CHIVEY

The hospital building let out a long groan as a faint tremor ran through the floor and walls. Emmy pressed her palms to the ground and sat up, looking around as jagged cracks spread across the walls and plaster broke away in heavy chunks. The floor tiles buckled and shifted, exposing worn boards beneath them, and the dark-stained wood smelled of fish and iodine.

She got to her feet and pressed herself against the wall as the floor continued to vibrate.

A second jolt hit harder. Ceiling panels came loose, light fixtures tore free and swung on tangles of wire, spinning slowly as sunlight cut through the rising dust.

Then, for a breath, everything went still.

People in the corridor scrambled to help each other up, brushing debris from their clothes, anxious voices rising and overlapping.

“Everyone out, get out!”

A screech of metal cut through the noise.

The building shuddered again. The floor heaved, then dropped away as the corridor tilted, and furniture and debris surged down the hall in a collapsing wave, sweeping everything before it.

Screams filled the space.

“Level — GIVE FIRE!” Dr. Harper’s voice came through as if from behind thick cotton.

A tremendous crash tore through the corridor, and dense smoke poured in, filling every corner until sulfur worked its way deep into her lungs and forced a cough from her chest. Emmy pushed off the wall and moved forward through the haze, arms stretched out ahead of her, grasping at nothing as the world dissolved into gray.

Her fingers struck a body in the smoke. A short boy in a worn linen shirt stood directly in her path, clutching a leather bucket with its lid pressed hard to his chest. He stared at her for a moment with wide, unmoving eyes, then bolted, vanishing into the smoke as if it had swallowed him whole.

A strong gust of salt wind tore through the corridor and briefly cleared the air. A bitter taste of salt touched her lips and vanished just as quickly, leaving behind tiny flakes of dry, cracked skin.

A dozen feet ahead, legs planted wide, stood Dr. Harper. A broad cloak thrown over his old-fashioned coat billowed in the wind as he looked directly at Emmy and held out his hand.

“Emmanuèl!”

Emmy backed away.

Nearly knocking her down, Mrs. Jackson’s wheelchair flew past, the old woman screaming all the way. The chair slammed full force into the reception desk, and Mrs. Jackson was hurled over it, her voice cutting off mid-air as she went silent. Her body rolled slowly to a stop at Dr. Harper’s feet.

Emmy screamed. Hiding her face in her hands, she ran down the corridor away from him. Her foot caught on the leg of an overturned chair and she fell, striking her head hard against the floor. A wave swept through the corridor and carried her limp body under the reception desk, leaving her beside an overturned waste bin.

Emmy groaned and opened her eyes.

Something cold and slick brushed her arm. She looked down — a large fish lay thrashing at her feet, its long winglike fins spread across the floor, mouth opening and closing on nothing. She slowly sat up, her back against the filing cabinet, and wrapped her arms around her bruised head.

A familiar voice rang out nearby, followed by a harsh scrape of metal. The heavy cabinets along the walls shifted, then began to slide as one mass. One of them caught and pinned Carmen against the wall.

She pushed back with both hands, frantic, but the cabinet only pressed harder.

“Someone, help me! Lord, please, help me!” Her voice broke as the pressure tightened around her.

The cabinet tore free and surged forward, slamming into the counter and ripping it loose from the floor. A splinter of wood whipped across Emmy’s cheek.

“GIVE FIRE!”

Smoke closed in again. Something vast burst out of the billowing clouds toward Emmy, and she shut her eyes, drawing a deep breath.

A heavy wall of cold water crashed over her head, forcing the air from her lungs as her body fought the invisible current, salt burning in her throat. The current ground her body and spat her out onto a hard surface. Rough planks stretched beneath her like a ship’s deck, slick and worn, the smell of brine thick in the air.

“Enough of thy lounging, knave! Arise, thou milk-sop!”

Emmy opened her eyes as bright sunlight pushed through her thick lashes, forcing her to squint. Long strands of sun-bleached brown hair fell across her face and worked their way into her eyes; she caught one between her fingers and felt drops of water run down her hand.

Is this mine? Hair? I have hair?

She pushed her fingers into the mass of it.

When was the last time… so long ago…

Wet clothes clung to her body, the rough fabric scratching against her skin with every movement. Emmy slipped a hand under the linen shirt and pulled the soaked cloth away from her chest, then froze.

From the trouser legs tied with rope, up past her navel and beyond, a trail of soft hair seemed to run upward, spreading across her torso in a thin covering.

Her hand drifted down to her groin and pulled back sharply.

This can’t be… it can’t be… Am I… dead?

A ragged laugh broke from her lips.

She pushed up her sleeve. No puncture marks, no bruises; beneath tanned skin, firm muscle moved, thick veins standing out.

