“Did you think I would perform for you?”
“I hoped you would—”
“Forget I’m a prisoner aboard a ship of traitors, locked in the brig by my own wife? You’ll have to do more than give me back my instrument and wear a dress.”
My face and neck warm. “I thought your violin would help you pass the time.”
“You were trying to rob me of my right to be furious with you,” he retorts, shoving the chess pieces into the box faster. “This is ludicrous, Everley. Chasing a storm and seeking out a whale? The Terrible Dorcha destroys ships and drowns sailors.”
“Dorcha can lead us to the Otherworlds.” In addition to our world, the Land of the Living, there are seven Otherworlds, all crafted by the Creator. At least there were seven worlds until Markham destroyed his own.
For so long, I was intent on bringing him to justice. Now, more than anything, I want to complete the task Father Time gave me so I can go home to the only family I have left.
“We should return to Wyeth,” Jamison presses, “and petition Queen Aislinn. Let her take care of her traitorous governor.”
I wish we could, but our queen professes to receive direct guidance from the Creator. In truth, she executes anyone with faith in anything other than her crown or her self-made church. Jamison may be an earl and a lieutenant in the royal navy, but he’s unable to promise me that the queen won’t throw me back in prison to finish my sentence.
“You don’t know that the queen will help us,” I say.
“You don’t know what Killian is after. You’re dragging us along on your quest for revenge.”
I should overlook Jamison’s anger, but I see myself through his lens, and it’s unflattering. “I have to finish what my father started. The sword of Avelyn was lost for centuries until he found it. He died trying to return the blade to Father Time.”
“So could you. Why doesn’t Father Time get the sword himself?”
“Why didn’t he intercede when my family was killed, or when your mother and sister died? Why do he and the Creator let any misfortune happen?” I push the chagrin out of my voice. “You’re right. We don’t know what Markham wants, but he already destroyed one world. Ours could be next.”
Jamison’s tired gaze meets mine. “Or we could be grateful he’s gone and worry about ourselves.”
I cannot bring myself to say what I came to ask him quite yet, so I set the sheet music on the table. “This is for you from Radella and me.”
“Are the musical notes footprints?” he asks, studying the measures closely.
“Radella misses you . . . We both do.”
He sighs, expelling his temper. “Earlier, my remark about your dress—”
“I know you didn’t mean it.” I smooth my hand over his shoulder. Jamison’s muscles go rigid, but he does not pull away, so I slide my arm behind his neck and lower myself onto his lap, putting my weight on his good knee. He smells of leather and salt water, the land and the sea. “I want you to come with us.”
His eyes cool again. “You’re asking me to leave our world behind.”
“Only for a while.” I run my fingers along the nape of his neck. “Come with me.”
A large swell knocks the box of chess pieces off the table. We brace ourselves against the rocking as the pieces spill to the floor and roll across the cabin. We’re closing in on the storm.
“Why do all of this?” He’s referring to my dress, the music, and my sitting on his lap and caressing his neck. Touching him is something I rarely do.
“Jamison, we don’t know much about the Land Under the Wave, except that it’s covered in seas. You fixed my waterlogged ticker once. I may need you again.”
“Ahh,” he says, leaning back. “You haven’t told your partners about your clock heart.”
Given Vevina’s dislike for the peculiar, her response would be less than favorable, and I don’t trust the Fox and the Cat to keep a secret. “I’m taking precautions.”
“Is your ticker the only reason you want me to come?” he asks gently.
No, I would like his company, but I already said I miss him, and he hasn’t said two words about whether he misses me. He could have changed his mind and joined the crew at any time, yet he remains in his cell. “We both want the same thing. We both want to go home.”
“I see,” he says, his expression closing off. “You want your old life back.”
“Don’t you?” Neither of us wanted this marriage. I wed him to get closer to his commander, Governor Markham, and he wed me to gain a post at the penal colony. Although we have established a friendship, my clock heart is metal and wood, a machine incapable of falling in love. Jamison is a disavowed earl, but he hopes to reconcile with his father, the Marquess of Arundel. Life as his wife, as a countess, a prominent position in society, is not for a lass hiding her clock heart.
