by Tanith Lee
Helpless. No ring to protect me, or anyone else.
‘Claidi, it’s all right. Look.’
Argul, showing me something. Incredibly wanting me to be interested in the bit of sea we’re now lying on before we sink. It was quite interesting. It wasn’t sea.
We were all on a kind of long metal tray, which had just run through into Yinyay and collected us all up, and the sea had come with it so I hadn’t seen what it was—
Yinyay had let the invading tray in by opening her side.
I looked back. She had vanished.
‘She’s shrunk – we’ve lost her—’
‘Looks like it,’ Argul said.
‘Oh Yinyay,’ I mourned, gawping down over the tray side into the bottomless blue depths. Would she mind? Would she, bound up with all her magical machineries, as she is when tiny, even notice?
Yinyay is a machine. It’s people who miss each other, people who panic about drowning.
The navy cloud was still there, and now it didn’t look like a cloud. And the tray scoop thing, I saw, had run out from it and was now reeling back to it very fast.
Little wavelets, quite quaint, now the cloud-that-wasn’t seemed to be staying still, frisked over the sides of the tray. We were all drenched. Winter’s latest lip-blush had run, so she had a purple chin. There’s always something to cheer you up, I suppose.
But the Cloud rose up and up, got higher and higher. It was formed in terraces, the bottom one huge and resting on the sea, then each next one slightly smaller, rising high above sea-level. I tried to count these terraces – three – nine – thirteen? We were being reeled in to the lowest one.
A vast shadow, cool in the suddenly-felt hot sunlight, pooled over us, the shadow of the towering Cloud.
‘It’s like—’ said Winter.
No one else eagerly demanded to know what it was like.
But Winter said, and now, despite her purple chin, I didn’t find her funny. ‘It’s a Tower.’
We are in the Tower. We’re prisoners. I think so, though They say No, we are not—
This room is rather cramped. No window. But of course there’s light, the frozen science-magic light I first saw at the Rise, and then at Panther’s Halt, and in Chylomba and the Raven Tower.
The worst thing is They have put each of us into a different room, in a different part of Their Tower. They said They did this because of the way the rooms were arranged, and shortage of space, and each room is big enough only for one. Which is true. We can go out – or at least I can, so the others can too(?). This door isn’t locked. But this Tower is so massive and confusing and odd, I don’t know where to start to look for Argul in it, or anyone. And that is deliberate, surely, separating us, us not being able to get together, even though They say No, no.
It’s more than a Tower, of course. It is a ship. An oceangoing ship. The terraces are extraordinary decks, and there are in fact fifteen of them.
At the very top of the dark blue structure rests a peculiar fish – no, animal, which I recognized as we were being reeled in, from books, and just as well I did. It was something I first thought I’d see on my enforced voyage to Ustareth’s other landmass with the jungles.
A shark.
It has red eyes up there too, and a great mouth of pointed white teeth which, I have been told, are scrupulously cleaned once every month.
So it’s the Shark Tower?
No, They said, laughing amusedly at my foreign-to-Them ignorance. The ship Tower with the shark symbol is called, like Their Queen, Old Mother Shark.
(I am due to meet the Old Mother Shark Queen, it seems today. (Although They said that yesterday.) We have been here four days since They nabbed us out of Yinyay.)
I do see the others. At the evening meal, which is called, here, Posk. They speak another language, unsurprisingly, but that makes finding out anything even harder. But also They speak the language of the Towers – mine, or how do I understand Them at all. So They can work out everything we say, and we can’t get what They say to each other – Only I do wonder if Argul may, he seems to know a lot of languages. If he and I were together, we could try talking in Hulta, and see if They could fathom that – but we don’t get the chance. Because when we meet at Posk, They prevent us talking to each other.
And how do They do that? Simple. We each sit, when in the Posking-room, inside a separate large glass box. I mean that each of us, Argul, Venn, Dengwi, Winter, Ngarbo, and I, have a box each. We’re not alone in these boxes though. Each box is about the size of a room – a room much bigger than this one I’m in now. And the Sharkians (what else do I call Them?) join each of us in our box, about twenty or so of Them with every one of us. And there They merrily yatter to us, recommending dishes and pouring us drinks. (This is what They do with me, and what I see Them do with the others. Who mostly look as disturbed by it as I must.)
