Page 127 of Tiger's Voyage
Where the shell irks him, or the sea-sand frets,
He sheds this lovely lustre on his grief.
—Sir Edwin Arnold
Let me keep my pearl.
—Ren
I crushed the note and jammed it into my pocket along with the earrings. Then I rode the elevator up and went to the wheelhouse where I found Mr. Kadam working furiously on some notes.
“What are you up to?” I asked.
“Kishan and I hit upon the answer to these markings on the sky disk.”
“Oh? What are they?”
“Kishan thinks they’re obstacles that lie between us and the other pagodas. And that the path shown is a way to weave around them safely.”
“Obstacles, huh? I wonder what made him think that,” I said dryly.
Mr. Kadam ignored my comment. “We are testing that theory now. We will be approaching the first marker in an hour or so. That’s why I’ve sent Kishan off to rest.”
“I see.” I made myself some waffles with the Golden Fruit and sat down next to Mr. Kadam as he worked.
“Are you feeling better, Miss Kelsey?”
“I … didn’t sleep well. Ren and I talked, and he does seem to remember everything now. But that only makes things more complicated.”
“Yes. I spoke with him at great length earlier this morning.”
I turned all my attention to my plate, swirling the carefully cut bites of waffle in the syrup. “I … don’t really want to talk about it right now, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course it is. You may speak to me whenever you wish or not at all. I am always at your disposal.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“Of course.”
An hour later, Kishan appeared with my jacket over his arm. He slipped it over my shoulders and turned to study the charts Mr. Kadam had been working on. Something crackled in my jacket pocket. I reached my hand inside and pulled out a paper. It was a sonnet. In fact, it was sonnet #116, which was usually one of my favorites.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
