Passenger

by Alexandra Bracken

  “What if I am?” she interrupted. “If it were up to me, I’d take one of those small boats and row myself back to shore.”

  “Don’t be a fool.” His whole body went rigid beside hers. “Aside from the fact that it would take you days before you spotted land, you wouldn’t know the first thing about navigation, nor would you have enough water or food to sustain you.”

  “So you’d keep me here against my will—”

  “Know this, pirate,” he said, his hands gripping the railing, “you are my passenger, and I will be damned before I let any harm come to you.”

  She was unsure how to respond to the fervor of those words. “Another rule?” she managed finally.

  “A promise. If I see that you’re in danger from Ironwood, I will help you escape myself. But should you try to leave on your own, know that I will go to the ends of the earth to bring you back.”

  She felt color begin to creep up her throat, her cheeks, at the intensity of his words. “You’d risk not getting your payment?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll escape after I get my payment.” He shook his head, but Etta caught the hint of teasing in his tone. “Really, Miss Spencer. You ought to surrender your colors for that.”

  “Do pirates ever surrender?” she asked. “I thought they only went down in blazes of glory.”

  “Only the bad ones,” he said, one corner of his mouth kicked up. “The rest live long enough for another war and go legitimate.”

  She managed a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You’re right,” he said, studying the small scars scattered over the back of his hand. “About the rules—they go largely unspoken and without explanation.”

  At first, watching the men at their game had been almost funny—it was so ridiculous to hear such devastatingly polite words delivered with such obvious hatred. And then, with Wren, it had suddenly become sinister—a way to do serious harm while still fitting inside that mold of acceptability.

  Sophia had described it as a game, but Etta disagreed. In that first hour, the ceremonial flow of introductions, conversation, seating, had made her feel like they were part of a small orchestra. Written into every piece of music were strict rules on how to deliver the notes, how to keep the pacing, and a hundred other aspects that added up to the sound and movement that the composer had intended. There wasn’t much room to be playful, to reinterpret pieces; that’s why Etta always tried to flood her performances with some kind of emotion, to set them apart from what was expected. The most critical judges always seemed to be looking for perfect execution over inspiration, or even passion.

  But both the game and orchestra metaphors were flawed. They implied that everyone was a willing participant, but the truth was, she doubted that anyone was really eager to participate in the charade of society aside from the people who created and benefited from the rules.

  “I choose to exist outside of it whenever possible,” Nicholas said slowly, as if unsure whether he wanted to continue. His voice dropped, and Etta had to lean closer to him to listen. “This—having to dine with the captured officers—is a rare exception. I have no problem paying respects to the men I sail with, because I admire and appreciate them. But you’re right, the falseness is tiresome. And worse, deceitful.”

  “It seems like one of the benefits of being out here,” she said, gesturing to the water, “should be the ability to make your own rules.”

  “Well, in all truth, there are more rules to follow on a ship, and they tend to be far stricter. You might have plucked young Jack from danger after the spoon fiasco, but everyone in the cabin knows he’ll be disciplined for behaving that way toward an officer.”

  “Disciplined how?” Etta asked sharply. “He’s just a boy—”

  “You don’t have the luxury of being ‘just a boy’ when you sail,” Nicholas said, not callously. “He is a member of a crew. Our rules and hierarchy add up to survival, and there’s a logic and purpose to it all in maintaining order, even in the most desperate situations. The punishments for breaking them are as severe as they are because failing to fulfill your role affects everyone.”

  Etta set her jaw, taking a step back from him. He’d mentioned using a kind of whip earlier, and the thought of it snapping down on the boy’s bare back, the thought of him trying to take it stoically under the eyes of the crew, for doing something that everyone at that table wished they could do…

  “Miss Spencer, I only meant his rations will be docked,” he said quietly. “Don’t trouble yourself. He must learn discipline, but it was hardly a capital offense.”

  There was a softness to the words that she hadn’t expected. “Were you ever…disciplined?”

  He nodded, rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip. Etta watched its path as it skimmed over the generous curve until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be watching at all.

  Focus. Home. The pearl was cool between her fingers as she rolled her left earring back and forth. For a moment she felt a strange prickling sensation just below it, like someone was watching the stretch of skin where her exposed neck met her shoulder. But when she looked up again, there was no one else nearby, and Nicholas had fixed his eyes on the moon.

  “When I was about his age, certainly,” he said. “I had a devil of a temper then, and it took every ounce of Hall’s restraint to keep from smothering me out of exasperation. I thanked him for it in the end, since he gave me the opportunity to be a part of his crew. I prefer the candor of this life, that we’re forced to cut out things that don’t truly matter—qualities that matter far more to landlubbers. Here, what defines me first and foremost is my work, my capabilities, just the same as Jack. And unless you’ve been pressed onto a navy ship, a man’s there by choice.”

  Nicholas didn’t come right out and say it, but she had a feeling these “qualities” directly related to the color of his skin.

  “You really didn’t wish to leave Nassau?” he said quietly, apparently coming to some conclusion of his own.

