I would give her a hug right now, but she isn’t like Nelinha. Unexpected physical contact with anyone other than Top, especially when she’s feeling upset, makes her uncomfortable. Exceptions are hugs she asks for and the occasional tackle in combat training.
‘Just because your family started the school …’ I falter. I realize for the first time that our fourth great-grandfathers knew each other. Their meeting set in motion everything now affecting our lives. It’s enough to give me vertigo. ‘You couldn’t have known what would happen.’
As usual, her frizzy hair makes her look like she recently stuck her finger in a light socket. Her pink blouse accentuates her strawberries-and-milk complexion. Nelinha has advised her many times to wear another colour – dark blue or green – but Ester likes pink. The fact that Ester is stubborn about that makes me appreciate her even more.
‘I did know,’ she says miserably. ‘And I know what’s going to happen to you.’
One moment, I feel like I’m holding up my friend. The next, I feel like she’s dangling me off a cliff.
My mind races. I’m dying to yell WHAT DO YOU MEAN? and pull the information out of her. But I don’t want to make things worse.
‘Tell me about it?’ I suggest.
Ester wipes her nose. The gilded title of the book in her lap reads The Mysterious Island. Of course we would have a copy on board. I wonder if it’s a first edition signed by Captain Nemo. Prince Dakkar. Fourth Great-Grandpa. I don’t even know what to call him.
‘Harding and Pencroft,’ she starts. ‘Nemo asked them to safeguard his legacy.’
I nod. I’d learned as much from Hewett. I just have to wait and see where Ester takes me on this ride.
‘Since Nemo couldn’t destroy the Nautilus,’ she continues, ‘he wanted Harding and Pencroft to make sure no one discovered its final resting place until the time was right.’
‘Why couldn’t he destroy his sub?’ I ask, though the very question seems wrong. It’s like asking why Botticelli didn’t burn The Birth of Venus before he died.
Ester traces her finger over the gold lettering on the book’s cover. ‘I don’t know. The best Nemo could do was sink the Nautilus under that island. He knew Aronnax and Land were searching for him. He was alone, dying. I guess he had no choice. He decided to trust Harding and Pencroft with his secrets and his treasure.’
Nemo, I think. Harding and Pencroft.
Ester and I were bound together centuries before we were born. It makes me wonder about reincarnation and karma, and whether our souls might have met at another time.
‘So how were they supposed to know?’ I ask. ‘I mean … how would Harding and Pencroft know when the time was right to find the sub again?’
Ester tucks in her knees. ‘That grey map in the captain’s cabin. The genetic reader. They would only work for Nemo’s direct descendants. Only after a certain number of generations had passed. I don’t know how Nemo decided. We didn’t … My ancestors didn’t know exactly how long the wait would be. Your dad tried it when he was a student at HP. No luck. Then he tried it again, two years ago, just to see, I guess. For whatever reason, it worked. He was the first.’
A clinch knot tightens in my throat.
I remember the electric sensation travelling up my arm when I had gripped that weird robotic paperweight. My father had done the same thing before me. I can almost feel his warm, callused hand slipping into mine.
‘I knew about alt-tech.’ Ester shivers, which makes Top cuddle closer. ‘The board of trustees – they briefed me last fall. Not all the details, but about your family. And my family. I wanted to tell you. Keeping those secrets felt wrong … and dangerous. But the trustees control my inheritance, and the school. They made me sign a bunch of papers. If I said anything to anyone, even you … I’m so sorry, Ana. Maybe if I’d talked to you earlier, we could have saved HP.’
I want to reassure her, but my voice won’t work. Too many facts are swirling around in my head.
‘I’m the last of the Hardings,’ she says. ‘The Pencrofts died off a generation ago. The trustees don’t like me. After my aunt died when I was six … She was the last of the really great Hardings. I’m just … just me.’
The sadness in her voice makes my heart ache. ‘Oh, Ester –’
‘When I turn eighteen,’ she forges on, ‘they’re supposed to give me some control. But … you know, they might never. They doubt I’m capable. Now the school is gone. I need to rebuild HP. I don’t know how. I’m sorry if you hate me now, Ana. I don’t want you to hate me.’