The Turncoat's Gambit

  “I’m sure Scoff won’t turn into a bird or anything else,” said Birch. Scoff threw him a grateful, if abashed, smile. “Now, Ash, why are we here?”

  Ash loosened the top button of his collar. What he was about to do bordered on treachery, and he hadn’t become fully comfortable with that fact yet.

  “This morning Birch and I were summoned to a meeting with my mother and Coe Winter.” Ash noted the way Birch’s eyebrows lifted, but went on. “This meeting served to inform us that Coe and my mother believe Charlotte left New Orleans because she was misled.”

  “Misled how?” Scoff asked. He’d begun organizing his ingredients as he listened, sorting the large pile into smaller piles.

  “They think someone close to us is working against the Resistance,” Ash said.

  “A spy?” Pip’s eyes widened.

  Ash nodded toward Birch. “That’s what we were told.”

  “Do they know who it is?” Scoff had stopped halfway between his table and the cabinet.

  “They have suspicions about the identity of the spy,” Ash said. “And that’s why I wanted us to meet. The people under scrutiny are our friends—and I would argue that we know them better than anyone in the Resistance does.”

  “I agree,” Birch added quietly.

  The tension in Ash’s chest and shoulders eased; it was a relief to have Birch’s support.

  “They’re inclined to think it’s Jack.” Ash spoke quickly, before anyone could react. “But I believe it’s more likely Meg.”

  Birch remained silent, but Scoff drew in a sharp, whistling breath, and Pip huffed.

  Ashley let his words settle among them.

  “If this is true, no matter who the spy is, Charlotte is in danger,” he said. “And we need to help her.”

  “You don’t think that Commander Marshall wants to find and help Charlotte?” Birch’s tone didn’t suggest he objected, but that he was surprised by Ashley’s plan.

  Ash put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. What was driving him to search for Charlotte covertly wasn’t logic, it was instinct.

  “I do think she wants to help.”

  Scoff moved to his cabinet and opened a drawer. “But you don’t think that’s enough?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it,” Ash replied. He did, actually—it was like a moth had become trapped between his heart and his stomach.

  Birch spoke quietly. “You don’t know if you fully trust them.”

  Ash wouldn’t have admitted such a thing, even to himself, but as soon as Birch had said the words, Ash knew he agreed.

  “I was uneasy at this morning’s meeting,” Birch said. “I can’t offer up anything in particular to justify that feeling, only that I had the sense I wasn’t being given all the facts. That important information was purposefully being withheld.”

  Ash was nodding.

  “Do you think Coe and the Commander already know why Charlotte left?” Scoff asked.

  “I think that’s a strong possibility,” said Birch.

  Ash added, “Then the next question is: why don’t they want to share that knowledge with us?”

  “Because it’s something that would hurt Charlotte.” Pip had climbed onto a stool beside the worktable.

  Blowing out a long sigh, Ash said, “I can’t believe Jack or Meg would willingly put Charlotte in harm’s way.”

  “Of course they wouldn’t,” Pip said.

  “None of us wants to believe that of our friends,” Birch said. “But the evidence points—”

  “What evidence?” Pip asked, her arms akimbo and her expression challenging. Words tumbled out of her mouth. “Coe and Commander Marshall say it’s Jack. But all Coe and Jack do is fight. I don’t think Coe has anything good to say about Jack, but who do we know better? Jack or Coe? Why, Jack of course! Why would you listen to Coe without taking into account all that Jack’s done for us?”

  Pip had to pause to draw breath before continuing her tirade. She turned her blazing eyes on Ash. “And you. I know you’re our leader, but you’re being silly now. I mean about Meg. She hurt your feelings when she stayed in the city, so you want to be able to blame her for something. Meg took care of all of us. She would never hurt any of us. You already know that. You need to stop being angry and remember who she is.”

  Scoff, Birch, and Ash all stared, mouths agape, at their younger counterpart.

  Pip sat up straighter and folded her arms across her chest. “You know I’m right.”

  Ash had to turn away because his eyes suddenly stung with tears.

