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

 

 

She wrapped her arms around me, so tight I couldn’t breathe; over her shoulder, Kashmir’s smile was even more breathtaking. But then the sound of shouting came from outside—fairly close by. Had we been drifting?

 

Swearing, I ran back above, but once on deck, I didn’t see any sign of rocks or reefs. Still, we’d gotten close to a cluster of fishing boats—the men in them were the ones I’d heard. By the time Dahut and Kashmir joined me, I saw the reason for the din.

 

In one of the boats, two fishermen hauled on a rope, struggling with a heavy weight on the other end. A third man crouched on the bow with his harpoon cocked. The line zigzagged through the water, cutting right, then left, turning on a dime. Above, a guivre circled, waiting.

 

Kash came to my side. “What’s happening, amira?”

 

“They caught something.”

 

We watched, wordless, as white foam boiled on the surface. A dark shape thrashed below the waves, then dove back down. But the hook was already set, and the fishermen dragged their catch ever closer while their fellows cheered them on from nearby skiffs. All eyes were fixed on the point where the rope met the water—all but Kashmir, who turned away.

 

Then the mermaid broke the surface, trailing spray.

 

Long silver hair whipped around in an arc; the muscular tail twisted and flailed. But she was smaller than I’d expected, about Dahut’s size, and the fishermen were stronger. They whooped and hollered as they hauled her toward the boat: a creature only vaguely human, but for her cries. Her toothy mouth opened and closed around the rope; in the silvery skin of her throat, the steel hook gleamed.

 

The harpooner stood, taking aim, and the chummer caught sight of us. “La bénédiction!” he cried. “La bénédiction de la princesse!”

 

At his words, the harpoon flew, piercing the mermaid clean through the shoulder. As the fishermen hauled her into their boat, Dahut ran to the helm and dropped her hand to the throttle. The yacht roared to life; I stumbled back against the gunwale. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“What the hell does it look like?”

 

The men left off their bloody work to stare with wide eyes as the Dark Horse bore down on their boat. Frantically, they took the oars, but I shouldered Dahut aside, grabbing the wheel and turning us hard to starboard. The yacht veered, throwing up a wall of icy water. It swamped the fishing boat—the men cried out, and the harpooner tumbled into the sea.

 

My hands shook on the wheel as my fortune played over in my head: lost, lost. But Kashmir was safe, thank all the gods. Not so the fishermen. Their boat listed, half in and half out of the water, and the mermaid thrashed on their boards, churning the water red in the belly of the boat. She lashed out with tooth and tail.

 

The oarsman screamed as she raked his leg with clawed hands; the chummer stumbled as the boat rocked. I swore, taking us back around to help, but the chummer finally got hold of the harpoon. He tore it from the mermaid’s shoulder as we approached, and with a cry, he heaved it at my head. “The devil drag you down!”

 

Cursing, I swerved; the weapon glanced off the port side and disappeared into our wake.

 

“Let’s go!” Dahut shouted, tugging at the wheel. “Come on!”

 

I held firm. “They’re going to sink without our help!”

 

“They’re going to kill us if we try to give it!”

 

“You tried to kill them first!”

 

“No! No!” Dahut’s eyes were wild, pleading. “I was trying to save her.”

 

“We can’t do that either if we run!”

 

“Fine.” She gritted her teeth, yanking open the cupboard in the cockpit; she pulled out a flare gun and hunkered down in the shelter of the stairwell.

 

I didn’t bother protesting. Where was the harpooner? I eased up on the throttle, dreading the sound of a thud against the hull or the whine of a drag on the motor. Momentum carried us the rest of the way, but as we closed the distance, the oarsman abandoned ship. He was followed quickly by the chummer, and they both made for the nearest fishing boat. I didn’t go after them—but I watched them swim to safety, shivering and swearing as their fellows hauled them out of the water.

 

Still no sign of the third man. Had he drowned, or worse? I cut the motor as the Dark Horse nosed up to the stricken boat. From the next boat, fifteen yards to port, the fishermen threw daggers with their eyes, and I couldn’t help but notice that they still had their harpoons.

 

Kash noticed too. “We should go.”