Page 103 of The Isles of the Gods
“They’ll be looking for us to catch a boat out of Port Naranda,” Leander says, pulling a sailor’s cap over his black hair. “And maybe they’ll be looking at the trains, too. Depends how good they are. But sailors in the third-class carriage, heading for a fishing port, have to stand out a lot less than someone forking over ready cash for a boat in a hurry. Let’s go.”
—
By the time we reach Port Cathar, I’m exhausted. The fear that pumped through my veins earlier has given way now to a bone-deep tiredness.
The huge central station of Port Naranda was bigger than any cargo warehouse I’ve ever seen, the vaulted ceilings soaring above us, the roar of the locomotives echoing off the stonewalls. The crowd jostled harder than in the harbormaster’s office, too.
I don’t think Leander has ever been anywhere people haven’t yielded for him—he stumbled the first time a porter shoved him out of the way.
I caught a glimpse of the first-class carriage as we hurried along the train platform, all polished mahogany, brass fittings, and red velvet. It was a world away from the third-class carriage we crammed into, which was packed tighter than a cargo hold, with hard wooden benches and bodies lining every inch of them.
The flurry and panic of the docks hadn’t made it to the station yet—I suppose most people who were leaving were trying to get out by sea.
We found a spot in our crowded carriage up against the wall, and I was pressed back against it as we got under way. The back-and-forth rattle of the train unnerved me—I thought it would be like the swaying of a ship, but it was too even, too rhythmic, too loud. After a little while, Leander wrapped an arm around my shoulders to steady me, and I dozed with my head on his shoulder.
I woke when one of our neighbors tried to ask him the time, and he opened his mouth, getting about two syllables of educated Alinorish accent out before Keegan stood on his foot, leaning in to give his reply in a perfect Port Narandan accent I’d never heard from him before.
As the woman turned away, I raised my eyebrows at him, and he simply shrugged.
“I thought all nobles were indoor pets,” I murmured, leaning in close. “But look at you.”
“I’m in familiar territory,” he said, keeping his voice down. Then, in response to my questioning look: “Not Port Naranda. Running away. I’ve done it before, and quite successfully, I might add. Or at least, if the ship I took passage on had not been commandeered for other purposes, my plan would have been executed without flaw.”
“I don’t think we can blame you for failing to see that one on the horizon,” I murmured, and he shrugged, in awhat can you do?sort of way.
I still don’t know what happens inside our scholar’s head most of the time, but it’s a lot more complicated in there than I realized, that’s for sure.
—
Now, someone out on the platform is yelling that we’ve reached Port Cathar, and the three of us are pushing our way past our fellow passengers to spill out into the fresh evening air, Keegan clutching the bag that holds all our belongings.
The sun is just kissing the mountains to the west of us. The air is laced with salt and seaweed, and my heart sighs with relief as I look down the hill from the station to spot a cluster of buildings around what’s clearly a fishing port.
This is the sort of place I know how to deal with—no more stone canyons between high-rise buildings, no more armies of people marching all kinds of places with a purpose I don’t understand.
We’re coming back to the sea, and it’s time to find ourselves a boat.
KEEGAN
Port Cathar, Mellacea
My nanny—or my keeper, as my sister, Marie, and I used to call her—took us to the seaside every year. My parents and older brother stayed at home, and we were dispatched to enjoy the benefits of fresh air, salt water, and too many ice creams.
I didn’t much like the seaside back then—the sun was too hot, the sand got everywhere, and it was impossible to keep a book in good condition at the beach—and I don’t much like itnow.
Port Cathar is a fishing hamlet of no particular distinction, and I wouldn’t have thought we could be sure a secondhand boat would be available in a market this size, but Selly’s confident she can find something suitable.
The three of us are making our way down the winding road from the station, which is set—along with the railway line—into the side of the mountain. Below us lies a cluster of buildings around a small harbor.
“We’ll be remembered here,” Leander says, “and easily.”
“That’s the gamble we’re taking,” I reply. “If we’re followed, no doubt we’ll be easily tracked. But the odds of anyone knowing we boarded that train—you’d have to have eyes in every corner of the city.”
“I know, I know,” he agrees. “I’ll still be nervous until we’re miles out to sea with no one on our tail.”
“There was only one more train today,” I remind him. “That improves our odds.” But the truth is, though I keep my tone even and calm, I’m as uncomfortable as he is.
“Our money will go a lot further here,” Selly says, studying the cluster of boats below us. “Everything’s less expensive outside the capital, and they won’t have heard Alinorish sailors aren’t welcome yet.”
