was there; I saw.
What if I told you
Umber’s shoulders jerked, and a snort interrupted his slow rhythmic breathing. His head sprang up and his eyes turned toward Hap.
“Huh?” Umber said, squinting.
Hap’s stomach lurched. He opened his mouth, ready to offer an excuse as soon as he could imagine one. Then he realized that Umber was looking through him, not focusing on anything. He can’t see me , Hap thought.
Umber rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “What?” he slurred. “You fell asleep, you fool … candle went out.” A look of alarm crossed his face. He pushed his chair back and stood, and then patted his hands along the desktop, gathering up the pages as he found them. He turned and peered over Hap’s shoulder, wide-eyed and fully awake. “Is someone there?”
Hap backed away, terrified to breathe, and still aching to know what the rest of the note said. Umber clutched the pages to his chest with one hand. As he fumbled his way toward his room he struck his hip on the corner of the desk and yelped.
Rather than open the door to his quarters and make a sound, Hap edged toward the hatch and mounted the steps.
CHAPTER
7
Hap was sure that Umber would dash upstairs soon, pointing and accusing, but he didn’t hear a sound from below. He must have gone to sleep , he thought, feeling a flush of relief.
With his mind bewildered by what he’d read, it took a minute to notice that something was different about the craft. There was no rhythmic sensation of heaving forward with every sweep of Boroon’s tail, and no sound of water frothing against the prow. He looked over the rail. The leviathan was lying still in the sea, an island of dark flesh. Hap wondered if their pursuer—the nasty and persistent creature named Occo, perhaps?—might have caught up while Boroon rested. But when he ran to the stern to look, he saw nothing but a sprawling expanse of water. Far to the right, however, a rough edge rose over the horizon. Land, perhaps, if it wasn’t distant clouds.
He didn’t see Nima anywhere. “Nima?” he called, to no reply. A lump formed in his throat. Had she fallen overboard and been left behind? He was about to wake the others when he heard a splash and saw the captain come to the surface of the inky sea, a stone’s throw away.
Nima swept her arms and kicked her barefooted legs with grace as she swam toward Boroon. A rope hung from one of the leviathan’s sides, and she grasped it and climbed up. She stood over the plate-size hole on Boroon’s back and sang softly.
Hap didn’t want her to think he was spying on her. Nor did he want to startle her. He cleared his throat, softly at first and then a little louder. She turned and squinted in the dim starlight.
“Is that you, Hap?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“’Lo there. Would you like to come down?”
Hap bit his bottom lip. “Um. I guess,” he said, but he didn’t move. Boroon’s back was bony and broad, but with no railings to hold, he would feel dreadfully exposed to the deadly ocean.
“It’s all right,” Nima said. “I will come to you.” She climbed the stairs to the deck, sat on the top step, and patted the open space at her side.
Hap sat next to her. He felt safe enough there, with his elbow clamped on a baluster. His thoughts had already turned back to the strange contents of the letter when her question broke the silence.
“Why don’t you sleep like the others, Hap?”
Hap shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel tired.”
“All creatures must rest. Boroon is sleeping now.”
Hap nodded. He wondered if the great leviathan dreamed.
“Why are you afraid of the water?” Nima asked.
Lord Umber must have told her, Hap thought. Or she can just tell . “I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason. But I don’t remember … what happened before.”
Nima ran her fingers through her hair, squeezing more drops onto the stairs. “We are an interesting pair, you and I. You fear the water. It is the land that
What if I told you
Umber’s shoulders jerked, and a snort interrupted his slow rhythmic breathing. His head sprang up and his eyes turned toward Hap.
“Huh?” Umber said, squinting.
Hap’s stomach lurched. He opened his mouth, ready to offer an excuse as soon as he could imagine one. Then he realized that Umber was looking through him, not focusing on anything. He can’t see me , Hap thought.
Umber rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “What?” he slurred. “You fell asleep, you fool … candle went out.” A look of alarm crossed his face. He pushed his chair back and stood, and then patted his hands along the desktop, gathering up the pages as he found them. He turned and peered over Hap’s shoulder, wide-eyed and fully awake. “Is someone there?”
Hap backed away, terrified to breathe, and still aching to know what the rest of the note said. Umber clutched the pages to his chest with one hand. As he fumbled his way toward his room he struck his hip on the corner of the desk and yelped.
Rather than open the door to his quarters and make a sound, Hap edged toward the hatch and mounted the steps.
CHAPTER
7
Hap was sure that Umber would dash upstairs soon, pointing and accusing, but he didn’t hear a sound from below. He must have gone to sleep , he thought, feeling a flush of relief.
With his mind bewildered by what he’d read, it took a minute to notice that something was different about the craft. There was no rhythmic sensation of heaving forward with every sweep of Boroon’s tail, and no sound of water frothing against the prow. He looked over the rail. The leviathan was lying still in the sea, an island of dark flesh. Hap wondered if their pursuer—the nasty and persistent creature named Occo, perhaps?—might have caught up while Boroon rested. But when he ran to the stern to look, he saw nothing but a sprawling expanse of water. Far to the right, however, a rough edge rose over the horizon. Land, perhaps, if it wasn’t distant clouds.
He didn’t see Nima anywhere. “Nima?” he called, to no reply. A lump formed in his throat. Had she fallen overboard and been left behind? He was about to wake the others when he heard a splash and saw the captain come to the surface of the inky sea, a stone’s throw away.
Nima swept her arms and kicked her barefooted legs with grace as she swam toward Boroon. A rope hung from one of the leviathan’s sides, and she grasped it and climbed up. She stood over the plate-size hole on Boroon’s back and sang softly.
Hap didn’t want her to think he was spying on her. Nor did he want to startle her. He cleared his throat, softly at first and then a little louder. She turned and squinted in the dim starlight.
“Is that you, Hap?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“’Lo there. Would you like to come down?”
Hap bit his bottom lip. “Um. I guess,” he said, but he didn’t move. Boroon’s back was bony and broad, but with no railings to hold, he would feel dreadfully exposed to the deadly ocean.
“It’s all right,” Nima said. “I will come to you.” She climbed the stairs to the deck, sat on the top step, and patted the open space at her side.
Hap sat next to her. He felt safe enough there, with his elbow clamped on a baluster. His thoughts had already turned back to the strange contents of the letter when her question broke the silence.
“Why don’t you sleep like the others, Hap?”
Hap shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel tired.”
“All creatures must rest. Boroon is sleeping now.”
Hap nodded. He wondered if the great leviathan dreamed.
“Why are you afraid of the water?” Nima asked.
Lord Umber must have told her, Hap thought. Or she can just tell . “I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason. But I don’t remember … what happened before.”
Nima ran her fingers through her hair, squeezing more drops onto the stairs. “We are an interesting pair, you and I. You fear the water. It is the land that
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