The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(34)

“I considered it,” he said, his voice mild, his eyes sharp. “But I noticed the captain had abandoned ship as well, and I didn’t want to risk another lost map.”

Sighing, I gripped the rail at the stern; the brass was cold as ice. So he had seen Slate leave; had he seen me lead him back from the edge of the wall? I did not know how to discuss it—the captain’s condition. More than that, I didn’t want to discuss it. “I went exploring.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I love a good adventure.”

“So do I. Did you find one?”

“Blake . . .” I bit my lip—but maybe he could help sort this out. I tapped my fingers on the rail, considering my words. Overhead, the sky had lightened to a lovely shade of sapphire, and the thin light of dawn washed the deserted wharf. “I found a madman in the square last night,” I said at last. “At least, I thought he was mad.”

“That does sound like an adventure.”

“More of a mystery. He claimed to be the king, and he wore a brass key on his neck. He mentioned the devil and the dark horse, and a daughter lost to the sea—”

“Like the myth?”

“Yes. He spoke like a prophet. Like he knew the ending of the story. But he also claimed there was a monster in the castle and a man in a pit, and that’s not part of any legend I’ve read. Plus, he called me a witch.”

“It’s not exactly an unfair criticism, Miss Song.” I whacked his shoulder with the back of my hand, but he laughed. “Well! Didn’t you agree that Navigation is something like magic? The whole reason you’re here is to learn to work wonders.”

My smile fell away. “That’s the other thing about last night. I—I met Crowhurst. Back on the dock.”

Blake’s eyes went wide. “And what did he say?”

“I . . . Nothing.” It felt like an admission of guilt—as though Crowhurst and I were conspirators. “He—he didn’t know anything yet. He hadn’t even been to New York.”

“But how—?”

“It seems as though we arrived here before he invited us.”

Blake’s brow furrowed, and then he guessed. “The map I drew—the map of New York City. You gave it to him? My god.” Blake shook his head. “What would have happened if I hadn’t given it to you?”

“I don’t know.” I laughed a little, but without humor. “I studied this for years, back when I first realized what might happen if Slate actually succeeded in saving my mother. Some people say that what’s meant to happen will find a way, come hell or high water. And some people think that preventing history from happening would unmake the universe.”

His eyebrows went up. “Are those the only two possibilities?”

“Oh, no, there are infinite possibilities. But very little hard science.”

“Then how did Crowhurst learn?”

“What do you mean?”

“He has a way to change the past—or so his letter said. If he was telling the truth, he found a way, and all without ending the world.”

“Blake . . .” I chewed my lip, staring at the harbor, the water, the boats gently bobbing. “That’s the thing. I gave him the letter too.”

“The letter he sent to you? Then . . . he doesn’t have a way to change anything? It was all a lie?”

“Or it might have been what had to happen—”

“To keep the world from unraveling?” Blake searched my face for answers I did not have. “Do you think we’re here for a reason, Miss Song?”

My mouth twisted like a rope—I knew the reason I’d brought us here, but Blake gave the word a shine beyond self-interest. “We have to wait for Crowhurst to return to find out for certain.”

“It seems that way.” Blake folded his arms. “But perhaps we can still track down the madman.”

I looked at him, surprised. “We can?”

“Aren’t you curious how he knows the ending of a story yet untold?”

“Of course I am,” I said. “I just didn’t realize you’d want to come with me.”

“Well, I can’t very well let you keep all the adventures to yourself, Miss Song.” He offered me his arm then, and I took it. Together, we started out across the wharf, up the Grand Rue toward the castle.

It was the same route I’d taken last night, but the town was far more colorful in the light of day. The sun brought out the bright hues of the doors, enameled in rich blues and reds, and above the street swung the carved and painted signs for hat makers and haberdashers, porcelains and parfumeries—luxuries in this age, especially for a town so small. Where did this wealth come from? I saw no factories, no sign of industry. Then again, Ker-Ys was supposed to be a utopia.

The streets themselves were quiet, and most of the shops were still shuttered this early, but curtains were being drawn back from the windows in the living spaces above, and there was the feeling in the air—a murmur of voices, a scent of milk and smoke and rising bread—that people were stirring. As we turned into the square, bells in the cathedral began to ring.

The chateau was even lovelier under the sun than the moon: a profusion of slender towers, lacy with tracery and topped with conical slate roofs. My eye went to the upper window, but it was dark. Still, the entire atmosphere was halcyon, and the events of last night seemed far away, almost unreal, like a distant ship on the horizon.