“Your decision will have to wait,” the captain said, running over to the main mast and starting to slacken off a rope. “They have spotted us.”
Wallace looked behind the ship. Four dots on the horizon, growing larger. “How far to the mainland?” he asked.
“Half an hour.”
“How long until they overrun us?” Natalie asked.
“Half an hour.”
“Then it’ll be close.”
“Wallace, pull that rope there. Natalie, grab the rudder and turn us starboard.”
“Huh?”
“Right, turn the rudder left so we go right.”
The ship began to cut faster through the water as the sails were adjusted. “Now what?” Natalie asked.
“Now we stay the course,” the captain replied. “I will do the rest.” He came over and took the helm, leaving Natalie to look worriedly behind her at the pursuing ships.
“Come,” Wallace said, taking her arm, surprised by how good it felt to do so. “It will do no good watching.”
“Why aren’t you scared?” she asked as he led her slowly toward the cabin.
“They will either reach us or they won’t,” he replied. “Now sit down and drink this.” He held out the whisky bottle. “It will do you some good.”
“How’s your wound?”
He lifted the ragged remains of his tunic, untying the rope that held the two cloths in place. Natalie looked at the wound and seemed pleased with what she saw.
“What?” he asked. “Why do you smile?”
“It is not infected,” she replied. “That’s about as much as I could hope for.”
“Infected?”
“Rotting. It’s not rotting. It will heal, if we can stay alive long enough.”
She looked down at the floor, sighing heavily. He lifted her chin with his finger. “It will be all right,” he said. “I will get you home.”
He hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. He had a horrible gnawing feeling that all this would be for nothing. He thought about telling her what he’d been thinking while he’d been alone in the cabin but decided against it. What good would it do?
There was no point telling her how he felt about her. It would only cause pain when she went back to her own time and he returned to the chains that had bound him since childhood.
He had decided he could not hand her or the key over to the barefoot man. Much as he wanted to be reunited with his father, he could not countenance the idea that she would have the pay the price for his desire.
She, who was so innocent, had done nothing wrong since the moment they met. She did not deserve to be immured in this corrupt world in which he lived.
She deserved to go back to her own time where she could be happy and safe.
“Have you heard of the butterfly effect?” she asked out of nowhere.
“No,” he replied. “Should I have?”
“It’s the idea that going back in time and changing something can affect the present, that ripples spread out through seemingly insignificant acts and the consequences cannot be guessed at.”
“Like what?”