He shakes his head slightly. “Things change, Everley. Home may not be the same as when we left it.”
“My uncle will be the same, and so will his shop. He would never abandon me.”
Another swell scatters the chess figurines across the floor. The loose pieces could be me, rolling and reeling, at the mercy of wherever this journey leads.
As I rise, the soft beat of my ticker lightens my head, and I remember to ask: “Did you do something to my waterlogged ticker when you installed the new parts?”
“No. Why?”
“Never mind. Thank you for not telling anyone about my . . . about me.”
“I gave my word.” His tone hints at disapproval, but this is not his secret to tell. “Good luck, Everley.”
I carve on a smile, my throat taut. “I’ll need it.”
Up on deck, winds shove at my cloak and skirt. As we crash through the steep waves, the ship slows. I climb to the upper deck and join Captain Vevina at the helm.
“The storm turned,” she explains.
The sky ahead lightens by the second. It will take even more time to correct our course and chase the tempest. “Don’t lose the storm,” I say.
Vevina’s mouth slides downward. “I’m more concerned about the ship following us.”
“The ship?” I pluck the spyglass off the navigation table and peer past our stern at a triangle on the lip of the horizon. “Who are they?”
“Don’t know. They’re too far away to see their colors.”
Perhaps they aren’t displaying any. We took down our blue-and-green flag, the colors of the Realm of Wyeth, the second we turned rogue. “Could they be lost?”
“Doubtful. They’re following our heading.”
In these neutral waters, our pursuers could be merchants, pirates—or worse, a navy vessel from Wyeth. The last possibility is the least likely. We left the penal colony two months ago, and Wyeth and the isle are several months’ passage apart. Too little time has passed for the queen to have discovered our desertion unless she really does receive inspiration from the Creator.
“Vevina, you don’t think Queen Aislinn . . . ?”
“If that woman’s a seer, I’m an elf.”
Her cynicism quiets me. I was surprised when Vevina agreed to hunt down Dorcha, but her hunger for the renowned treasures in the Land Under the Wave surpassed her contempt for magic. She wants to establish herself as the pirate queen of the seas.
“I’ll keep after the storm,” she says. “Our pursuers will likely get nervous and change course. I’ll send for you when our luck turns.”
I observe the shadow ship through the spyglass again. Like the sea, luck is unpredictable. One minute it is on our side, and the next we are drowning in disaster.
Chapter Two
I open and close the hammer on my pistol. Yesterday I loaded and fired the navy standard-grade gun in thirty-six seconds. If only my aim were as good as my speed.
Again, I snap the hammer. Open. Closed. Open—
“Everley,” Dr. Alick Huxley says on an exasperated groan. “I’m nearly finished. Can you wait outside for me?”
I place the pi
stol in my lap, sit up in the chair, and jog my knee. The ship’s sick bay is a cozy cabin filled with glass bottles and wooden boxes of herbs. “I’m comfortable here.”
“Then please be quiet.” The surgeon’s mustache twitches, his concentration returning to his patient log. Alick sided with the mutineers, staying on as our medic. He once had romantic interest in me, but we are comrades now, crewmates and coprotectors of Quinn. On the corner of his desk is one of her writing samples. Alick is teaching her how to read and write.
I brush wood shavings from my trousers. After speaking with Vevina, I changed back into my work clothes and carved a few figurines. I have been trying to replicate the figurehead of the Cadeyrn of the Seas, a female merrow. The half-human, half-fish creature has several complex details, from her long hair to the diamond pattern on her scaly lower half. My uncle could have carved her with little effort, whereas I tossed away my second failed attempt and came here.
“There,” Alick says, setting down his quill. “You can give your foot a rest.”
I shove the pistol into my belt and grab an empty bottle. “We don’t have long. Vevina is chasing down a storm.”
