CHAPTER 24

When I wake, I am rocking to and fro in a hammock. It’s dark and stinky, but it’s warm and cozy. I blink and blink until my sight focuses. Creaking wooden planks make up the ceiling above me. Pale green, spongy moss grows on them.

Moss is a very interesting type of plant, from a scientific point of view. It doesn’t have roots. Instead, it gets its water from its leaves. Also, and this is very interesting, I think: Moss grows best on the north side of trees. And you’ll be surprised how I know that. It’s not because of Father this time. Eustace told me. Moss likes to grow in cool, damp places, and the sun shines too hard on the south sides of trees, so moss mostly grows on the north. Slaves escaping their masters and running north use the moss on the trees as guidance to get where it’s safe. That’s what Eustace says, anyway.

Above me and all around me, hundreds of ropes, many pairs of pants, blankets, coats, boots, dried meat, and shovels and knives and scythes hang from the rafters and from ropes tied between the rafters. They swing back and forth. We’re moving.

I wonder where Eustace and Fob are. I try to sit up, but the hammock closes around me and tilts.

“Rest,” says Nova. I see her there, as if she appeared out of the dark. She puts her hand on my chest, and I lie back down. She’s wearing some kind of animal skin, and the edges of her garment are jagged, like the person who made it didn’t bother to cut it into proper shapes before stitching it together.

“Where’s Eustace?” I say to her. “Where’s my crate? I need it.”

“Calm down,” Nova says. “It’s beneath your hammock. Rest, I say.” She pats my chest like a mother might.

Every muscle in my body contracts. My jaw is clenched. I want the Medicine Head. I have to protect it.

“Captain Greeney!” I say. “Is he gone?”

Nova doesn’t answer right away. I hold my breath and wait for her to speak. The ocean splashes the side of the ship, and its boards moan under the strain of the water’s pressure.

“Yes,” she says. “For now.” She unwraps a piece of dried bread from a cloth. “Eat this.”

My stomach flops like a fish on land. I take the bread and bite into a corner. It’s hard and tasteless. But after the first swallow, my stomach’s acrobatics stop, even though my mouth is left dry. “Thanks,” I say to Nova. “I need my crate,” I add.

She ignores me. “Eat it all,” she says. “Will calm the seasickness.” She brings her fingers to her own neck and rubs, then crosses her arms. “How do you know him?” she asks. She leans close to me. I can smell salt and sweat and smoke on her. “I know him, too. He’s a bad man. He brings bad luck on ships.” She watches me out of the sides of her eyes.

Her eyes have a knowing to them that doesn’t seem possible. Her pupils are deep and dark, like a cave going back to the beginning of time. Her irises remind me a little of a turtle’s eye, which might not seem like a compliment. But it is. All you have to do is get close to a turtle and see for yourself how interesting and beautiful a turtle eye can be.

Something else about Nova’s turtle eyes is how they entice a person to look closer and, well, trust her, I guess.

I try to think of what to say. Where do I begin? Do I tell her how Greeney and my father once sailed together in the navy? Do I tell her that Captain Greeney grew jealous of my father and that he was upset when my father sent him home from the Antarctica expedition? That he wanted the artifacts my father collected and credit for my father’s discoveries? That he wanted, in particular, the Medicine Head? That his lies destroyed my father’s career and forced him to move his family across the country?

“He killed my father,” I say.

“Captain Wonder?” she asks. “He was your father, then.” She nods. “Hmmm.”

My neck tightens. I’m awash with longing and memory, but my heart leaps. The mention of my father’s name jolts me like a breaking branch startles a hare. I want to talk about him. I want other people to talk about him.

“Yes!” I say. “Captain Charles Wonder, the greatest scientist in the world.” I pronounce every one of those words with crisp tongue and sharp lip. I want each of those words to be perfectly understood.

“I see,” she says. She exhales. “Oh, girl, I am sorry for your pain.” She smooths my hair. She’s tender, like a mother. She looks tough and fierce, but I wish I could curl up into her like a child might. “Captain Wonder was a good man,” she whispers. “I knew it when I looked at you. You have the look of him. He was a smart man.” Her voice sounds like velvet to me.

I get excited that someone knows of him, remembers him. Keep talking, I think. Keep talking about him. Every word related to my father makes me know he was alive. That might seem silly to you, but sometimes I wonder if I was dreaming it all. Sometimes the memories of him are so distant that I worry I made it all up and then forgot that I made it up.

