Within ten steps, all three fell as the palace gave a great groan and tilted to one side. Emily lost her grip with Alan, but Mick swept behind and literally grasped her about the waist as the slide and tumble began. Alan fell to one side of the steps.
Emily knew with clarity why she’d come to this world and how, and the energy of the Kraken’s single-minded purpose filled her with laughter as the ice palace was reclaimed by the sea. Explosions behind them signaled the sulfur baths sweeping away what held them captive. She shouted with glee as Mick controlled their slide and saw them come to a halt at the quickly melting shore.
Mick bellowed out to the Quill, “Jezzie!” Emily watched in a daze as he tried to gain the Quill’s attention before the icy water swallowed the two of them.
The Immortal’s crew worked swiftly to recover their captain. He’d ended up in the water, not far from their bow. They hauled him aboard. Only he turned and attempted to throw himself back into the water, hand stretched out as if to grab hers.
She raised her hand, suddenly sad. The bit of ice she and Mick stood on cracked, and the icy water rose up her fur-wrapped legs.
“Save them!” Alan shouted into the air.
A green tentacle swept around them. Mick grimaced, but bore it well as they were hauled through the water to the Quill and dropped onto the deck. He stood up and made to embrace Jezzie, who recoiled from him with horror. He wiped a gobbet of slime off his face. “Well, they are green and slimy when young. He brought the whole family!”
Emily staggered to the rail, hands no longer bloody. The Immortal hove to, while the Quill’s crew followed Jezebel’s orders and the ship turned to reclaim the open sea. The ice fell around them and instantly melted. The other ship disappeared in a sudden frozen fog.
A single, massive tentacle rose above the chaos. Wrapped tightly inside, the terrible beauty of Glacious, her screaming rose above the terrible crashing of ice until the albino limb carried her below the surface. Emily squinted, swore she saw smaller tentacles below the scrap of the grey dress. An errant wife? Daughter? She shook her head, certain her eyes played a trick on her.
The Quill broke through into the sea, as the last rays of the sun disappeared. There was no sign of the Immortal.
Emily fell to the deck, her energy gone. She turned to see Mick take Jezebel’s hand. “I knew you’d find me, love.”
“Go get cleaned up.” Jezzie’s voice was rough, but the relief on her face spoke volumes.
Emily wondered what her future held. It was obvious Mick would not leave the Quill. He’d never even entertained Glacious’ offer. The amount of subterfuge left Emily reeling. Suddenly, leaving was all Emily wanted to do.
Davis helped her stand and took her below to a sponge bath and to her cabin. He didn’t ask anything and she didn’t speak.
Hours later, deep in the night, she took up her mirror, poured a bit of rum on it and asked to return to Vallejo and the pirate festival.
***
Mick tapped at her door come sunrise. When there was no answer, he slipped in to tell her the Immortal was sighted, listing slightly, but following their wake. But Emily was gone. Two letters sat on the bed. One was addressed to Jezebel and one to Captain Silvestri.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The cold still surrounded her. She hauled herself up; one hand touched a hay bale at her back. She inhaled deeply. Exhaust, oil. A generator hummed somewhere. She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder.
“Miss? Excuse me, Ma’am. What are you doing here?”
A slender young man in the orange T-shirt, security in big bold letter across the front, glared at her.
Emily snickered, immensely tired. “Looking for the exit, asshole. You’re security, escort me, idiot.”
“Fuck you!” He stormed off, muttering, “Stupid old cow.”
Emily leaned against the hay and laughed. Definitely back in her world! Morning she assumed.
She stumbled across the corner of a tent and nearly fell. A hand grabbed at her. “Hey, careful!”
“Listen, I must have fallen asleep last night, where is the exit? I’m trying to get out of here.” She tried politeness this time.
“Sure, where did you park?” This guy was a gentleman. He set her hand on his costumed arm and led the way through the fog. It sounded like the festival was getting ready for the second day of fun and make believe. She’d had enough of that.
