The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(74)

His response was a long time coming, but once he spoke, I wished he hadn’t. “Maybe we should reconsider.”

My hands froze, as did my blood. Not now, not here, not alone with a man who’d lost his past and another willing to risk his future. “Let me remind you, Mr. Hart, that if Cook is not allowed to find Hawaii, you will never be standing there, able to ask me not to let him do so.”

“Did you know he pretends to be a god, too? On his last voyage.”

Cook started at him. “Do I?”

“It brings you to ruin,” Mr. Hart whispered in the dark.

“Be that as it may.” I took hold of the second manacle, trying to keep my fingers steady. “On this particular voyage, you’ll go upstairs, out the door, and to the docks via the sewer.” I spoke as though by telling the story, I could make it come true. “Mr. Hart has a map. He’ll show you the way.”

“Mr. Firas—”

The manacle opened. Cook stepped free. I stood, turning slowly to face Mr. Hart. “You’ll show him the way to the Temptation,” I told him, but he shook his head. There was anguish on his face.

“I can’t.”

“Then I will. Where’s that map?” I reached for Mr. Hart, but he batted my hand aside, so I punched him in the nose.

It was only a left hook, but he stumbled back against the slick wall of the oubliette; I pressed the advantage, taking him by the shoulder and plucking the sketchbook from his pocket. “She is not philosophy,” I growled. “I am not an ethical question. I will not risk my existence to satisfy your curiosity.”

“You think that’s all it is?” He wrenched out of my grip, wiping blood from his face, but I wasn’t in the mood for questions.

Taking Cook by the arm, I flipped through the book to the map of the sewers—could he use it to reach the ship if I went on to find Dahut? “Come, James.” I shoved him in front of me, up the stairs. “We have to hurry.”

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Hart said, but that’s not what stopped me in my tracks. Rather, it was a sound—a little click, like the second hand of a clock, slicing time.

My throat went dry. Very slowly, I passed Cook the sketchbook. He stared at me, bewildered, but he took it. “Go to the ship,” I whispered to him. “Nix will meet you there.”

“Don’t move,” Mr. Hart warned, his voice echoing up the hollow well.

Slowly, I turned to face him. His chin was high, his arm raised, and the barrel of the gun a silver iris around a deep black pupil. It was a familiar sight, but not exactly the same as it was in Hawaii—his pale face was paler still, and his hand actually shook as it held the pistol.

And of course this time I had no Kevlar vest.

What did I have? Words, nothing else. At least I stood between him and Cook; he might not have hesitated if he was aiming at the erstwhile captain. “Make the other choice, Mr. Hart.”

“I’m trying to,” he replied. “I can’t make the same mistake twice.”

I kept my eyes on his face, and I found regret, but no mercy. “Cook?”

“Yes?”

I sprang toward Mr. Hart. “Run!”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


As soon as Blake and Kash were out of sight, I regretted letting them go without me. Parting was neither sweet nor sorrow, but a deep unease riven with fear. But it was the only rational choice—I knew that. And I had my own job to do.

I raced from the ship to the castle. Overhead, the sky was a faultless blue, but inside me . . . a storm. My feet pounded, my heart raced, my thoughts churned. Breathless, agitated, I slowed only when I reached the suites and heard my father’s hearty laughter behind the door. It was so incongruous that it gave me pause. I entered the parlor as it faded, and all eyes turned to me.

Then I stopped on the threshold. The crew was sitting there by the fire, and Crowhurst and Dahut were with them.

“Ah, Nix!” Crowhurst stood; I took a step back involuntarily. “Seems like the dog ate quickly.”

“The dog?” I tried to catch my breath, to slow my heart, all while a little voice screamed in the back of my head. Here before me, my unmaking. I stared into the abyss of his eyes. “The dog. Right. Yes.”

Crowhurst cocked his head. “I came to apologize,” he said then. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you on the docks. Please forgive me.”

“Sure. Of course.” I took a deep breath and reminded myself to blink. “I shouldn’t have taken your yacht.”

“It’s quite all right, really. I borrowed a car or two when I was young.” There was a twinkle in his eye, and he glanced at Slate then. “Your father was just telling us a story about your last time on a powerboat.”

“Remember, Nixie?” Slate still had tears in his eyes, and his face was split in an easy grin. He was sprawled back on the chaise like a great cat, his head in my mother’s lap; I had never seen him so relaxed. “You were, like, ten, and so small the Coast Guard cap was slipping down over your forehead. I still don’t know why I agreed to let you drive.”

“Because you knew she’d be good at it,” Bee said.

“And I was right!” Slate laughed again. “Too bad about that buoy, though!”

Crowhurst chuckled along with him, and my nerves jangled like a broken bell. But I tried to return their smiles, to slow my heart, to keep my fists from clenching. Thinking back to that day helped; the memory was calming. That had been just before Bruce was bumped to dispatch for drinking on the job. “I didn’t run anything over this time,” I said, which was only barely true. I glanced at Dahut, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.