  “No, I didn’t.” The understatement of this particular century. Etta blew out a sigh, pulling the length of her braid over her shoulder. The wind had picked up, as promised, and was whipping the loose strands around in a flurry.

  “I’m sure the unfortunate travel companion doesn’t help matters.”

  “Companion,” she said with a dry laugh. He was avoiding her name.

  Nicholas closed his eyes for a beat, and when they opened he had clearly made a decision. “Sophia Ironwood would gladly cut the limbs from my body, pickle them, and throw them in a trough for the pigs. She would rather perish than admit we come from the same stock, let alone that we have anything in common beyond a mutual distaste for each other.”

  The words caught her across the face like a spray of seawater, a cold slap of realization.

  We come from the same stock.

  Family.

  As in…

  She stepped back, studying his profile, and he refused to meet her gaze.

  Of course. Of course—why hadn’t she seen that possibility before?

  I have seen the rotten edges of his soul.

  I know him for the deceitful swine he is.

  Would Sophia have said something so virulent about someone she barely knew? And he’d mentioned Ironwood—Sophia’s “grandfather”—any number of times, with more knowledge behind the word than a casual business acquaintance. Sophia knew him because he was one of them.

  A traveler.

  But…he was here, taking each shift in the wind and water as if he’d been born on a ship. If he’d been sailing since he was a child, then when—?

  Etta took another full step back away from him, stunned.

  “She truly told you nothing,” Nicholas said, his voice flat. “I cannot say I’m surprised.”

  “You…” Etta struggled to bring her fractured thoughts back in line. “You weren’t going to tell me either, were you? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? How much better I would have felt at t
hat dinner table, knowing I had a real ally? God, no wonder you kept stepping in when I messed up. You had to.”

  “Of course I stepped in to assist you,” Nicholas said, seeming almost confused. “It is against our laws—and against better judgment—to allow our secret to be revealed. You should know this well by now.”

  And just like that, she knew that her plan would never work. Even if she could win the rest of the crew over, they wouldn’t go against his wishes. She wasn’t going to be able to grind his resistance down with reason or charm—not that she was all that certain she even had anything resembling charm. Nicholas wasn’t just a hired acquaintance orbiting around the periphery of the Ironwood family’s galaxy; he was part of their system. He was one of them.

  “Your training—” he began.

  “What training?” she cried, letting her temper fly again. “I didn’t even know I could time travel until Sophia pushed me through a…through a passage, or whatever you call it!”

  “Pushed you?” He spun back toward her, eyes flashing. “You mean to tell me you’ve never traveled before now?”

  “Try: never traveled, never heard the name Ironwood, and possibly never going back to my home. They aren’t even my family—they killed someone I loved to get to me!”

  He swore viciously under his breath, turning his back on her for a moment. “You didn’t even know you possessed the ability? Your traveler’s sickness must have been unbearable. No wonder no one on the crew saw you—you must have been unconscious for days.”

  Traveler’s sickness?

  No—she couldn’t get distracted, not about this.

  “Don’t act like you weren’t in on this,” Etta said. “You and Sophia—”

  “No!” he said sharply, drawing her toward him, walking them both backward. She realized, as the world suddenly took shape around her again, that Wren and Chase had left the cabin, and were now moving steadily toward the hatch to the lower deck. “Don’t put me in league with her. Ironwood’s request said nothing of this. I assumed he was calling you and Sophia back to assign you to some task. I don’t make a habit of abductions, Miss Spencer.”

  “You mean, aside from stealing other people’s ships and holding their crews hostage?”

  His brows rose, and he actually looked like he might smile. That settled her, but only somewhat.

  “His letter didn’t explain anything else?” she asked. “Nothing about why he wants to see me?”

  “No. I was to intercept the Ardent and bring you and Sophia to New York City by September twenty-first. Christ,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “The first time I traveled, I attacked an automobile with an umbrella and nearly pissed myself in terror. So when I say you are taking this well, I hope you’ll believe me.”

  Etta couldn’t begin to picture him looking frightened.

  “I wish you’d told me,” she said quietly. “You are an Ironwood, aren’t you? Sophia mentioned other families, but…”

  “I wish I could say I wasn’t,” he said, disgust curling his upper lip. “I don’t associate with them, not anymore. This is purely a matter of business to me. I don’t travel, I don’t obey Ironwood, I live my life free from all that. And when the transaction is complete, they’ll be cut out of my life for as long as I can keep it.”

  What was she missing here, then? If he hated the Ironwoods so much he was practically spitting as he talked about them, why agree to work for them? And if he could travel anywhere, to any time, why stay in one so openly hostile to him?

  Based on what Jack had told her, Nicholas and Chase had been raised by Hall from the time they were boys, and Nicholas had said he’d been sailing from that age. So when had he done his traveling?

  I don’t travel, I don’t obey Ironwood, I live my life free from all that.

  And why had he stopped?

  Etta could feel him pulling back, retreating not only into his mind, but instinctively stepping back in the direction of the captain’s cabin.

  “Knowing what they’re like…you still won’t bring me back home?” she asked. “Do you know where the passage is that Sophia brought me through? Is it in Nassau?”

