The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(54)

Crowhurst sent a servant to the ship to fetch Bee and Rotgut; they would be eager to see Lin. Another servant showed us to a suite of rooms surrounding a central parlor. There, my father swept my mother off her feet and carried her the rest of the way. She laid her head against his shoulder as he whispered into her hair, kicking the door shut behind them.

The rest of us stood in the parlor. It was well appointed, with soft chairs and a woven rug over the stone floor, but I had no eyes for luxury, not now. I floated across the room like a bubble, hollow, fragile, and lowered myself gently onto a velvet chaise. My whole body ached with the echo of my emotions—shock and guilt, but also a lightness, a relief, a tentative tendril of something strange. Joy?

Kash knelt beside me, close but not touching. I was the one to reach out, taking comfort from his steady presence as his hand folded around mine. It was so easy now—so natural. I stared down at his hand in wonder. What had I been waiting for?

“So?” Blake’s question interrupted my thoughts; he was full of energy as he paced before the fire. “Which do you think it is?”

There was a long silence. Lifting my head took an enormous effort, but when I did, Blake was staring at me with those blue eyes. I cleared my throat; it was raw and rough. “Which what?”

“Genius or madness, Miss Song. Or does it matter?”

Kashmir gripped my hand more tightly. “What’s that saying? Madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

“It’s not madness if he gets the result he’s after,” Blake said.

“The man claimed to be a god, Mr. Hart!”

“Gods, witches, Navigators—different words for the same things.”

“Hustler is the word that comes to my mind,” Kash shot back. “We should leave the table while we’re up.”

“Leave? Miss Song.” Blake turned to me, an appeal in his eyes, and the color was high in his cheeks. “Certainly you understand. We have to know more.”

“Amira—”

“I have to go.” I stood abruptly; I was completely drained, as empty as a sail on a windless day. “It’s late. I have to go to bed.”

Without waiting for an answer, I fled across the parlor to a room farthest from the captain’s . . . from my parents’ room. Shutting the door behind me, I sagged against it, but when I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s face.

Had I truly saved her by giving Crowhurst the map of New York? It was hard to imagine. All my life, I’d been the reason she was gone—though I supposed I still was. And what might have happened if Crowhurst had left her in Hawaii? I would never know. I would never have to worry.

It was a gift, indeed, and a rare one. A life I’d never thought possible—a future that included my mother without erasing my past. And what now, on the horizon? They’d had a flat in Honolulu. Slate had told me that once; he’d been quite willing to trade the sea for true love. Could I bring them back to Hawaii on my own timeline? Perhaps Kash and I could take the Temptation then, out and over the deep blue sea to make our fortune, and come back home for the holidays.

The thought made me giggle—it was almost unreal, mundane and extravagant all at once. And yet Crowhurst had made it possible.

Why? Had he truly seen a need, or was Kashmir right? Was Crowhurst only reeling me in?

I pushed myself off the door as though I were poling a barge. The room was cozy enough, the walls washed in white plaster and the high ceiling made of wooden beams. There was a banked fire on the hearth and a lantern on the side table, and when I sat on the edge of the bed I sank at least four inches. I stood again, struggling with my dress before giving up and flinging myself down among the pillows.

As I lay there, Blake’s words echoed in my head—we have to know more. And it occurred to me that Crowhurst hadn’t told me how, exactly, he wanted me to help.





CHAPTER TWENTY


KASHMIR



After Nix went to bed, I too stood to leave. Mr. Hart was still afire with dreams of remaking reality, and the tension between us was so thick it left room for only the smallest of talk. Or so I thought.

He watched me stand, his expression cool. “Best to let her be, don’t you think?”

It took me a moment to understand what he was getting at; when I did, an anger I’d never felt sprang up in me like a flame. “I’m not going after her,” I said, articulating each word.

“Where, then?”

“To get some answers,” I said. “Since Crowhurst isn’t giving us any.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in changing the world.”

“There are things I’d change, Mr. Hart, but not with a magic map.”

He peered at me the way he had that last night in Honolulu, looking down the barrel of his gun. “What bothers you so much, Mr. Firas?” he said softly. “Is it that Miss Song might regret her choice in Hawaii?”

“No,” I said, opening the door and slipping into the hall. “It bothers me that you might.”

I shut the door in his face, softer than I felt like. Out in the hall, the candles flickered in their sconces. I leaned against the cool stone wall and took a moment to breathe. Then I rubbed the skin of my throat—behind my eyes, I could still see Mr. Hart taking aim. How many times had I cheated death? Would our next dance be my last? For the first time in my history, I was concerned about my future, and about my past as well.