Farthing had found me.

If this weren’t real, I would gladly go along with it.

She butted the chest powerfully and I stared into her eyes as she swam, her limbs paddling and her stumpy injured tail whipping from side to side. It was sunrise. I felt like she and I were the only beings alive.

I would not die alone. And although the thirst torture continued, every time I looked at Farthing, I could bear it.

Voices. I did not bother to lift my head—it must be more waking dreams. But they were male voices … and familiar.

“Ahoy! Man in the water!”

“You there, show us you can hear us.”

“I think the poor fellow has heard his last.”

“What is that pushing him? A sea lion?”

I raised my heavy head from the wood.

“By blazes, it’s the lad!”

“Covington!”

Farthing stopped paddling and sank down in the water so only her eyes and the nostrils on her snout were visible. Our eyes met. She snorted, swimming forward a little, and I reached out and laid my fingers on her jaw. Her scales were smooth and warmer than the water that surrounded us. I raised my head.

There was a ship.

The Beagle. I blinked, and it didn’t blur, float, or vanish. It was the Beagle. And, closer than that, a rowboat.

I turned back to Farthing and she lifted her front claws up onto the chest.

“Come with me,” I whispered. “There’s nothing there for you now.”

I wrapped my arm around her and pressed my forehead against her smooth scales. Strong arms hauled us out of the ocean, together.

“By Jove, ’tis the boy, Covington,” said a voice I recognized. Robbins. I gasped a sob of relief as his strong arms lifted me on deck, and a rough hand remained on my shoulder.

“You’re all right now, lad.”

More voices. I couldn’t make sense of what they were saying.

I scratched my fingers against the hard wood of the hull. The Beagle. I was really saved. “Farth … Farthing. Where …”

“Is he talking about the lizard?”

“Get a hold of it, then.”

“Ouch! You little …”

“Wrap the little pest in a sack. Mr. Darwin will want a look …”

I was sliced free of the chest, yet I clung to it. They gave up trying to separate me from it. When I flailed and hit out at them, they hauled me onto the dry deck, taking the wooden chest with me. Billows of black, like the volcanic smoke, closed in behind my eyes as I was overwhelmed by exhaustion and relief but … Farthing.

A hoot from somewhere close by. She was here, safe. I pressed my face against the hot dry deck and let the dark clouds close in.

“Covington, can you hear me?” The voice grew louder. “He’s coming around—fetch Mr. Bynoe and Mr. Darwin, quick smart.”

“Covington, my dear, dear boy.” Mr. Darwin’s voice brought me to my senses. Sound was muffled in one ear, loud in the other. I turned to hear him better and everything hurt. My young master. Alive. He slid a hand beneath my head and held a cup to my lips. I recognized I was in the territory of Mr. Bynoe, the ship’s surgeon, the low cabin of sick bay, lined with narrow cots.