“I’m in the lot for the ferry building. Thanks!”
He left her at the opening in the fence, after pointing out the right way to go. The fur was warm, but her feet were like ice. Nice of him not to comment on her arctic wear.
It took some maneuvering to get the key out of the bottom of her bag, but she finally slid it home and entered her camper. She didn’t bother covering the windshield, simply stripped. No one was about, and no one wanted to look at her, anyway.
“Damn it, what a freaky dream. Yup, a bad hangover and some prankster with an excess of fur.” She spoke to the empty camper, smelling strongly of chemicals, and her mouth tasted funny.
She shrugged and gazed at herself in the small mirror on the tiny shower door. Her eyes locked on her right nipple and the gold ring there. “Oh, well. I must have been rip-roaring drunk.”
She turned on the water, gave a prayer of thanks for the new solar panel on the roof to keep the water hot, and tried to convince herself the entire fantasy was in her head.
She hung the Kraken pendant on a hook and slid the mirror into a drawer. She stopped at a Safeway for donuts and coffee, and headed for points north.
She followed the road away from the coast, longing for some mountain air. Over the next few weeks she visited remote locations in northern Nevada, gazed at the Grand Tetons, toured Yellowstone and stayed busy, always occupied. She spoke to no one about her Caribbean fantasy, as she termed it. And if she cried herself to sleep most nights, no one was there to see.
When summer eased into fall, she left the high country and aimed for Seattle and Vancouver. Seeing the Pacific before her, after the many months away, her heart finally shattered. She camped next to the water and cried for hours. She reclaimed the pendant and held it in her hand, stroking the fierce eyes and trying to figure out what hurt more: believing it was a dream or praying it was real. Did she walk away from a second chance at happiness?
That night, she fell asleep to the sound of the pounding waves and dreamed of him. That wasn’t unusual. Most mornings she found herself waking up totally aroused with a sense of having dreamed of him. But this dream, he was looking for her.
It was dark, foggy and he didn’t call out, he searched. Every night for a week, the dream came with more and more detail.
She turned her camper south and meandered down the Washington coast line. In her head, she carried on long conversations with herself.
I liked being the secret lover of a cursed pirate. Making books, and learning how to throw knives.
So did I. But it wasn’t real.
Bullshit. Look at that nipple and say it again. Quit lying. You still have the mirror, go back.
It’s insane. He never loved me, he loved Jezebel.
I doubt that and you never gave him a chance to explain. Probably only Mick talking nonsense.
This is insane. Even talking about it.
But it was fun. It was exciting and he was a fucking miracle.
What a mouth!
She giggled and thought about it. Thought about that mirror and whether it would still work. That night as she again dreamt of the pirate, she recognized something behind Silvestri. When she woke up, she pulled out her small computer and searched through old photographs. And she found it. The massive foot of the bridge that crossed the Willamette River.
“Oh my God, he’s going to be at the Portland Pirate Festival? Is that what this means? Looking for me!” She quickly clicked over to the site detailing when the festival was occurring. Two days, less than two days to get to Portland.
It would be a hairy dr
ive, but she could do it. And she could decide when she got there. If he was there.
***
He folded her letter again. It left him little hope of reconciliation. Full of pain and a sense of betrayal. But if given a chance, he could explain. Mick would admit the lie he spun was all about trying to keep Glacious from taking aim at Emily. He lifted the tiny perfume bottle and undid it, inhaled softly. She still lingered in the scent.
Mick and Jezebel had let him search her cabin. He’d found the bottle of perfume he’d given her and taken it. The jewels and shoes, the dress…. He took her book making supplies and set them up in his house above Tortuga.
He offered the ship to Mick, who shook his head. “No, I have a ship. I saw the proof of my not-father’s gambling and what he set out to do. He made certain we became enemies. The ship is yours. You did right by the man who wasn’t truly my father. Keep it. Now that the crew is fully awake, I expect being her captain will be much more of a challenge than it used to be.” He and Mick talked for hours that night, mended fences, and admitted to some lingering resentment, on both their parts. They’d make a try at being brothers. Why not?
