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

 

 

“Nothing?” I watched him for a long time. There was something here, something he was not saying. Trying to piece it together, I raised my eyes toward the ceiling; above me, the painted stars shimmered in the firelight. There was Cetus, the sea monster, and Aquarius, Pisces, and Eridanus the River. “You say you’ve been able to change the past, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

 

“What do you mean, Nixie?”

 

I ticked off the names on my fingers. “We have the saint, the dark horse, Dahut, and Grandlon. What’s to guarantee there won’t be a flood at the end of it all?”

 

“You think I would destroy my own city?”

 

I bit down on a glib response—but I’d read the articles. Rather than coming clean at the end of the race, Crowhurst had abandoned his family, his ship, his old life. The man was not known for his loyalty, but it wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to point out. “If the past can’t truly be changed, you might not have a choice,” I said instead. My voice was bitter with the truth of it.

 

Crowhurst raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can change things? What about your mother?”

 

I shook my head. “Slate never saw her dead and buried. He came back, and she was simply gone. In fact, this might be how it was always supposed to happen.”

 

Crowhurst showed his teeth in a smile. “I thought you didn’t believe in fate.”

 

“No one does, until it catches up with them.” Outside, the wind rose, sending a gust down the chimney and stirring the flames on the hearth. I folded my arms and watched the embers glow.

 

“You could take Dahut and go back to your timeline,” Blake said then. “Burn the maps of Ker-Ys. That way the story can’t end as written. If you do that—if you can—we’ll all know whether a man can change the past as written.”

 

“Yes.” My heart leaped at the suggestion; hope returned. “And you’ll see the rest of your family again. You said you missed them.”

 

Crowhurst did not seem to share our excitement. Instead, he turned to stare out the windows—or at our murky reflections in the glass. “I saw my past in your future,” he said at last. “I read what they said about me. The world thinks I’m a madman. A liar. A failure.”

 

“So it’s not about your family after all,” Blake said. “You want fame. Fortune. You wish you’d won your race.”

 

“Fame? No.” He shook his head, still staring at the window. “You misunderstand.”

 

“Then what?”

 

He sighed. “I want never to have set out on the journey.”

 

Blake’s eyes softened then, and he dropped his chin. But I shook my head. “That’s a paradox,” I said, though I don’t know which of them I spoke to. “Your setting out is what brought you here.”

 

Crowhurst was the one who replied. “And what brought you here, Nix? There must be something you want to change.”

 

My mouth twisted; the words were bitter. “I still don’t know if it’s possible.”

 

“Why don’t you stay and help me find out? I’ll have proof in two days’ time.”

 

“What happens in two days?”

 

The fire was fading on the hearth, but even in the dim light, he must have seen the look on my face. Curiosity. Desperation. The wind moaned again, and his eyes glittered. “You’ll have to stay and see.”

 

Blake pressed his lips together. “You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

 

“Not only the goodness of my heart,” Crowhurst allowed. “But Nix is a Navigator, and I need confirmation. After all, only a Navigator would remember how things had been. Nixie, I need you to tell me I’m not just . . . misremembering.”

 

“Not crazy, you mean.” At my words, he winced, but he did not protest. “Is this your request?”

 

“Not so onerous, is it? To help me learn? You’ll know then too.”

 

“It might not be safe to stay, if the flood is coming. And we could know in an hour if you take Dahut and leave.”

 

“You might know,” he countered. “But I’d be gone—having stepped into the paradox you mentioned without knowing what might happen to me. Please, Nixie. I need your help, and I hope I don’t flatter myself to think you need mine.”

 

There was silence; the fire popped. Crowhurst watched me as I weighed the balance. I did not trust him—but did I need him? Maybe. Maybe not. But I nodded anyway; best not to give him reason to distrust me. “All right.”

 

“Excellent,” Crowhurst said, but it was Blake’s smile that caught my eye—bright and unexpected. His words came back to me from earlier in the evening: genius or madness? I still had no answer.

 

Suppressing a shudder, I turned toward the door. “It’s very late. I’m going to bed.”

 

“Do you need me to show you the way back?”

 

“I remember it.”

 

“Good night, then,” he called after us. “Pleasant dreams.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO