10 AURORA
Tally and Francois have finally simmered down into a prickly truce.
While Francois uses his magic again to remove some dirt from the edge of his sleeve, Taliesin turns and pores over the sea charts.
I look around to the corner where I’d left London sleeping, but it’s empty.
Shit. Where is my unreliable goat?
“Have you seen London?” I ask Taliesin.
“He was here a minute ago. Probably checking his apples and pears, or wobbly wobbly, or any of that crazy shit he talks about,” Tally shrugs in response.
“The creature possesses the attention span of a common housefly,” Francois snarks. “I wouldn't concern yourself, Aurora.”
“Fuck you both.” London has earned the protective tightness that bands my chest. Yes, he’s a little unhinged but his heart is pure gold. He cares about all of us. But I seem to be the only person who cares about him in return.
Before I can really go to town on the two unfeeling assholes, footsteps echo from the loading bay.
All of us dart into hiding places but when the sliding door squeaks open, it’s my faun that steps through. He’s grinning so hard I can’t help but find myself beaming in return.
And then I see it.
In his left hand, he holds a battered stainless-steel thermos. Balanced in his right arm is a grease-stained cardboard bakery box.
“Looky, looky!” He skips across the concrete floor toward us. “The fishermen's canteen down on pier four had an unlocked back door. Basically begged me to come in and do a little pilfering.”
He proudly places the box onto the table and pops the lid, revealing a dozen slightly squished, sugar-glazed donuts.
“And for my final reveal…” He rattles the thermos triumphantly before unscrewing the plastic cup on top and pouring out a thick, steaming stream of pitch-black liquid.
The aroma hit me instantly. “Yes!”
I reach out, taking the plastic cup from his hands. The heat seeps into my still chilled fingers, making me deliriously happy. Grinning, I turn to London. “No one saw you, right?”
“Pfff, as if! I am the best tea-leaf in all Havengard, I just haven’t had the opportunity to display my talent to you yet. And it’s only one of my many talents.” He winks, then shoves half a donut into his mouth.
I take a sip of coffee, and groan.
“Good?” London looks at me hopefully.
When I nod, I see Francois wrinkle his nose.
It’s like he’s basically begging me to mess with him. “I think this might actually be the best coffee in the world, London. I bet there isn’t a finer blend in the whole of Paris.”
Francois’s eyes narrow, but London’s grin expands. “I knew a bloke called Paris once. He had really small feet, and a really big bum. Kind of looked like a human egg, now I come to think of it.”
“And was Paris, from Paris?” I ask him, nudging the donut box in Taliesin’s direction. London stops chewing, his green eyes blinking in confusion. “No. He was from Cardiff. Why do you ask?”
Francois lets out a slow sigh.
Tally snorts, reaching out a hand. “I’d take some of that best-coffee-in-the-world if there’s enough.” I hand him the cup.
“What did you learn outside, Rory?” he asks.
“Francois mind-fucked a fisherman for advice. He gave us three boat options.” I look to London.
“There's a flat-bottomed crabber with a quiet trolling engine, an aluminum skiff with a loud outboard, and a sailing dinghy with a centerboard that pulls up.” I glance at Francois. “How big was it again?”
“Sixteen feet,” he replies. “And don’t forget the modern jet boat at the end-slip. It has internal water drives, so no propeller, and it's fast.” Francois steps forward, eyes on the chart. “The jet boat is the logical choice. At sea, speed is our only viable defense.”
Taliesin and I look to see if London agrees. He has his head cocked on one side, and is frowning. “A jet boat could get gluey.”
Gluey?
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“Jet boats have a giant straw sucking up the water to squirt it out the back. It would get proper messed up if we’re in the shallows. Silt in the engine and all that cobblers.” He wrinkles his brow. “But the speed would be right handy. Oof, I’ve got to think.”
London flips upside down into a handstand.
“Fucking moron,” Tally mutters, making me pissed.
I don’t like how they treat London. Neither of them knew how jet-boats worked. Just because London processes information differently doesn’t mean it’s OK to call him names. “Cut it out.” I snap.
Taliesin blinks then nods. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right.”
