Wayfarer (Passenger 2)

No—no—not without risking the stability of the timeline. Bloody hell, he needed to get out of there. Hall was chipping away at his logic, and soon he’d have none left to counteract the greed in his soul. He started to rise, but was startled by a knock at the door.

One of the ship’s boys slipped inside at Hall’s “Enter!” with a bundle of letters clutched between his hands.

“From the packet boat, Captain,” he explained, then dashed back out before Hall could utter a thank-you.

“Am I really as frightening as all that?” the man wondered aloud, cutting the string that bound the letters together. He sorted through them quickly.

“Positively ferocious,” Nicholas said wryly, noticing for the first time that the man had spilled ink down his shirt again. “Is that the one who struck you with the spoon on the Ardent?”

“No, that wicked little imp refused service—” Hall’s jaw clenched suddenly, the words falling away.

“What is it?” Nicholas asked, leaning forward.

“There’s a missive in here for you,” Hall said, holding up a small yellowed envelope, then turning it backward to show the black wax seal. A single B, surrounded by creeping vines and flowers. He felt himself shudder.

“Yes, that’s the correct response,” Hall said. “This is the Witch of Prague’s mark.”

Nicholas took it from him, hesitating only a moment before breaking the seal. The smell of earth and greens rose off the page; a look at the date told him the letter was over three hundred years old. The brittle, withered quality of the parchment seemed to confirm this. How it had found its way to Port Royal was anyone’s guess.

Darling Beastie,

I told you before that everyone has a master. As you may have sensed the night of the auction, so had I. Not a man, nor a woman, but a certain dark history which threatened to repeat itself once more, cycling endlessly through generations, until at last none of our kind would survive. It is a cunning businesswoman who plucks at the greed in other hearts, and a wise woman who acknowledges it in herself. I searched many years for the answer, only to find you. A mere boy. I have enjoyed watching your progress from afar these many years.

Indeed, a boon has been granted to you. Rather than despair, consider the fact that this was by my design; that you were tested, your heart measured and found worthy to bring this ancient story to an end. The copies of the master astrolabe, when consumed, prolonged life by hundreds of years. However, my brother sought the master for its raw power, the ability which you now possess. Had he seized it, everything would be ash and cinders, with only his chosen few left to survive his dreams of a total rebirth of the world. With him, naturally, as its god. The ego, beastie; honestly.

“Honestly,” Nicholas repeated, his pulse thrumming in his veins. Hall’s eyes never left him as he read, but he could not bring himself to say the words aloud.

The only soul deserving of such an ability is one that refuses everything it desires, in the face of death and great loss, to protect the lives of the many from untold strife. I applaud your decency, which is rare and formidable, and something to be prized in a world that has struggled so terribly to make you aggrieved. Whatever you choose to do with this gift, take comfort in knowing that it will die with you. You will live long, but you will not be impervious to harm or unnatural death. A fine limitation indeed, should you choose to open the centuries. Or, perhaps, simply seek a single girl. To that end, I have something useful in my collection. You may find me in a willing mood to negotiate on it.

The short letter concluded with As always, your business is greatly appreciated. Please visit again soon.

Wordlessly, he passed the letter to Hall, who devoured its contents like a man knowingly swallowing sour milk. His brows seemed to inch up his face with every successive line.

Nicholas’s mind was a whirlpool, one that threatened to draw him into its depths and drown him forever. This had all been a game between a man and a woman—between a family. No one, save the Belladonna and the Ancient One, held all of the cards, but the truth had been scattered across the generations, waiting for someone to fit it together. He saw a thousand points of light connecting one traveler’s life to the next as if they were stretched out in the room before him.

He understood, too, the source of Rose’s great plan, its mysteries and contradictions stripped away. She knew—she must have known—that whoever destroyed the astrolabe would take its ability into him- or herself. That was the reason she had allowed Etta to be taken into the past, why she hadn’t destroyed it herself or merely hidden it for her to find. In Rose’s heart, the only one worthy of the power was Etta, in all of her goodness.

Hall leaned back in his chair, a whistling breath escaping his teeth. For a long while, they merely stared at one another, ignoring the ship’s bell as it rang for the next watch.

“I knew from the moment our lives crossed, Nicholas,” Hall began softly, “that yours would eventually lead to a road I could not follow you down. You have been on it for many years, with you none the wiser. Tell me, aside from saving the others, if you knew that it would not alter the timeline beyond repair, if you released yourself from the prison of right and wrong, what would you do? No—don’t argue it with yourself. Just tell me.”

“I would save my mother, purchase her freedom, set her up with a comfortable life,” he said without hesitation. “But it’s impossible. I can’t risk an alteration.”