The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(76)

“It?” I repeat. “I thought you said we could take any one of those ships.”

John shrugs, but he doesn’t turn around. “We could. And we might have to. But I’d rather take one I know. It’ll make it easier, given where we’re asking them to take us.”

George comes in with food, and the three of us eat while John continues to monitor the window. Then Fifer and George play a card game on the bed while I sit in a chair in the corner, trying to rest. Even though I slept well last night, I’m still tired. I guess it’s my stitches. I can’t remember the last time an injury left me so exhausted.

Next thing I know, there’s a hand on my arm, gently shaking me. “Elizabeth. Wake up.” I blink and see George standing over me. “Time to go.” He helps me out of my chair and hands me my bag.

John stands by the door, waiting. He hasn’t spoken to me, at least not voluntarily, since we left Humbert’s. Every now and again I catch him watching me when he thinks I’m not looking. But when I try to meet his gaze, he always looks away.

Outside, the dock is crowded with people, stevedores mostly, loading and unloading crates from the ships that line the quay. For a moment I stand there, letting the warmth from the sun sink into my skin. I should be feeling safe—as safe as someone like me could feel, anyway. But for some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle, the way they do when I know I’m being watched.

“Which one is it?” George says. There are several ships along the pier. Some are massive, hulking things, all masts and rigging, billowing sails, and cargo stacked high. Others are low and sleek, with nothing on board but cannons, poking from the gun ports like tiny black eyes.

“There. At the very end.” John points to one of the smaller ships docked at the end.

“It’s smaller than I thought it would be,” Fifer says. “Don’t you think we’d be better off in one of those?” She motions to one of the larger ships.

John shakes his head. “Blackwell’s house is off the river. Something that big will never be able to get us close enough without running aground. I don’t really want to row in, do you?”

Fifer shakes her head.

We step into the jostling crowd and make our way toward it. We’re about halfway there when someone bumps into me, knocking my bag off my shoulder. I stop to adjust it. In that moment, one man’s heavy shoulder slams against mine as another man steps in front of me, and I lose sight of the others.

The sunlight bounces off the water and into my eyes, so bright I can’t see where they went. I spin around in a circle, searching the crowd. When I still can’t find them, I feel a little jolt of panic until a hand lands on my arm. I turn around, thinking it’s George, maybe John. But it isn’t.

It’s Caleb.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” he says, as calmly as if we’d met at the palace grounds, or the World’s End, or any place besides this dock, the last place on earth I’d ever expect to see him.

“Caleb,” I gasp. “What are you—how did you—”

“How did I find you?”

I nod, too stunned to speak.

“It was difficult—I won’t lie. Easier, perhaps, once we found the dead guards in Stepney Green. As soon as I saw them, I knew it was you. I’d recognize your handiwork anywhere.” He smiles then, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I start to shiver. “Caleb, I—”

He holds up a hand. “I need to talk to you, and we don’t have a lot of time. Marcus is here; so is Linus. They haven’t seen you, at least not yet.” I whip my head around, searching the crowd for them. What if they found the others?

“Don’t worry, they’re not here for your friends. I told them specifically to leave them alone.”

I freeze.

“Don’t look that way. I’m glad you made friends. I’m happy to see you were taken care of. The tall one, in particular, seems as if he’s taking very good care of you.”

I let out a strangled gasp.

“Elizabeth, I want you to come back with me.”

It takes a moment to find my breath.

“What?” I say finally. “No, I can’t go to prison, Caleb. I won’t—”

“You’re not going to prison,” Caleb says. “I’m the Inquisitor now, haven’t you heard? What I say goes. I want you to come back and be a witch hunter again.”

“What?” I say again. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “No, Caleb, I can’t do that.”

He frowns. “Why? What else are you going to do? You can’t tell me you want to stay here”—he waves his hand dismissively—“with them?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I realize then I don’t know what I want to do. Or what I can do.

“What has he told you?” Caleb reaches for me, takes my arm. “What did Nicholas Perevil tell you to make you think you would be safe with him? Safer with him than with me? What makes you think he won’t kill you once you’re done doing… whatever it is he’s got you doing?”

I wrench myself from his grasp. “It’s not Nicholas. It’s you.” I feel a sting of tears behind my eyelids. “You didn’t come back for me. At Fleet. You left me there to die. You left me with no other choice but to do this.”