  “This ship sailed out of Nassau, so it’s a likely conclusion to draw, but…” He shook his head. “I was never given a list of the passages and their locations. What year are you from, precisely?”

  She told him, and it was worth it alone for the expression of complete wonder that transformed his face.

  “I was told there wasn’t a passage that opened beyond the Second World War. That is the commonly held belief. Of course, I do know there are many ancient passages that are uncharted, their destinations unknown. Perhaps yours is one of them. What family do you belong to?”

  “Linden,” she said. “According to Sophia.”

  She’d caught him by surprise again. “Linden? Are you certain?”

  “She could be lying, I guess, but she did mention my mom, Rose.” Etta stole a glance at his face. “Do you recognize the name?”

  He blew out a long breath from his nose, unable to look at her face. “Who in our small world hasn’t heard of Rose Linden? She’s the only traveler to successfully outwit Ironwood. Stole something of his and disappeared without a trace. My God, what are you then, ransom? Why wouldn’t he have just taken her if he found the two of you? Is she still alive?”

  Etta nodded, latching onto this small piece of information. “What else do you know about her? Anything?”

  “Only that she left a broken heart in her wake—Augustus Ironwood, Cyrus’s son and heir, spent years searching for her. Went nearly mad with it.” Nicholas shook his head, and when he spoke again, there was a blaze of promise in his words. “I’ll ensure that you get back to your time. If you are bait, or if he intends to use you to threaten Rose, then we’ll leave at our first opportunity and search for the passage ourselves.”

  Disappointment sliced through her. If. She hated that word now. If and only if she was in true danger, he’d help her. Of course he wasn’t going to turn around out of pity—in the first place, he didn’t know where to bring her; in the second, he was earning good money for this job. But…as stupid and small as it made her feel, she had hoped. She’d read something in his hesitation.

  Her stomach gave a firm, desperate little twist.

  “You said someone was killed,” he began. “Who was it?”

  The first words that floated to her lips were a lie; she hated herself for it, for wanting to give in to the easy simplicity of a fake story, rather than peel off the bandage and bleed every messy feeling and thought about the violin all over again. But she liked this honesty between them—it felt like something real and solid, strong enough to tie herself to, when there were so many lies and secrets trying to pull her in every direction at once.

  “You’ve been through a trial,” he said quietly when she’d finished explaining. “I’m sorry for it. I was about to ask if you’d like me to find the violin that Mr. Goode mentioned—if it might be a comfort to you.”

  She felt sick at the thought, shaking her head. “The opposite. I can’t…I can barely stand the thought of playing right now. Not until I get her back.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly shut it, shaking his head.

  “What?” Etta asked.

  “You mean to save your instructor? Alice?” he asked. “Change the past?”

  “I know how it looks, but she was innocent—she didn’t deserve to die, and not—not because of me.”

  He let out a heavy sigh, with a kind of pity that turned her stomach again. Etta lifted her hand off the rail as the wind kicked up and the ship tipped down to the right. The soles of her shoes were too soft, too slippery, and she felt one foot slide out from under her—

  An arm banded around her waist, pulling her feet back to the deck and to the solid, warm anchor of Nicholas. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, her fingernails digging into, twisting, the back of his jacket. All she could hear was her own breath grating again
st the silence; all she could feel was the jackhammer beat of a heart hidden beneath layers of fabric and warmth.

  Etta stepped back, trying to think of some way to break her awareness of the hand pressed firmly to the small of her back. He beat her to it.

  “Careful,” he breathed out, glancing down at the polished black leather of his shoes. “I’ve only the one pair left.”

  “Still at it?”

  Etta couldn’t say which of them was more startled at the sound of Chase’s voice.

  “Next watch starts soon; best to get the lady back to her cabin.” He stood a short distance away from them at the edge of the hatch, arms crossed over his chest. It was too dark to make out his expression, but he didn’t move until Nicholas took a generous step away from her, his hands suddenly clasped together in a knot behind his back.

  “Time to retire, Miss Spencer,” said Nicholas. “I’ll escort you to your cabin.”

  He didn’t take her arm or offer a hand. Nicholas kept a careful distance after that, his hands still hidden behind his back.

  Now she understood how the Ardent’s crew had felt as they were led down into the belly of the ship, unsure of when—or even if—they’d be allowed to take in the sun, the stars, the sky. She hadn’t appreciated the conversation for the small slice of freedom it was. Between Sophia and the crew, would the two of them ever be able to speak openly again before they reached New York?

  His thoughts mirrored hers, apparently.

  “Ten days to Long Island,” said Nicholas. “Perhaps fewer if the wind is in our favor. I’m glad we had the chance to speak now, as I doubt Miss Ironwood will let you out of her sight once her stomach settles.”

  Etta paused outside her door, and he paused at the captain’s cabin, just across the way.

  “Can I ask you one thing?” Etta whispered.

  He nodded, his eyes shining with the light from a nearby lantern. She took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of salt and wax, and considered her words.

  “If you can travel anywhere…to any time, for the most part,” she began, “why do you stay here? In an era where there are men like Wren, who treat you that way?”