As London moves out of his handstand by dropping into a back bend, then somehow gracefully standing, Tally turns to him. “Sorry, London.”
“For what, Burt? We’re all good. More than good, Super puka actually. I had a brainstorm, boys, proper massive one! Like a supercell brain storm.”
“And?” I ask.
“Why choose?” he exclaims. “Choosing is for losers, innit. We’ll take the jet-boat and tow the dinghy. Bish bash bosh—success!”
“Both?” Francois raises a skeptical eyebrow. That really seems to be one of his favorite facial expressions. “Explain.”
“We tie the little wooden lady to the back of the fancy boat, then use the jet engine to zoom us across the channel.” His hands are gesturing wildly as if he’s making pizza dough.
“We’ll be across lickety-split, but the minute we smell the mud flats, we drop anchor, hop in the dinghy, and have a lovely little sail.
Whatcha think? Proper crackin' strategy, innit?”
It is.
I’m impressed but not that surprised. London presents like a clown but I’ve got the feeling he may be the cleverest one among us.
Tally also gives a nod of approval. “That really could work.”
“As long as the procuring of the vessels goes smoothly, then the plan is efficient,” Francois agrees. “Though the jet-boat could be a challenge.”
London rolls his eyes at me, and gives a theatrical groan. “Doubting Debbie over there is questioning my thieving skills. You chaps stay here and pack up the knick-knacks. I’ll go get it.”
“Just like that?” I ask, my hand darting out to catch his sleeve. “You don’t need help? Lookouts?”
His face turns genuinely puzzled. “I’ve never had them before, Kitten. Huh. Probably not the best time to take on an apprentice anyway. Shivery Shane looks a bit slow on the uptake.” He shoots a cheeky grin at Francois, and before anyone can stop him, he skips right out of the sliding door.
“Wait,” Tally calls after him. “We’ll get the dinghy and meet you a few hundred yards out…”
I turn back to the table, letting out a breath. “Does anyone actually know how to sail?” I figure the only yachts Francois has ever been on are billionaire boats with helicopter landing pads.
“I know the basics,” Taliesin says. He looks down at the sea charts, his shoulders dropping slightly. “But I won’t lie, Rory… I’m fucking glad we have London.”
Finally. One of them actually gets it.
“If his claims aren’t just fantasy,” Francois grumbles, which I choose to ignore.
Instead, I grab the bag which still contains a few cans of beans, and the empty coffee flask. Taliesin rolls up the sea chart, then that’s us packed.
“Shall we?” I ask, pulling the hood of my yellow raincoat over my head.
Francois takes the bag from me. “Pourvu que la chance tienne,” he mutters. Taliesin immediately knocks on the wooden table.
I don’t bother asking what that’s about. It’s time to go.
Time to find Sky.
The sixteen-foot wooden dinghy is exactly where we left it and only moored with a thick rope, which Tally unwinds as soon as me and Francois are aboard. “Keep low,” he mutters, pushing us off from the jetty, then taking the oars. “I’ll paddle out before raising sail.”
The sounds of a busy dock at work floats across the water, but there are no shouts. No ‘stop thief’. Within minutes, we disappear into the sea fret, the white mist hiding us from the shore.
But also from London. Will he find us?
We sit in silence, the rhythmic slosh of water against the hull as we wait. Time passes. Ten minutes, fifteen.
“Plan B?” Taliesin hisses. “What’s our fucking plan B?”
“He’ll be here,” I snap back.
And then, out from the fog, a sleek, dark-painted jet boat slides silently towards us. London is standing at the center console, slightly soggy, with a pair of stolen aviator sunglasses perched on his nose—despite the complete lack of sun.
“Ahoy, maties,” he whispers loudly, tossing a heavy towing line to Tally. “Hop in. This big ship is about to sail down the alley, alley, oh.”
Instead of a sneer, both Taliesin and Francois give London respectful nods.
“Good work.”
“Bien joué.”
London winks at me. “Wanna be my cabin boy?”
I grin back at him. “You know what? I really do!”
Plus, I can practice my dehydration spell to make my favorite goat a little more comfortable.