Chapter 45
Forty-Five
Sorcha
Iwoke half buried under a pile of cats. They seemed to have multiplied overnight. It was almost nine when Neal finally shooed them away and bribed me into getting dressed with the promise of tea if we could get up to the dining room before ten.
“Go change,” were the first words out of Ansel’s mouth when we finally went out into the sitting room.
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I’m pregnant.”
“You don’t wear a tea gown to breakfast,” Ansel said, “pregnant or not. You want Guinevere to cause another scene?”
“No,” I grumbled.
“Change,” Ansel instructed.
Guinevere glared at us from across the room all through breakfast while Ansel somehow managed an entirely factually inaccurate monologue about goat’s milk importing with an elderly couple at our table.
“How many more days of this?” I asked Neal quietly, gripping my teacup like a life preserver.
“Thirteen.” He clearly noted the look of abject horror that flitted involuntarily across my face. Since he then added, “Stay. Drink. I’ll go figure something out.”
“Ansel,” I said as I pulled him away from our tablemates, “the fish all left last night.”
“Excuse me, lass?” Ansel replied, raising an eyebrow.
“So there’s usually a background hum in my magic,” I explained. “In Santa Fe it was lizards and birds, in Washington it was rats mostly, and out here it’s fish—so many fish. But last night? Three o’clock about. It was gone. Everything left. Fled from the ship.”
“Ever felt anything like that before?” Ansel asked.
I shrugged. “Hard to say. Not like that, in the middle of the night with no distractions.”
“Tell me if it happens again,” Ansel said. “If it does I’ll start taking walks at night. See if we can correlate it.”
“You think it could be something dangerous?” I asked.
“It’s my job to think everything could be something dangerous, lass,” Ansel replied as Neal returned with his arms full of books and a flask slung across his shoulders.
“I checked our course, the wind patterns, everything,” Neal said, “and there is a spot that will be both in shade and leeward of the smokestacks for the next six hours. I bribed a porter to move some deck chairs and blankets. I have peppermint tea and a bunch of weird transcendentalist philosophy from the library. And I think maybe this will make the next thirteen days tolerable.”
We sat on the deck until noon, ate as quickly as the formal service allowed, and then went back out into the cold, breezy sea air.
The cats continued multiplying, and more than a dozen were clustered around the deck chairs when Neal and I returned after lunch.
It was nearing two o’clock when the repetitive thrum of the engines, call of gulls, and lap of water against the hull was broken by the sharp, animated chatter of children.
A harried young woman rounded the corner, surrounded by a gaggle of at least a dozen school-aged kids. She stopped short when she saw Neal and me, scrambling in her pockets and grabbing a map of the ship.
“Are we in the wrong place?” she asked, voice almost cracking. Neal stopped reading. I set down my tea. One of the children picked up one of the cats.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking to Neal.
“They said we could come here from two until dinner,” the young woman said quickly, “But you’re . . .”
She gestured vaguely at Neal and me—in our expensive traveling clothes, reading philosophy.
“And we’re . . .” She now gestured at herself, the group of kids—all of them notably thin, notably grubby, and in notably mismatched clothes. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
The young woman’s face crumpled. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty and looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“You’re not going to get in trouble,” Neal said quickly. “It’s not first-class only. We just like the view. It’s fine. You’re not disturbing us at all.”
“Oh thank heavens.” The young woman slumped against the ship’s railing, watching as the kids ran, played with the cats, shouted, and wrestled.
“I’m Sorcha and this is Neal,” I said, then gestured at the cats. “I um . . . seem to have attracted some friends. The kids are welcome to play with them as long as they want.”
“I’m Prudence,” the young woman replied then gestured at the kids. “They’s all got name tags pinned on. I don’t remember half of them right yet.”
“What happened?” I asked, pulling Neal beside me and patting the other deck chair for Prudence to sit down.
“Big mill fire,” Prudence said, “in Boston. Forty-seven died. Most of the kids had family to take them somewhere in the country. These fourteen didn’t. So we’re shipping them back to family in Britain.”
Prudence and the children stayed for two hours. The kids played with the cats and chased each other around the deck. The eldest, a girl around twelve named Maude, stumbled through asking me when my baby was due then promptly burst into tears.
“Her baby brother died in the fire,” Prudence explained. “Awful thing, wasn’t it?”
Neal nodded solemnly. I just wound my arms around my belly protectively.
