A shape shimmers down the hall. It solidifies into the ghost, but he is too far away to see clearly.
“He is there,” I whisper. “He hears you.”
“I do not know what happened to you, Andrés. I knew that you were taken south. I knew that you were safe, and that was enough. It was not safe for you if I joined you or even checked on you. I wanted to, but others rightly dissuaded me. There is a price on my head, and you were safe.”
The boy—Andrés—takes a few steps closer.
Nicolas continues, “I presume you died in some accident or misfortune, and you returned to your home—this ship. I am heartsick to know you are no longer in this world, yet you must not remain here. There is a better life waiting for you. I am certain of that.”
Andrés continues forward. When I can see him, I suck in a breath at the anger on his face. He is bearing down on Nicolas. His lips move, and he makes a noise. I do not understand until he has repeated it thrice. Then the sound and the movement of his lips tell me what he is saying.
You lie.
I leap between them. “No, Andrés. Whatever happened to you, Nicolas could not prevent it. He was here, in Whitby. He could not go to you for your own safety.”
Andrés’s lip curls in a snarl.
You both lie.
“What is he saying?” Nicolas asks, his voice tight. “He is communicating in some way, yes?”
“I can make out a few words if he mouths them clearly. He says that he does not believe you, but I do not know why. Communication is difficult.”
“He has a slate. I bought it for him and taught him to write. If we can find...” He looks around and then shakes his head. “That will not matter, will it? He cannot touch anything in this world.”
Nicolas sidesteps to move past me. “Andrés. I swear that I am not lying about anything. I would like to know what you think I am lying about. May we do that? We will play the game of questions.”
Nicolas looks at me. “I ask him a question, and he will nod or shake his head. If there is not an easy answer, he will raise his hand, and that means I need to be more specific in my—”
“Andrés!” I say. “Wait!”
I jog after the boy as he walks away. “Nicolas is trying to speak to you. To clear up what is obviously a terrible misunderstanding.”
I pick up speed, and the boy shoots forward, disappearing behind a closed door.
“He went in here,” I say as I grab for the handle.
Nicolas catches my hand. “That is the galley. It is not safe.”
“But that is where he went.”
Nicolas hesitates, his hand around mine. When he speaks, his voice is tentative. “In your experience, can spirits be malicious? I have heard it is possible. That they may not act in death as they did in life if they are consumed with anger.”
“I-I have not encountered that, but I...” I look up at him. “You think Andrés may be leading us in therebecauseit is not safe.”
“The boy I knew would do no such thing.”
“But he might if he were not himself.”
“Oui.”
I look at the door. “He is clearly angry. Angry with you, which does seem unreasonable. You were close?”
“There are dangers for a boy on a ship, as much as for a boy on the street, and I protected him from that. I treated him as I would my young nephews.”
“Then yes, you were close, and if there were a misunderstanding, and he thought you had betrayed him, that would be far more devastating than the betrayal of a mere acquaintance. You say he once lived on the streets? Badly injured, obviously. I would presume he was not a boy who gave his trust easily?”
Nicolas nods. “The others called him my stray pup, but he was more of a wildcat. I still bear the scars from his scratches. As I said, life is not easy for a boy—or a girl—in such situations, and he was convinced I wanted...” He clears his throat. “Well, there are some men who take advantage of children in ways that no child should be...” Another throat clearing.