by Kat Falls
Guiding me onto the announcer’s platform, Fife gestured to Ratter to hand him the microphone. Below us, men clambered onto the upside-down raft and hauled Gabion out of the pool. The water sluiced from his body but the slick gray eels remained, a dozen at least, wriggling wherever they’d latched.
Ratter offered Fife the microphone, but Captain Revas snagged it. Expression steely, she said, “Well done, Ty. Too bad you can’t collect the prize.”
Panic gripped me. She couldn’t be serious. I lowered my arm, pulling Fife’s down, too.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded, pushing past me to step off the announcer’s platform. “The boy won. Fair and square.”
“The boy shouldn’t have been in the ring,” Revas snapped. “Tell me you don’t know about the law against using minors in commercial sports.”
“Nobody planned this, you hauling off Shade. This was a onetime circumstance. So have a heart. Let me declare Ty the winner. He earned it.”
“He’s underage. You’re going to declare this match invalid.” She thrust the microphone into Fife’s hands. “Now.”
“No!” I stepped off the platform. But when I saw her expression harden, I amended my tone. “Don’t give me the prize money. That’s fine. But at least let Fife declare me the winner so the surfs can collect on their bets.”
“Sorry, kid. The law doesn’t make exceptions.” She lifted her gaze to Fife. “For anyone.”
Fife opened his mouth to reply, but Revas cut him off. “Another word out of you, Mayor Fife, and I’ll charge you with child exploitation.” She pointed at the announcer’s platform. “Now tell the crowd there’s no winner and return their bets and entry fees.” She stood back, fully expecting to be obeyed.
Seething, Fife stepped onto the platform and instantly the crowd quieted. He motioned to someone above and lights all over Rip Tide came on, signaling that the event was over. All eyes were on him. “Unfortunately, due to a technicality, I have to disqualify the challenger and declare this match invalid.”
Groans, complaints, and boos echoed through the drill well.
“The bookies will return your bets. And you’ll get your entry fee back as you depart Rip Tide.” Fife turned to Ratter. “Finish pulling eels off him”—he pointed at Gabion—“then get the strongbox and return their money.”
“That’s the government for ya,” Ratter said bitterly. “Always meddling in people’s business.”
“Just take care of it.” Fife glared at Captain Revas’s retreating back. “And I don’t want to hear about how much we lost.” Wincing at the thought, he sat down hard on the edge of the platform.
“I know, boss. No details,” Ratter assured him, and bent over Gabion to pry off another eel.
Leaning over the railing, I scanned the sundeck. I hoped Levee would talk to me anyway. With the town lights blazing, I quickly spotted the surf I’d made the deal with. The one who knew something about Drift. Who had information that might help me find my mother and father. Or give me a clue as to how to save them.
Levee stared down at me impassively, tore up his betting stub, and tossed the pieces over the railing. His message was clear; he’d tell me nothing now.
As I watched the bits of paper float down to the pool, my hope sank with them.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
I knew who I had to thank for snatching away my one chance at getting information. All because of my age. And while Captain Revas was so busy sticking to the letter of the law, who was tracking down my parents?
Gabion grunted as Ratter yanked another lamprey from his blood-slicked body and tossed it aside. Despite his obvious pain, Gemma closed in on the slumped boxer. “You could have really hurt him out there,” she said, pointing at me. “He’s only fifteen, you know.”
Yelling at the guy who’d lost didn’t strike me as very sportsmanlike, but Gabion was going to have to defend himself against her scolding.
“I’m almost sixteen,” I told her as I passed to catch up with Captain Revas.
“Okay, he’s almost sixteen,” she amended, “but he’s still half your size.”
I smothered the urge to turn and correct that overstatement as well, and instead focused on my anger at the captain. I blocked her path. “I was close to getting information about Drift.”
“You’re out of line. Step off,” she said, without a trace of anger.
“Why are you even here? I thought you were out trying to save thousands of surfs. Isn’t that why you couldn’t spare more than three skimmers today?”
