyes went wide. “And what did he say?”
“I . . . Nothing.” It felt like an admission of guilt—as though Crowhurst and I were conspirators. “He—he didn’t know anything yet. He hadn’t even been to New York.”
“But how—?”
“It seems as though we arrived here before he invited us.”