From her place on the floor of the steam launch, Elizabeth could still hear gunfire. But none of the bullets came close. They were moving faster than the pursuing steamer could hope to match, with the wide bulk of the Unicorn towed behind it.
“How far can we go?” she shouted.
Fidelia was no longer standing. Her hand was still on the tiller, but she’d slumped forwards.
Her left shoulder was hanging limp.
“I took a hit,” she said, when Elizabeth reached her.
There was a splash of blood on the tunic.
“I need to see the wound.”
Fidelia shook her head. “It grazed me. That’s all. I’m going to bring us around so we come in close under Mother’s starboard hull. The Sargassans won’t see us.”
“I’m sorry,” said Elizabeth. “There’s nothing left for you on the mother ship.”
Understanding and sorrow grew in Fidelia’s face.
“It was quick,” Elizabeth said. “Your grandfather was in command until the last moment.”
“Who’ll win the battle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who do you want to win?”
“I’d be hanged, no matter who it was,” Elizabeth said. “And Julia and Tinker too if we went back.” It wasn’t an answer.
Through all the battles and deadly choices, she’d not known which outcome would be best for herself, let alone for the world. If the Company was defeated, communication would be cut between Europe and the Americas. John Farthing had called that the biggest unknown in the Map of Unknown Things. He’d said it would be followed by a perpetual war. Her mind accepted the logic of his words. But in her heart, she still couldn’t hope for the Sargassans to lose.
She’d treated Farthing badly. But it was fate that had driven them apart. No good paths had been laid before them. A pang of longing and regret clenched around her chest.
“Hold the tiller,” Fidelia said. “Keep us into the waves.”
When she bent forwards, Elizabeth saw where the bullet had entered. Not a scratch, but a neat wound. The collar bone looked to be broken. She’d bled enough to soak a patch of her tunic. It had clotted already, on the outside at least. But a bullet can take any course once it enters the body.
“How do you feel?” Elizabeth asked.
“Like hell.”
“Can we reach Nantucket?”
Fidelia shook her head.
“Not even with a spare barrel of oil?”
“The wind’s pushing us north. You might make Nova Scotia.”
“We,” Elizabeth said. “We will make Nova Scotia.”
Elizabeth steered after that. At first Fidelia sat, instructing her. But as the day wore on and the waves grew smaller, a great fatigue seemed to be pulling the woman down. She’d been pale before, but now her lips turned bluish. Her fingernails too. They set a place for her in the bottom of the boat, as comfortable as they could make it. She’d stopped speaking by then, and wouldn’t stay awake. Her breathing slackened. Then it stopped altogether.
Many had lost their lives that day, but none of the deaths had so shaken Elizabeth. At first she couldn’t accept it. But as the hours passed, Fidelia’s body grew cold. At last they wrapped her in a canvas sheet. Elizabeth found a chain with which to weigh down the body. But Julia stopped her.
“We’ll bury her in America,” she said.
When the sea grew calm enough, they gave the tiller to the boy. He was quiet, but seemed happy to have been trusted with the responsibility.
“How long has it been since you slept?” Julia asked, when they were seated together.
“I don’t even know what day it is,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s a Tuesday.”
How like Julia to know such a thing, in the wilderness of the ocean. Elizabeth leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what? You’re the one who rescued me. Twice. I’ll never be able to repay it.”
“You’re not rescued yet,” Elizabeth said, quiet enough so Tinker wouldn’t hear.
“You came for me. That’s what counts – whatever happens in the end.”
“Just look at us,” said Elizabeth, loud now, for the benefit of the boy. “Blood and bruises. A fine sight we’ll be, strolling in New York.”
“I trust we’ll have a chance to wash before that, and to change!”
“Maybe we’ll sail straight into New York harbour – it does have a harbour, I assume?”
“I’m sure it has many.”
For months, Elizabeth had been striving for such a moment; the three of them together, with no one else to control their destiny. But however fast she might try to run, fate would always run faster. The oil would run out before they made sight of land, she felt sure of it. They would drift to a quiet death. She remembered the glimpse she’d had of the Carolinas; a smudge on the horizon. At least she’d seen the New World. She thought again of John Farthing. It would have been good to hold him one more time.
Then she slept.
The first time she woke it was night. She was lying in the bottom of the boat, covered in a tarpaulin with Tinker’s warm body next to her. He was snoring peacefully. She raised her head and saw Julia’s silhouette at the stern, one hand on the tiller. They were riding the gentlest swell she’d felt in days.
The second time she woke, she found herself squinting into brilliant white. Her stomach hurt from hunger. She sat up. They were riding through fog. Gulls called overhead. One swooped close to the boat.
“She’s awake!” Tinker shouted. And then: “Look!”
Pulling herself shakily onto one of the benches, she saw that the fog was clearing. A rocky coastline loomed ahead. There were hills behind, covered in thick pine forest. Then the sun broke through and suddenly there was colour; green and turquoise and dazzling blue. An inlet lay ahead, between two cliffs, a river flowing out over a crescent beach. In that moment, it seemed more beautiful than any place Elizabeth could remember.
“We’re on the last few pints of oil,” Julia called as she steered them in.
There was a grinding of shingle under the keel and they came to rest. Tinker took the rope and jumped over the side, splashing into shallow water. Julia cut the engine and followed him.
Elizabeth was the last to step down and clamber onto the beach. The three of them held hands and embraced. Elizabeth found herself crying, though she was not sad. She knelt and put her forehead to the ground.
“Welcome to America,” Julia said.