He’d no hunger for sailing anymore. He contracted the ship with the former first mate, Walter Hemmings. He kept a majority interest, moved permanently into the cabin he’d built above Tortuga, and went to work on expanding it.
He added a craft area where she could work on the books, then built her a table. He bought clothes for her and a closet to keep them in. He even set the dancing boots at the ready.
And he haunted Mama Lu until the woman found a way for him to go to her.
“It gonna be for a short time. Even with the Kraken’s help, this crack between our worlds won’t stay open long. And you’ll be pulled back. Ya don’t belong there.”
“Will she be able to return with me?”
“I don’t know. Depends on her. Other travelers have. She still got the mirror, the pendant…maybe. No guarantees, Captain.” Lu told him when and where.
He didn’t know what to expect. Enough travelers came through the portals that he planned on being tolerant and open-minded. The crew of the Quill gathered some coins and paper money from the era and warned him of the dangers he faced in Emily’s time.
Streets. He knew to stay off of streets. Janey warned him of fast moving metallic vehicles that took little notice of pedestrians. Tink told him to not take any weapons. “The authorities will see you as an armed lunatic and take ‘em away.”
He slid a slender blade into his boot, anyway.
“It will be loud, most likely. And smell odd.” Jezebel offered her two cents.
Mama Lu studied her scrying mirror the night of the new moon. She tilted her head. “Looks like you’ll fit in, Silvestri. Some costume event. Now, ya have till three hours past midnight.”
“Is her time likely to be different than mine?” he wondered.
“Nah, the portal take care a’ that. It might make ya sick, so be steady. Now, you are sure?” she asked for a final time.
“Mama Lu, I need her.”
She nodded. “I hope she feels it as keenly, my friend. Ya got the link to her?”
“Yes.” He held up the perfume vial.
“Close your eyes and be ready.”
The sound of the ocean filled his head when he closed his eyes. The sand beneath his ass was chilly, and he could hear the snap of a fire above the waves where the Quill’s crew waited. They wanted her back, too.
He touched her letter again. Gripping the vial in his palm, which was still pitted from the pistol damage Glacious “gifted” him with at the end, he felt the world tilt. A bit of vertigo almost forced his eyes open, but Mama Lu warned him to keep them closed until he was settled.
The sudden warmth on his face signaled success. He opened his eyes to see a river before him. There were small boats, bristling with wires and lines, docked neatly at a marina of sorts. He shook his head when a red-sailed ketch passed before his eyes and a group of ragged looking sailors railed and cursed at it. The boom of cannon made him shoot to his feet.
There were cheers behind him. He calmed the instinct to rise for battle, and turned. A great crowd of spectators cheered when the land sailors fired on the ketch, then hauled out a small cannon and lit a fuse. There was another loud boom, but he noted no ball flew from the gun.
This was a play! He smiled slightly, observing the crowd behind him. Men, women, and children. Some dressed like pirates, others in simpler clothing. The roles he was partially familiar with. He read a banner behind them.
Welcome to the Portland Pirate Festival.
He’d arrived. Now, to find Mrs. Pawes.
He took a moment to scan the area. An expanse of green slope gradually climbed from the narrow river behind him. The river itself didn’t appear to be part of the festival, other than the short bit of pirate fighting he’d witnessed. The red-sailed ketch drifted downstream, and the land-bound play actors slapped each other on the back, laughed and wandered away from their battleground.
He gazed upward at a truly impressive bridge. He’d never seen something span so far and so high. He could discern a soft roar from the bridge, but ignored it. He needed to find Mrs. Pawes, and he doubted she was on the bridge.
Setting his sights upslope, he followed the combatants as they wove through the grassy streets.
