The three of us get the ship turned, the food and drink put away, the long oars at the ready. Finally, there is nothing more we can do other than hunker down and row forward—just what every other boat in the strait is doing at the same moment. Well, save for the king’s steamer, which is puffing merrily toward the dock, cutting a path through slower-moving vessels.
Ships clog the harbor, and where progress is slow on the water, it’s quick in the sky. The storm beats at our backs, wind blowing in the right general direction, but also serving as a warning call. The stronger the wind, the closer the storm.
“Evie!” Nik calls between heavy breaths as he and Iker row for it. “Help Mette.”
I leave my spot at the wheel and slog to the mainmast post, where Annemette is huddled, hanging on for dear life. I sink down beside her and press my bodice against her back, shielding her from the storm as much as I can.
The rain begins to pound down, and I feel her shudder beneath me.
“I just want to go home.”
“I know, Anna—Mette. Mette, I know.”
She doesn’t react to my stumble. She just repeats herself. Over and over.
As lightning flashes, something hard and biting thwacks me on the back of the head. I shake it off and turn to where the object has fallen to the ground.
Hail.
My heart drops and I raise my head. White chunks are flying through the air, plunging into the harbor in a deluge, rocks falling as fast and knitted together as fat raindrops.
I scan the horizon. We’re at least four hundred yards out, and more than two dozen boats stand in our way of safety. We’re small enough to cut around the bigger ships, but even with the boys rowing at full strength, I’m not convinced we’re agile enough to not get crushed in the process.
I glance to the left. To the cove—the natural shelter. It’s completely open, no ships there.
“The cove! Can we land in the cove?”
Behind me, Iker’s voice booms over the rain, pinging hail, and another slice of thunder. “As good a chance as any. Cousin?”
Nik lifts his head, not once wincing as two hailstones smack into his flop of wet hair. “I’m not sure of the obstructions. But it’s our best chance.”
Taking that as a yes, I squeeze Annemette beforerunning for the wheel to help steer as Iker adjusts the mainsail to change course.
We get going in the right direction, and Iker turns to me. “Evie, stay. We need you to hold course against the wind.”
I take one glance at Annemette. One glance at Nik. Iker’s right.
We cut around the queen’s three-sail, skip around two other schooners, a sloop, and the tiniest of one-man rowboats, and zip in a line to the cove. The blind part of the beach comes into view first, then the rock wall, and finally, Picnic Rock.
We enter the cove and I take a deep sigh of relief, my arms shaking while holding our line, red welts from the hail rising on my exposed skin.
Then Annemette begins to scream.
“Turn! Turn! Turn!”
I follow her eyes, but I don’t see a thing. There’s nothing but rough water ahead, our boat still too far out for the footstep islands to be a hazard. “Sandbar!”
Just as the word slips from her mouth, we shudder to a halt—run aground with water on all sides.
I meet her eyes and know exactly how she knew the sandbar—submerged and hidden from sight—would be there.
She’s the only one of us to ever swim so far out into the cove.
I wait for the questions to begin. But they don’t come. Instead, Iker is silent as he bends over the bow to survey the situation—both how stuck we are and what the damage might be. I truly hope there’s no damage. “Time to swim for it, crew.”
Nik leans over and confirms. “Yes.”
“No!” Mette shouts, still clinging to the mast pole. “I can’t.”
