Rory’s eyelashes fluttered, and there was Hyde’s face, only inches away.
“They’re not going to let him on, he’s clearly addled.” Sebastian’s voice came from behind Hyde, anger making his soft accent tense.
“Then we’ll get creative.”
Hyde dangled something over Rory’s face. A necklace. Shelley’s necklace.
The lodestone.
“That’s not going to bring him back,” Sebastian snapped. “The lodestone isn’t strong enough to cancel a relic’s magic, especially not whatever that magic is. It smells like death.”
“Maybe not.” Hyde smiled, showing teeth. “Let’s put it on him anyway. I want to see what happens.”
“Hyde—”
The man leans on the balcony, enjoying the view of the countryside. Behind him, his zealots continue their slaughter.
Rory closed his eyes and fell back into the history.
Chapter Thirty
Arthur got out of the Cadillac, aware that every pair of eyes at the dock were on him, a man in a tuxedo scrambling out of a smashed car that stuck out like a show dog in a street pack. He ignored the stares, tucking the compass with its useless, lazily revolving needle into his vest pocket and shoving his despair as far down as he could.
Rory had to be here somewhere. The compass had sent him south, straight toward these docks.
He took a steadying breath. The smell of coal from the older ships hung heavy in the salt-thickened air. His gaze darted down Delaware Avenue, at a partially built bridge looming over them, then down the row of piers to the south. Many were empty, their business gutted by last year’s anti-immigration legislation, giving the waterfront a stagnant flavor. He glanced toward a warehouse that had seen better days as the El screeched on the tracks above his head. He’d find a harbormaster, figure out which of the ships was bound for Germany—
Raised voices made his gaze snap back to the piers. One of the piers had a crowd gathering on it.
An angry crowd.
Arthur hurried down the street. The cranes next to the ship were dormant, despite the crates still on the dock. Men in uniforms were in front of the ship, hands up to placate the crowd.
The ramp was in place on the port side that led up to the third-class entrance near the back of the ship. A large white man in a cap and branded jacket was talking to a group of upset-looking women.
Arthur strode up to them. “What’s going on here?”
The man in uniform raised his eyebrows at Arthur’s tuxedo. “First class boarded ages ago.”
“Perhaps I’m here for third.”
“You been checked for lice?”
Arthur’s eyes widened.“Lice?”
“And you got your tickets and health inspection certificates?” the man said. “No one’s getting in third class without ’em.”
“You’re not letting anyone in third class at all!” one of the woman snapped.
“It’s not on me, all right?” the man snapped back. “Everything’s stuck up on the boat.”
Stuck?Arthur frowned and looked up the tall side of the ship. Several people were walking along the promenade, but not in the usual excited manner of passengers about to leave. Instead, they were staring blankly forward, their movements awkward like wandering sleepwalkers. “Where’s this ship going?”
“London.”
“Then on to Hamburg, by any chance?”
The man shook his head. “We don’t got any ships going to Germany this week.”
