Child of a Hidden Sea Read Free Page A

and the zip separated, releasing with a sound that was almost a sigh.
    She could feel the crew’s eyes on her as she reached inside.
    The first thing she pulled out was a badge.
    It had the look of a police badge: shield-shaped, with a stylized sun stamped on it. It was made of an unfamiliar substance; it had the weight and hardness of metal, but looked like a polished piece of wood—fir, maybe, or birch. Ordinary Roman letters were pressed or carved into it. A couple of the words looked familiar— arrepublica, athoritz. Republic? Authority?
    The sailors’ attitude, already disapproving, seemed to darken.
    At this rate, they’ll chuck us overboard . She turned her attention to the next item, a silk scarf so fine she could see through it, like a veil. It was an oceanic chart—currents and islands were printed on the almost weightless fabric. There were no familiar landmarks, no X to mark any particular spot.
    There was a USB flash drive.
    â€œAny chance there’s a computer aboard?” she asked, but the skipper looked at the disc key without recognition. Sophie swapped it for the biggest thing in the purse, a cell phone, charged up and flashing “No Service”. She held it up and, again, got blank expressions.
    The bottom of the pouch held some golden coins and a platinum Amex card bearing the name Gale A. Feliachild . There was a laminated picture of a younger Gale, standing with Sophie’s birth mother and a teenaged girl. A cousin? Half sibling?
    Beatrice’s words came back: Get out, go now—you can’t be here—get away from me, you viper. No, I won’t calm down, I’m not answering questions. Go, go and don’t come back !
    â€œIs my being here something Beatrice did—she sent me away?” Nobody answered her.
    Right, and how would she do that?
    How much time have I lost?
    Where on earth am I?
    She fought down the panic by focusing on the pouch again. The last thing in it was a dried chrysanthemum, carefully wrapped in waxed paper. More than half of its petals had been plucked.
    She opened the paper, catching a faint whirl of peppery scent and dust. Just a flower, then.
    â€œNo answers here.” She replaced everything but the cell phone, taking one last look at the photograph as she closed the flap of the watertight leather satchel …
    â€¦ which promptly chomped itself back together.
    Sophie let out a little squeak as the ivory zipper teeth sealed, the leathery lips of the purse tightening over them. She nudged her finger between them again, feeling for wires, and the movement reversed. It sighed, again, as it flapped open.
    She closed the purse, and it zipped itself shut.
    â€œOh, wow. You guys seeing this?”
    Sullen glares from the sailors. They were probably deciding whether to tie the anchor to her ankles or her head when they dropped her in the drink.
    At least they’d fed her first. She tightened her grip on the blanket, and drank more of the broth. Her shoulder and wrist were working up a deep ache that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat.
    The skipper reached a decision. She clapped her hands and the ship disentangled itself from the fishing effort. A teen used tattered white flags to signal to the next ship. Turning to port, they set sail for the island, whose cliffs were outlined in starry white by the survivors of the moth migration.
    They made good speed—the wind, at their backs, was rising.
    Sophie tucked the clamshell pouch into her camera bag, and held Gale’s limp hand. Her pulse was faint but steady. She fought back a sense of wrongness as she did so, a weird feeling of falseness, as if she was pretending to be attached to this woman and all these people knew letter. Head down, she rested, breathing slowly, monitoring her surroundings and not quite dozing. The ship sailed around the moth-starred edge of the escarpment and into a shallow bay.
    Sophie’s relief at being in port—despite all