Though her dark eyes flashed, her tone remained cool. “Kid, I told you to go home. Last thing I need is a settler making some stupid comment that riles up the surfs.”
“I know better.” Even though I’d thought plenty of offensive things about surfs since the morning—with good reason.
“The way you knew how they felt about the ordinance?” she asked pointedly, and then stepped around me.
Okay, maybe I didn’t know what got surfs riled, but I’d mingled with them today and managed not to incite an uprising. I matched her pace. “There’s a surf on the sundeck who knows something about Drift.”
“A lot of them do. And so do I.”
“What?” I demanded. “What do you know?”
She didn’t answer.
“At least tell me why you think the Drift surfs did it—if they’re not asking for ransom.”
Stopping short, she faced me. “I tried putting it nicely, kid. But now I am officially ordering you off Rip Tide. Is that clear?”
A movement nearby caught my attention. Gabion had hoisted himself into a sitting position on the deck. With his beady eyes pinned on me, he was obviously listening with interest.
“Is that clear?” Revas repeated in a military snarl.
“As dewdrops on a summer day.” Fife pushed himself up from his seat on the platform. “Ty needs to hurry back to the territory. He gets it.” He joined us. “Go do your Seaguard thing, Captain Revas, and I’ll make sure the boy gets off safely.”
Revas gave me a look like she wanted to crack open my head and see what I was planning, but all she said was, “I’ll contact you when I have news.” She stalked away then, barking orders at her troopers.
“Never cross the young ones, Ty,” Fife advised. “They’re always out to prove themselves, and it’s never pretty.”
“Depends how you define ‘pretty,’” Eel said, his eyes following Captain Revas.
“I can have Ratter take you two back to your Trade Station in my airship,” Fife offered.
“We have a sub.” All the energy leaked out of me. I just wanted answers—or at least assurance that my parents were going to be okay. And she expected me to go home with nothing.
“Don’t know how you folks do it. You can’t get me to travel a mile underwater. And living down there …” Fife shivered. “If the only wilderness I see is steamed and served on a plate, I’m a happy man. Anyway,” he went on, “the line for the cable car will be a mile long. Go get some dinner at the café, champ. The girl, too. On me. You can take off when the crowd clears out.”
“Mayor Fife, can I go down to the jail and see Shade?” Gemma asked.
“Ask Captain Revas,” he said, strolling away. “While she’s on Rip Tide, I’m a guest in my own town.”
When Gemma took off to ask the captain, I slumped to the deck, feeling shipwrecked—smashed and run aground. An eel writhed, inches from my hand. With a swat, I sent it skidding back into the water and then noticed that Gabion was gone. I’d won the match fairly and yet had nothing to show for it. Not a single lead to pursue. How was I going to find Ma and Pa?
Bodies closed in on me, forming a circle of boots. Looking up, I found the Seablite Gang—minus Eel and Shade—glaring down at me. Now they looked as dangerous as I remembered.
“Seems you did bring the Seaguard here after all,” Pretty said. His tone was smooth, which was far more ominous than if he’d yelled.
“Making Shade’s arr
est your fault,” Hatchet snarled, putting his sharpened teeth on full display.
“My fault?” I said, incredulous. I spotted Eel against the railing. He shrugged as if there was nothing he could do.
“Either you spring Shade tonight,” Kale warned, “or we will hunt you until you’re dead.”
“What did he say?” I asked Gemma when she returned from stopping by Representative Tupper’s table in the open café. We settled into a dark corner of the sundeck as far from the musicians as we could get. I’d retrieved my shirt and bandana from the slather shop but was too worried about my parents to eat. And too angry to follow Revas’s order to go home. So for now, I was staying out of sight.
The moon was bright and the party was in full swing. Not a single surf remained on Rip Tide. They’d been ushered off in droves the moment the boxing match was over. Only Topsiders were invited to this shindig, to laugh and dance on the sundeck under swaying ropes of tiny lights. Their zinc paint long since smeared. Their silky clothing stained. I wondered if the permanent residents of Rip Tide were lying in their beds now, cursing the racket that had to be echoing through all seven levels of the town.
