The Teeth in the Tide

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  “Captain.” One of the sailors spoke, his voice shaking. He pointed through the gap of the railing.

  Mermaids were rising out of the sea—scores, maybe hundreds of horrible wet heads and slick shoulders, hair floating, eyes burning, jaws gaping. The ocean was gone, and in its place was a festering sprawl of bloodthirsty monsters.

  “Replace the boards at the railing!” Flay snapped. “Make ready quickly! Unfurl those sails!” He moved away from Kestra, barking more orders.

  Even as the men scurried to obey, a hideous sound shivered through the bones of the ship—the scraping of a million sharp claws on the metal plating, countless talons testing for weaknesses.

  “Shoot them!” Flay cried. “All spare hands, take crossbows and fire over the side!”

  “Captain!” shrieked a sailor, bursting up from below. “The mermaids are climbing the anchor chain!”

  Flay glanced at him desperately but kept shouting orders, running across the deck to help with preparations for setting sail. Jazadri pulled himself to a sitting position, but Kestra knew he couldn’t stand—not yet.

  “Mai, bring your knives and come with me.” Kestra ran toward the frantic sailor, recognizing him as the red-haired one who told of seeing mermaids on night watch. “Where are they coming in?”

  “Follow me!” He disappeared below decks.

  She staggered down the steep steps after him, into the dim hold of the ship. Down here, the scraping outside sounded like thousands of horrible insects scrabbling over the hull. Kestra swore under her breath, hoping the asthore, lightweight though it was, would be strong enough to keep the mermaids from clawing holes in the ship. If Flay could get the Wind’s Favor under way, past the bigger mermaids and back to the swarms of smaller, less intelligent mermaids around the island, they would be safe. A strange fate, that she should now view those teeming waters as safer than these.

  She stumbled against the wall of the passage as the ship tilted dangerously.

  “There!” The sailor pointed ahead, to the hole where the anchor chain passed into the ship. Bony arms poked through the gap, claws tearing at the wood, trying to widen the opening.

  “Keep going,” Kestra said to the two sailors working the windlass. “We’ll take care of them.”

  “Aye, lass, we’ve got it under control,” said one of the men. “The boy here got a bit jumpy, runnin’ for help. It’s only his second trip to Kiken.”

  The young sailor flushed.

  “You have a knife?” Kestra asked.

  “Yes,” said the boy.

  “More knives,” gasped Mai, crashing into Kestra as the ship rocked again. She held out two blades, and Kestra grabbed one, whipping it from its sheath. Her fingers molded to the smooth handle as if they belonged there. A savage elation shot through her, and she smiled.

  “Let’s avenge Jazadri’s fingers,” she said.

  Rage or joy—she honestly couldn’t tell which—blurred the minutes as she hacked through mermaid fingers, slicing the tough webbing and chopping at the joints, dodging sprays of dark red blood. At some point the grinding of the anchor chain stopped, and the last of the hideous arms disappeared from the hole. The wooden floor was soaked in blood, littered with bits of mermaid flesh and claws and webbing. Kestra surveyed the carnage, her nerves singing with tension, knife poised to slash anything else that might pose a threat.

  Mai tugged at her arm. “Kestra. It’s done. You can give me the knife now.”

  Slowly Kestra unclasped her fingers from the hilt, and Mai plucked the knife away. Kestra looked up into the wary faces of the sailors who had worked the windlass. The boy sailor gazed at her with a mixture of shock and admiration, his knife still clean.

  A bang and a thumping of rapid footsteps sounded from the passage. Flay burst into the room, sopping wet, his shirt hanging half off.

  “Blossom.” He sagged against the doorframe. “I looked for you—I didn’t know where you went. What happened here?”

  “Mermaids climbed the anchor chain,” said the young sailor. “She cut ’em to bits.”

  Flay frowned. “Did you help?”

  The red-haired boy shrugged. “Couldn’t get close enough. She chops fast. And wild.”

