Milla shrugged. “And a rope?”

  “My hammock,” I said.

  Henning glanced at it. “It holds your weight. But isn’t it a bit short?”

  “Not if we unravel it and weave it into a single long rope,” said Brianna.

  I put an arm around her. “See? Your skill at ropes and nets may yet save us.”

  “How long will it take?” asked Henning.

  Brianna inspected the hammock. “These little ones are pretty thin. Probably have to go with a four- or five-strand weave. Got to untie them all first. Hmm.” She bit her lip. “More than one night.”

  “And if they find your hammock in pieces? Don’t you think they’ll catch on?” said Milla.

  “No.” Brianna thudded a fist into her palm. “I can do it. I can re-weave the rope so it looks like a hammock as long as they don’t look too closely.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes you can.” I glanced at Henning, at Milla. “This is our chance. Next port is Xin. We have several days to get ready. Maybe we won’t even need the rope and grappling hook. Maybe we can sneak out the porthole in harbor. This is our chance. For weeks things have looked ever more grim. Now the whole world is opening up for us.”

  Henning clapped my shoulder.

  Brianna nuzzled her back into me.

  She turned to face me, whispering, “Of course, once I start on your hammock, you won’t be able to sleep on it anymore.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “This is it.” My skin tingled, the little hairs on my forearms stood on end as nervous energy washed over me. It was just past midnight and thick fog obscured the moon.

  “I don’t know,” said Milla. “What if you’re wrong about all this?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought we were past this. “I know it seems dangerous, but we all agreed.” I sighed. “If you want to back out—”

  “No way,” she snapped. “I’d be punished for sure. We should have made our move back in the harbor of Xin.”

  “We were confined to the coal bunkers! There was no way out.”

  “At least the smugglers are people. Maybe we can talk our way out. Can’t do that if we encounter some sea monster.”

  “You haven’t talked your way out so far,” said Henning.

  Am I making a mistake trying to convince Milla? Or convincing the rest of them? Is this just like back in Ashryn? When I lead, people get hurt.

  “I agree with Brianna.” Shard put a hand on my shoulder, the other on Milla’s. “Midnight watch change is the best time: once we make it to the lifeboat, we’ll have half the night to make our escape. Fog and darkness provide good cover.”

  “Besides.” Henning removed his boots. “It’s unseasonably cold and miserable tonight. Watch will probably stick to the bridge.”

  “We take our chances either way,” I put a hand atop Shard’s, glanced at him, back at Milla. “It’s your choice. Just let us make ours.”

  Milla sighed. “Better to die to sea monsters on our terms, than serving as tribute to make more profit for these bastards.”

  Shard went first, wiggling his way through the opening. I handed him the rope, held my breath as he tossed it to the railing two decks above. We’d wrapped the screwdriver grappling hook with cloth to keep it quiet. He’d tested it two nights ago, scouted our escape route. But now that we were committed, my nerves were on edge.

  He extended a hand inside to squeeze mine, whispering, “We’re going to make it.”

  Henning had the makeshift rope around his waist, ready to pull Shard back if the hook broke or slipped. He was stronger than I, it made sense that he did it. But it was my plan. My decision. I grasped the rope, winced with every little jerk as Shard climbed up it.

  “He’ll be fine,” whispered Henning. “He’s the lightest and most agile of all of us.”

  The rope went limp several agonizing seconds. No shadow plunged past the porthole—it had to mean he made it.

  Three jerks on the rope. That was the signal.

  I removed my boots, nodded to Henning, to Milla.

  And shoved myself through the porthole.

  It was a painful act of contortion—the lip of the porthole dug into my shoulders, breasts, ribs, as I wormed my way through. With my thighs finally resting on the lip I glanced around. I could hardly see a thing on this moonless foggy night. The hull was slick from condensation, the rope now damp as well. Below me, the churning sea. A survivable fall, and I might even miss being shredded by the ship’s screw. At which point the only open questions would be death by drowning, or death by marine life. And when. Henning handed me my boots, which I tied to my waist.