“That only the president of the Assembly can issue a pardon for an outlaw,” Gemma said glumly. “And that she’d need a really good reason to do it.”
“Did you remind Tupper that the ’wealth locked the Seablite Gang in an underwater reform home and let a doctor experiment on them? The president should issue Shade a pardon for that alone, and let him start fresh.”
“I said all that and more.” Gemma sounded brokenhearted. “But Tupper says President Warison isn’t going to stick her neck out for some fugitive, because she’s already under constant attack.”
“Attack from who?”
“I didn’t bother to ask. I’m sure Tupper meant the scientists who are demanding that the ’wealth repeal Emergency Law because the Rising is over.”
“They’ll never do it,” I scoffed. “If we’re not living under Emergency Law, the states could hold elections again and all those Assembly representatives would get ousted. Including President Warison.”
Gemma shrugged, not caring one way or the other.
“Captain Revas should have let you see Shade.” As soon as the words were out, I felt bad for reminding her of her dwindling options. With Shade in prison, she couldn’t exactly live on the Specter.
“She said no even after I told her that I was his sister.”
“No surprise. She’s heartless.”
“I just wanted to talk to him. We didn’t get much of a chance before the match.”
And in the little time they’d had together, Gemma had told him about my crisis, even though hers—finding a place to live—had to be weighing on her.
“I guess you were right,” she said. “The ’wealth doesn’t care about families.”
I winced inwardly because I knew that fact better than most. The ‘wealth had tried to rip my family apart when it came out that I had a Dark Gift. Topside doctors took my parents to court in an effort to get them declared unfit, all because they’d raised me subsea. Ever since hearing Shade’s story, I’d often thought that if I had been made a ward of the ’wealth, I probably would have ended up in Seablite as well.
I looked out at the ocean as panic rose in my chest. If I didn’t find my parents, Zoe and I could still end up as wards of the ’wealth. I shook off the thought. There was no way that I would let that happen. Especially not to Zoe. With her Dark Gift, someone in the government would take an interest in her and nothing good could come of that.
A gunshot rang out close by, making us both jump. We whirled to see a couple of Topsiders shooting skeet a little ways down the wall. With a ker-chunk, another glow-in-the-dark pigeon sailed into the night sky, followed by another shot. A hit this time, and the clay pigeon exploded over the ocean.
As the glowing dust drifted downward, an enormous fin broke the waves. The skeet shooters shouted, freaking over the size of the shark. Gemma and I exchanged a glance, knowing it was the Seablite Gang’s sub, the Specter, circling Rip Tide, waiting for me to deliver Shade. I should probably have taken their threat seriously, but right then I didn’t care about my own well-being.
At least that’s what I thought until a hand grabbed me from behind and dragged me into the shadows of the stairwell. Gemma’s horrified expression gave me some prep for what I’d see when I turned. Still, my heart flipped over when I found Gabion scowling down at me.
And worse, he spoke.
A guttural, unintelligible string of words flew out of him and sent me stumbling back to avoid his spittle. But his grip on me tightened, keeping me close. When he opened his mouth again, my gaze locked on the white parasite within, which looked like an oversized sand flea. The creature waggled and flapped, almost as if dancing to his grunts.
Gemma stepped up beside me. “Try again,” she said matter-of-factly. “The first word is ‘go,’ right?”
When Gabion nodded, I nearly fell over from shock.
He let go of my arm and spoke again. Still unintelligible but, I now realized, not angry. He wasn’t looking to clout me for taking his title. With his black eyes boring into mine, he was desperately trying to tell me something. But for the life of me, I couldn’t guess what.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I don’t understand.”
He looked to Gemma, but when she shook her head as well, he growled in frustration.
“Can you write it down?” she asked.
He winced, and I guessed that was a sore subject. I’d heard that a lot of surfs were illiterate. I wondered if asking him to act it out would be too insulting. But then another thought hit me. “Can you sign?”
His face lit up, and he pointed at me hopefully.
“Yeah, I can.” And in sign language I told him, All the settlers can sign.
