Arthur raised his eyebrows. “How deep can you go?” he asked, looking impressed.

“How deep into where? The ocean?” Rory glanced over the side and stared into the water. “Do I want to know what’s down there?”

“How deep depends on how fast the boat is moving.” Zhang glanced at Rory. “And probably not, unless you’re not bothered by tentacles.”

“Tentacles? Are you—no, nope, no thank you, you can just keep that to yourself.”

Manhattan was soon replaced by Brooklyn, and then for awhile they could see Long Island. They sat in the sun until it began to set, and there was nothing to see but endless ocean and the horizon line where the sky met water.

When they got into the second-class dining room, Rory could’ve almost forgot he was in a boat, if it weren’t for the unsettling, continuous rolling, faint but unmistakable. “A week of motion, huh.”

“You get used to it.” Jade scrunched her nose. “More used to it. Hopefully we won’t hit any storms, at least.”

Rory’s eyes widened.

“But if we do hit a storm, you’ll just blow it away,” Arthur reminded him. “Look, they have consommé and oyster crackers—that’s probably a safe bet until you see how your stomach fares.”

Rory let the others do most of the talking while he ate. The dishes were steady on the table, at least; if the seas got rougher, he probably couldn’t even count on his spoon staying put.

As he got to the bottom of his soup, Rory could’ve sworn he felt eyes on him. He jerked his head up, but the sensation was already gone.

You’re just nervous on the boat, he told himself. You’re imagining things. “So what do we do on a ship for a week?” he asked, to distract himself.

“There’s a library, a gymnasium, and a bar,” Arthur said, with appreciation. “A perk of choosing an international ship. One of the many,” he added, his gaze darting protectively toward Jade and Zhang.

Rory snorted. “What am I gonna do in a bar?”

“They might have darts, billiards, poker?” At Rory’s blank look, Arthur grinned. “I’ll teach you. Poker and darts, at least; I’m no great talent at billiards.” He leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “Or we can just stay in our room.”

Rory’s lips quirked up.

His smile was gone an hour later as he staggered outside to the dark promenade, swearing. “Jesus.” He leaned hard on the rail as nausea roiled through him. Far below, the ocean was deep black in the night, a roaring of wind and waves. “How does anyone stand this?”

Arthur was next to him, warm and solid and obnoxiously not even remotely sick. “Is it already that bad?”

“Yes!” Rory’s gorge rose again and he tried not to puke off the side of the boat.