The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(91)

We tried to settle in aboard, with Bee, Rotgut, and Blake in bunks below, and Kash and I in the captain’s cabin, where I began to sort through my jumbled belongings. A few books, a paltry collection of maps—less than half of what had been. The Mnemosyne water was there too, wrapped in one of my father’s sweaters. I pressed the cloth to my face, but it only smelled of laundry soap, so I used it to wipe away the tears that had started to form. Then I took the flask, turning it over and over in my hands.

Even now, having made my choice, I felt the temptation of boundless knowledge. The bottle wasn’t safe to keep, not aboard the ship. I stood for a long time at the dock, considering whether or not to pour it into the sea, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I went to the maps.

There wasn’t much left, but it was enough. After some searching, I found a map of Hawaii in 1858. When we reached the balmy waters of the Pacific, it felt like coming home. Not in the way of returning to a place of comfort, but rather like seeing a familiar place anew, and gone was the gilded glow of childhood.

We sailed into Honolulu harbor alongside a mail ship as locals cast flowers into the sea. The soft breeze carried their scent to me—and to Blake, who came up from belowdecks like the mirror image of Persephone: he did not bring life back to the world above, but instead life was brought back into him. The sun gilded his hair and kissed his cheeks, and was that a smile on his lips? I turned away before I could see it bloom, though Kashmir’s words echoed faintly in my head. Something about forgiveness.

Whose fault was it, really? If Blake had not betrayed us, we would have gotten away clean. Then again, if I’d never brought us to Ker-Ys, Kash wouldn’t have been trapped in the first place—though Cook might have been, and perhaps then the world really would have been unmade. What would I have lost, had I chosen differently? I shook my head. It was dizzying—cause and effect, round and round, stretching back to the source.

I found Joss at her shop in Chinatown, and when I stepped through the door, I was surprised by the tinkling chime of tiny bells. Of course that wasn’t the only thing that was different—the last time I’d been here was thirty years in the future. In those days, the shop was a faded apothecary crouched over a hidden opium den, the air redolent with the sickly sweet smell of pipe smoke, the wooden shelves sagging with boxes and jars of pills and powders, and all of it covered in a thin layer of dust.

But here and now, everything was still new. The shop was lovingly kept, swept and dusted. The windows were thrown open to catch the warm trade winds. The red counter shone, freshly lacquered, and the woman behind it was startlingly young, though the gleam in her pebble-black eyes was the same as it always would be.

If I hadn’t already known who she was, I would have been able to guess. She stood there holding a cup of tea, looking so much like Lin that tears burned in the corners of my eyes. And the look on her face made it clear she recognized me too—though not for the same reason. In her expression, I saw the memories fall into place like stones into a deep well. The last time she’d seen me was in Emperor Qin’s tomb, where she’d been buried alive.

But here and now, I was the one who felt trapped—the knowledge of what had happened, or had yet to happen, was a crushing weight. She saw it. She missed nothing. “You look like you could use some tea.”

I nodded as she prepared the cup, taking leaves from a jar on the shelf behind her and pouring water from a pot resting on a stone on the counter. The fragrant, bitter scent filled the air. I took the cup, and she refilled her own, watching me with those bird-bright eyes. “I didn’t think I would see you again,” she said at last.

How much did she already know? And how much could I tell her? I tested the tea—it was hot, but not scalding—and chose my answer carefully, an echo of her own future words to me. “You will, though this is probably the last time I’ll see you.”

“Then let me thank you now, while I can. After all,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “Who can know what the future holds?”

The words were like a knife in the gut. I looked down, blinking hard, watching the tea leaves settle in my cup. “You seem to,” I said at last.

“I know some things,” she answered, and I heard the smile in her voice.

My throat was dry. I drained the tea and set the cup down on the counter. Then I drew the flask from my pocket. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“Knowledge. I can’t keep it, but I think you might be able to.”

She lifted the flask to the light. “You trust me with this?”

“I know you—and I know myself.”

“Ah.” Her smile dazzled me. “Then you’re wise already.”

I laughed—I couldn’t help it—and I realized then, to my surprise, that I liked her. I was still turning over that thought when she spoke.

“You lost someone.”

I blinked at her—but Joss was looking down at the tea leaves at the bottom of my cup. She turned the cup around in her hands. “Someone you loved,” she added then, looking up through her lashes. “Lost at sea.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Yes.”

She lowered her own eyes and set the cup back down on the counter. “Do you think you’ll find him again?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”