He looked astonished at that, and I realized there was a lot that surfs and settlers didn’t know about each other.
Raising his hands with their bulging knuckles, Gabion signed, Most surfs can’t.
A tick of pain tightened my throat. How awful to have no one understand you. How lonely. What did you want to tell me? I asked before realizing that I didn’t need to sign. Gabion wasn’t deaf.
Footsteps clanged on the metal stairs below us. At least two people were coming up to the sundeck. Gabion shot a worried glance behind him as he quickly signed, Go to the black market.
“Is that where Drift is?” I asked.
He shook his head. Then he seemed to reconsider and lifted his hands, palms up to show he didn’t know.
Gemma nudged me. “What did he say?”
“Why should I go?” I asked him. “What’s at the black market?”
Voices drifted up the stairwell as the footsteps climbed higher. Gabion jerked as if he’d been poked with a shock-prod. He spun to look down the stairs.
“Because he’s your prisoner until dawn,” the woman on the stairs snapped. “So station someone outside his cell.” I recognized Captain Revas’s voice.
Clearly Gabion did, too, because he motioned that he had to go.
I wondered why Revas had him running scared. “Wait,” I whispered, even though the footsteps were nearing the top of the stairs.
“Why can’t one of your troopers guard him?” asked a second voice, sounding very put out. Not surprisingly, it was Mayor Fife.
Backing into the shadows, Gabion signed, Hardluck Ruins tomorrow night, and vanished just as Captain Revas appeared.
I glanced at Gemma, who was frowning at the spot where Gabion had been. Brows pinched, she seemed suspicious of something. I beckoned her into the darkness of the covered walkway. The last thing I needed was another confrontation with Captain Revas.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Gemma and I watched from the shadows as Captain Revas paused at the top of the stairs and took a key from her pocket. “We’re leaving, and our sub can’t accommodate a prisoner. If Shade escapes before I return,” she
said as Fife joined her on the deck, “I will hold you responsible.” She thrust the key into the mayor’s hand.
“Whatever you say, Captain.” Fife’s smile barely concealed his irritation. “How’s the hunt going for the other two townships?”
I saw Revas’s expression tighten, and then without a word, she left him. As soon as she strode past, I slipped out of the shadows.
“I still don’t see how this is my job,” Fife groused, pocketing the key. “I didn’t arrest Shade,” he called to Revas’s retreating back. “I didn’t even want him arrested!” When that got no reaction, Fife gave me a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug.
Joining us, Gemma frowned at him. “The captain didn’t appreciate your township comment.”
“Just amusing myself at her expense.”
“It’s not funny, though.”
Fife looked at Gemma with surprise. “You think I don’t care about those surfs? I’m the only one who noticed that they were missing. I’m the one who—Ratter, no!” he shouted, waving frantically past us.
We turned just as Ratter tipped a man over the side of the wall and sent him screaming into the ocean. There was a distant splash, but no one else on the sundeck seemed to hear it above the music.
In answer to Fife’s astounded glare, Ratter shrugged. “You told me to take care of the troublemakers.” Snatching a life preserver off the wall, he flung it into the waves without looking. “He’ll make it, boss. He wasn’t that drunk.”
As Ratter shoved off, Gemma and I hurried over to the wall and saw the man below, gripping the life preserver, kicking his way to shore. Instead of taking a look for himself, Fife watched us slump with relief and relaxed. “Sit,” he said, waving us toward the café tables. “And I’ll tell you about the missing townships if you’re interested.”
The fact that he didn’t fire Ratter or even yell at him irked me. But I did want to know about the townships, so I followed Fife through the crowd. Matching my stride, Gemma seemed to have let curiosity muffle her annoyance, too.
As we settled at a table, I noticed that the people around us all had glowing blue lips and teeth. Another weird Topside fashion? I wondered. Then I spotted the center table piled high with clams—piddocks, to be exact. The kind that squirted phosphorescent slime. At the surrounding tables, people were happily cracking open the piddocks, slurping them down, and roaring with laughter as luminous goo dripped from their chins.