hull, blurring the atmosphere around it.
Turning slowly, the submarine began to descend towards them.
Anchor took one deep breath and then another. The muscles in his jaw felt unbearably tense. His teeth hurt. He stood rock-still and watched the vessel drift down from the sky, wondering what-if anything-there was to eat aboard.
10
Garstone harried her heels. “Sabor has given us clear instructions. Miss Hael? The rafts must be built to assist your own escape across the Flower Lake. Failure to adhere to the plan will have unknowable consequences.”
Rachel wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. She kept her gaze firmly on the path ahead to avoid looking back at Sabor's strange ethereal castle. “The rafts weren't necessary,” she said. “It was Dill who kept Menoa's arconites off our backs, not your pathetic diversion.”
“Are you quite certain of that, Miss Hael? In the fog, I mean-”
“Enough, Garstone. We're doing this my way.”
She was still furious with the others for forcing her into this position, but she had resolved not to act on that anger. Another version of her was currently inside Dill's mouth with Mina, heading for Burntwater even now. What good would it do to allow the events to unfold as they had done? Sabor expected her to enlist the Hericans at Kevin's Jetty, construct this foolish diversion, and then row out into the lake, where she would meet herself and give herself the bruise that now throbbed under her eye. But even if she did all that, the arconites would still destroy Dill. There had to be a better way.
After an hour's descent along the misty trail she and Garstone reached Kevin's Jetty. Greasy smoke billowed from every chimney pipe, and thickened the air around the shacks and the old jetty itself. The heady smell of boiling fish permeated everything. A mud track ran between the buildings, deserted but for a scraggy white cat.
Rachel had no trouble stealing a boat.
She selected a small but sturdy-looking craft from those beached upon the shingle strand behind the settlement. She bent against the vessel's prow and pushed. The hull scraped a few feet closer to the water. Garstone checked his pocket watch and then glanced back towards the houses, seemingly unsure what to do. “Please, Miss Hael…” he said. “Sabor devoted several hours of study to developing the original plan. He believes that it was the best solution to keep the timeline stable.”
“Help me with this thing.”
“Consider the consequences of what you are doing, Miss Hael. This rash decision will cause Time to split once again-you are creating an entirely new universe whose future we cannot predict.”
“It can't be any worse than the last one.”
“You don't know that, Miss Hael. At the time of my departure, Menoa's arconites had not yet reached the Obscura Redunda. Your friend Dill was wounded, but alive. There yet remained hope of finding a way to reach Heaven.”
Rachel panted as she heaved at the boat again. It grated another foot closer to the mirror-still lake. “What hope?” she gasped. “Did you see what Menoa's arconites
Garstone shrugged. “I don't believe Sabor intended to use your friend in an assault,” he said. “He has been working on his own solution to the Mesmerist problem. At least…” He closed his mouth.
“At least
“Nothing, miss.” He consulted his pocket watch. “We still have nineteen minutes to begin negotiations with the Hericans. It isn't too late to change your mind.”
With another shove the stern of the boat sloshed into the water. Rachel pushed the vessel further out and then climbed in, over the prow. “Are you coming, Garstone?”
“Miss?”
The boat began to drift. Rachel dug an oar into the lake bed to halt it. “If I'm going to change history,” she said, “I could use you with me to help ensure that I change it the
Sabor's assistant gave his pocket watch yet another fretful glance. “I fear you have already changed history,” he said. And then he slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up his breeches, and waded into the lake after her.
Rachel didn't know exactly how to reach Burntwater amidst this fog, but she recalled that the lake had not been particularly wide, and she had about eight hours remaining before Dill arrived in the settlement. If she struck out directly away from shore, she ought to reach the other side before long. From there she could follow the water's edge.
She rowed, while Garstone leaned against the stern and frowned at his timepiece. “ Twenty-three minutes have passed since you were supposed to have contacted the Hericans,” he said. “Actually, it's closer to twenty- four.”
“You're not going to keep this up all the way to Burntwater, are you?” Rachel muttered.
He gave her a look of reproach. “We are no longer in our former universe, Miss Hael.
“You want to
“It is the most sensible thing to do now.”
“We're not going back.”
Garstone's gaze returned to the pocket watch. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rachel cut him off.
“I don't care what time it is!” she cried, heaving at the oars. Other than those gentle splashes at either side of the hull and the steady creak of the oars in their locks, the Flower Lake remained utterly still and silent. Fog smothered the boat in a soft grey veil that seemed to stifle all other sounds. No birds called. No breeze stirred the lake surface. The air smelled of pine and the cold metallic tang of water.
They traveled onwards in silence for a long time.
Eventually Rachel discerned trees in the mist ahead, and before long a rocky shoreline materialized. The forest encroached upon the water's edge, a barrier of dense shadow stretching in both directions. She brought the boat to a halt and sniffed the air. The merest scent of woodsmoke might have told her where the settlement lay, but she couldn't detect any such odour. She listened hard, but heard nothing at all.
“Right or left?” she said to Garstone.
“I do not know, Miss Hael.” Another glance at his watch. “We have spent forty minutes and ten seconds aboard this boat. It might be too late to change the course of events in this universe, but we can still abandon it and flee back to the Obscura. Once there, we might find a pathway back through the castle to an altogether earlier time. It might only take a few decades of travel within the labyrinth of time to find a route back to this morning. To speed things up, you could create more versions of yourself-”
“No,” she said. “There are too many of me already.”
“Another Rachel Hael might be more amenable to working with the Hericans. Sabor's plan could still be implemented.”
“Forget it. I'm going left.”
No sooner had she made the decision than a voice called out from the shore: “The current dragged you east of Burntwater. You need to turn right, little sis.”
Rachel's head snapped round.
On a boulder by the shore sat a woman wearing a white shirt and tan cotton pants. She was much older than Rachel, a decade or more, but Rachel nevertheless recognized that pale face and those bright green eyes. Once more Rachel found herself looking at a temporal version of herself.
