Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret (16 page)

Another small, unexpected wave slapped Peter roughly in the face. He took in a mouthful or two of seawater and coughed. Beside him, he could hear Dorothy sputtering.

This was not good.

They were both strong swimmers. Using a slow sideways stroke, Peter had caught up with Dorothy, and the two of them had been swimming side by side in the choppy brine for what felt like hours. Peter's arms and legs were growing weary from the exertion of swimming, and his lungs burned. Yet for all his labor, the harbor lights seemed only slightly closer, and a little bit farther east than when they'd started. Were they swimming against a current, or had he misjudged the distance?

Dorothy abruptly stopped swimming. She flipped onto her back, floating and breathing heavily.

“I can't make it,” Dorothy said, breathless. “I'm too tired to keep swimming. I'll drown for sure if I keep at it. You go ahead. I'll float here as long as I can,” she said. “Send help.”

Peter turned over onto his back, too.

“I can't do it, either,” Peter said helplessly, staring up at the stars. They looked glittery and powdery to him, like snow. The water lapped at his ears. He reached out his wet fingers and touched Dorothy's hand reassuringly.

Peter thought of how he'd resented this ocean, the insurmountable cost and effort of crossing it, and his mother for choosing to go to its other side. The cure for her disease—the brisk air of the Alps—had not saved her. He wondered if his dad ever felt angry about it, too—that she'd chosen to go there on her own, and left them. He wished he'd discussed it with his father. He'd never have the opportunity now.

“I'm scared,” Dorothy whispered.

Peter swallowed. “Me too.”

“Nobody knows where we are. We're drifting out to sea. It's nighttime, and there aren't many ships, and even if there were, they'd never see us. They'd run us over!” Dorothy said. She was starting to sound panicked.

Peter could feel himself growing more anxious with every point Dorothy made. It was true. Chances were they'd die out here. He pictured WindUp, lying alone by the shrubbery where Peter had tossed him. His robot would rust in the rain if no one came to get him. Peter shoved the thought away.

“We just have to keep calm,” Peter said. “It doesn't take much energy to float. Your dad is going to come after that boat.”

“But when?” Dorothy said softly.

“Soon,” Peter lied. It made him feel better to say it, so he said it again. “Soon.”

Tunie had tried to muffle the sneeze but couldn't. She heard Reid's footsteps stop.

He knew she was there.

Tunie crouched down as far as she could inside the dank, shadowy coil of rope and gripped the file in her fist. Reid was moving quietly now. She could no longer hear his boots treading on the wooden deck.

He was going to find her. She might as well use the element of surprise to her advantage.

She leaped out of the coiled rope and shouted at the top of her lungs, “BAH!”

Reid startled, but a moment later he lunged forward, his hand closing punishingly around her upper arm.

“Where are the other two?” he snarled, shaking Tunie hard.

“They jumped ship,” Tunie shot back. “They're swimming to shore right now. The police will be here soon!”

But Reid only laughed wickedly. “Then they did the job for us! They'll never make it to the harbor. The tide's going out—they'll be swept out to sea. Now it's your turn.”

He tried to haul Tunie over to the edge of the ship. She gripped the file and jabbed at the man's arm. He howled and let go of Tunie, who turned to flee.

Reid was too quick for her, though. With his uninjured hand, he grabbed hold of Tunie's braids and yanked. Tugged backward, Tunie fell to the deck hard.

“Oof,” she said, the air leaving her lungs on impact. The file clattered away across the deck. She managed to stand, but Reid grabbed her from behind, his arms around her in a crushing bear hug. Her arms were pinned to her sides. Tunie thrashed, and the back of her skull connected with Reid's nose in a loud crunch.

“Argh!” he shouted, dropping her and clutching his nose. Tunie spun away.

Then, as she watched, a burlap sack flew through the air and over Reid's head.

Dark wings fluttered around the struggling man.

“Perch!” Tunie cried.

Perch flapped past Tunie, and she ran after him, taking advantage of Reid's brief incapacitation. The bat guided her through a doorway. There was a hatch. Tunie lifted it and spied a ladder that led into darkness. It was a storage hold.

Perch squeaked.

“You lead,” Tunie said in a whisper. “Find me a good place to hide!”

She descended the ladder and felt her way among the crates, groping in the darkness.

Perch squeaked now and then, and she followed him through the close maze of cargo. She climbed up a few crates and then between some stacked trunks. Many of the boxes were under nets, tied down, so as not to shift. Tunie fit narrowly between two large, netted stacks.

“Is help coming?” Tunie asked.

Perch squeaked an affirmative.

“So Peter and Dorothy made it!” Tunie whispered, relieved.

Perch made a worried sound.

“They didn't?” Tunie said. “Perch, you have to find them! They were swimming for shore off the side of the boat more than an hour ago. They might be in trouble! Will you look for them? Please?”

Perch gripped her finger with his claws in the dark, as if he didn't want to let her go.

“You've done plenty,” Tunie said. “I'll hide here until help comes. Go!”

Perch reluctantly flew away. Tunie realized then that they'd left the hatch open, and with the hatch open, Reid would know where to look for her. The ship's hold was huge but not endless; eventually he'd find her.

Tunie prayed that whatever help was on the way would hurry. She made herself as small as she could and listened. She heard the faint ringing sound of feet on the metal rungs of the ladder, and the sound of someone stepping down into the hold.

Officer Hill knew at once that the handsome, well-dressed man approaching him across the wharf with two uniformed police officers was Christopher James. Officer Hill held out his hand, and Mr. James shook it.

“Long story short,” one of the officers said to Hill. “The people who kidnapped Mr. James's daughter demanded one of his steamships as ransom. He gave them the ship and has been waiting at a warehouse for them to bring his daughter in exchange. They didn't show.”

“I have a fast yacht at my disposal,” Mr. James said immediately, by way of introduction. “An express cruiser.”

Officer Hill nodded curtly. “We'll take it. The military is sending a boat, but it might take too long. Men!” He blew his whistle, drawing the attention of the other uniformed officers swarming the lantern-lit dock. “We have a boat! Let's go!”

Within a quarter hour, the sleek wooden cruiser lifted anchor with twenty policemen, ten sailors and a captain, and the shipping magnate Christopher James aboard. The police knew Reid and Shade would be sailing for the mouth of the harbor, if they hadn't made it there yet. Mr. James insisted on remaining on deck, a spyglass to his eye. He scanned the water again and again.

“There are fewer ships out here these days—we're exporting half as much as we were before 1929. We can thank the Depression for that. The ship they're on is a freight steamer, painted black,” Mr. James said. “The smokestack has four bands of color: yellow, red, white, blue. I'll know it when I see it.”

Officer Hill took in the man's elegant double-breasted suit, his scattered, anxious air, and his weary aspect. In one fist, he tightly gripped a blue pocket kerchief, worrying the material between his thumb and forefinger.

“We'll find her, sir,” Officer Hill said reassuringly.

Mr. James did not take his eyes off the horizon.

“I should have come to you. I should have contacted the police right away; I see that now,” Mr. James said hoarsely. “But they threatened her. My little Dorothy. I couldn't even tell my wife. They said they had a man on the inside, and they'd know the moment I contacted the police.”

“Is that so? It might be Detective Dedrick Shade,” Officer Hill said. “He may be in league with a man named Curtis Reid. Two other children are missing along with Dorothy. Believe me when I say we'll find out the truth about this, and whoever is responsible will pay.”

“There! That painted smokestack!” Mr. James pointed it out to the captain. “It's definitely my ship.”

“I see it,” the captain said.

The yacht swerved beneath their feet as the captain altered its course.

They were almost there.