Beyond every individual glass box you can only hear a faint murmur of the other conversations in the other boxes. And though Argul and I, Dengwi and I, and all of us, can signal to each other – as we did the first time – They won’t let us out to talk to each other. How They stop us is also simple. Once inside, the glass boxes close. That is, they have an opening like a door through which They escort you, and once everyone is in with their group of Sharkians, the box door seals.
We all wanted to get out at the first Posk. We all jumped about and started hitting the glass – it doesn’t give – and shouting. Venn impressively knocked one of his in-box Sharkians out. Winter kicked one of hers and up-ended some sort of soup on another. But this didn’t do any good. And They didn’t leave off smiling, our captors, for a moment. Even the knocked-out one.
They just hemmed us in, nodding, laughing, and saying Yes, yes, (instead of No, no) until we sat down.
Argul hadn’t tried to fight Them, by which I knew he had worked it out it was useless. Dengwi, the same. I didn’t because frankly I was too scared – of Them.
There are some Sharkians, too, who obviously have Power jewellery (concealed) which works. Ngarbo was unlucky enough to go for one of these. And so I saw happen to him what my ring had made happen to Jade Leaf – he got flung across his glass box in a showering of lights. Then, ever so sympathetically, They revived him.
So now, at Posk, we all sit and either stay dumb, or else (I at least) try to prize information out of the Sharkians.
They tell you nothing by telling you Everything.
For example, I ask, ‘Where are we going?’ and They say, ‘The ship runs on the power of the ocean,’ and go into details of how this water power, or waves or something, give the ship the energy for movement, and also to anchor her, and how, besides, the energy protects the ship and holds her steady in time of tempests.
They are so powerful. I knew almost at once. They are Ustareth’s, her allies, whatever They call their Tower or Their Queen. Apart from anything else, that is why Their Power and science work here, right on top of the Forcefield. Their power comes from her New Power, stronger than anything she gave us.
She isn’t Their ruler though, as I said. This was another unasked question They answered.
I’d actually asked, Me: ‘Did Ustareth make this Tower-ship?’
They: ‘Yes, we are Ustareth’s chosen subjects. There are several others like us. Our loyalty is to her, and we are given many benefits, as you see. But we elect our own Queen.’ (And then on about ‘Old Mother Shark’ etc.)
But, Me: ‘Others? Like you? Do you mean other Towers?’
They: ‘There are other Towers.’
Me: ‘Do you mean like the Wolf Tower?’
They: (gales of mirth) ‘Special Towers.’
Me: (being careful how I put it) ‘You mean REALLY like you?’
They just smiled. But They smile all the time. It’s genuinely ghastly.
When I asked if Ustareth had told Them to take us captive, They said No, no, and continued at vast length how we were NOT captives but guests (so we’d been taken guest, then) and how we are not ke
pt apart from each other.
To which I ranted, ‘Then let me speak to Argul!’
And They shook their heads as if I were a bright three year old who’d just said something wrong but cute. (Only in Their case, a bright three year old wouldn’t be like a me-kind of three year old at all.)
So I said, ‘Why won’t you let me speak to Argul?’
And They said, ‘But look, there he is. Speak.’
‘How can I through two lots of glass when you won’t even let me leave this box thing??!!!’
‘Ha ha ha,’ They went, ‘ha ha ha.’
Are they just all cuckoo? Very likely.
They’re the perfect jailors. But no, it’s more sinister than that. It nearly always is.
Despite everything, every day I have tried to find Argul, or anyone. Wandering over the decks, climbing sort of stairs, and nearly falling in disgusting tanks. Getting lost under-deck, getting shut in lifts (They have them, but these lifts are worse than normal ones, they don’t seem to work well, or not for me, because the Sharkians use them with no trouble) and screaming and having to be rescued by – Them.
