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

 

 

Nix bit her lip—I saw her wrestle with the decision. Would she order me to bring her along? If she did, I would obey, but it was not the wise choice, and she knew it. “Fine,” she said, but her voice was fierce. She took my shoulders, and her eyes were dark as ink. “But if you don’t come to the ship, I’m coming back for you,” she said. “Come hell or high water.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Hart turn his head; I had never been more grateful for his gentleman’s discretion. Pulling Nix into my arms, I kissed her to make my own promises. “Don’t worry,” I whispered as my hand went to the lock on my belt. It was the matter of a moment to open it and place it in her palm. “Love has always buoyed me up.”

 

She smiled at me and closed her fingers around the iron. I gave her a wink. Then I turned and breezed out the door.

 

“Allez, Mr. Hart!”

 

We headed toward the warehouse as he drew his sketchbook from his pocket. The map inside showed the route we’d take through the sewers; Nix herself would take the Grand Rue toward the castle.

 

It wasn’t easy to walk away, not with the scent of her skin still lingering on mine. The part of me that was always watching finally understood how the captain spent so much time in the past. I followed Mr. Hart through the cold boathouse, lost in a warm memory.

 

But when I climbed down the rope into the tunnels, something chilled me. Maybe it was the darkness, almost tangible; maybe it was the weight of the city crouching there above my head. Or maybe it was the distance between me and Nix, growing by the moment. Still, I had made my choice, and so I crept through the shadows toward the castle.

 

Mr. Hart and I traveled along the sandy waterway by the light of my little glass lamp, following the path he’d marked in his book. Passing beneath the city, I caught a whiff of manure—was there a stable somewhere above? And when we neared the cathedral, the droning song of the monks drifted to my ears. Far down a side tunnel, the wind moaned; closer, water dripped and dropped. Mr. Hart himself was very quiet, and I was almost glad I could not see his face to read his troubled thoughts. I knew he was disappointed, but I did not understand it. Perhaps I did not want to.

 

I could not fathom a man who would flirt with destruction. What had he lost in Hawaii that was worth risking his life for? I did not ask, and he did not volunteer it. We only traveled silently, side by side in the dark.

 

Soon enough, we found the stair. At the top, the door stood ajar on crumbling hinges. It opened into a vaulted cellar, the walls of which were lost in the shadows. Curved stone pillars stretched before me like tree trunks in an old forest, away into the gloom.

 

Here, the wine was stored alongside the dusty dead. In the glow of the sky herring, the empty skulls watched us as we passed. I nodded to them like old friends. I liked to see them—these remains, these reminders of lives lived long ago. Men lived and died every day—how many could say they’d be remembered well?

 

A glow came again to my chest, and it had nothing to do with the lamp I held.

 

“This way,” Mr. Hart said, leading me through the cellar to a door of heavy oak. The room behind it was protected by an elaborate lock—a masterwork, at least for the era, though the one I’d taken from my belt might have been a greater challenge.

 

“Hold this?” I took my picks from my pockets and handed him the lantern.

 

He raised it high, sharpening the shadows. “Can you see?”

 

“Yes,” I lied, because I didn’t need to; I could feel the tumblers moving as I worked, quick and sure.

 

Mr. Hart stood by. “I wonder why Crowhurst didn’t kill him,” he mused, his voice only a whisper in the gloom.

 

“Cook?” I held my hands steady, though I chewed my lip—it was a very good question. I let my mind wander as I sought the pins. What had the logbook said? “I think he needs him,” I said at last.

 

“For what?”

 

“Navigation takes belief, right? But the man has lost his faith—displaced by knowledge or so he said. Maybe he needed someone else to steer him to Ker-Ys. Ah.” The last pin moved. I turned the hook, and the door opened. “Après vous.”

 

We stepped through the door and into a room so wide that the sound of our footsteps didn’t echo; they merely faded before they reached the walls. The lantern threw shadows up into the ceiling—and down into the pit on the floor, wide as the eye of a giant. Mr. Hart saw it at the same time I did; startled, he drew back, so I took the lead.