Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  “What’s does balance mean?” I ask for everyone here keeps saying it.

  “Melily has the unique ability to control the actions of others,” Lord Osperacy tells me. “But her talent doesn’t work on you, therefore you are her balance.”

  I think about how Melily tried to order me off the ship, and how furious she was when I didn’t leave.

  Lord Osperacy smiles at me again, showing two rows of clean, straight teeth. It’s not a friendly smile either, it’s a victorious one. “Tell me, Nerene, what do you know about sirens?”

  When I think about sirens, I think of the necklace Sande made me, the one I left on the windowsill of my Saltpool hut. It’s probably been swept into the kelp forest by now and buried in mud, but a small part of me likes to think green hands picked it up, and that it now rests on the delicate scales of a fish maiden’s neck. “My Maam used to tell me stories about them,” I say.

  “Fanciful stories of half-fish, half-humans I imagine.” Lord Osperacy chuckles, gazing up at framed engravings of sirens hanging on the wall—I suddenly realize there are many. “You know, sirens do exist, but not in the way you might think. They’re not fish-people who live in the tide, but they do have, essentially, wavurl. You know what that is, don’t you?”

  I nod. “Wavurl is how sirens summon people into the tide and drown them.”

  “In the stories, yes, but in reality it’s how people like Melily and Douglen control the will of others.”

  I would think this man was telling me a wild story if I hadn’t just met Douglen. Even so, there’s a part of me that feels like reality and reason can’t be trusted at the moment. Stepping onto this ship has almost felt as if I’ve stepped into another world.

  “Melily is a siren,” Lord Osperacy continues. “Yet her wavurl doesn’t work on you. Sirens can control anyone except for the rare people who were born precisely when they were, and of course, other sirens.”

  I nod again, and I’m also surprised that the angry girl in the nightdress who looked to be about twelve or thirteen tides old is actually the same age as me. I watch reflections of electric light slide across Lord Osperacy’s shiny desk as I think everything through. There’s so much wood on this ship, and so little of it the cheap kelpwood or pressed-reed boards we deeplanders have in abundance.

  “I’m also a siren,” Lord Osperacy tells me. “Or rather I once was. Unfortunately wavurl vanishes when one grows older.”

  As I watch his reflection in the desk—an undulating, blurry shape—I think about how Gren said speaking to him made her thoughts feel sick.

  “I’m still immune to it though,” he continues. “So now I care for others with the gift. First I took in Douglen, then Melily, and one tide ago, I welcomed a young boy named Timsy. It’s nearly impossible, you can imagine, for common parents to raise such uncommon children. Young sirens may not have full power until they reach maturity, but they can still be little tyrants, impossible to discipline, completely disruptive, and often dangerous.” Lord Osperacy leans forward. “Douglen has two balances, his wife Shara and a man named Jeck. They serve as his conscience and remind him not to misuse his abilities—always a great temptation for sirens. We are a rare group, and the equatorial powers tolerate us so long as we’re useful. But if we ever became uncontrollable, they would quickly cut us down. I have no illusions about that.

  “Now I’ve found a balance for Timsy, even though he doesn’t have much use for her yet, but I don’t have a balance for Melily, and as you can imagine, balances are difficult to find. As I said, we sirens cannot use our wavurl on each other, but Douglen and I do not have time to constantly supervise Melily. She needs a level-headed companion—someone who can steer her away from trouble, someone who can remind her what her responsibilities are. I hope that will be you.”

  Had this man found me a sunedge ago, I would have had endless questions about these real-life sirens and their wavurl, and I would certainly want to know more about the job. However, right now I’m only thinking about how I can use this strange situation to help Sande. I’m still confused about a lot of what Lord Osperacy has told me, but one thing is clear—I have value to him. “I won’t work for you,” I say. “Not unless you help me.”

  Lord Osperacy narrows his eyes. “You realize I’m offering you a wonderful life here on my ship—something you surely don’t have.” He glances at my ragged clothing and pauses, perhaps to give me a chance to say I’ve changed my mind. When I remain silent, though, he shifts slightly in his chair, and I get the sense that he’s both annoyed and a little impressed that I’m being so stubborn. Whatever the nature of my work for him will be, I’m guessing it requires strength of will.

