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As if to emphasize that point, he caught me with a quick jab to the face. Something cracked, and with my hands bound, I had no way of regaining my balance. I hit the deck slimy hard while he and his companion made it over the side of the boat. The splash of their oars helped me track their direction. Back to the dock, from what I could tell, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t with they'd headed the wrong way.
Up close, the deck smelled like kerosene and fish guts. I managed to sit, though my head spun and I thought I might puke. Breathing deep to calm myself only made it worse because of the stink.
“Damn it.” I closed my eyes, trying hard not to give in to despair. “Hello?” I called weakly. “Is anybody here?”
No answer. I truly was alone.
I scooted over until I could lean against a box set in the ship’s prow. While it felt good to rest my head, I had to get back to the lighthouse. Which meant I had to free my hands from these infernal mitts. While likely meant I had to stand up.
I just had no idea where to begin.
For a long while, I rested with my eyes closed. I was numb to the cold. The boat rocked gently, the splash of water against its hull having a hypnotic effect. I didn’t sleep, exactly, but my mind went blank.
When I finally roused, it was impossible to guess the time of day. If anything, the fog had thickened, till I was swathed in dreary grey. This couldn’t be a natural weather event. Either Stevenson had hired a weatherwitch or Margaret had done something to protect us. The rotten fish smell from the deck had long since deadened my nostrils to any scent at all and the combination of cold, damp, and fear had me shivering.
There must be a way back.
Raise the anchor. The waves will push you to shore.
I ignored that evil voice. There’d be no raising of anything with these mitts on. Besides, though the waves might push me in, I’d likely get grounded before long. More probable, I’d drift until I caught a current, and then who knows where I’d land.
Bainbridge Island, if I was lucky. Otherwise, the Pacific Ocean.
No, I had to do whatever possible to return to shore.
I tried to use my power a second time, more of a cry for help than asking for a specific task. Both hands burned with unspent magic. I’d never realized that lead would prevent me from using my power. That seemed like something Madam Munro or one of her associates might have mentioned. I laughed, but it was a bitter sound.
Better laughter than tears.
A set of waves sent the boat swaying, enough momentum to send me lurching to my feet. “There must be some place that doesn’t stink offish.” The dark and the fog made it hard to see whatwas what, and I didn’t dare try to make a witchlight.
With the exception of a single mast near the prow, the boat itself wasn’t much bigger than the rowboatwe’d taken to the city. There were benches – I found at least one with my knee – and a pile of nets folded up in the stern.
I gave up and sat on the closest bench. My overcoat had already been ruined so I might as well be comfortable. The sail’s rigging rattled softly, the sound of hopelessness.
They’re not coming for you.
“Shut up.” If I was ashamed for talking to the voice in my head, I’d gone past the point of caring. “Besides, I’ve got the amulet. They’ll want that, if nothing else.”
Because there’d be no other reason for them to come. Admitting that to myself cut deeper than anything the voice had ever said.
“I’ll just wait, then.”
The voice had nothing to add, so for a moment all was quiet. Just me and the jingling sail. Waves slopping against the hull. The foghorn crooning over the water, warning all to stay away.
The hawk’s scream, so sudden in the quiet, made me yelp. “Lord.” The steady beat of the bird’s wings forced me into action. I was a Fairchild, for pity’s sake. If I had to choose between sitting here helpless and doing something, anything, well, I wasn’t going to wait for rescue. Wasn’t going to sit here like a crab, waiting for that hawk to make me his next meal, either. I’d swim in, if I had to, but I was going back to shore.
Rubbing my hands together, I managed to loosen one of the mittens. That proved that while the mittens were tied together, my hands were not. I didn’t know whether to thank Stevenson’s bullies or mock them for their stupidity. “This little pansy may yet do more damage than you expect.”
Laughing at my own joke, I wiggled my hands until one slid out of its mittened trap. The other mitten fell away. “That’s better.”
Flexing my fingers, I reached for the mitts. I pulled the cord through one of my belt loops and tied them so they hung on one hip. I had no idea if I’d need them, though I might. “Now how do I get to shore?”
What I needed was a path through the water, or a bridge over it.
Could I make a bridge?
I had no idea how long it would need to be, and truly, I’d never made anything larger than that drawer front. But I had turned the drawer front into glass, so…
