Worlds Unseen by Rachel Starr Thomson (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

“Last call to board the Crosswind!” The deep-voiced call rose up over the noise of the crowds and brought tears to Mrs. Cook’s eyes.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider, Maggie?” she asked.

“I need to do this,” Maggie said. She smiled as she looked into Mrs. Cook’s eyes. “It will be all right,” she said. “You’ll see. I’ll come back soon, and I’ll write you the minute I get to Pravik.”

“Why did you ever make a promise to that Dan Seaton?” Mrs. Cook asked, shaking her head.

“It’s not just the promise,” Maggie said. “There are questions in my head that need answering, and somehow I think I’ll find the answers in Pravik. I’ll be all right, Mrs. Cook, truly. There; now I’ve made you a promise.”

She set her ragged little trunk down on the dock and reached for the old woman who had given her so much. They clung tightly to each other, and Maggie felt Mrs. Cook’s body stiffen in a gallant effort to keep from sobbing. Maggie pulled away from the embrace and looked up at the sails of the Crosswind that would soon catch the sea breeze and head away from the island she had always called home: away to the continent-land of history, home of the empire, great dark place of adventure. She picked up her trunk and squared her shoulders, willing herself to look her dearest friend in the face one more time. More than anything she feared the sight of Mrs. Cook’s tears. They were the only thing with the power to drain her of all resolve and return her to Londren, even now.

Their eyes met, and Maggie’s vision of Mrs. Cook’s stout form standing tall and brave misted over, as tears sprang to her own eyes.

“Good-bye,” Maggie croaked. She forced herself to turn away and walk to the ship that creaked impatiently as it bobbed on the water of the harbour.

The sailors had begun to haul the gangplank up into the ship as Maggie ran up, calling out for them to wait. They frowned at her, and one of the men spit over the side and muttered something under his breath. Maggie called up her thanks as they lowered the plank once more.

When she and her battered trunk were safely aboard the ship, Maggie found a spot at the rail and looked into the crowd for one more glimpse of Mrs. Cook. All she could see was a mass of coats and hats and moving bodies, and though she tried to make sense of the bewildering view, she could not find her old friend. Perhaps it was best.

It was a clear, sunny day, and the sails filled with wind as the boat moved swiftly over the water of the Salt Channel, away from the island of Bryllan. The cries of the gulls in the harbour changed to the sounds of water and wind, the feel of salt spray and the warmth of the sun. The chill of the last few days had given way to warmth, belying the coming winter, although the spray made Maggie glad of her old brown coat.

After a while Maggie grew tired of standing. She propped her trunk up under the rail and leaned against it, sliding down to the deck. Drowsiness, the effect of far too many conflicting emotions, settled over her. She pulled her cap down to shade her eyes and fell asleep.

*

Maggie woke up to the bustle and noise of the crew as the Crosswind moved into port in the Galcic town of Calai. The sun had gone into the regression of early evening, and the air had grown colder. Maggie got to her feet unsteadily and reached for her trunk.

Calai was bewildering. The port was full of fishing boats, and the smell of salt and fish mingled in the air, making Maggie’s stomach queasy. Fishermen, housemaids, vendors hawking their wares, and children playing tag formed a crushing mass of people. Maggie held tightly to her trunk as she descended the plank.

Suddenly very aware that she wasn’t sure what to do next, Maggie allowed herself to be carried by the flow of the crowd. She soon found herself on the outskirts of the harbour, looking into the town. Darkness was settling fast, and street lanterns came on like fireflies as the lamplighters went about their business.

Laughter spilled out from a nearby pub where men from the docks were gathered after a hard day’s work. Maggie stopped a big man on his way to the rough-looking place.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, trying not to notice what a grim face he had, “but I-I need to find an inn, and I’m not sure…”

She looked up at him for a moment, and the gentleness in his eyes caught her by surprise.

“There’s a good one not far from here,” the man said. He pointed her down the street and gave her directions which twisted through the town in labyrinthine fashion. Maggie tried hard not to let the string of lefts, rights, and “on the corner of’s” blur together.

The man tipped his hat. “Good evening to you,” he said, and Maggie set off in the direction he had indicated.

It didn’t take long for Maggie to realize that something was wrong, either with the directions or with her recollection of them. She kept going, uneasily, as the town grew darker and less friendly.

She stopped abruptly, and whirled around at the sound of footsteps behind her. She could see nothing in the shadows, but her fingers tightened their grip on her trunk all the same. She knew better than to trust the darkness.

When the street remained still and no more menacing noises found their way to her ears, Maggie turned slowly and began to search out her way once more. A moment later they were there again-footsteps. She picked up her pace.

She had not walked more than a block when she came to a dead end: a high brick wall crumbling with age. She reached out her hand to touch it, willing it to disappear and become the well-lit window of an inn.

Behind her, she heard the sound of a match flaring to life.

“Out a little late, ain’t you?” a voice asked. Maggie turned to see two men, the burning light of a small oil lamp illuminating unshaven faces. One of them played with a knife, twirling it in his fingers.

The other man grinned at his fellow, then looked at Maggie again.

“Didn’t nobody tell you this ain’t a good neighbourhood?” he asked. “It’s crawling with rabble.”

The man with the knife laughed.

“So, what you got in there?” the speaker asked. He gestured toward the trunk.

“Nothing,” Maggie said, finding her voice. “Only some clothes.” She thought of what would happen if they got to the money hidden in the bottom of the trunk. She would be stranded here in Galce without a way to get back home, much less reach Pravik.

“Oh, come now,” the speaker said again. He moved forward menacingly. “It don’t take much to make us happy.”

Maggie started to move in front of the trunk, when she gasped in fear. A huge black shadow was moving up behind the men. Glowing eyes announced that the shadow was alive.

A lilting voice, from somewhere behind the shadow, drew the men’s attention to the threat behind them.

“Picking fights with women, boys? What would your mothers say?”

The men whirled around, falling back before the black shadow. The first man dropped the lamp as his partner looked for an opening to run. The glass of the lamp cracked in pieces, but a faint light kept burning.

“Don’t tell me you give up already?” the voice said. The wiry figure of a young man stepped out from behind the big shadow. “We haven’t even come to blows yet.”

“We didn’t mean nothing,” the man with the knife said. “We was just having some fun.”

“So am I,” the young man said. “Isn’t this fun?”

The shadow growled and opened a mouth full of gleaming teeth. The man with the knife dropped to his knees on the pavement. “Let us go,” he begged.

The young man sighed, then stepped aside and slapped the shadow on the rump. “All right, Bear,” he said. “Move aside.”

The shadow moved obligingly, opening the way down the street. The men scrambled to their feet and raced for the safety of the alleys.

Maggie had sunk down to the ground, her back against the crumbling brick wall. The young man watched the ruffians go with his arms