Page 10 of Stealing Tink

The satisfying slam of the door behind me keeps me from hearing the rest.

The Nomad has made good on his word. For now.

After leaving the Nomad’s office, I briefly contemplated waiting in the room where I’d first woken, but the idea of lingering behind a door that might be barred later made my skin itch. My wings, too.

So I’ve spent the last several hours on deck. It might be teeming with the Nomad’s sailors, but the air up here is fresh, saturated with salt. I revel in that taste. Neverland tasted like salt too, but not like this. Neverland’s air was tainted with the knowledge that the realm’s edges were even more of a prison than the cage the Sister built for me.

But the air here? I imagine that I can taste the salt from the waters of Kruschi, my homeland, that the waves and the wind carried it here just for me. Besides, none of the Nomad’s sailors bother me. They don’t leer either. Instead, they cast hasty glances before scurrying back to their work, pretending not to have seen me at all.

When we finally arrive at port, it’s the captain of the guard, the one I tied up and gagged earlier, who escorts me off the ship.

“For the record,” he says, “the Nomad didn’t tell me he planned on you getting out. Nor did he tell me that our prisoner was a beautiful young woman.”

I sneer at him, and he adds, “With a temper.” There’s a playfulness to his tone. “You sure you want off here? It’s not exactly the safest port.”

I roll my eyes. If there’s one thing a life on the run has taught me, it’s how to take care of myself.

“Well then,” he says. But then he adds, “I didn’t know you couldn’t—you know.” He gestures to his mouth, and then, clearly feeling awkward about it, stuffs his hands into his pockets. “All I mean is that I wouldn’t have bothered you had I known. By bothered you, I mean that I wouldn’t have kept trying to get you to speak. Not that I wouldn’t have stopped you in the hall. I think you’re beautiful regardless of whether you can…”

He gives up on making it better, and I make a point of staring at the docks.

“Well then,” he says again, then gestures for the ramp. “Good luck, then, with whatever your plans are.”

Whatever my plans are.

Those are the words that haunt me as I stroll through the village, a hood pulled over my head that the Nomad supplied through his first mate, as the Nomad didn’t bother to see me off.

Not that I would have wanted him to.

The robe itself is roomy, so that it drapes over my wings, hiding them. I wouldn’t say that it’s comfortable. The tendons attaching my wings to my spine are already aching. Oh well. I’m used to having to contort them to evade attention. As I pass through the streets of the town, I try to figure out what my plans are anyway.

The most obvious option (and probably the wisest) is that I could try to make my way back to Lady Whittaker’s. I didn’t mind my life there. Lady Whittaker had been kind to tutor me. Besides, she had put me to work helping with the children. She’d always claimed it was to pay for my and Michael’s boarding, but it had felt less like rent and more like a gesture of gratitude for a gift I could never repay—shelter from a world that would wring the value from my wings and blood without a thought.

Besides, if I went back to Lady Whittaker’s, I could track down Wendy.

I wonder if I’ll ever see my friend again. Not just her, but her brother Michael, the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. When I’d first taken him from Neverland, I’d done it for Wendy and John. But the more I’d taken care of the boy, the more I’d watched him flourish at Lady Whittaker’s school, the more I’d allowed myself to settle into a false daydream—that he and I were family.

But he’s reunited with his actual family now. It’s not that I’m jealous or angry. Just keenly aware of a bond he and I will never fully share. Still, I would like to see him again.

I decide that tomorrow, once the sun is out, I’ll find my way onto a ship headed toward Lady Whittaker’s. Maybe the Fates will be kind to me for once, and Wendy and Michael will still be there.

Not that kindness is exactly in the Middle Sister’s nature. She’s taken not only my voice, but Wendy’s Mate, Nolan Astor.

I might feel a tad guilty about that. The Nomad had wanted my help to break into the Sister’s lair, where Astor is surely being kept. Had I helped the Nomad, perhaps I could have saved Astor as well. For Wendy.

But I’ve been fleeing my fate for too many years to break the habit, even for a friend. Maybe I don’t deserve to show my face around Wendy at all.

I’ll decide in the morning. No matter my destination, I’ll have to barter my way onto a ship, offer to work, as I have no money.

I finally reach what appears to be the only inn in town—a shabby establishment whose shutters could use straightening. I enter, fully aware of the male gazes that lock onto me. My hood might be drawn, but there’s no mistaking my feminine features, my full lips and delicate jaw. At least there’s one male in this room not staring, a hooded man in the corner who is paying too much attention to his drink to notice that a female just walked in.

This inn doubles as a tavern. A bearded man who must be the innkeeper stands behind the bar. When I reach the counter, I search for a sign, less to scan for the cost of rooms (all I have to barter with is a few days of work) and more so I can point at what I need: a single room.

I’m not keen on sharing. Not when I can’t cry out in the middle of the night in the event of an assault. Not that the men who frequent this type of establishment would offer much help anyway.

To my dismay, I find no sign, and by the time the innkeeper approaches me and asks, “What will it be, then?” my heart is already racing in my chest.

A simple question. Such a stupid thing to fear. Before Neverland, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. I motion in the air, as if writing with a quill. The innkeeper looks annoyed, like he doesn’t understand. Rather, that he doesn’t have the patience to try to understand. Switching tactics, I pretend to write on the palm of my hand as if it’s paper.