“Then what’s that?” Jules asked. They raised a trembling finger, and Ava followed it. They were pointing at a mound in the center of the—the hull, Ava thought, the word coming to her from the brief two months when she had entertained fantasies about joining the navy, which she’d indulged by binging sailor movies.

A hatch atop the mound in the hull suddenly sprang open with a hiss of air. A figure climbed halfway out of it; an older woman in a high-collared coat, crimson with sky-blue piping.

“Ahoy!” Jules called to her. Then, to Ava: “That’s what people say on boats, right?”

Ava was looking closer at the woman who had just climbed out onto the hull. She yanked open the waterlogged purse she’d found in the deadly garden LitenVärld, miraculously still over her shoulder, and pulled out the pocketbook, flipping it open to look at the driver’s license.

“Ahoy yourselves!” Ursula Nouri called. Or at least, this universe’s approximation of her. “You seem like you could use a lift!”

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Ava had never been on a submarine before. Her initial assessment: maybe she should look back into being a naval seaman. The hallways were low-ceilinged but wide, with strips of light glowing blue and green and red, jewel-bright and cheerful. Brass dials and instruments littered most of surfaces, and layers of graffiti crowded any empty space. It was certainly better than the fluorescent lights and smooth jazz covers of pop songs that were hallmarks of working retail.

“Welcome aboard the L. V. Anahita, merchant class vessel,” the woman said. “I’m Captain Nouresh.”

She looked them over and they did the same. Captain Nouresh had a thick braid of white hair that hung down one shoulder, and wore black high-waisted pants and a white linen shirt underneath her coat. She looked stunningly similar to the old woman Ava had seen in the photo on the young woman’s phone, though her hair was longer, her face paler, and she had a few extra scars.

“You’re travelers then?” Nouresh asked. “Through the marejii?” At Ava’s blank stare, she amended, “Sorry, what do you call them? The hallways between worlds.”

“Maskhål,” Ava answered.

“Wormholes,” Jules corrected. “Our stupid boss at LitenVärld calls them maskhål, because they’re a Swedish corporation.”

Nouresh looked at them blankly. “I thought I could still speak your language, but maybe I was wrong.”

“Wait, how can you speak our language?” Ava said, wringing out her hair.

“I’m a traveler myself,” Nouresh said, bowing with an ironic flourish. “I spent my youth navigating the marejii. I stayed for some months in a city where they spoke your language. It was called Annapolis.”

Jules and Ava shared a look. “I have no idea where that is.”

“Minnesota?” Ava guessed.

“I think that’s Minneapolis.” Jules looked back at the captain. “Sorry, we haven’t traveled much.”