I’ll describe Them, the Sharkians.
I’ve left it till now because well, will you believe me? Yes? Please, please do. I’m not lying. They are – sharks.
Twilight’s panther in the north could talk. But the thing about that was, it was a clockwork animal.
These – sharks – are actual sharks. Only not quite how I’ve read sharks are, of course. Not at all how I’ve read. But then these are Ustareth’s. (Like the tiger-rabbit-cross vrabburrs, and maybe the original giraffe-horse graffapins, said to be Twilight’s invention. All that stuff. Even Grem at the Rise with his leafy hair – and the fur boy Venn mentioned.)
Sharks are said to be between twelve and forty feet in length, depending on their type and who is telling the tale. They live in water … I expect you know all this. They have awful teeth – three inches long—
The Sharkians have the teeth all right. But They don’t have to stay in water. They can walk. Their tail fins at the very bottom are hugely developed and act like (rather clumsy) legs and feet. Also, upright, They aren’t twenty or forty feet high. The tallest is about two man-heights – twelve feetish. Some are only eight or nine.
They do like water. There are these slimy fishy tanks everywhere, you come on them in the most inconvenient spots – though for the Sharkians presumably they are ideal spots. They can just slip off a stair straight into the lovely tepid reeking murky water – as I have endlessly nearly done.
They each have a room to themselves, and a few spare for shark callers, or for prisoners. The rooms all have a waterbed, by which I mean a big slot of black water to lie in. The ‘bed’ They gave me clings to the side of this water-slot, and I’m terrified of rolling off in the night and into the water. (The bed is only the narrowest mattress. My feet just reach the end. Argul, Venn, Ngarbo and even Winter, who are all taller than me and Dengwi, must overlap uncomfortably.) (Unless they have larger mattresses?)
You get used to the pong. Of the ship, the tanks and slots, Them. Only to Them you don’t get used.
How can They talk? And have a whole language, and know my language too … I see how They can walk, and how They pour out a glass of (fish-flavoured) wine or lemonade with one of Their also-overdeveloped side fins. But how, how do They have speech, let alone laughter. The upsetting smiles are, of course, built in.
What has she done to Them?
They don’t mind. They’re not even proud of it, it’s just normal to – Them.
And though They like to sleep all alone, hence the tiny rooms, They are sociable with each other, and when you ask a question, the group you’re with all reply at once, in completely the same voices and at the same speed, even all drawing breath at the identical moment – like a choir, singing.
What does Argul think of this?
Venn maybe can accept it the best. He got used to U’s creations at the Rise. And Winter and Ngarbo saw similar, (though not quite) things at Chylomba. But Dengwi—
And what do I think?
Could they be nice, after all, these ship-sailing, walking, talking sharks? I mean, are They trying to look after us, taking us undoubtedly on towards Ustareth’s country, and thinking we really want that – and simply misunderstanding the questions we – I – ask? – and that we like sleeping over water-slots and eating in glass boxes alone with twenty of Them.
Ah – it’s just come to me – am I right? They can speak to each other inside their minds. It must be, or how can whole groups all talk at once like that and say exactly the same thing all together in twenty voices. So do They think we can do that too, not with them, but amongst ourselves? So if we don’t find each other on the ship, or talk to each other during Posk – we’re just being thick, or mucking about like moody children—
When They first helped us off that tray thing and into the lowest deck, I was petrified by Them. When they spoke then, that made it worse. But I remember how Thu was barking and the horses rearing – but the Sharkians started talking to them too, and Thu and the horses – calmed down. Thu even wagged his tail. (Maybe too he likes Their smell?) I’ve seen both horses and our dog since, being groomed and petted by the Sharkians. I’d thought They’d just devour them, and us. They even let me walk Thu, though he certainly seems quite happy to go off again with Them.
Despite how They look, They talk, and no matter how I think I feel, am I – getting used to Them?
Five of Them just came by, and squashed in the doorway. They said I’m to be taken to meet Their Queen at once. They seemed very thrilled for me, receiving this great honour.
