“Not much we can do one way or another,” Clay answers, touching his mug but not drinking. “Like I said, we aren’t able to navigate. Couldn’t sail away from danger even if we wanted.”
Hearing Clay say this aloud is like a landslide moving slowly over me, clotting my mind with mud. I’ve never considered this—our inability to flee danger. I’ve always worried about where the winds might blow us next, but I never imagined that we might need to escape something.
Or someone.
“Right.” The admiral nods, takes another drink.
Beside him, Bosch tests his tea with a small sip, like he’s checking it for poison, then he downs the whole thing in one gulp. Langston has moved to the sink, and I hand him a mug. He takes it but keeps his eyes on me—dark and lidded, with something behind their coolness.
“Can you tell us where we are?” Clay asks, resting an elbow on the table. “If we’re close to the North Atlantic jet stream?”
Bosch smiles, quick and then gone. But the admiral looks more serious. “You’re close, just north of it. But I suspect, at the pace you’re going, you’ll end up farther north, past Sarkak.
I frown, watching the men.
“Sarkak?” Clay asks.
A quiet settles over the kitchen. Each of us eyeing the other.
“Sarkak Island,” the admiral clarifies, as if we should understand.
“Is that near Greenland?” I ask.
Langston, standing a few paces to my left, lets out a full-bellied laugh.
“It is, ma’am,” the admiral confirms, a peculiar light in his eyes. “Sarkak was once called Greenland. They are one and the same.”
Clay finally looks at me over his shoulder. The world has changed more than I could have imagined. The renaming of countries doesn’t happen easily, or without violence. War and loss of life.
An iciness crawls up from my toes, and I suddenly want these men gone.
“If you have a map, I’d gladly show you your coordinates,” the admiral offers.
But my body is now vibrating, and Clay must sense my unease, because he shakes his head. “Kind of ye to offer, but it winnae do us much good anyway.”
The admiral nods, finishes his tea. “I could use another cup before we set off.”
I look to the kettle. “The water’s cold,” I say, my voice shaking, wishing I could steady it.
The admiral makes a face, looking disappointed as he reaches into his coat pocket and produces a thinly rolled cigarette. He touches it to his lips, and Bosch leans forward, striking a match on something in his hand I didn’t notice, then lights the admiral’s cigarette. The earthy, sweet scent of tobacco fills the kitchen.
I feel frozen, my legs locked in place, wishing these men would stand up and leave. But Langston takes a step closer to me. “Heat some more,” he directs, tilting his chin down. I swallow, hating the way he’s eyeing me, hating the flat shape of his mouth. I want to snap back at him, tell him to get the hell out of my house. But I retrieve the kettle, forcing a smile as I position it under the kitchen faucet, then start to crank the water.
Langston steps to within a foot of me, his right eye twitching, his shoulders rounding back—an ache, or sickness maybe. Something is off about his movements. I try to ignore him, try to act as if my heart isn’t screaming inside my chest, but then I feel his hand on my arm. I jerk away, taking a step back, but he mirrors me, then reaches out, grabbing me with both hands. I drop the kettle to the floor with a loud crash.
Clay is up, chair hitting the floor before my eyes have even swung to him.
But Bosch is just as fast, and he’s already standing, gun pulled from his belt, pointed at Clay.
Clay stops, eyes piercing Bosch.
But it’s the admiral who speaks. “It really is a nice place you have here.” He taps his index finger against the table, still seated, puffing on his cigarette as if he hardly noticed the sudden rush of movement. “But it seems wasted on just the two of you. That garden out there could feed a whole ship.”
Clay’s jaw clenches.
I flex my arms, trying to pry myself free, but Langston only grips me tighter.
“And that wife of yours…” He rocks back in the chair, balancing on the two back legs. “She is a sight for sea-weary eyes.”