He pulls on his coat. Before he can fasten it, I drag him outside. My cloak comes to life in the wind, billowing like a curtain by an open window. The sails glow in the early evening light, the storm on the starboard side an ashen wall. Off the stern, the unnamed ship is still trailing us. Perhaps it’s my paranoia, but our pursuers appear closer.
Alick and I reach the gunwale on the middeck. He takes out his pocket watch, which is attached to his belt by a gold chain. In exchange for his instruction during my firearm training, I assist him with his seasick patients, feeding them crystalized ginger and dumping out their vomit pails.
I set the bottle on the gunwale, and it stays. Here, in the center of the ship, the swaying is mildest.
“Ready?” he asks, checking his watch.
Nearer to the bow, outside the range that I will be aiming, a group of crew members huddles by a cannon. Every morning and night, Laverick and her six-man gun crew practice firing. The Cadeyrn of the Seas has three gun decks, each stocked and well armed. Laverick has enjoyed testing every single gun. She has a talent, even an obsession, for black powder.
Our section of the deck is clear, so I nod. “Ready.”
“Prime and load, then present and fire at will,” he says.
My hands and mind react as one. I measure the black powder from my horn, pour it in, and cram in the ball with the ramrod. Then I grip the pistol, yank back on the hammer, and pull the trigger. The gun recoils in my grasp, and fire sparks with an ear-popping blast. The lead ball soars out to sea, missing the bottle. Smoke spills upward for several seconds before a gust dispels it.
Alick lower his hands from his ears. “Your aim is getting closer.”
My aim is rotten. “What was my time?”
“Thirty-four seconds.”
At least I’m quick.
The ship slides down a steep swell, and the two of us totter for balance. Alick catches the bottle before it falls overboard.
“Perhaps we should go back inside,” he remarks.
“I emptied three vomit pails this morning. One of your patients had eaten salted fish.”
Alick’s nose wrinkles. “Fine. One more round.”
An explosion goes off behind us. We both startle and bump into each other. As I right myself, I trip over his foot and fall against the gunwale. My rib cage hits the rail, and my ticker pounds a flash of pain. I close my eyes to collect myself, and when I reopen them, Alick is beside me.
“A warning next time!” he calls to the cannon crew, then skims me for injury. “Are you hurt?” His gaze lands on my collarbone and his brows bend together. My chest scar has peeked out of my shirt. I adjust my neckline, covering myself again.
Laverick runs up to us. “I’m sorry! I thought you saw us practicing.”
Alick has gone still, his expression pondering. I dismiss them both with a wave and hobble off to my cabin, clutching my aching side.
As I go inside, Radella pokes her head out from between two books. She confirms I’m not an intruder and tucks herself away again. My ticker pounds against my ribs. What does it matter if Alick saw my scar? I don’t owe him an explanation. As far as I could tell, he didn’t hear or see my clock heart, so I can pretend he didn’t see anything.
A rap comes at the door.
“Everley?” says Laverick. “I have something for you.”
A long silence expands between us. Maybe if I don’t answer, she’ll go away.
“I’ll leave this outside the door. Let’s hope none of the other crewmen catch sight of it, or they may want it for themselves.” Another pause. “I’m going now. I won’t bother you again. I hope you’re all right . . .”
Unable to withstand another second of awkwardness, I yank open the door. Laverick holds out a short sword with a thick brass hilt and a thin blade.
“This is for you.”
My fist curls around the hilt. The craftsmanship is decent, and the weapon’s weight and balance are closer to my sword than a sailor’s standard-issue rapier, but it still feels like putting on an ill-fitting glove.
“Claret and I found this on the ship,” Laverick explains. “Not as lovely as your sword, but we thought you might like to have a weapon of your own again. You seem to really miss yours.”
“You ‘found’ this lying around?” Often what the Fox and the Cat find is actually stolen. I start to hand the short sword back, but she pulls away.
“We want you to have a weapon of your own again. I asked everyone on board if this one belonged to them, and no one claimed it. I intended to give it to you sooner, but Claret said we should sharpen the blade. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?”