  Scoff cleared his throat, shuffling his feet at the uncomfortable exchange.

  Pip took note and stared him down as well. “I don’t care if you think I’m being rude. We don’t have time to waste . . . I mean Charlotte doesn’t have time. We need to help her.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Ash turned to face her. “You’re right, Pip. Of course you’re right.”

  Pip had looked ready to argue with him, so his reply caught her off guard. “I am?”

  Ash laughed quietly. “Yes. You are.”

  “I agree,” Birch said. “Helping Charlotte is what we must be focused on.”

  Scoff picked up a lead weight from his scale, rolling it around in his hand. “I don’t mean to be contrary. But how are we supposed to help her? We have no idea where she is.”

  Pip, who’d been basking in Ash and Birch’s approval, looked crestfallen. “I—I don’t know.”

  Ash sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It is a problem.”

  “I think we do know,” Birch countered. Moses crawled from his shoulder to the top of his head, perching like a strange little hat. It gave the strange appearance that the bat was affirming Birch’s statement. “We’re simply dancing around the answer.”

  “What do you mean?” Scoff asked.

  “We’ve been worried about who provoked Charlotte’s sudden departure,” Birch said. “But we need to find out why she left. If she’d determined there was a spy among us, why wouldn’t she have identified the turncoat? Something else made her flee.”

  “Flee with Grave,” Birch added.

  Ash said softly, “And Meg.”

  Pip glared at him, but Ash lifted his hands to pacify her.

  “I’m not going back to my accusation that Meg is the spy,” Ash said. “But it can’t be a coincidence that Charlotte left almost immediately after Meg arrived in New Orleans.”

  “You think Meg knew something that made Charlotte leave the city?” Scoff asked.

  Pip was nodding. “Yes! That makes much more sense than Meg working against us. She came to help Charlotte.”

  Birch eyed Ashley. “She didn’t . . . say anything to you. I mean . . . you two were alone, weren’t you?”

  “No.” Ash’s neck reddened. “I asked why she’d come to New Orleans. She told me Grave was in danger, but she wouldn’t specify what the danger was.”

  “That’s all?” Pip frowned. “All she said was that Grave’s in danger?”

  The rosy hue crept into Ash’s cheeks. “We had other things that—”

  “Don’t worry about it, mate,” Scoff cut in.

  “Scoff is right,” Birch said, waving off the objection an openmouthed Pip seemed about to make. “That doesn’t matter now.”

  “But I do think it suggests that whatever danger Meg was talking about is the reason Charlotte left,” Scoff said.

  Ash asked, “So what do we do?”

  “We wait. We watch. We listen.” When Birch spoke, Moses flapped his wings. The tiny metallic clicking from the movement was like miniature applause. “Until we find out what’s really going on here.”

  Ash and Scoff nodded.

  “I want to do something else,” Pip said.

  The three young men looked at her.

 
“No one talks to me because they think I’m too little to be important,” she said.

  Her companions exchanged looks. Ash shrugged. It seemed foolish to attempt to pacify Pip when she spoke the truth.

  “You watch and listen,” Pip continued. “But I’m going to follow Aunt Io’s advice.”

  Birch tilted his head, regarding her curiously. “What advice?” Moses chirped for emphasis.

  “To find inspiration,” Pip told him. “And to make something.”

  She began to smile. “I’ve been thinking about Charlotte and a quick escape. And I had an idea about pinwheels . . .”

  8.

  THE RECEDING TIDE swirled around Charlotte’s ankles, rising to nip at her calves. She’d gathered her skirts, folded over the hem, and tucked the fabric into her wide belt so it ballooned around her knees but didn’t drag in the surf. A bucket hung from her arm as she bent to dig in the wet sand.

  Four days had passed since Lachance, Linnet, and Meg left the Weir. For two of those days, Charlotte had kept mostly to her room—with Meg and Linnet gone, the room was Charlotte’s alone while Grave and Jack shared a second room. They took their meals with Thomas, Matilde, and Jeannette, eating in the kitchen so as to avoid inquiring looks or troublesome questions from the local taverngoers. By the third day, Charlotte couldn’t stand feeling useless, so she pestered Matilde for tasks. Refusing offers to help in the kitchen, Matilde at last relented and sent Charlotte out with Jeannette to harvest clams on the shore.