“Yes.” I bite on the dry bread and choke down a nibble. “He was. I miss him. You knew him? You remember him?” It’s hard to talk. But I want to. I want Nova to keep talking. “Tell me how you knew him,” I say. I don’t want to cry in front of Nova or anyone. I swallow again to try to relieve my neck.

“Yes,” she says. “Of course I remember him. I met him after he was in the cannibal islands, where he got a powerful object.” She eyes me sideways. “The one I think you got. Do you got what I think you got?” Her voice is very low and serious. “I can hear it, I think.”

Should I tell her? I worry that maybe she’s saying nice things about my father so that she can get the Medicine Head. Maybe she wants it for herself. Maybe she’ll take it from me. I look away from her.

“Girl?” she says. “What’s the matter?” She takes my chin in her palm and turns my face back toward hers. Her rich eyes pull me in.

“I do have it,” I say.

She nods at me. “Your father came to me with it. He wanted to understand its powers.” She shakes her head back and forth as though she is remembering something sad. “I told him I could help him take care of it. But he said he could take care of it.” She sighs and slaps her hands on her thighs. “We mustn’t let Captain Greeney get it,” she says. “He would use it in bad ways. Be greedy. Hurt people.”

Father came to Nova? Why would he do that? Why would she be able to answer questions about the Medicine Head? “I know,” I say.

She shifts her feet on the floor. “But,” she says, “it’s not a plaything for children, either.” She pinches her lips together. “Do you want me to keep it safe for you? I wouldn’t ever open it or hold it again. Nova, you can trust.”

Again? What does she mean by that? I think about her offer. She has saved me from Captain Greeney and somehow has gotten me onto this ship. She is here, watching over me while I sleep, comforting me, feeding me. Father came to her. He trusted her enough to confide in her about the Medicine Head. Maybe I should, too. But, I remember, he didn’t give it to her.

“No,” I decide. “I’ve got to put it somewhere no one will get it.”

She drums her fingers on her lap and shakes her head again. “Just like your father,” she says. “But you might be making the same mistake, too. Did you ever think of that?”

I turn my face away from her and stare out a small porthole. All I see is blue sky. It’s quiet for a moment between Nova and me. I don’t want to answer her, but I don’t want to insult her, either. I don’t want to think about Father’s mistakes.

“That’s fine,” she says finally. “I don’t want it, anyway. It’s full of black magic.”

“I don’t believe in magic,” I whisper. “There’s a scientific explanation for everything.” That’s what I say, but I’m not sure I believe it anymore. And I want to know what she knows about the Medicine Head’s power. I’ve known all this time that I’ve had to keep it away from Captain Greeney. What I want to know is what he’d do with it. “What does Captain Greeney want to do with it?” I look back at Nova’s face and study her intently.

She raises one eyebrow at me, as if she’s surprised I don’t already know. “He wants to destroy it,” she says.

I gasp. “Destroy it? Why? Why would he kill my father and chase me across the country only to destroy it?”

She rubs something off my forehead, ash or soot, probably. Then she stands, goes to the porthole, and looks out at the ocean and the sky. She runs a small cloth on the window until it squeaks, cleaning it like Priss cleans our Kansas windows. Then she turns to me and locks my gaze with her own.

“Because,” she says, “whoever destroys the Medicine Head gains everlasting life.”

Time seems to stop. The natural noises of the creaking ship and splashing waves go away. The sky through the porthole seems to open up to the outer edges of the universe. I see black beyond the white. I see comets, stars, and celestial rings. I blink. And then everything is the same again. The world returns to its ordinary noises and sights.

“Everlasting life?” I say. My ears are ringing, and my stomach goes topsy-turvy again. “That’s impossible. There’s no such thing.” I scan the sky again, looking for what I saw an instant ago. But there’s nothing.

Nova looks out the porthole, too, as though she knows what I saw and what I’m looking for. Then she slowly turns toward me and smiles gently. “That’s what I thought, too.” She leans back now and pulls a pipe from a wooden box next to the hammock. She lights it and puffs on the end. I have never seen a woman smoke a pipe before. A sickly-sweet scent fills the hold, and my stomach feels worse than ever. I curl over it.

“Your stomach flopping?” she asks.

“A little,” I say.

She pushes the pipe toward me. “Here,” she says. “Take a puff. It will help.”