  Flay broke into a grin. “She’s a cook. Cooks have knife skills.” He caught Kestra’s gaze and held it. “Mai, it’s safe to go up on deck now. We’re well under way, moving at a fast clip thanks to the wind. Jazadri is in his cabin, right next to mine, so you can take shelter from the rain in there and keep him company.”

  Mai sighed. “Thank the stars. I have so many notes to make, and I haven’t even begun to observe the creature yet. She’s still on deck, isn’t she?”

  “Secure in her cage, and the cage tied to the mast,” he answered, still looking at Kestra. “Go on then.”

  Mai disappeared down the passage, and after another minute, Flay held out his hand to Kestra. She took it, conscious of every callous on the pads of his fingers, every flex of his warm hand. She felt each tiny creak of the steps as they climbed up to the deck, savored every exquisite drop of rain bursting against her skin. Heard the strong voices of the sailors, the whip of salt-scented waves, and the shearing whine of the high winds through the rigging.

  She had never felt so alive.

  Flay pulled her into the dark embrace of his cabin, and Kestra stood still, nestled in shadow, until he got the lamp lit.

  “There’s a basin here.” He nodded toward the washstand bolted to the wall. “You may want to rinse that blood off.”

  As she dipped her fingers into the limpid water and rubbed them slowly, she surveyed the cabin. The walls were covered not just with maps, but with illustrations—sketches of women in every shape and size, of horses and mountains and warriors, oceans and ships and monsters. Flay’s bunk was plainly made with simple blankets, but he’d added colorful pillows embroidered with exotic designs—a winged snake, a horse with a head of tentacles, and a bare-breasted woman with six arms. His heavy leather coat hung over a chair near a desk strewn with writing implements, half-finished sketches, product lists, and star charts.

  Kestra felt immediately at home in the space, because it was so very Flay. It was like opening a new window into his soul and discovering things that made perfect sense, though she hadn’t expected them.

  “You’re an artist,” she said.

  He shrugged, peeling off his wet shirt and snatching a towel from the washstand. “Of a sort.”

  “Of a sort?” She scoffed. “These are good. May I have one?”

  He waved a hand around. “Take your pick.”

  “No.” She moved close to him again, until she touched his bare, damp chest, and he stilled. “I want you to draw one just for me.”

  “It takes time, love. Time I don’t have on this trip.”

  “Well then—when you leave, and you’re at sea for days on end, and you’re thinking of me—you can draw me something.”

  He took her wrist, rubbing his thumb over her pulse. “You were stunning today, Blossom. So strong. Fearless. If I didn’t already love you, I’d have fallen for you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Completely.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, and the touch sent flames up her veins to her heart.

  “Why do I feel so alive?” she whispered.

  “Danger does that,” he said. “Makes you wake up and realize you’re glad to exist.”

  She wanted him to draw her close, to touch her everywhere. In this heightened state of being, she thought she could reach new levels of ecstasy.

  But Flay moved away from her and sat down heavily on the bed, with the towel between his hands. “I should go out on deck.”

  “Do they need you?”

  “I suppose not. The rain isn’t bad, and they have their orders. Jaza told me to leave him alone—said I was fussing like an old woman. I was very offended.” His mouth curved, but she saw the twinge of pain in his eyes. “And the mermaids have fallen back. No, Blossom, no one needs me right now.”
r />   I need you, she wanted to say. But perhaps he needed her more.

  She seated herself beside him, flicking her finger over a slash in her pant leg, probably from a mermaid’s claw. She hadn’t noticed it before. The edges of the split were damp and dark, and between them a crimson line glowed against her pale skin.

  Flay glanced at the cut. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Kestra held out her hands, red and scratched, but otherwise whole. “I’m fine. How is Jaza doing?”

  “Shocked, I think. Grateful, maybe? I think he was expecting to lose a lot more than a couple of fingers.”

  Taking the towel he held and tossing it aside, Kestra gathered one of Flay’s hands in hers, savoring the strength of each lean brown finger, tracing the lines of his palm. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

  “Ah, I would have managed. Most captains have lost a toe, a leg, an arm—something or other. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

  “What about your father? What did he lose?”

  “His soul,” Flay said darkly.