  Jeannette showed Charlotte how to look for bubbles in the sand, indicating a clam had burrowed beneath that spot. Digging for the small shellfish proved to be not only a fine distraction, but also a delightful way to pass the time. The girls splashed through the surf, giggling while the sun watched over them and a breeze soothed away any chance of the day growing too hot. They watched fishing boats and skiffs row and sail away from the docks to try their luck in the channel among its tangle of islands. Charlotte’s mind and body eased in the fresh air while she enjoyed the accomplishment of gathering a bounty for the kitchen. Not to mention the delectable preparation Matilde served for the evening meal: clams steamed with wine and herbs. Charlotte went to bed that night with a full belly and a spirit more buoyant than she’d known in weeks.

  The next morning Charlotte found Jeannette waiting for her with buckets in hand, and together they returned to the sea. At midmorning, Jack and Grave appeared on the crest of the sand dune. Grave lingered on the grassy ridge, while Jack pulled off his boots and came down to the shore.

  “Jeannette! Your mother wants you back at the tavern.”

  Jeannette gave a little whining sigh as she trudged out of the water. She thrust her bucket into Jack’s hands before retrieving her shoes and scrambling up the beach. Jack rolled up his pant legs and waded toward Charlotte.

  He looked into the bucket and its little pile of clams. “I think this means I’m supposed to help you.”

  “I can teach you what Jeannette taught me,” Charlotte told him. “But I’m still learning how to do this myself.”

  “What is there to teach?” Jack asked. “It’s just digging, isn’t it?”

  With a sharp smile, Charlotte answered, “Why don’t you find out?”

  She turned away and resumed her hunt for air bubbles in the sand. Jack splashed around nearby in search of his own bounty. Less than an hour had passed when Jack approached Charlotte, his bucket tipped toward her to reveal the pittance of shellfish he’d added to Jeannette’s collection.

  “I surrender,” Jack said. “Have pity on me and share your wisdom, mademoiselle.”

  Charlotte laughed and showed Jack her nearly full bucket. “I’ll show you how to find them, but first I should take these to Matilde.”

  She started toward the beach and heard Jack sloshing after her. When she reached the edge of the water, Jack set his bucket in the sand and snatched Charlotte’s bucket from her hand. He ran up the dune to where Grave was sitting. Jack said something Charlotte couldn’t hear and then handed the bucket to Grave, who stood up and disappeared down the other side of the dune.

  Jack, hands in his pockets and smiling broadly, ambled back to Charlotte.

  “What was that?” Charlotte asked, picking up the bucket where Jack had left it.

  “I thought it would be a good idea to send Grave on that errand,” Jack said. “Give him something to do.”

  Charlotte frowned. “And?”

  “And . . .” Jack’s grin faded. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  Suddenly Charlotte could feel her blood jumping through her veins.

  “I—” Jack took a step closer. “How are you?”

  “Well enough,” Charlotte said, wishing her breath weren’t coming so unevenly; she had to gasp before she could speak.

  Jack moved closer still. “I worry, you know.”

  “I’m fine,” Charlotte told him, though her hands were trembling.

  Tipping his face toward the sun, Jack drew a long breath. “Do you think Thomas and Matilde are happy?”

  Charlotte regarded him, puzzled. “Why would you ask?”

  “I think they are.” Jack turned his head toward the islands. “Look at this place. It’s quiet. Beautiful.”

  Following his gaze over the waters, Charlotte watched a flock of seabirds swoop and skim along the surface. She could see the outlines of boats in the distance.

  “I wonder what it would be like,” Jack spoke softly. “They don’t seem bothered by the Empire. It’s remote enough that they go about their business without interference. The politics, the fighting. None of it affects them.”

