I hated myselffor it. So, I let it all out right there. I screamed until mythroat became raw and my eyes burned dry. The ocean brought methere, and it would endure my pain. It would take it all. Apinkish-orange glow dimmed the skybefore I peeled myself off that rock and headed back to TheSlippery Cod.
I opened theheavy front door and entered the quiet tavern, the supper rush hadyet to begin. It felt as empty as I did on the inside, the onlysounds were that of my footsteps echoing off the walls around me. Iwanted to retreat to the privacy of my room before the localsstarted to pour in, but Lottie emerged from the back-kitchenarea.
“Christ, wherehave you been?” she asked me, a sense of urgency in her tone.
I huggedmyself tightly, hoping the evidence of my emotional purge wasn’ttoo clear on my face. “I went for a walk,” I told her. “Why, what’swrong?”
She reachedinto the front pocket of her apron and pulled out a piece of paper,a letter, and handed it to me. “I ran out this morning to grabsupplies and found this tucked under your door.” I slowly took theletter from her hand before she added, “I, um, didn’t want anyoneto find it so I–”
“No, no, I getit,” I told Lottie. “Thank you.” I held the stained parchment in myhand and flipped it over to find it was sealed with wax and admiredLottie for not opening it.
“Who could itbe from?” she asked.
I shook myhead, eyes unblinking and unable to look away from the envelope. Onthe back, I found dirty fingerprints and rubbed my thumb over them.Who’s could they be? Aside from my crew, I knew no one from thattime. No one who’d send me a letter. No one who’d know that I wasstaying at The Slippery Cod at that very moment.
“I have noearthly idea.”
“Well,” Lottieprompted and widened her eyes at the paper. “Are you gonna open it?I can go if you need some privacy.”
She turned toleave but I grabbed her wrist. I was tired of being alone. “No,stay,” I replied and released her arm to slip my finger under theflap and break the wax seal. The paper unfolded to reveal a clumsyscrawl of blank ink and very few words.
Traveller,
The Docks.Twilight. Come alone.
That was it.Just six little words. Yet, they struck a chord deep in my soul.Tears welled in my eyes as I readthem over and over, wondering if Henry had written them. Theyaddressed it to Traveller, careful not to say Time Traveller,Henry’s nickname for me. Only he, and those few who foundthemselves in the forest the night I accidentally broke the snowglobe would even know to call methat. It had to be Henry. If anyone were to have survived thathorrific night, it had to be him. Then a darker thought flickeredacross my mind.
What if theletter was from Maria Cobham? What if she was luring me out, alone,to finish what she’d started?
I swallowedhard and folded the letter before tucking it into my jacket pocket.It was a risk I was willing to take. I had a fifty-fifty chancethat Henry would be waiting for me at the docks tonight. A suddenglimmer of hope sparked to life in my belly.
“So,” Lottiewhispered, “who’s it from?”
“I’m notsure,” I told her. “It wasn’t signed. It just asked me to meet themat the docks by twilight.”
“Shouldn’t betoo hard to spot them, then,” she replied. “If it’s someone youknow. The docks are cleared out by that time. Most of them hangin’around here, drinking themselves silly. Be sure to take a weapon,just in case.”
I grew moreworried then. If Henry had escaped the Cobhams, he would never askme to meet him out in the open like that. As much as I wanted it tobe him waiting for me… part of me was scared of who I’d find.
ChapterEight
To pass the time, I helped Lottie in the kitchen andset up the tavern to welcome the suppertime rush. She was asurprisingly good cook and I watched her with admiration as shemade a massive pot of stew, working the room just like my motherhad when I was a girl. All the while, I kept a careful watch on thesun, waiting for it to go down.
Finally, whenthe sky became stained with a warm glow, I removed the apron Lottiehad given me and headed out toward the docks. She was right. Only afew men still hung around, tending to their tiny boats, bustlingtogether in small groups to chit chat about their day on the water.Other than that, the shoreline was quiet and empty aside from theswaying of the anchored ships.
My eyesscanned the area for a familiar figure but found no one. My pulsequickened the further I trailed along, worried for my safety andthat of the baby’s. I could very well have been walking into atrap, but I realized, after I’d read the letter, a part of me trulyknew that Henry was alive. He had to be. I just hoped it was himwho’d sent the note.
Just then, Iheard the crunching of footsteps in the trees to my left and turnedfrom the docks, heading towards the sounds, my grip tighton the hilt of my sheathed dagger.The footsteps grew closer, but I couldn’t see anyone, just thevague outline of something, someone, slowly making their way out ofthe woods.
My heart wildwith fear and anticipation, I called out to them, my mouthquivering. “Who’s there?”
Finally, theperson emerged and stopped at the treeline, the meager glow of thesetting sun barely highlighting the shape of a man. An absurdlytall and broad man, his face cloaked in a black hood. Fear turnedto delight, and my heart clawed from the inside, begging to get outand run to him.
“Henry?” Icalled as I sprinted across the short distance.
His hoodflipped back to reveal a face. “Aye, lass,” a familiar voice spoke,“it’s good to see ye.”
I stopped inmy tracks to process what I was seeing. My