They are not surprised I want to jot it down here.
‘Will any of my friends be there?’ I asked, very uneasily.
‘No, no,’ they congratulated me, ‘just you.’
Anyway, I’ve got no choice.
We went, They and I, along the open deck, which was covered in tanks and pipes and unidentifiable-by-me shark-important things, and into one of the lifts, which are very large and which They can make work.
Up we rushed.
Then, when the door was undone, out I went into absolute—
I hadn’t expected it. As I wavered, thinking something dangerous was going on, with all these screeches and drumming sounds, and damp, blue-grey shark forms lumbering everywhere, my sharks said in their chorus, ‘The Queen is here. She is attending the Fish Races.’
She was.
They guided me through bounding sharks waving wild fins and thumping on the decking – some of Them were taking bets – and up a shark-stair to a raised platform which overlooked a long stretch of water like a canal.
In this, arrowing along, were about thirty large fish, the most gleaming shades of gold and scarlet, or striped like mint humbugs.
Even my escort paused to watch. ‘See, see, Roserat’s in the lead!’ They chorused, overcome by evident glee. And then They got so overcome They lapsed into Sharkish—
Some other Sharkians were there then, leading me up to a wide kind of couch. And here, amid the luxurious sopping-wet cushions, and little jets of water, lay the Queen, Old Mother Shark.
You could see she was a Queen. Her top fin, not her head, but almost, was circled by a crown of intricate silver, set with skilfully cut gems – here was one whose Power jewellery wasn’t hidden. (I’ve wondered if the others have Theirs set in back teeth.)
I don’t know if she was old. Her eyes, small shark eyes, liquid black, unthinkable, may have been old. Her skin was like everyone else’s, like a smoky dusk turned to leather.
She was a Queen and I was her prisoner, so I didn’t bother to bow. But that felt wrong. She had a real Presence, more than most royalty I’ve met. Save, of course, for Ironel and Jizania. Is Old Mother Shark just another of these dominant Old Ladies?
‘Be seated,’ she said. And she alone – spoke by herself.
I was shown to a dry cushion.
Like all of Them, she co
uld see me better from the side.
(Shrieks and cries like Nist-nist from the lower area – Roserat had won!)
‘Tonight,’ said Old Mother Shark, ‘we reach the coast.’
My already-hurrying heart tried to jump out of my throat and run away. It didn’t make it. Never does.
‘The coast of her country?’
‘Yes. Hers.’ She added, ‘You will be taken ashore, as she wishes.’
‘Ustareth wishes,’ I managed.
‘Ustareth,’ said the Queen.
Another race was starting below. Roserat, a ruby and white dotted fish, was being carried through the crowd by ten prideful Sharkians. She wasn’t in water, either, and seemed to be speaking to those she passed, thanking Them probably for Their kind words on her win.
But when the Queen said Ustareth’s name, I turned back to her. She said that name like a prayer.
If I’d ever thought I could plead with this lot, I saw now it wouldn’t work.
But I said, ‘What if I don’t wish to go ashore.’
OMS flicked her crown-fin.
‘Where else would you go? Your companions go there.’
‘Let me see them,’ I said. ‘Let me see Argul, and talk to him.’
OMS sighed. We were covered in a fog of fishy breath, delightful to everyone – they leaned forward to receive it – but me.
But I probably smell – unusual – to Them, too. They tactfully conceal this.
I said, ‘You’re not going to let us meet, then, until we get ashore.’
‘That is up to you.’
‘We can’t talk in our heads – we’re not telepathic, as you are. We can’t talk unless we can hear each other.’
Just then Roserat was borne up to the Queen.
In Sharkian the Queen told Roserat (I think) how well she had done. She stroked Roserat with one fin, and the fish began to sing – or maybe it was her way of purring.
Anyhow, I got up, and when Roserat was taken away, I said,’ All right. I suppose I can wait.’
Old Mother Shark said, ‘Her land is called Summer.’
‘Well thanks. It’s been a great visit.’ And then I said insolently, ‘How can you talk?’