  “That we know of,” Charlotte added. The fishing shacks, the docks, and the village on the other side of the dunes did feel like a world apart from the tumult they’d left behind. But was it always this way? Were there parts of the Empire that were untainted by its abuses and corruptions?

  “What if we could stay?” Jack asked. “Forget the war and make a new life. Together.”

  Charlotte had no words to reply. She’d never indulged in dreams of escaping the life she’d been born to. Before New Orleans, her commitment to the Resistance had been unwavering. But with the wind whispering in her hair and Jack’s eyes drinking in her face, she began to want things she’d been denied.

  Jack reached for her hands.

  She startled at his touch, not because it was unwelcome but because the light caress of his fingers sent a jolt through her whole body. The bucket dropped from her hand, toppling on the beach. Clams spilled into the sand.

  Charlotte cursed under her breath and moved to retrieve the bucket, but Jack caught her wrist.

  “Leave it.”

  His other hand slipped around her waist to press into the small of her back. Jack released Charlotte’s wrist and touched her cheek. His thumb traced the outline of her lips. She couldn’t speak; she could hardly breathe.

  “Charlotte.”

  She closed her eyes when he spoke her name and felt his lips brush against hers. Her mouth opened, tasting him and the salt of the sea air. She put her hands against his chest, then slid them up to grasp the collar of his shirt. She pulled him closer, tight against her.

  Charlotte hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted this, how carefully she’d shut away this longing. Now she wanted to drown in it. In him.

  “Oy!” The harsh shout cut through the haze of Charlotte’s desire. “Is that a mermaid giving away kisses?”

  A chorus of whoops filled the air.

  When Charlotte pulled away, she saw that Jack was looking down the beach toward the fishing settlement. She turned to see a gaggle of young men jostling each other as they made their way along the shore. As they came closer, it appeared they were hired hands, most likely from one of the larger fishing vessels that had anchored a short distance from the docks.

  “Don’t be shy, lovely mermaid!” Ch
arlotte’s heckler was one of the taller men among the roustabouts. He walked with the swagger of a leader. The others were watching him, laughing and grinning.

  Jack spoke quietly, keeping his eyes on the approaching gang. “You should go back to the Weir. Hurry.”

  But it was too late. The men had formed a line between the dune and the sea. As they came forward, the sailors at each end closed ranks to trap Charlotte and Jack in a half circle.

  Charlotte assessed the band of youths with increasing alarm. Their faces were ruddy, eyes overbright from drink.

  “Go back to your captain,” Charlotte said. She straightened in an attempt to make herself imposing. “I’m no mermaid and have no business with you.”

  The leader eyed Charlotte, then shouted to his companions. “Whaddya say, boys? Ain’t she a mermaid? She’s a lady in the water, after all.”

  “Aye, Robbins,” one of the men answered. “She must be a mermaid.”

  Affirmations and chuckling rumbled through the rest of the group.

  Jack stepped between Charlotte and the men. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Robbins smiled at Jack, revealing a number of missing teeth. “Why would we cause trouble? We’re all friends here.”

  “Good,” Jack said. He took Charlotte’s hand, leading her sideways to bypass the crescent moon of sailors. “We’ll take our leave, then.”

  Robbins whistled through the gap in his teeth, and the men moved forward to block Jack.

  “Why would you go when we’ve only just met?” Robbins said. “Tell you what. If you ain’t feeling neighborly then, we won’t keep you, but the mermaid ain’t leaving till she gives us a kiss.”

  The sailors hollered their approval. Charlotte looked them over. They weren’t armed for combat, but they did have the tools of fishermen: wooden clubs for stunning fish and long knives for gutting them. Neither she nor Jack had any weapons—or if Jack did, she couldn’t see them.

  Robbins sent an arc of tobacco spit into the sand. “What’s it going to be, friend?”

  Without warning, Jack launched himself at Robbins. The attack caught the sailor by surprise, and Jack knocked him down. The pair rolled along the beach. Jack gained the advantage, pinning Robbins in the sand. He began to rain punches down on Robbins’s face.