Nicolas frowns. “I do not see him.”
I look again. The figure has a slight build, and he stands near shadows, but he is plainly visible in the moonlight.
“To the left of the foremast?” I say again. “You see no one?”
“Non, Miranda. I do not.”
“Then it is a ghost.”
He looks at me sharply.
“I have the Sight,” I say. “What we call the Second Sight. It means I see ghosts.”
He continues to stare.
“And you do not believe me,” I say, my stomach sinking. “Of course you do not. Earlier, I claimed to be able to see into the future, and I admitted that was a lie. This is not. I swear it. The Sight runs in my family. My grandmother had it, and my young nephew does, too. We see ghosts.” I meet his gaze. “We truly do.”
“My expression was not one of doubt, Miranda. I was only being clear I heard correctly, and you were not teasing. Or feeling the need to come up with an excuse to stop what we were doing.”
“That would be quite the excuse. I should hope I could do better.”
“And I should hope you would not feel such an excuse is needed.” He kisses my cheek. “As for seeing ghosts, I come from people who believe very strongly in the spirit world. Only a few can see them, but we know they exist, and so if that is what you see, that is what you see.”
He peers over the edge. “It is a man, you say?”
“Slight of stature, yes. He is looking up at you. It is all right. In my experience, ghosts do not mean us harm. They only wish to communicate, when they are able.”
“That is what I have been taught as well. Although there are spirits who are angry or even evil, most only seek to communicate, as you say.”
I nod. “I will attempt to do so, if that is all right with you.”
He gives a short laugh. “I would much rather return to our previous occupation, but we can hardly do that now, knowing we have a spectral audience.” He walks to the edge and turns to descend. “I shall go first, if that is acceptable.”
I agree, and we begin making our way down.
12
Iknow I am not supposed to look down, but that is even harder now as I want to keep an eye on the ghost. If he leaves, I need to know where he goes so I may follow. I will not chase. I would never do that without cause. Yet there is, as far as I know, no way for a ghost to realize that I can see him, and so he may leave when we are no longer providing risqué entertainment from the crow’s nest.
I wait until I am halfway descended. Then I glance in the ghost’s direction. It is a young man. He’s still too far for me to tell more than that, but he looks as real as a living person. Ghosts always do, which leads to terrible confusion and more than a few mistakes such as the one I just made, pointing out a person who isn’t there.
I have learned tricks to avoid such mistakes, which I have been teaching my nephew, Edmund. My only excuse tonight is that I am still somewhat inebriated. Also, kissing a handsome man in a pirate ship crow’s nest is bound to unsettle the most sober young woman.
No, let us be honest. I spoke the truth—both about seeing someone below and then admitting I can see ghosts—because I am comfortable with Nicolas. Unreasonably comfortable, and he has given me no reason to be anything else.
I continue down, glancing every few moments to be sure the ghost is still there. I also hope he will see me watching and know I can see him and that we might communicate. Yet he has not so much as glanced my way. His attention is entirely upon Nicolas.
I descend a little farther, and then the angle is exactly right for me to see the ghost, and I stifle a gasp. He is little more than a boy.
Oh, I am certain he would consider himself a “young man,” but he is about fourteen. He wears what seems the correct clothing for the period, though simply made. He carries a dagger at his waist, and his feet are bare.
A ship’s boy? A cabin boy?
As I consider that, a terrible thought strikes.
This boy knows Nicolas. That is why he is staring at him. He is from the ship’s crew. Nicolas will knowhim.
I am opening my mouth when the boy launches himself. He is there, gaze fixed on Nicolas. Then he is hurtling toward Nicolas, letting out a strangely hoarse cry.