The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(41)

I turned to Blake, incredulous. “You can’t honestly think Kash did that!”

“I’m only asking questions,” Blake said mildly. “But tell us, Mr. Firas. Have you been out here all night long?”

“Ah, Mr. Hart. Despite the rumors, even I can’t do anything all night long.” But Kash didn’t even smile at his joke. Instead, he took my arm. “Come, amira. Let’s get back to the ship. I think we’ve been here long enough.”

“At the castle?”

“In Ker-Ys.”

I wanted to protest, but I thought back to the dead man, lying on the floor, and I shuddered. Who had killed him? Where was the key? And who was he, really? A king without a kingdom, or just a man who’d lost his mind?

We wound our way toward the dock. When would Crowhurst return from New York? Perhaps he’d already come in with this morning’s tide—if so, I would be glad to get the captain’s map back, ask my questions, and leave. I counted forward. The gates would open next sometime around midnight. Plenty of time to pick a new destination. I rubbed my temple—my headache was worsening. Maybe I would rest a bit first.

“Amira, is something wrong?”

Blake frowned. “Rotgut mentioned she skipped breakfast,” he said. “And that was some hours ago.”

At the thought of food, my stomach turned again. But the dizziness was making it hard to walk; part of me felt as though I would float away into the wide blue sky if Kashmir let go. My skin felt strangely cool, even clammy; likely the adrenaline finally leaving. “Maybe food would be a good idea.”

“Come.” Kash steered us into a small shop near the bottom of the Grand Rue; baskets of pastry and bread lined the counters, and the smell of malt and sugar and butter warmed me far more than the bakery’s ovens. The blond woman behind the counter frowned at Kashmir and me. Her eyes slid to Blake until Kash pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket; then she pasted on a smile for him. But glancing down at the baskets, I was suddenly too hot. I plucked at the collar of my shirt, fumbling at the button. The proprietor arched a brow and said something to me, but I couldn’t hear her words.

“I’m sorry . . . can you . . .” I blinked and shook my head. “Sorry, I . . .”

“Amira?”

Suddenly the roar of the ocean was loud in my ears—confusing. We were not on the water. But the bakery was spinning around me, and my vision narrowed to a small point. My chin dropped as my head grew incredibly heavy. A wave of darkness washed over me, so gently, and I floated on it, arms out, face to the sky, rocking on this strange sea.

When my eyes drifted open—why had I closed them?—I was looking up at a yellowed plaster ceiling and two concerned faces.

“Don’t move,” Kashmir said to me.

“What happened?” My tongue was thick; I reached back to touch my head—it was throbbing—and found a tender spot. I tried to roll to my side; had I fallen?

“You fainted, Miss Song.” The words were distant, echoey.

A wave of dizziness hit me again, not as gentle this time. When it passed, I struggled to sit up. Kashmir put his hand behind my back to support me. “Slowly, slowly.”

I shook my head—the roaring sound was still there, rising and falling. But it wasn’t only in my ears. “Are people . . . cheering?”

There was music too; the sound of drums and some kind of wind instrument, a flute or a fife, distant but coming closer. Kashmir helped me to my feet, and I tottered over to the window; through it, I could see a press of backs as people lined the street outside. The shopkeeper was standing in the open doorway, her attention split between her strange customers and the excitement outside.

“Pardon,” I said to her. “Qu’est-ce qu’il y a là bas? What is it, out there?”

“C’est Grand l’Un,” she replied, giving me a once-over, her eyes suspicious.

“Grand l’Un? The Great One?”

“Oui,” she said slowly, as though it should be obvious. “Le roi revient!”

“The king?” I asked, unsure that I’d heard her correctly. “What king?”

But Kashmir cocked his head. “The king of Ker-Ys, amira.”

For a moment I thought he was joking, but he didn’t laugh when I did. Then Blake nodded his agreement, and my knees went weak all over again.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


We stood outside the bakery in a thick scrum of people. Adults lifted toddlers onto their shoulders; children were ushered to the front where they could see. It was warmer now, or perhaps it only seemed so in the crowd. I swayed on my feet, still weak, but in the press of bodies, there was no way we could make it back to the ship.

Kashmir supported me on the left and Blake on my right, and they were pushed even closer as the crowd surged forward. The excitement rose around us and people started to chant. “Grand l’Un! Grand l’Un!”

My skin went cold, but the cheering reached its peak, ringing against the clear blue sky. Petals rained down in the crisp winter air—cherry, and gourdon, and lily of the valley; where had they come from, so early in the season? And then, there he was, waving from the wide window of a gilded carriage, the king of Ker-Ys: Donald Crowhurst.

His livery collar caught the afternoon sun, as did the golden crown on his head, and the red satin sash around his shoulders was very dashing. His eyes glimmered with joy as they swept across the faces of his people. He smiled down at the crowd, every inch a king; it struck me, then, that this was the welcome he would have had if he’d returned home triumphant from his race around the world. But this was a far greater feat. I willed him to look at me, but he did not glance my way, and my voice, shouting his real name, was lost in the roar of the crowd.