Fear the Drowning Deep(17)

Worrying at my lip, I considered where to take the naked, nameless lad. My first thought was the Gills’. Mr. Gill always knew what to do in a crisis, but Mrs. Gill would faint at the sight of a nude young man.

And then I realized I ought to bring him home. Mally had apprenticed as a midwife for over a year, and she knew how to clean cuts and scrapes. She’d done it for Grayse, Liss, and me countless times. And she’d been treating Mam’s headaches as best she could for years.

“I’m going to take you to my house. My sister knows some medicine. She can make you comfortable until a doctor arrives.”

He scowled. “No doctor.”

It was a relief to hear him speaking. “That will be Mally’s decision. I’m not going through the trouble of dragging you off this beach just to watch you die in our parlor.”

He arched his brows. “It’s my choice.” Judging by his wheezing, he was growing weaker. “I said, no doctor.”

“We’ll see.”

It might have been my imagination, but his next hiss of pain sounded more like an angry sigh.

We neared the tide pool in which I’d stuck my hand earlier. The sight of the path winding through the cliffs reminded me of how I’d fallen. “See there?” I pointed ahead. “It’ll be a tough go, understand?”

He nodded, looking paler than he had minutes before.

“We can manage if we go slowly. You’ll have to trust me, you, ah—you’re sure you don’t remember your name?”

“No.” He must have seen the dismay on my face, as he added, “Call me whatever you’d like.”

I shut my eyes. The black fin I’d seen in the harbor swam across my eyelids.

“Fynn.” I opened my eyes. “It’s all I can think of.”

“Fynn,” he repeated.

I took this as a sign of approval and guided him toward the path. “When we reach the top, keep my cloak around you as best you can. If we meet someone, you should at least look presentable.”

Fynn nodded distractedly.

I tightened my grip on his waist and hoped my feet wouldn’t fail me again. “Ready?”


While Mam and Mally tended Fynn’s wounds, the rest of my sisters and I were sent to Mrs. Kissack’s house, down the lane.

At dusk, Mally came to collect us, looking tired but pleased. I kept pace with her on the brisk walk home, the salty wind lifting our hair and skirts as it changed direction. “Is Fynn going to be all right? Did you send for a doctor?”

“Was he really naked?” Grayse added, eyes sparkling. She’d gleaned her information from Liss, who had eavesdropped from the bedroom when I brought Fynn home.

“Yes. No. And yes.” Mally smiled over her shoulder at Grayse. “But he’s wearing a pair of Da’s trousers now.”

“We’ve tended his fever and treated the infection,” she continued. “Now he needs to rest and let his body heal. If anyone can convince him of that.” She glanced sideways at me, her lips pursed. “I gave him something to help him sleep. He kept trying to pick off his bandages.”

“Did he say what attacked him? Those gashes looked quite nasty.” A gust of warm wind buffeted my face, bringing with it a smell worse than the decaying rubbish in Morag’s cottage. The wind was suddenly too salty, too sharp, like a freshly gutted fish. I opened my mouth to ask if anyone else had noticed the change, but the odor vanished with my next breath.

“No. He didn’t say much. He seemed grateful for what you did. You were brave today, Bry.” Mally drew me against her side, our hips bumping together with every step. “You deserve a medal.”

I only had to wait a few hours before everyone else turned in for the night. The day’s excitement had made us all drowsy, but as soon as Mam’s steps traveled down the hall to her bedroom, I slid out from beneath the covers and crept to the main room.

Fynn was asleep on the sofa, his head buried in the cushion as though he couldn’t stand his surroundings. Whatever concoction Mally had given him must have been powerful. Da’s trousers looked baggy belted around the lad’s waist, while my cloak covered his chest and most of his bandaged stomach.

I perched on a bit of cushion near his head, fighting the impulse to wake him. He hadn’t seemed too friendly on the walk home, but, then, he’d been hurting. I’d broken my arm rolling down a hill when I was Grayse’s age, and I’d howled and raged for hours afterward. Gashes like Fynn’s were bound to hurt even more.

I studied his dark curls and the tips of his ears, which were slender and sharper-looking than any I’d seen before. Gently pointed, like the leaves of an ash tree. Part of me wanted him to stay asleep so I could look at him for hours in the quiet, but another part wanted to wake him. To hear his voice again. To feel the unsettling swooping sensation that overtook me every time his eyes met mine.

Finally, here was someone new. Someone who was more than just a tourist, eager for a quick look around the island before taking the next boat to the mainland. Even if he was a tourist before, he was bound to stay a while now.

I wanted to keep vigil at his side, but my eyelids grew heavier by the minute. I didn’t bother covering my mouth to hide a huge yawn.

I had only taken a few steps back toward my bed when a rustling made me pause. Fynn was tossing and turning, kicking at the edge of the sofa. I thought a story might soothe his slumber. That always helped when I didn’t feel well.