  “So what is it that you want?” he asks.

  I tremble because now everything I care about feels as if it’s hanging over a cliff. “I want you to save my friend Sande. He’s been arrested and is in prison and will surely die. He needs to leave Varasay.”

  Lord Osperacy looks thoughtful. “Why was your friend arrested?”

  “He started a riot and threatened the Chancellor’s son,” I say, sensing that it’s best to be honest about Sande’s situation.

  Lord Osperacy’s eyebrows rise.

  “But I care about him,” I continue, “And he’s not a bad person. The uplanders here are going to banish him with mutilation, and I don’t want him to die. Please. If you don’t help him, I might as well die myself—I’ll be useless to you.”

  Lord Osperacy’s mouth twists to the side in irritation, but I also see a twinge of a smile. “What’s his name again?”

  “Sande Olin.”

  The uppy man is quiet for a long time but finally says, “Douglen can handle it, but you’ll go with him. I don’t want him rescuing the wrong person.”

  And is it really as easy as that? I close my eyes and let my fear fall away. Thank you, Water Goddess.

  The soft chair no longer seems like it’s trying to swallow me, instead it feels like it’s cradling me.

  “However—” Lord Osperacy says.

  And my fear snaps back into place, rigid and sharp.

  “Your friend cannot travel with us.” He looks as if he expects me to pay very close attention.

  I do, but I also say, “Sande isn’t dangerous, I promise.”

  Lord Osperacy straightens his fingers, splaying them across his desk like bony starfish. “It’s not just that. I want you focused on Melily. You are no good to me pregnant. Is there a chance you’re pregnant?”

  “No.” I flush. Not this tide. “But if you save Sande… will we be apart forever?”

  “Isn’t that better than him dying?”

  I nod, swallowing back the threat of tears that aches in my throat. “How will I know Sande’s even safe then? How will I know you’ve kept your word?”

  Lord Osperacy smiles faintly. “You may correspond with him using the mail ships.”

  “But we can’t read or write. We’re deeplanders.”

  Lord Osperacy closes his eyes for a brief moment, surely annoyed. When he opens them again, he says, “Then I suppose… you may speak to each other using relayphones when we are in port. But you will have to learn how to read and write. It’s imperative for a balance. Melily can teach you.”

  I hate the thought of being separated from Sande, and I’m afraid of traveling with these powerful strangers, but I came here for Lord Osperacy’s help, and now I suppose I have it. I manage a genuine-sounding, “Thank you.”

  I’ve never been in an automotor before. It growls at me like all uppy machines, but it’s not the chugging rattle I so often hear in Varasay’s lower city. It’s more of a steady rumble, low and deep, and it makes my legs tremble as we travel to save Sande.

  I can’t see the driver, but Douglen and his wife, Shara, sit across from me. Shara is one of Douglen’s two balances, and she seems to be the opposite of him in almost every way. She’s tall where he’s short, slender where he’s boxy, and as far as I can tell, gentle where he’s cruel. The fragile, floating f
abric of her lavender dress and her pale, shining curls, make me long to bathe and run a comb through my own hair.

  As Douglen watches Varasay’s lower city pass by the automotor’s windows, Shara asks me questions. “Do you have any family, Nerene?”

  “Just Gren… she’s like a grandmaam,” I say, feeling another stab of sadness that I’ll soon be leaving her and blinking back tears.

  “What are the Varasay deeplands like?” Shara asks.

  “Beautiful but hot,” I tell her, and it’s difficult to have a conversation right now because I’m so worried. Shara seems nice, though. I’m glad I’ll be traveling the Sea Spread with at least one kind person. “So… do you have wavurl too?” I ask, still feeling confused about how the Osperacy family operates.

  “No, not me,” Shara says with a smile. “I’m like you. I was simply born at the same moment Douglen was, so his wavurl doesn’t affect me.”

