Fear the Drowning Deep(25)
I ran the roll of bandages across his stomach, careful not to wrap them too tightly. “No. I’ve just started an apprenticeship outside town. It’s mostly cleaning, but I need to do my best if I ever want to leave this rock.”
“Where would you go?”
I paused to consider the question. “Any place without a sea view. Maybe Dublin. Paris. Boston. I have a second cousin in Kilkenny in Ireland, and I’m told it’s miles from the ocean. Perhaps someday I’ll see them all.”
“I’d like to visit them all, too.” Fynn’s voice sounded fainter. Perhaps my clumsy nursing had exhausted him. “If it turns out I do have a fortune, I’ll buy you a chestnut horse as payment for saving me. You can ride it across America.”
I tied off the last section of bandages. “Wouldn’t that be grand? My own horse.” I joined Fynn on the sofa, my eyes on the scant distance between us. “For someone with no memory, you’re quite fascinating.”
Fynn’s grin shifted to a grimace. “Good to hear. Now if I die of infection, at least I’ll go happily. Oh, and Bridey?” He leaned in, radiating warmth. My breath caught in my throat as I inhaled the scent of the herbal salve beneath his bandages.
“What?”
A faint sheen of sweat coated his brow. “I need to lie down.”
I blinked, jarred from a vision of him bringing his mouth closer to mine. A boy who I didn’t really know. A boy who thought me brave …
As I leaped to my feet, the doorknob rattled. Mam, Liss, and Grayse tromped inside. Grayse was toying with the fishbone around her neck. I’d given her Morag’s Bollan Cross and she refused to take it off.
I supposed it couldn’t hurt. If Morag really was a witch, and that foul charm had any power, Grayse—and all of us, for that matter—would need its protection if anyone or anything wished us harm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A week later, on a bright June morning, Mam sent me to buy a few skeins of yarn from Ina Cretney, who had almost as many children as her husband owned sheep.
Fynn had been pacing around the house for the past few days, and when I asked if he wanted to accompany me to the market, his eyes lit up. After Mally approved the outing, Fynn and I set off, passing one of Mr. Gill’s search parties midway up the road. They roamed the cliffs above the sea constantly as they called Nessa’s and Eveleen’s names, but their eyes remained on the trees and hills, rather than the water. They’d never find anything that way.
The market at the center of town was a collection of stalls and weathered buildings gathered around a stone fountain of four leaping dolphins. The shops’ roofs were ancient, and though their large windows were relatively new, the glass was already caked with grit.
The square was crowded, as it always was on such a fine day. The bustle of so many hats and skirts made my search for a glint of Mrs. Cretney’s copper hair a challenge.
“Keep an eye out for a woman with a swarm of children tugging at her skirts,” I muttered to Fynn, leading the way past a display of pies. There were few smiles among the shoppers today, even the ones with cakes and sweets in their hands. Even perpetually jolly Mr. Watterson, the cloth merchant, looked grim. Mothers kept their children close, when they were usually content to let them run about the square. Perhaps they were worried about the recent lack of fish. Or they’d finally realized that Nessa and Eveleen hadn’t gone to Peel, and they weren’t coming back.
“What’s that?” Fynn asked with a puzzled look, pointing to a bright ribbon of taffy.
“Candy. Surely you remember candy,” I said distractedly, gazing over the head of the child clutching the taffy with sticky fingers. I’d caught a glimpse of vivid red hair, and half hoped we were about to bump into Lugh, but the flash of red had vanished by the time I elbowed my way through the press of shoppers. If it really was him, and he was avoiding me, I could hardly blame him for it.
As we neared the fountain, someone called, “Bridey Reynylt Corkill!” in a perfect imitation of Mam.
I whirled around and met Cat’s light brown eyes. Pressing a hand to my chest, I glared. “Don’t do that!”
Giggles erupted from the tiny figure beside Cat. Her little sister, Alis, peered at us through a mop of black ringlets, displaying a jack-o’-lantern smile. She was missing more teeth than Grayse, despite being a year younger. In one hand, she clutched half a bonnag. The rest of the crumbly cake was probably in her stomach already.
“Where have you been lately?” Cat asked me, though she was slyly studying Fynn. “You must be the comeover everyone’s talking about.” She nudged me in the ribs and shot me an impatient glance.
Right. She expected an introduction. “Fynn, this is Catreena Stowell.” I nodded to Cat, who grinned.“And her sister, Alis.”
“You’re from London, right?” Cat extended a hand and tossed her curls over her shoulder. “Came in with the latest boatload of tourists, hit your head, and fell into the water before our Bridey rescued you? That’s what Mrs. Kissack’s been telling everyone.”
I frowned, marveling at how quickly news became gossip around here. I tried to catch Cat’s eye as she waited for Fynn to take her hand, but she was watching him with interest. He gazed back at her with something like confusion. Finally, he raised a hand in return. But instead of shaking, he simply pressed his palm against hers, his eyes seeking mine as though hoping for a nod of approval.