ON the warm and sunny afternoon of the seventeenth day of April, a trumpet sounded from the crow’s-nest of the Nightflyer.
Matthew Corbett, bearded and sun-darkened, stood up from his task of swabbing the never-ending deck. He peered forward, one hand visoring his eyes.
“We’re home,” said Berry, who had come to his side from her own job of stowing away ropes into neat coils. She was wearing a blue floral-print dress from Saffron’s wardrobe. She had learned she was a natural at nautical crafts, and had become proficient at such things as reading a sextant, tying knots of twenty different kinds for different tasks, and actually keeping wind in the sails on the few times Captain Falco had allowed her to take the wheel. In fact, the captain had told her she had an easy touch with the Nightflyer, and he wished some of the men aboard could read the wind as well as she.
“Home,” she repeated, and she felt the leaping of joy within her heart but also a little sinking of sadness, for her adventure—a dirty and dispiriting spell in the brig, fearsome men with torches and swords, crabs in the dark under a wooden floor, violent earthquake and all—was almost ended. And almost ended were the days—the little more than three weeks—she had spent with Matthew, for aboard this ship he seemed to have all the time in the world and never shunned her…whereas, in the town that lay on the island before them…
Ever the same.
Matthew saw Oyster Island ahead on the port side of the ship. And beyond it, New York. The forest of masts at the Great Dock, and beyond them the buildings. The shops and homes, the taverns and the warehouses. The lives of people he cared about. His own life, renewed. He was the captain of his own ship now, and he had done as Falco directed. Over the course of this voyage he had made a great effort to throw overboard from the ship of his soul those things that caused him pain, grief and regret, and that he could not change no matter what. Revealing those personal agonies to Berry on deck, in the quiet under the moon and stars, had been a revelation to himself. How much he trusted her, and how much he also cared about her. Yet…
The shark was still in the water, out there somewhere.
The shark would not rest. It never rested. It would think, and plan, and wait…and then, sooner or later, it would stop its circling and attack. Would it come after Berry? Would it come after anyone to whom Matthew held an attachment?
He didn’t know. But he did know that Professor Fell never forgot, and so he was not done with the professor and he was certain that the professor was not done with him.
A small fleet of longboats was rowing out to meet the new arrival. The harbormaster or one of his representatives would be aboard one of them, to find out where the ship was coming from and what it was carrying. In just a little while, then, the word would begin to spread that Matthew Corbett and Berry Grigsby had returned from their nearly two months absence. Lillehorne and Lord Cornbury would want to know the whole story. And Hudson Greathouse also. Matthew decided it was time to be honest with everyone and get things out in the open. But to go so far as to allow Marmaduke to write a story for The Earwig? Matthew wasn’t so sure about that.
Minx Cutter joined Matthew and Berry at the railing. She was in good health and had scrubbed herself from a washbasin this morning. Aria Chillany’s knife would leave only a thin scar across Minx’s forehead, but it was hardly anything. She had come into her own on the voyage also, and had been quite admired by the crew when she showed them her knife-throwing abilities. Particularly when Captain Falco had volunteered to stand on deck and have Minx outline him against a bulkhead with blades. That had gone over greatly with everyone except Saffron, who didn’t intend to raise their child alone.
The three hundred pounds in gold coins had been paid to the captain and the account settled. In fact, Falco had told them that as members of the crew Matthew, Minx, Berry and Zed were entitled to a share, to be divided up when they reached New York. And so they were almost there, as the longboats came alongside to get their towropes tied up. Then there would be a short while for the rowers to guide them to a harbor berth. A rope ladder was lowered, and who should come aboard but the new assistant to the harbormaster, a man who knew ships and their cargoes and who prided himself on being watchful that no enemy of New York was trying to slip past his guard.
“Lord God! Am I lookin’ at a phantom, what’cha might say?” asked old wild-haired Hooper Gillespie, made more presentable in a new suit. He took in Berry and his eyes got wider. “Two phantoms, then? Am I dreamin’ in daylight?”
“Not dreaming,” Matthew replied. It occurred to him that the phantom of Oyster Island was standing only a few feet away. Zed had shaved for the occasion of returning to New York, and since he’d done the work of three men and on this voyage eaten the meals that three men might have consumed he was as big and formidable as ever before. “Miss Grigsby and I are glad to be home,” said Matthew.
“Where ya been, then? Everybody’s gone near crazy tryin’ to figger it out!”
“Yes.” Matthew smiled at him, and squinted in the sun. He scratched his beard, which would soon be coming off with the strokes of a new razor. “Let’s just say for now that we were in someone’s idea of paradise.”
“Huh? That don’t make a hog’s lick a’ sense! Think you’re tryin’ to rib old Hooper, is what I think! Yessir! Rib ’im!”
“Is this a typical New Yorker?” Falco asked with his pipe in his mouth, drawing nearer to Matthew.
“No,” Matthew confided. “He makes more sense than most.”
The Nightflyer, a sturdy gal, was towed into harbor. Matthew smelled the earthy aroma of springtime. The air was warm and fresh, and the hills of New Jersey and north of the town were painted in the white, violet, pink and green of new buds and new foliage. By the time the Nightflyer had been guided in, docked and tied up, Hooper Gillespie had seemingly told everyone in New York that Matthew and Berry were arrived, for a sizeable crowd had gathered and still more people were converging upon the wharf. Of course anytime a ship of large size drew in to port a throng of merrymakers, musicians and food peddlers appeared to hawk their talents and wares, but it was as clear as the weather that today the names of Corbett and Grigsby had true worth.
The gangplank was lowered. Matthew decided he would take his ease going down it, as he only had the one much-worn outfit left.
“Oh my Jesus!” shouted someone from the crowd. A familiar voice, usually directed toward Matthew in the form of irritating questions concerning the activities of a problem-solver. “Berry! My girl! Berry! Let me through, please!”
Thus the moon-faced, rotund, squat and bespectacled figure of Marmaduke Grigsby either shoved his way forward or was allowed to pass, and seeing his granddaughter navigate the gangplank broke him to tears that streamed down his cheeks and caused him to look the most miserable man on earth on perhaps the most joyous day of his life.
When Marmaduke flung himself at her in a bone-crushing embrace the energy of his delight staggered Berry and nearly took them both swimming, but for Matthew’s catching them from careening across the wharf.
“Oh dear God!” said Marmaduke, his eyes still flooding. He had to take off his spectacles to see. “Where were you? Both you and Matthew gone…no word for days and then weeks…I’m a puddle, just look at me!” He crushed Berry close again, and Matthew saw Berry’s eyes widen from the pressure. Then Marmaduke looked at Matthew and the round face with its massive red-veined nose and slab of a forehead that walnuts could be cracked upon flamed like a warlock’s rum toddy. “You!” The blue eyes nearly burst from their sockets and the heavy white eyebrows danced their jigs. “What did you drag this poor child into?”