“No,” I say. “I mean, thank you, but no, thanks.”

“It’s the rocking of the ship,” she says. “It makes people sick until they get used to it. It took me decades.”

Decades? I think. Nova doesn’t look more than thirty years old. How could she have already spent decades on ships? My stomach lurches again. I think I’ll never get used to it. I remember good old Kansas, where everywhere was flat and steady. Where the only thing I ever had to worry about was a jackrabbit hole.

“How do you know?” I ask. “About everlasting life.”

She shakes her head. “That’s the longest story.” Then she stands up. “I have to get back to work.”

“Wait,” I say. “I want to know. I lost my father for the Medicine Head. I left my sister and mother and my home. I want to know why I’m taking it so far away. I want to know if I’m doing the right thing. I want to know if I should keep going on this crazy journey to the ends of the earth, where no one can ever touch it again!” I’m practically shouting, but Nova doesn’t seem fazed by it.

“Where?” she asks. She blows whitish-blue smoke from her nose and stares wistfully up at the coils. “People are spread all over the world. Where can you put it where no people get it? It is a big problem for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I say. I sigh. I’m afraid that what I’m about to say will sound ridiculous. I’m afraid it will make her think I am a little girl with a wild imagination. But I tell her anyway. “Antarctica,” I whisper, but so softly that Nova doesn’t hear me.

She tilts her ear toward me. “Speak louder, girl,” she says. “What did you say?”

“Antarctica,” I say more loudly.

She leans back and taps ashes onto the floor. Then she smiles. “Antarctica!” she shouts. She shakes her head and starts to laugh a laugh that comes from deep within her belly and shakes her chest. It grows and grows, fuller and louder. She laughs so hard she gets teary and begins coughing. Remnant smoke escapes her lungs.

I don’t know what to think. Is she laughing at me? Does she think I’m a silly child? I put my head down and feel my cheeks burn red with embarrassment. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is all foolish. I’m too young. I’m not smart enough for this responsibility. I should never have come to New Bedford. I should have stayed in Tolerone and let whatever would have happened, happen. I’m just a kid. What do I know?

Then Nova’s laugh calms into a series of lighter chuckles and coughs. She breathes a few full breaths. Finally she speaks. “Why didn’t I think of that?” she whispers.

I wait. I wonder if I heard her right and hold my breath.

“All these years,” Nova says, “and I never thought of that.” I look up at her. She nods and nods. “You are a very bright girl.”

She’s not laughing at me. She’s laughing at herself. She thinks I have a good idea.

“Yes,” I say. “Antarctica.” I clear my throat. My neck muscles have relaxed and my tongue moves easier now, so my words come out clear and strong. “My father discovered it for America. I want to see it the way he did. I want to leave the head there. It was given to him, and it should be in a place that belongs to him.”

“Stubborn,” she says. She points at me. “Like I remember your father. He was persistent. You like that, too, yes?”

“Yes,” I say. “I am.” I smile. I can’t help it. I am like my father. Even though he’s as far away from me as one human can be from another, I feel him near me now. I feel like he’d be proud of me, like he’d know that the Medicine Head is safe with me.

The Medicine Head. Where is it?

“Don’t worry,” Nova says, as if she’s reading my mind. “It’s safe beneath your hammock.” She puts her hand on my arm and helps me out of the hammock and onto the slippery floor. “Careful. You got no sea legs yet.”

I kneel down on the slimy floor and look beneath the hammock. There it is, safe and silent.

“You leave it in there,” she says.

I don’t respond, but I do stand up and go to her.

Nova helps me up the ladder, which is tricky because it’s slippery, like everything else. A glossy layer of fat sits on the rungs. I lift my hand, and it glistens.

“Whale oil,” Nova says. “Everywhere. Get used to it. You’ll be sweating and spitting it before the voyage is through, just like the rest of us. The oil means money for the captain, the crew, for all of us.”

I keep climbing.

When my head emerges, I see dozens and dozens of pairs of feet, some with boots and some not. I see many of the same men here who surrounded us on the dock. They don’t pay any mind to me. I also see hooves of goats and pigs and pads of dogs and cats. Mostly, I see ropes, wood, coal, buckets, barrels, and all the other things you can think of to make life work. It’s like the ship is a city unto itself.

Nova pushes on my bottom. “Up!” she says.

I go up.