  You can do this.

  I slid my hand up the rope to the first knot, slid my thighs out the porthole, clamped them around the rope, my bare feet fishing for one of the loops.

  Got it.

  Other foot out, I grabbed the rope between my toes, felt my way past a knot to another loop.

  I recalled Shard’s instructions with every motion: push with your knees, slide the rope between your thighs, grab the next loop with your other hand. Easy peasy.

  I climbed like an inchworm, resting for a few seconds, climbing again.

  Focus on the rope. Ignore the sea below, the guards above.

  “You’re there,” came a soft whisper in my ear. “Take my hand.”

  I flopped over the railing, panted a few times, savoring Shard’s warm touch a few moments before giving the signal for Milla.

  “Everything as expected?” I whispered.

  He nodded. “Night watch is on the bridge, one deck up. Lights on this deck are out. All asleep I hope.”

  Milla ascended a few minutes later, Henning last.

  Once the others caught their breath, Shard ascended the ladder. The uppermost deck of the ship was where the bridge was. Behind it the smokestack, carrying the sound of the engine—enough noise to conceal our own, and behind that, the lifeboat we hoped would be our way out.

  Shard waved me on.

  I scaled the ladder, pressed myself flat against the cold iron superstructure. Paused. Sidestepped back past the stack.

  Then Milla.

  Then Henning.

  Up close, the lifeboat seemed tiny. Protection against drowning, but not against sea creatures. Luck would be our only protection against that.

  We peeled back the canvas tarp, Shard unfastening the chain, unlocking the davits. The padlock was, as Henning guessed, only for show. No crew would serve aboard a ship where the lifeboats might not be accessible in an emergency.

  I stepped in. I’m exiting a sturdy iron ship to board a flimsy wooden lifeboat. Why?

  Freedom.

  As we lowered our way past the crew’s deck, I again held my breath. Hoped that the rattle of the engine was louder than the creak of ropes and pulleys. Hoped that none of the crew would happen to look out from their warm, safe cabins as a lifeboat descended past their porthole.

  The churn of water from the screw grew louder—drowning out all other sounds. The boat plunged into the sea, bounced and twisted from the surge of the ship’s wake.

  Shard released the stern line, sat beside me on one of the wooden planks that served as seats, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, whispering, “We’re going to make it.”

  Henning released the bow line, and we floated free, bobbing and tipping a few times in the wake of the ship, then settling into calm waters.

  “And now that we’re free?” said Milla.

  Shard brushed his cheek against mine.

  The scent of coal smoke faded, replaced by salt air as the steamer vanished into the fog.

  My gaze shifted to Shard—who despite all the excitement seemed calm, centered. Inviting.

  This was the wrong time. But will there ever be a right time?

  I brushed my cheek against his, turned my face until our lips met.

  I put my mouth around his lower lip. He opened his just a little.

  It was as if time stood still, as if nothing beyond the two of us was real.

  He slid his hand down my back, pulled me into him.

  I pressed my mouth against his, my tongue sliding between his lips. His tongue was rough, his fangs sharp. Yet his movements were so gentle. He was a cozy blanket I wanted to wrap myself in.

  Thirty seconds ago I wished with all my heart that nobody would notice a lifeboat descending past their porthole. Thirty seconds from now I’ll probably wish with all my heart that some slavering sea monster doesn’t notice us rowing past. But now, in this one perfect moment, I wished for this. Shard in my arms.

  And the two arms wrapped around my waist, the tail brushing against my calf told me he wished the exact same thing.

  I cupped my hand behind his head and pulled him tighter.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Enough of that, you two,” Milla shook her head.

