The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(69)

The water was freezing. The shock of it sent a jolt through me, but thankfully it only reached to my knees. I sent another worried glance across the water—the missing harpooner was at risk of hypothermia, on top of whatever lurked below the surface—but I saw no sign of him.

As I approached the mermaid, her tail twisted, but I could tell she had little fight left. Uncorking the bottle, I leaned out, keeping my distance as I dripped mercury over the pale, wet skin of her shoulder, where the harpoon had struck. Before my eyes, the skin knitted, sealing shut. It made my stomach turn.

“Amira?”

“Almost done!”

The fishhook posed a more complex problem, but I’d fished with Rotgut before. It was a simple contraption—no barb. Still, there was no way to pull it out backward without reaching down her throat and past her teeth.

The fisherman’s blade was still in the bottom of the dinghy, gleaming through the murky red bilge; I used it to cut the rope short. Then, slowly, I inched close enough to take hold of the curve of the hook, my fingers brushing the glittering scales of her throat—so cold. In one quick motion, I yanked the assembly straight through.

The mermaid thrashed again as the rope passed through the hole. I fell back into the icy red water in the boat, though her scream was more chilling. Scrambling to my feet, I tossed the hook overboard; once she stopped writhing, I poured mercury over the wound.

Her mouth gaped as she healed, showing me her needle teeth. Was it a threat? I stepped back over the bench, picking up the abandoned blade, but she made no move toward me. Instead, she grasped the side of the boat and heaved herself back into the water.

The boat rocked underfoot. I watched, my heart pounding, as the ripples disappeared. What was I waiting for? Some sign of thanks or recognition? I shook my head at my childish hope—this was not that sort of fairy tale. Then Kashmir called to me again, a warning in his voice. “Amira.”

I looked up, expecting to see the fishermen edging closer, but they were showing their sterns, the oarsmen pulling hard toward the safety of the city. Then a familiar voice drifted over from the other side of the yacht. “What in the devil’s dark arse is this?”

Striped sails loomed as the Fool drew alongside. Gwen stood at the rail in all her wild glory, and there, beside her, the harpooner shivered under a rough woolen blanket. I was oddly relieved to see them both alive, but my relief knotted into irritation as Gwen tossed down a rope. She boarded the Dark Horse as easily as she’d boarded the Temptation—as though she owned whatever she saw. I scrambled back aboard too, leaving the swamped fishing boat to the mercy of the sea.

Gwen swore when she saw me. “Jumped ship, did you? Fickle thing.”

“You’re one to talk.” I made a face as I wrung mermaid blood from the bottom of my cloak. “Go back to the Fool, where you belong.”

She gave me a grim smile. “That’s just what I’m doing. Where’d you leave him?”

It took me a moment to realize she was talking about my father. “He’s at the castle,” I replied primly. “With my mother. His wife.”

“Well.” Her smile froze on her face. “Well, well, well.”

Gwen crossed her arms and gazed across the water, far and beyond the horizon. The wind ruffled her curls and played with the feather in her hat, and I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “Is that why you turned around?” I said. “For him?”

“Half a mile out, we hit a bank of fog, thick as spoiled milk.” She shook her head. “It only lifted when I turned round. It seemed to me a sign.”

“Of what?”

“Don’t know anymore. But he saved my life once. And when a life is saved, a debt’s created.”

“And this is how you repay it?” I jerked my chin toward the Fool. “By taking up a trade you knew he’d hate?”

“I only said that to pinch him, you stupid girl. My hold is full of Irish lace.” She glared at me, as though daring me to say something. “The payment for a life is a life. I’m going to save his so there’s nothing owed. And then maybe I can forget his name.”

“Save him?” I watched as she took hold of the rope again. “From what?”

“I saw the way he looked,” she said. “I know the face of despair.”

“There’s a lot that can change in a day.”

“I know that too, believe me.”

Gwen shimmied up the rope, shouting orders to raise the sails, and Dahut peeked out from the shelter of the stairs, still holding the flare gun. “Who was she?”

“Her name is Gwen. Gwenolé.” I frowned as a thought began to form, but before it coalesced, Gwen called down to Dahut.

“You’re mixed up in this too?” She spat on the deck. “I knew you were bad luck. Where are your masters, girl?”

Dahut adjusted her grip on the flare gun. “Who?”

“The two men who sailed with you. The ones who brought you here.”

I blinked. “Two?”

“Did you curse me for leaving them?” Gwen called to Dahut. “Did you bring the fog?”

“What do you mean, two?” I called back.

“Ask her!”

“I don’t remember!” Dahut said, exasperated, but the next question died on my lips as the wind carried the distant sound of bells to my ears.