Merchants, he surmised. Very distracting merchants. Alan’s height enabled him to view their wares and observe the haggling going on, the exchange of money and babble of commerce surrounded him.
Several women sauntered by, dressed quite provocatively in leather bodices and skirts much shorter than he generally viewed on the streets of Tortuga. But experience with travelers hardened his reactions. He barely glanced at them.
He assumed it was relatively early in the day. A soft fog drifted far above the revelry, the sun seldom breaking through with any real effect on the temperature. The sheer number of children astounded him.
Little pirates ran helter skelter up and down the streets, brandishing brightly colored swords, wearing eye patches and calico scarves tied about their heads. They screeched and shouted in excitement, chasing each other and shouting out challenges.
Children in Tortuga tended to be of a rougher sort, and this sort of play acting seldom took place. They worked, they grew up. They prospered. Tortuga didn’t tolerate abuse of children, but he’d never seen any play with this sort of reckless abandon.
All the while, he scanned the crowds, searching for her. It was early; he had hours to go. His heart stayed calm. He knew fate guided him to this place and time. She would be here.
After seeing a man stroll by bearing a tankard of something golden and foamy, Alan found himself thirsty. “Pardon me, sir. Where might I find a place to purchase some ale of my own?”
“Oh. Up the slope, there’s a group selling wine and different local brews.” The congenial young man pointed to a red and black banner. “See? They’re raising money for the homeless shelter. Good place to wet your whistle.”
“I thank you.” Alan bowed and strode to the booth in question. He fingered the money the Quill’s crew gave him. Janey explained a bit of it to him. It certainly baffled him that paper was of more worth than coin! He stood in line, examining the menu posted on a board behind the serving girls. He took note of the cups most took their drink away in, and was prepared when one of similar fashion was handed to him.
It felt flimsy when he took it carefully in hand and turned away.
“Sir! Your change!” The buxom lass who’d flirted with him held out a pile of paper and several coins.
He did as he’d seen others do, took the paper and left the coins as a tip, smiling as he did.
She beamed back at him.
He’d chosen something called Columbia River Red Ale. It lacked the kick of a nice, stiff rum, but was tasty enough. The chill of it took some getting used to. He followed the path through more merchant booths, paused to watch a magic show, and another that involve
d several parrots trained to do tricks.
And he searched the crowds for Emily. Always on the lookout for her. He listened for her laugh, followed women he thought might be her, only to be disappointed as he realized they weren’t.
Following a trail down a small gully and back up, he saw several huge structures gyrating in an alarming fashion. The screams of children reached him, and he hurried forward. Only as he grew close did he realize it was more make believe. Knowing something about rubber, he figured they were huge rubber play structures. One played a pirate ship, with a slide the children were throwing themselves down, only to land in a pool full of brightly colored balls.
Another was a fair rendition of the Kraken, though the colors were completely wrong. The head loomed above the tentacles, which formed a frame for another pool full of balls. He smiled.
Children were much indulged in Emily’s world.
He turned to return to the merchant area, thinking that since she’d never shown a keen interest in children, she was unlikely to be in this section of the festival. He took another path. Finishing his ale, he did as he’d seen others do, and tossed the container into a barrel.
“Hey, mister!” A tug at his coat hem had him looking down at a little girl. She had the loveliest light blue eyes, bright golden hair and wore a frilly little pink dress, though he noted a large brown stain marking the lace at the collar.
He knelt to reach her level. “Yes, miss? How might I be of assistance?” Closer up, he noted a flower painted on her cheek. The paint had smeared and one petal was nearly gone.
She shrugged and wiped at a tear on her cheek. “My daddy is lost! Can you see him? You’re tall.”
He sighed and introduced himself. “I’m Alan and you are?”
“I’m Stella. Princess Stella!” She held out her skirt and did a sweet curtsy for him. He noted her white shoes were dirty and her crown dipped to one side.
He straightened her crown. “Where did you last see your daddy, Princess Stella?”
The Kraken's Mirror Page 22