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

 

 

Before I could explain, the tidal bells began to ring. A deep rumble juddered up through the belly of the ship as the gates ground open, and the wind barged into the harbor. On the horizon, the sky was a threat the sea would make good on. Even at low tide, the swells were strong. But as I scanned the black water, squinting, I saw them: the Fool’s ghostly lights.

 

She’d held back, away from the walls—a safe choice in the gathering storm, with the currents and the tides driving at the rocks. Would Gwenolé come into port now that the gates were open? But this was not a time to wait and wonder. I turned to Cook, who stood on the deck beside me, watching the sea with awe. “Where are the boys?” I asked him.

 

“Who?”

 

“Blake and Kashmir. The boys who rescued you. Where are they?”

 

Cook turned to me, his eyes hollow. “Last I saw, one had shot the other.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

 

KASHMIR

 

The pain was deeper than a blade—raw and shocking, and it did not fade, even when my arm went numb. And there was a strange feeling in my chest, a heaviness, as though I couldn’t catch my breath. But the bullet had only hit my shoulder—nothing vital, or so I hoped. I clung to that as I gritted my teeth, curled on a bed of gold.

 

I could still hear the roar of the gun echoing in my ear, and strangely, Mr. Hart’s voice.

 

“My god,” he had whispered. “My god.”

 

But he was gone now. Wasn’t he? Run off after Cook—but not right away. He’d waited long enough to take my picks and close the manacle around my ankle. At least he’d bound my shoulder, staunching the flow of blood. Still, I was dizzy . . . light-headed . . . cold . . .

 

I wished I could get his voice out of my head.

 

But wishing did little good. I gathered my strength and struggled up to one elbow, gasping as fresh blood soaked the binding. After the dizziness passed, I searched for something I could use on the manacles. Pawing through the pile of treasure, I tossed aside diamond-crusted rings and opals like eggs; I would have traded it all for a bent pin. I was so focused on the search that I didn’t notice Mr. Hart’s return until he spoke.

 

“Looking for something, Mr. Firas?” His voice drifted down from the stairs.

 

“A key.” I didn’t bother looking up. “I can’t let your smug face be the last one I see.”

 

Mr. Hart didn’t laugh—but behind him, Crowhurst did. “What about mine?”

 

I sprang to my feet, and immediately regretted it. Bending double, I tried to catch my breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them both, and Dahut too. Hopeful, I lifted my face, but her own was blank, and a little afraid. It was then that I recognized the strange, heavy feeling I’d had. It was despair.

 

“It won’t be either of us,” Mr. Hart said softly. “Miss Song will come back for you.”

 

“I know it,” I said. “But she’s smarter than the two of you together. She’ll find a way to get Cook to safety first.”

 

Crowhurst only smiled. “She’s a worthy opponent. A true queen.” He took the crown from his own head and put it down on mine. “But now I have her king.”

 

Painfully, I straightened my back, so I wasn’t bowing before him. For good measure, I spat at Crowhurst’s feet. He only made a face.

 

“One more thing,” he said calmly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and using it to wipe his shoe. As he did, his keys jingled in his pocket. “Mr. Hart told me you have my daughter’s diary. She’d like it back.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, angling my body slightly, as though trying to hide the location of the book.

 

“Where is it?”

 

I spat again, and he lost his temper, bulling into me. The pain rattled my teeth, but I pretended to flail as he searched my pockets. Finally he found the diary, pulling it free and shoving me away. I fell, not entirely by accident, but I was breathing hard now. That was not a trick.

 

Mr. Hart crouched beside me, his hand soft on my shoulder as he adjusted the binding—the tenderness of his touch offended me. “Why are you doing this?” I asked through gritted teeth.

 

Crowhurst laughed. “You couldn’t understand, even if I explained.”

 

“I wasn’t asking you.” I looked up into Mr. Hart’s face, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “How can you risk sacrificing the ones you love for a cause?”

 

“I don’t love her,” he said, and even though the light was low, I saw the shame on his face.

 

“I don’t believe that.”

 

“Then you should understand why I have to try, Mr. Firas.”

 

“Why don’t you tell me?”

 

I saw his jaw clench, then he sighed. “If this works I’ll know if . . . I’ll know what’s possible. And maybe . . . just maybe I can make my own version of paradise.”

 

“A heavy price, for a shot in the dark.” I tried to smile.

 

“What is? Death?”