“Or a sea witch,” Quinton suggested in a soft, unhappy voice.
“Yes. Or a sea witch.”
I heard a clatter from above and Zantree came down the ladder from the flying bridge, landing on the deck with a thump. “What happened? I felt the boat lurch like we lost a marlin off a close-hauled line.”
“We lost Fielding.”
Zantree looked startled. “How?”
“I’m not sure.”
“And what were you going on about freaky spook stuff? Isn’t a water hound enough weirdness for one cruise?”
“I think I’d better explain a few things. . . .”
NINETEEN
We moved up to the flying bridge for safety’s sake and I tried to bring Zantree up to speed, but it was difficult and there were some things I couldn’t discuss or explain that only made the situation feel more outrageous. He watched me with slowly rising anger. I didn’t know if it was fury at me or the situation but I felt horrible for it, and I told him we’d be getting off at Roche Harbor to find another boat. I hadn’t expected to fall into the path of Reeve’s killer on the open water, but now that we were approaching the islands, we were too close and I wanted to shut that connection down before Zantree could become a target for the merfolk or the dobhar-chú. Fielding hadn’t painted them as the most reasonable of creatures, and while I wasn’t going to take his word for it, no other source made them sound any better. Once again I’d endangered someone without thinking and I’d be damned if I was going to let it go any further. This time I’d end the risk before it got too great. Quinton was frowning at me the whole time, but not an angry frown, just a thoughtful one, and I wondered what he was thinking. I couldn’t tell from his aura this time—it was a fuzzy gold-and-green mess of indecipherable lines and moving steam.
“No,” Zantree said. “I’m not getting left out of this.”
“This could get you killed,” I replied, “and you wouldn’t even know what was killing you! I won’t let you do that.”
“That is not your choice, Ms. Blaine. I had a friend on that boat and I want to know what the hell happened to her—and I’m not going to swallow all that mouth gas Furry Face was spitting. I’m not a foolish old man. I have managed myself for more than sixty years and I have a sound idea of what I can and cannot do. And this I will do.”
“You don’t understand, and I didn’t realize how much danger we were putting you in or I would never have taken you up on the invitation to use the Mambo Moon for this trip.”
Solis tapped me on the shoulder. “This was not entirely your decision, Blaine. I also chose this. And Zantree was not properly informed, it’s true, but you do not bear all the responsibility here.”
“Are you two trying to make me feel better about endangering you all? Well, you aren’t. We will have to put in at Roche Harbor—or any other decent place we can find—and I’ll go on by myself.”
“You will not,” Solis said. “This is also my investigation. According to Fielding, crimes were committed and it’s my job to determine if that’s true, clear them, and close the file on Seawitch. You will not stop me from that duty. That is my decision. It is not yours.”
“But—” I started.
Quinton nodded at me. “I think you’re outnumbered, Harper. Because I’m not letting you go without me—you don’t know how to pilot a boat or where you’re going. I at least know half of that.”
“I can hire someone. I can go on by myself tomorrow. I don’t want to endanger all of you over this . . . insanity.”
“And it’s all right to endanger yourself?”
“No! I’m just saying I have a chance because I can deal on their level and the rest of you can’t. This is my job and the rest of you shouldn’t be in the line of fire.”
“That decision’s not up to you.”
I growled at him, “You’re the one who keeps lecturing me about taking my friends for granted, using them as resources, not treating them like . . . like friends! Now you change your tune? How is this different?”
“We are not your friends,” Solis said. “Not this moment. We’re your colleagues and partners. You have no more say in this venture than any other one of us has. We work together. You haven’t coerced me, I know. This is my decision and my case. I’ll go with you. Like it or not.”
Quinton smiled at Solis and turned his head to nod at me. “What he said goes twice for me. Now, Mr. Zantree, I think, should probably throw us all off at Roche and get the hell out of here before the fecal matter strikes the rotating ventilation device, but . . . I can’t speak for him.”
Zantree glowered at him and then at me and Solis and then back at me. . . . “Damn and blast you all! I am captain of this vessel and if I choose to go off on a mad reach straight to hell with a crew of lunatics, I’ll do it if I so please! And devil take you if you try to stop me!”
I blinked at him. “Umm . . . I guess I’m outvoted. . . .”
“Yes, you are,” Quinton replied. “Now be gracious and let’s get on with this before the clock runs out.”
I shrugged, although I admit the gesture was more uncomfortable than gracious. “In that case, I’m going below for a few minutes. I’m freezing.”
“Come back up in an hour and we’ll change watch on the wheel,” Zantree said.
Solis opted to stay on the flying bridge with Zantree while I went down and tucked myself into the galley. The morning air was still a bit too cold for me without more layers and I felt a little woozy when I looked out at all that water from the height of the flying bridge. I wasn’t so much seasick as sea wary—after all, whatever had forced Fielding off the boat had to come from somewhere and I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t come back, even though Fielding seemed to be its focus.
I sat on one of the built-in settees around the dining table, blocking myself in the upholstered corner to counter the boat’s movement and the strain on my rib a little. I rested my elbows on the table and my chin on my hands and cogitated.
Quinton came in and joined me about fifteen minutes later. “Hey, beautiful. What’s eating you?”
“I’m just thinking. If the dobhar-chú were trying to protect Reeve from whatever magic the merfolk sent, they must have been standing guard or watching him in some way. But I didn’t see their guard until the magic was already actively trying to kill him the first time. Why did they take so long to act? And why did the merfolk want Reeve dead? He was just an old man who was already retired and far away from his old haunts. They hadn’t bothered to try before, so why now?”
“Didn’t Fielding say something about time?” Quinton asked, going past me and deeper into the galley to scavenge coffee.
“Did he? Huh . . . yes, he said it, too. Well, that at least gives some veracity to his story, since the ghosts said the same thing.”
“Which ghosts?” Finding no coffee left, he opened a few cabinets and looked for the raw materials for a new pot.
“The ghosts of the Valencia. They said something about time and place. . . . I had the same impression of opportunity dwindling away as I got from Fielding. They both said something to the effect of ‘the way back only opens every twenty-seven years.’ And that the time it would be open was almost at an end. . . .”
He discovered a can of coffee and a stack of filters for the built-in coffeemaker and started setting up. “That implies a barrier as well as a time frame, like a gate on a timer.”
“So . . . when we find this place—if we can find it,” I said, “we’ll have to get into the right area and work fast.” I closed my eyes and swallowed a touch of panic. “We’re running on the clock here, without any idea how much time we’ve got, and I still can’t figure how Valencia is connected to Seawitch.”