  I didn’t want to stop. Brianna’s touch, her kiss were wonderful. But Milla was right: we weren’t free yet. Plus, I’ve heard humans don’t like being reminded that nekos have fangs. And her tongue was about to…

  “Let’s see what we have to work with.” Henning opened a locker at the bow of the boat.

  “There’s another here,” I said to Brianna.

  There were some rations, numerous tins of water, a flare gun that we would certainly never use, and thankfully, a compass.

  “Should be a harpoon for defense. Ah, the tip is here,” said Henning. “Check those poles—some are oars, but one has to be the shaft.”

  “Looks like we have plenty of water,” said Milla. “Though I wouldn’t mind a spot of brandy about now.”

  “Lifeboat was probably intended for over a dozen.” Henning shoved most of the supplies back and shut the little watertight compartment. “Not sure how big the crew of that freighter is supposed to be.”

  “However many there are, none of them will be happy when they find one of their lifeboats missing.” Brianna picked up an oar, taking one of the seats closest to the back. “How do these things work?”

  “Other way,” said Henning. “You need to face the stern—the back—while rowing. Looks like six rowing positions. You and Shard take the two at the back, Milla and I will take the front.”

  “How do we see where we’re going?” I asked.

  “We don’t,” said Henning. “There’s really nothing to see. When we near land, we’ll hear surf. I’ll navigate with the compass, try to keep us on course.”

  The two of us took position side by side and began rowing, with Henning calling for corrections in our stroke almost continuously for the first half hour.

  “How long do you think we have until they discover we’re missing?” asked Milla.

  “Don’t know,” said Brianna. “When they change watch at dawn they’ll know for sure. Probably before then.”

  “Pull harder right,” said Henning. “As long as this fog holds, it shouldn’t matter. Visibility’s a couple hundred meters at best. And we’ll hear them long before they can see us.”

  “Not that we can do much about it,” said Milla. “They can steam a lot faster than we can row.”

  “Pull harder right.” Henning never showed annoyance in his commands. He just kept calling off corrections to our poor rowing. “It’ll probably come down to if they fall for our little ruse. If they think we’re headed back to the Xin harbor, they’ll turn around and backtrack along the same course. All the while we’re moving further away on a perpendicular course. If our eavesdropping told us anything, it’s that they like to keep to a schedule. Won’t have time for an exhaustive search. Clients to serve and all.”

  “Yeah,” said Brianna. “Don’t like the term ‘serve.’ Hits a little too close to what happened to poor Clara.”

  I raised a hand.

  “What?” whispered Brianna.

  I stood, slowly turning my head. “I hear something.”

  The boat coasted to a halt. It was almost dead quiet in the calm waters. My ears twitched, straining to pick up either the roar of distant surf—freedom, or the drone of a steam engine—capture. “That may have been the ship. But it’s a long way off.”

  “Let’s pick up the pace,” said Brianna.

  I nodded.

  We took a break just before dawn. It had been nearly six hours of continuous rowing—my arms, shoulders, and back ached, my palms were blistered. I may have been used to an active lifestyle, but this was different than anything I’d done before.

  We shared water from one of the little tin canisters, and a couple of hard biscuits, all the while massaging tired muscles, trying not to touch our blisters.

  “Should we be rationing this?” I recalled various nautical adventures I’d read about. “That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re lost at sea, isn’t it?”

  “We’re not lost,” said Henning.

  “But we don’t know exactly where we are either,” said Milla.

  “No. But close enough,” Brianna massaged her neck, uttering a little groan as she did. “And the quicker we make it to shore, the better off we are. Need to keep our energy up and row hard as long as we can.”

  “Let me help you with that,” I said, rubbing her shoulders.

  Henning nodded. “And we may not have a chart, but with the approximate speed and course of the Manatee, we have a starting point, and a compass to guide us. We don’t need precision navigation. Just need to make land.”

  “That feels wonderful, thanks.” Brianna let out a satisfied sigh.

  “Getting light,” said Henning. “Better get back to it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Feel that?” Henning wetted a finger and held it up. “Breeze is picking up. Means the fog will lift.”