  “And your mother? You rarely speak of her.”

  “My mother.” He sighed. “She’s—confusing. The kind of woman who never loves quite enough to make a difference. When we were younger and my father beat us, she protested a little, but she watched, too. I think secretly she liked it.” He jerked his hand away from Kestra with a harsh laugh. “Why do I tell you these horrible things, Blossom? They’re not fit for ears like yours, for a heart like yours.”

  He rose and leaned by the window, peering out through a gap in the papers plastered over it.

  Kestra stared at her hands, empty in her lap. “A heart like mine?”

  “A heart that’s pure and sweet. You should stay untainted by the evil of the world, and if I could ensure it, I would.”

  She stood, swaying, and braced herself with a hand against the wall. She wanted to scream at him that he didn’t know her at all, that her heart was not always sweet, and certainly not pure. She wanted to tell him about the writhing, raging darkness that hid deep inside her, about how she kept adding chains and walls to keep it down and hold it in. Maybe if she told him, he could help her control it, especially now, when it was so close to breaking free.

  But if she told him, he might laugh. “What have you to be angry about, Blossom?” he’d say. “You live safely behind the walls of your island, with your kind-hearted family and friends. Your father died? At least he was a decent father, not a monster like mine.”

  She had no right and no reason to be this way. And if she showed him the darkness, maybe he wouldn’t want her. He might admire strength, but he loved her for her sweetness and softness. Loved an idea of her, a beautiful girl trapped by monsters. Someone he could save.

  But he had no idea what kind of rescue she really needed.

  -10-

  Rake

  Rake froze, balancing the open box in one hand, holding the belt with the other.

  “Turn,” barked the voice behind him. “Turn and face us!”

  “It’s the breeder Shale,” said a second voice. “Go get something to tie his arms.”

  “Why don’t we just tear his arms off?”

  “Idiot! The fool would bleed to death before we could bring him before the Queens! They’re not in any state to pass judgment right now, with the spawning in progress. We need to restrain him for a while. Now go!”

  Rake stayed where he was, his mind racing. He was no fighter. No match for a mermidon, especially not one of the elite warriors tasked with guarding the secrets under the Court.

  He scanned the piles of treasure, looking for anything he could use. If he could get his hands on a weapon, he might have a chance. Better to die at the end of a spear than to be slowly shredded by the Queens as punishment. He must act quickly, before the second guard’s return.

  “Face me, traitor slime!” ordered the mermidon behind him.

  Rake tucked the belt back in its slot and let the box float away, its lid gaping. Then he revolved slowly in the water.

  The mermidon had knots of pink hair all over her head and sharp gray fins protruding from her arms, forehead, and cheekbones. Her black eyes widened. “You’re not Shale. You’re Calla’s favorite, Rake.”

  “I am,” said Rake, smiling and swishing his tail. “Would you like to know why I’m her favorite? I could show you.”

  She screeched, aiming a serrated spear at him. “You think I’m a fool? I’d sooner eat you than mate with you.” Her teeth clashed, emphasizing the point.

  “Fair enough. But did you see the guard outside? The one with the viper eel attached to her throat?” Rake slid a hand into his bag. “I have another eel right here!” His arm flashed forward and the mermidon jerked back, shrieking. Rake dove for the treasury floor and came up with a double-edged axe. It swung sluggishly through the water, and he cursed. Obviously a human weapon, not intended for underwater use.

  By now the mermidon had realized that the objects floating around her head were Rake’s lockpicking tools, not a viper eel. She snarled and streaked toward him. Panicking, he shot away, darting around a stack of chests and striking them with his tail. The topmost half dozen tumbled slowly sideways, and one caught the mermidon on the side of her head as it fell. She faltered, and Rake seized that instant to swap his axe for a sword. He flipped, coming face to face with the stunned mermidon, and ran the sword through her throat.

  She jerked. Shuddered. Hate flared briefly in her eyes and she threw her spear, but her aim was poor and Rake dodged the projectile easily.