“Will you be here again tomorrow?” Prudence asked as she herded the children ahead of her to get back downstairs for dinner.
I nodded.
“And you’re sure we’re not a bother?” Prudence asked. “It’s only just. It’s nice to have some company.”
“Not a bother at all,” I assured her, gathering one of the cats up into my lap. “We’ll all see you again at two o’clock.”
“Say thank you to Mr. and Mrs. MacCairn,” Prudence instructed as she led the kids away.
I leaned back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep myself from crying. “Neal, what if we die?”
“Why are you asking?” Neal pressed before replying.
“We just spent two hours surrounded by malnourished orphans traveling thirteen days in steerage accompanied by no actual adults. Why do you think I’m asking?” I said.
“If we both die then my dad will take the baby,” Neal said, tucking me against his chest. “Or Ansel. Or Nokona. Someone will always look after them.”
He pressed a hand to my belly.
“The world is profoundly unfair,” he said.
“Profoundly. And those kids got dealt a bad hand. And yes, in some ways so did our baby. But one thing they will never have to experience is being alone like that. Think about how many people from the Outer Court you’ve already met who would happily take this one in if something went wrong? ”
“I just really don’t want anything else to go wrong,” I said softly, curling tighter into his embrace.
“I’m working on it,” Neal assured me. “Always working on it.”
It went on like that for days.
I woke every night like clockwork in a panic because suddenly the background hum of ocean life had gone dead silent.
Ansel started taking walks in the dark. But turned up nothing.
Guinevere glared.
Prudence and the orphans came and played with the cats.
Until one day Prudence and the kids showed up late. The younger children were boisterous and excitable as usual, but a few of the older ones looked upset. Prudence looked even more sallow and harried than usual.
“You alright?” I asked as Prudence sat beside me on the deck chair. She seemed distracted. She was counting the kids over and over, reciting their names.
“One of them’s missing,” Prudence said quietly. “I’s checked eight times. Simon. He’s gone.”
“When did you see him last?” I asked.
“He went to bed last night,” Prudence said. “Morning? He was gone. Just gone. Thought he was in the toilet. But no. Can’t find him anywhere.”
“Did you ask the steward? Other passengers?” My stomach dropped. Sure, the poor child might be lost somewhere on the ship. Or he could’ve fallen overboard and disappeared beneath the waves. Or worse, been killed or abducted somehow.
“Steward don’t care,” Prudence said. “One of the other ladies said she saw him get up and out of bed after two last night. But she was asleep before he got back.”
Neal stiffened.
“Keep asking around,” I said gently. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
I almost suggested having the cats search, then bit my tongue. No magic. Not here. Not right now. Not like this.
Prudence and the children departed early, and instantly Neal was talking.
“Sorcha, you’re always up at three,” he said immediately. “Always. The fish thing.”
“You think they’re related?” I asked.
“I think we need to talk to Ansel right now,” Neal replied, helping me up and heading for the stairs.
We found Ansel in the smoking room. He’d been hiding out there most days. Guinevere—apparently—hated the smell of cigars.
“Ansel, we have a problem,” Neal said.
“Also maybe a lead?” I added. “You know those orphan children we’ve been seeing most afternoons?”
Ansel nodded, not looking up from his book and his whiskey.
“One of them disappeared last night,” Neal said. “Same time Sorcha woke up because of the wildlife disturbance.”
“And we’re positive they didn’t wander off and get lost? Fall overboard? Or any of the other three dozen natural ways a lone, poorly supervised child could disappear on a boat like this?” Ansel still hadn’t looked up.
“Well no,” Neal admitted, “but it’s worth investigation. Don’t you think?”
“Once is a coincidence,” Ansel said. “Bring me a pattern and we’ll talk.”
It was another four days, but soon a pattern emerged.
First the woman Lucy shared a bunk with disappeared, then another of the kids.
All at the same time of night. On the fourth morning at breakfast it was clear something was wrong.
The staff were jumpy, avoiding eye contact.
Eventually Ansel asked what had happened, and our waiter replied like he was reading his own death warrant. “One of the cleaners went missing.”
“That’s a pattern,” I said, stirring my tea.
“Don’t look so self-satisfied,” Ansel cautioned. “Neither of you are getting a proper eight-hours sleep tonight. We investigate. Together.”
“We’ll nap before dinner to compensate,” I said. “Now you go start asking around. Find out where this cleaner disappeared from. If we can find a location we might actually be onto something.”