He looks doubtful. “She scares the crap out of me, man. I don’t know how you put up with her.”
Bree’s arguing with Isaac now, something about ridiculous rules and delusional superstitions.
“She scares me, too,” I admit. “I think she scares everybody.”
Sammy gives me a look I can’t fully read. “Come on. Let’s board before Isaac finds something unlucky about us standing on the dock and delaying the departure.”
On deck, we are immediately put to work. Sammy and I end up struggling with the thickest ropes I have ever held, coiling them into organization as Isaac hurries off to start the boat. He keeps glancing at the shore, but with the exception of a few other fishermen, the town is still sleeping.
The boat rumbles to life a moment later and then we are pushing out to sea. The land fades away; Bone Harbor’s buildings shrink in height. Soon the people on the shore are nothing but minuscule silhouettes. I blink and they are swallowed by the fog. It’s just us and the boat now, battling against the choppy water as we sail northwest.
To be surrounded like this, blue in all directions, makes me feel like I’ve fallen into the sky. I get a little paranoid by the idea that the only visible “earth” is the deck I stand on. The whole thing makes me queasy and I take to wandering with Sammy as a distraction.
Everything making up the boat has a common enough name, but the words seem to take on new meanings out on the water. There is a bridge, but it doesn’t span anything, just serves as a raised section of the ship where the captain can command the vessel and oversee the main deck. The bridge is made up of what Sammy calls the wheelhouse—which is not a house at all, but a room protected from the elements and filled with navigational equipment, a captain’s chair, and a table currently covered in maps—and a small deck that encircles the wheelhouse and its many glass windows. There are multiple sets of stairs leading between the ship’s decks, but Sammy refers to them as ladders. Given how steep they are, this seems just as well. The crew quarters below are full of bunks, which turns out to be a fancy word for beds stacked one on top of another.
The boat lurches without warning and my stomach reels. “Air,” I tell Sammy. “I need air.”
Back on the deck, the wind is whipping fiercely. I pull my hat on and cling to the railing, trying to steady my breathing. My feet are planted firmly on the deck and yet I feel like they are bobbing independently of each other.
“You look green.” Clipper has joined us at the railing.
“Nah,” Sammy says, smiling. “He’s pale as a ghost. The color’s drained out of him completely.”
“Not. Helping.” The two of them look so chipper I forbid myself to lose my breakfast. It figures that Bree would be right about the sea making me sick. Why did she have to be right?
“You think this is rough?” Clipper says. “Just wait ’til there’s a storm.”
Sammy grins. “Maybe we should put him in the lifeboat and drag him behind us.” He motions to a small boat strapped down on the deck that wouldn’t hold more than five people. “Then he’ll realize how good he has it, how this thing cuts through waves like a knife.”
They stalk off, laughing at my misfortune. I hate them for it, but at the same time it’s oddly comforting, that friendly sort of teasing. It’s almost as good as having Blaine around.
We celebrate the holiday over drinks. Isaac offers up a large jug of clear alcohol but refuses to join in the festivities.
“We mighta dodged that inspection back in town,” he says, “but that don’t mean the Order won’t flag us down out here if they have a chance. Navigating this ship clear of their standard routes is like threading a needle. But don’t let me stop your fun.” He turns toward the wheel, looking somewhat disappointed.
We should probably be more worried by Isaac’s words, but Xavier grabs the alcohol and we gather around the cramped table. I think we all just want to forget that there might still be a need to keep glancing over our shoulders.
“So anyone believe there’s truth to this Expats nonsense?” Sammy says as the jug makes its way from person to person. “That they’re AmWest citizens in opposition to Frank—sort of like the Rebels, only stuck on the other side of the border?”
Bo wrinkles his nose. “If they’re gathering compromising Order information and helping out the average AmEast citizen in the process, they certainly don’t sound like monsters.”
I tell everyone about May’s letter and the Harbinger. Isaac chimes in on the latter.
“That thing’s written by a bunch of Bone Harbor locals practically asking to be arrested. They hate the Order, always looking for ways to one-up ’em. I bet they’d fit in well with your lot. That tip about trading with Badger has saved me a ton of money, though. I hear he’s not even taking on new customers anymore; too busy.”
“If AmWest isn’t any different than the Rebels, why did they attack Taem last summer?” Emma says. I think back to the planes I saw from Union Central’s roof. “They would have killed so many innocent people if they’d been successful.”
“Maybe they thought it was a necessary sacrifice,” my father offers. “I’m not saying I agree with it, just that if their goal was eliminating Frank they might have thought it was their only option.”
“Questionable morals, if you ask me,” Sammy says, and then, as if it makes up for it, he adds, “At least they’ve got a ballsy name.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, the East referred to everyone in the West as expatriates during the War because the West wanted to secede. They were happy to renounce their country. But now, it looks like they’ve taken what used to be an insult and embraced it. It’s like a slap in Frank’s face.”
“It’s ironic, too,” Isaac says from the wheel. “Especially given their new slogan, how they’re saying fighting Frank is the truly patriotic act.”
The jug reaches me and I take a swig before passing it on to Bo.
“What about that virus they released at the start of the War?” he says. “Was that patriotic?”
Isaac shrugs. “My old man used to say revolutionaries and terrorists are one and the same. It ain’t logical, that theory, and at the same time, it is. Makes my head hurt.”
My father frowns, deep in thought. “That virus was released decades ago, so the people responsible are likely no longer the ones in charge. Maybe we don’t know as much about AmWest—about the Expats—as we think we do.”
Emma looks like she wants to bring up their air attack again, but Bree cuts in. “It just seems awfully suspicious to me. How these rumors and stories have started popping up all of a sudden.”
“We have been heading west,” Xavier points out.
Sammy taps the table livelily. “Yeah, maybe we’re hearing all this because we’re moving closer to the source. Maybe these stories die out before ever reaching Taem.”
My father raises an eyebrow. “And maybe Frank makes sure they die out.”
“Wait a minute!” I say, an idea slamming into me. “Remember when the Forgery laughed about our plans with Group A? He said Frank was giving us too much credit to assume we were extending our reach in the West. Well, maybe he meant the west-west. As in AmWest! Maybe Frank knows they’d make a good ally for us and that’s why he’s been so bent on stopping this mission.”
Everyone twists to face Jackson, who is slumped against the glass windows, looking bored. “You think whatever you want. Unless we revisit our deal, the only thing I’m giving you is a way into the Outer Ring.”
Owen stands. “I’ve got September scouring Bone Harbor over these Expat rumors, but maybe she should be trying to get in touch with Ryder instead. I’d love to know what he makes of all this.”