The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(85)

Could I take hold of the safety line as I passed the stern? My limbs were already numb with cold. I fought for air, my fingers frozen, lungs aflame, sliding along the back of the ship—then past. My hands swept through icy emptiness; I had never felt more alone.

Was this what Kash had felt, out in the Margins? What he would feel, if the sea took him from me? Despair flooded in, colder than the water.

But then something took my arm.

Claws bit my skin. The hand was scaled—I opened my mouth in shock, and the tide poured in. Yanked against the current, I rose toward the surface, where my grasping fingers tangled in a rope. The strange hand released me as I hauled myself along the line with strength I didn’t know I’d had. When I broke into the air, my first breath was more primal than a scream. Shaking water out of my face, I searched for a glimpse of my savior, but the foamy sea gave nothing away.

Then I heard shouting over the sound of the waves. Blinking away the salt, I saw I was holding fast to the Fool’s anchor line; she’d hove to beside the Temptation. I never thought I’d be happy to see Gwenolé’s face.

Oddly, she looked happy to see me too—or at least, satisfied. “She’s here!”

At her shout, my father rushed to the rail of the caravel. He grinned, giddy with relief, and hung over the side, calling out encouragement as Gwen herself reeled me in like a fish. As soon as I was close enough to the corvette, I slid my arm through the rung of the ladder that ran down the Fool’s stern. I was bleeding from five deep scratches in my forearm, but the air was colder than the water and I could hardly feel the wound.

I was coughing now and shivering, too weak to climb up. But Gwen threw down another rope, tied in a loop; I slipped it over my head and under my other arm. With her taking my waterlogged weight, I managed to guide myself up the ladder. At the top, she pulled me over the rail and onto the deck.

I lay like a landed fish, gasping at the grim sky. Clouds boiled overhead as water pooled beneath me. Gwen rubbed some life into my limbs; as blood returned to my extremities, my skin burned. Now my arm began to sting.

“I saw you go over the side,” she said to me, and though her voice was brusque, there was concern in her face. “What the hell were you thinking?”

With numb hands, I felt for the bottle of Mnemosyne water, safe in my pocket. “I’m t-t-trying to lift a c-c-curse,” I said through chattering teeth.

“By drowning yourself? Hmm.” She gave me a twisted smile. “Maybe I should throw you back into the sea.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to sit up. “Throw me b-back to the Temptation instead.”

“Probably best that way.” Gwen helped me to my feet; standing was an excruciating pain. My feet felt swollen but hollow, as though they’d gone to sleep. “You’re no kind of captain if you keep jumping ship.”

Together, we staggered to the rail; already, her crew was rigging a rope from the Fool to the Temptation. I took it in my hands, but I hesitated as a realization came. “I can get you past the f-f-fog,” I said then. “Back to the Port of London.”

Beside me, Gwen stiffened. “How, exactly?”

“All you have to do is let J-James take the helm.”

“Who?”

“James Cook. The man who brought you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a tall order.”

“It’s your only way out,” I told her; but that was the wrong tactic. “And I know Slate would consider it a great favor.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

I hesitated—could I tell her? “A life for a life, you said.”

“You’re telling me Captain Slate’s life depends on this?”

“Not his,” I said. “Mine. And my mother’s.”

Gwen folded her arms and glared at me; behind the anger, pain shifted to regret. What kind of person was she, really? For a long time I thought she’d refuse, but then she waved me away toward my ship. “Get off my ship and send him over.”

I climbed down to the Temptation; my father met me at the rail. “Let’s get you out of the cold,” he said, trying to steer me toward the cabin, but I shrugged out of his grip.

“No time,” I told him, digging my fingers into the stiff pocket of my trousers. With difficulty, I slid the canteen free and handed it to Slate. “For James. Only a little at a time. Stop when he remembers arriving in Ker-Ys. Then send him over to the Fool.”

Slate took the bottle, but he hovered until Lin shooed him away. She held out my red cloak, settling it around my shoulders—I’d left it in the captain’s cabin for my trip to Greece. She’d brought the flask of mercury too. Lin inspected the claw marks on my arm and gently daubed them with the elixir. “What is that?” she said then. “In your pocket?”

I sighed; the throbbing pain in my arm was fading fast. “Kashmir gave it to me.”

“A strange gift,” she said, turning her attention to my bee sting.

“It’s what he had to give at the time.”

“You’ll have more time with him.”

She said it with such certainty—but was it only a made-up fortune? I looked up into her eyes; her expression was serious. “I know,” I said softly, hoping that could make it true.

Lin corked the flask of mercury and held it out to me. “You should take this with you too,” she said. “If he’s hurt, he’ll need it.”