No. This is just a dream. Just a strange dream…

The toe of a boot nudged her lightly in the back.

“Up, boy. No time for thy slumber.”

She scrambled to her feet and yanked up her slipping trousers. Her fingers caught on a small leather pouch tied to the rope at her waist, and through the stiff hide she felt something inside.

“Hard to starboard!” A powerful voice cut through the thunder of the cannons.

The captain climbed to the quarterdeck without hurry, and Emmy followed, her gaze dropping over the side of the ship where an enormous mass of water heaved and breathed, building mountains that rose and collapsed as quickly as they formed, swallowing them whole and hurling the ship across the waves. Above it all stretched a boundless, clear sky.

So this is what the sea looks like.

The captain glanced at her and, without breaking stride, placed a hand on her head, fingers pushing into her hair as he stroked it slowly.

“My boy. Today thou art become a true sea-wolf.”

He pulled her in by the shoulders and held her close. Emmy looked up at him. There was something unsettlingly familiar in his face.

He looked like Dr. Harper. Only with a mustache and a short beard.

She drew a breath and quickly straightened her clothes. Her fingers returned to the leather pouch; she untied it and reached inside. Her fingertips met warm metal as a chain slipped out link by link, until a heavy cross settled into her palm.

Emmy’s breath caught.

Golden curls and petals were woven tightly into the pattern. Small diamonds scattered sunlight in bright sparks, and a deep red stone at the center seemed to thicken, drawing light into itself.

“Hey—! Art thou out of thy damned mind?!” The captain stepped sharply forward at once, covering the cross with his palm as his eyes cut across the deck. “Lad, thou hast chosen a poor moment to admire my gift. Best leave it with me for now. I shall see it returned to thee. Thou hast my word.”

He closed his fist around it. A moment later the cross was gone, tucked into the leather pouch at his belt.

"Beware!"

The captain pulled Emmy close and wrapped his cloak around her. A cannonball struck the hull nearby. The impact shook the frame, punched through the planking and showered the deck with splinters. A sharp shard pierced the fabric of the cloak and caught her cheek, leaving a thin line of blood.

"Manu! Emanuel!" The captain seized her by the chin and looked her over. "Art thou unhurt? Keep thyself close. Have a care, my boy... Courage is for fools."

Emmy wrapped her arms around his leg and peered out from the folds of the cloak.

Below, a crowd moved through the narrow space, sailors threading between guns, barrels, rigging, and crates. Among them she spotted two older boys darting back and forth between the guns and the powder magazine, clutching leather buckets of powder tight against their chests. Gusts of wind carried the sharp bite of vinegar and unwashed bodies, a stench that turned her stomach.

Carefully, Emmy slipped out from beneath the captain's cloak and, keeping one hand on the tarred shrouds, watched as the ship closed on the vast, sluggish vessel ahead. Its battered hull gaped with dark holes; of its masts, only one remained, standing alone amid the wreckage.

The distance shrank steadily.

Emmy spotted a third ship driving hard toward the other side of the stricken vessel, cannon fire rolling from its flank.

"Lay her aboard! Grapnels away!" The captain swept his arm toward the enemy.

A storm of lines flew across and bit into the hull, stitching the ships together. Men on the opposing deck hacked at them, trying to cut free.

The fight ended quickly, the stricken vessel striking her colors.

The captain stepped to the edge of the quarterdeck.

"Boarders away!" The bosun's pipe shrilled in a high, broken trill.

"Drive the prisoners to the stern. Pile the wounded together. Dead go over the side."

Around two dozen sailors armed themselves with boat hooks, then gripped the gunport sills and hauled themselves up one by one with practiced ease. Within moments they had disappeared into the belly of the captured ship.

One of the sailors appeared at a gunport. "All clear, Captain Jope!" He dropped several thick ropes down to the deck. Another dozen sailors climbed up.

"Lower the chair for Captain Jope!"

The captain glanced at Emmy. "Stay close to me." He headed for the deck below, and she followed.

The deck was littered with splinters that bit painfully into her bare feet. Emmy winced, rising onto her toes and staring at the ground as she picked her way through the wreckage.

"Look out!"

The captain shoved her aside. A wooden chair wrapped in ropes descended from above. Jope settled into the chair, beckoned Emmy toward him and patted his knee. "Sit."

She perched on the captain's knee. The chair began to crawl upward. She gripped the ropes with both hands and looked down. Far below, between the two hulls, dark water churned in the gap.

The chair lurched and dropped sharply. Emmy slid off the captain's knee and clung to the ropes. Jope's strong arm wrapped around her waist.

"I have thee, I have thee..."