“Very thoughtful.” Laverick’s voice got strangely nervous when she mentioned Claret, her best friend, and I cannot figure out why. This whole conversation is odd. Since when does Laverick care about stealing?
A boom sounds overhead, strident as cannon fire.
“That wasn’t me,” Laverick says.
“Of course it wasn’t.” I push past her, stepping out onto the main deck. Thunderheads blot out the sunset sky, a thick and ominous shield. I scale the steps to the upper deck and join Vevina at the helm. “Are we on the storm?”
“We will be soon.” She points behind us. “And we aren’t the only ones.”
Our shadow ship has come even closer.
Lightning flashes, crooked daggers of brightness chased by cracks of thunder. On the vessel’s main mast, they fly the Realm of Wyeth’s blue-and-green flag.
“Good sin,” I breathe, “that’s one of ours. How did they find us?”
“Maybe our queen is a seer after all,” Vevina mumbles to herself, and then adds louder, “I had to slow our speed to take on the bigger waves, but we’ll stay ahead of them.”
Captain Vevina steers directly into the storm, and I charge down the stairs to the main deck. Alick waits for me at the bottom, blocking the path to my quarters.
“Everley, I beg a word with you in private.”
“Not now, Alick. Our storm has arrived. Find Quinn and do as we discussed.”
“The lass isn’t my immediate concern.” His attention falls to the location of my concealed scar. “I’m educated in the severity of wounds, Evie. The placement of your scar would have been caused by a traumatic event. How are your symptoms now? Is there anything I can do?”
I stare him in the eye. “You can follow the plan.”
His lips press into a firm line, and he steps aside. “I’ll care for Quinn. You needn’t worry about the lass.”
“As long as she’s with you, I won’t. Thank you.”
I leave him and dash into my cabin. My satchel is packed and standing by. Though I prepared for this days ago, I still inventory the contents and then wrap my pistol in my spare cloak and shove it into the bag. Next, I slide the tin whistle and velvet pouch full of pixie dust that Father Tim
e gave me into my trouser pocket and grab my sword.
Radella flies down and hovers near my head.
“It’s time,” I say. “All will go according to plan.”
She narrows her eyes at me, her stare withering.
“We’ve been over this, Radella. Nothing will go wrong.” I sound less confident than I would like. Between the storm, our pursuers, and the monstrous whale, anything could happen.
I take a bottle of oil that the sailors use on sails to repel water and slather it over my chest, giving special attention to the healed area around my clock heart. Keeping water completely out is impossible, but this should add another layer of protection.
Thunder grumbles overhead. Radella dives into the interior pocket of my satchel, stashing herself away. I put on my tricorn hat and sprinkle fruit flies into Cleon’s bowl. Quinn will feed him and look after Jamison while we’re gone.
“Stay hidden,” I tell the pixie, and then I push out into the gales.
Raindrops stain the planks and speckle my cloak. Crewmen dart about, lighting the lanterns and manning their stations. The ship heaves over the waves, careening up whitecapped peaks and sliding down dips. I weave across the slippery deck to the port side where Claret and a pair of sailors prepare a longboat for departure. The Cat’s eyes are alight, her countenance glowing. She flourishes when the risks are high.
Vevina relinquishes the helm to a sailor and joins us on the main deck. She peers through her spyglass, scouring the turbulent waters. Laverick stands between two cannons with her crew. An expert with black-powder mechanisms, she reconfigured the cannons to shoot harpoons as a precaution in case Dorcha attacks.
The second ship has breached the storm, and since we have slowed our speed to ride the deepening waves, the other vessel is gaining on us. Salt spray dampens my cloak, but my ticker is safe under my layered clothing. I toss my pack into the longboat and help Claret and the others maneuver the twelve-man vessel over the gunwale to lower it into the water. High in the crow’s nest, the watchman bellows into the squall.
“Whale off the port side!”
Every soul on deck surveys the white-ridged waves. Massive thunderheads obscure the twilight, limiting our view beyond the lanterns. Gales blast at us, cuffing the sails, and the rains thicken to a swarm of wet slaps.
Into the Hourglass Page 2