  No time to watch her die. He seized the floating box, pulled out both belts, and stowed them in his bag. Clicking the box shut again, he shoved it toward the back of the cave. As he did so, he thought he glimpsed, deep in the shadows, another larger box of the same bright silver—but he had no spare seconds to investigate.

  He spun back toward the treasury entrance, darting a glance at the wounded guard and the blood coiling from her throat. She was dying, he was sure of it. She wouldn’t be able to tell anyone that it was him and not Shale who robbed the treasury.

  On impulse, he darted over to her and unhooked the enormous conch shell hanging at her belt. The mermidons carried conches to amplify the warning cries they used on the merlow swarms. It could be helpful during Rake’s foray to the sea-wall. The dying guard’s claws twitched feebly at him as he swam away, but she was too far gone to be a real threat.

  He sped through the treasury doors, along the passage. A shout rose from a side corridor, and he glanced that way, choking on panic. Half a dozen mermidons streaked toward him.

  All rational thoughts shattered and Rake fled, blind with terror. A short spear whirred past him, its wake a rippling line through the water. Rake’s tail tingled in anticipation of the pain he’d feel any moment now—the pain that would signal the end of this foolish plan and the beginning of his death. Why had he been such an idiot? He could have left things alone, stayed quietly with Jewel, endured what he had to endure. Lived, as best he could. Maybe even found companionship with Shale. Poor Shale. Whether Rake escaped or not, Shale would be implicated in the theft, and possibly killed. It was an injustice he could barely stomach.

  He burst out of the underground passages into the wide space surrounding the Court. Here, there was nowhere to hide. More mermidons saw him fleeing and squealed, delighted to give chase even if they didn’t know why he fled.

  Rake’s heart beat in such a frenzy he thought it might burst through his ribs. He shot off in a new direction, only to be confronted by a grinning mermidon. She wiggled her claws at him.

  This was the end of it all. His dream. His life.

  The end of his future with Jewel.

  Hatred roared through Rake, and he sprang upward, heading for the glimmering, faraway surface. Cheering, the mermidons followed.

  There was no way to escape them, but at least he could get one more look at the sun.

  And then an immense, dark shape, huge as a whale, surged across the sur
face, throwing Rake into deep shadow. The next instant, a large object crashed through the water, plummeting past Rake in a violent flurry of bubbles. A thick chain trailed after it.

  Immediately Rake shot to the side, fast and far as he could, concealed by the swirl of bubbles in the wake of the anchor. Faintly he could hear the mermidons shouting—whether in panic or excitement, he didn’t know. The human ship never dropped anchor anywhere except at the island port by the wall. Certainly not so close to the Court, and never on a spawning day. What did it mean?

  He’d consider it later. As he sped away, shedding the remnants of his disguise, he thanked those humans over and over. Whatever they were up to, they had saved his life, and possibly Jewel’s too.

  When he’d put enough distance between him and the Court, he paused to figure out where he was. He had traveled west, right to the edge the Shallows, the domain of the merlows. He should turn south to get back to the males’ quarters.

  But first, he needed to find out exactly what he had stolen. And if memory served him right, there was a shipwreck nearby that might offer temporary refuge.

  The wreck had long ago been stripped of anything useful or beautiful. It lay desolate, dripping with seaweed and mired in sand, a broken shell on the ocean floor. The gaping hole in its side led to the lower decks.

  Rake plunged into the welcoming dark, his ears twitching and pupils dilating to catch any hints of dangerous creatures who might live within. A scant school of fish shivered past him, and a few eels wiggled away from his fingers, but otherwise, the place was empty.

  He needed to test the artifacts, and he couldn’t go back to his cave to use them, or someone might see. And Jewel—if Jewel saw what was about to happen, he would be shocked. He wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself, especially not if the queens decided to question him. Better to keep him unconscious of the theft until the last possible moment.

  With shaking fingers, Rake removed the satchel from his body and opened the flap. The two belts were still inside, still real. Squares of cold, smooth metal hiding an infinitely complex mechanism that he longed to understand. Once, long ago, his kind had worked with humans to create this marvel. If humans and mermaids worked together again, what wonders might they make?