  It was midmorning, and Shard’s sharp hearing hadn’t picked up another trace of the Manatee.

  “How far away could they see us?” said Milla. “If it were clear.”

  “A lookout atop their mast? Maybe fifteen kilometers,” said Henning. “And we’ve rowed more than that from our starting point. But even though the fog’s lifting, it’s rarely completely clear skies.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Maybe they see us, maybe they don’t. We’re gonna keep rowing, keep building distance. Anything could happen.”

  “Might be able to set the sail now,” said Henning. “We could all use a break.”

  Don’t have to tell me twice. My blisters are getting blisters by now. “Sure. So how does it work?”

  Henning fished through the remaining poles at the bottom of the boat. “Here. We need to pass these little rings around this spar…”

  For what he described as a ‘simple rig’ there was a confusing number of parts, but after ten minutes of assembly, we had set a squarish sail, which Henning referred to as a ‘lug.’

  “The crew should be shot for having such a flimsy rig.”

  “They should be shot, period,” I said.

  “Use a bow. It’s quieter.” Shard flashed a little smile.

  “Here I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.” I put an arm around him.

  “I’ll take first shift,” said Henning. “The rest of you can get a little sleep.”

  The floorboards only covered a strip down the middle, and were uneven at that. But Shard, Milla and I found positions to lie down, drawing the canvas tarp over us as a makeshift blanket. I rubbed my back against Shard. He put an arm over my shoulder and pulled me a little closer.

  “Technically, this counts as a date, doesn’t it?” I whispered.

  “I suppose it does. Though our first was a bit nicer.”

  I drew a long breath. I ached all over. Damp skin, musty smelling canvas, no mattress. But he felt nice against me, his voice soothing, his touch gentle. “Most important part of a date is the company.”

  He pulled me tighter.

  The boat’s rocking and pitching, the awful smell, my aches, it all faded to nothingness. All that mattered was the two of us.

  I wiggled my back against him. My eyelids grew heavy.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  A thunk awoke me.

  I sat up.

  Blinked.

  Shook my head.

  A thick haze hung above us, the sky now an eerie orange. How many hours had passed? “What’s going on?”

  “Squall’s coming, better get the rig down,” said Henning.

  In the building storm, he looked right at home sailing the boat. Though a pipe would complete the look.

  I took over on the tiller while he tried to lower the sail.

  The boat rocked and tipped in choppy water, waves just under hip high trailing little streams of whitewater here and there. Nothing to be alarmed about.

  I hoped.

  “Flimsy is right, the thing’s stuck,” growled Henning.

  “May I help?” asked Shard.

  “Stay on the windward side. Milla, give me a hand.”

  They fumbled with ropes, pulleys, poles, Henning’s cursing growing more colorful with each passing minute.

  Gusts grew stronger, swells larger.

  I knew ropes, nets, but didn’t understand rigging. I wanted to do something useful. Say something inspirational. Anything.

  But I drew a blank on both.

  “Pull on the main sheet to get it unstuck.” Henning’s voice was now raw.

  “The what sheet?”

  “That rope there.”

  A gust tipped us sideways. The wind was hot, oppressive.

  “It’s stuck.”

  “Pull harder.”

  “Let me help,” said Shard, stepping toward the two of them.

  “No, stay there.”

  I lurched forward as the boat came to a grinding halt.

  Milla toppled overboard.

  “I’m going after her.” Shard lunged for the edge.

  “No!” I threw my arms around him to pull him back.

  There was another grinding crunch, the boat spun in place.

  “You two, stop. Don’t do anything. We just hit something.” Henning’s face turned red. I’d never seen him this worked up. I’d never seen him worked up, period. “We can’t help her if we capsize the boat.”

  Poles, ropes, billows of canvas thudded to the deck, Henning leapt atop them as the boat shuddered again.

 

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