  I glance at her husband. Although I’ve had an unnerving taste of his wavurl—I’m still concerned his strange power won’t be enough to free Sande. Yet when we reach the checkpoint leading from the lower city to the mid city and Gray Straps ask for our passbooks, Douglen proves how strong his abilities are. He hands the guard his passbook, as well as passbooks for Shara and the driver, and then he says—very casually—“You don’t want to see the girl’s passbook.”

  The Gray Strap standing at the automotor window frowns, but after inspecting the three small booklets, he waves us through.

  I’m still nervous as we continue on through Varasay’s mid city, but at least I can distract myself by looking out the windows. I’ve never been in the mid city before, few deeplanders have, and it strangely seems even more crowded than the lower city. Even though the houses are clean and well maintained, they’re also small and jammed close together on steep slopes. A few homes have gardens out front that might be lovely in warmer weather, but those little squares of dirt are so crowded with Threegod statues and garishly bright banners, it’s hard to tell. Bridges sometimes arch overhead, and every so often, we pass buildings that are as large as factories and overly decorated with elaborate window frames and complicated brickwork. I suspect they are schools or healing houses.

  We travel through another checkpoint, and again Douglen uses his wavurl to make sure I don’t have to show my passbook, and then we enter the high city. Here the buildings surrounding the automotor are even more showy and ornate than the ones in the mid city. Every single home, housing tower and shop seems to have colorful walls, grand entryways, and roofs that almost look like jaunty hats. And between all of these structures are plenty of giant, gilded Threegod statues—some show K’Gar, Laeros, and Shale battling demons while others have them standing hand in hand, and in one sculpture—which I find particularly amusing—each god cradles a baby landrunner.

  The automotor stops before a dark purple home with silver pillars and a blood red door.

  Carrying a latched case, Douglen leads us up the front steps. After he speaks with a servant at the entrance, we’re brought into an enormous room. It’s as large as a barracks building, if barracks buildings were hollow inside, and there is an intense arrangement of blue and purple tiles on the floor, plenty of finely-made furniture that seems tiny in the vast space, and curtains made out of enough pearlsilk to dress everyone in Saltpool. There is also an overpowering smell of burning, fragrant oil. I’m a little surprised because I thought we would be going to a prison. Sande surely isn’t here.

  A servant pushes a man seated in a wheeled chair into the room, and a bolt of fear runs through me—it’s Giron. A knit coverlet hides his legs, there is an ugly bruise across his narrow face, and his voice sounds frail when he says, “My father will join us in a moment, Master Osperacy.”

  This must mean I stand in Chancellor Noble’s home, and as I absorb this shock, Giron notices me. “That girl… she worked in my factory. She’s a deeplander.” His mouth flattens in anger, and he tries to rise from his rolling chair, but whatever his injuries are, they’re severe enough to stop him. He sinks back down, groaning in pain.

  “She works for my father now,” Douglen says lightly as if the news is unimportant.

  Giron sucks in a sharp breath. “You can’t just take our people.”

  “Of course not,” Douglen says. “My father is giving you something in return.”

  Giron eyes the latched case in Douglen’s hands expectantly, but Douglen doesn’t open it. Instead it seems we’re waiting for the Chancellor, who arrives a moment later. He looks just like he did last tide when he visited the barracks to deliver the tidewater address. He wears a dark suit with a blue vest that fails to hide his round belly. His thick hair is streaked with gray, but he still has plenty of it, as well as a bushy mustache. He also wears a gold-plated gadget that I think is a portable timekeeper. There are three parts to the little machine, all of them pinned to his jacket and connected with glittering chains that bounce as he walks.

  The High Priest of Laeros follows him into the room and that very much surprises me. It’s the same old man I threw up on.

  The Priest’s eyesight, though, must be poor because he doesn’t seem to recognize me. Although I suppose it could also be that he simply doesn’t remember what I look like—I am an unimportant deeplander after all.

  “It’s good to see you again, Master Osperacy,” Chancellor Noble says in such a stiff way it’s clear he’d rather not see Douglen at all. “When I heard you wanted to discuss the release of a prisoner, I called for High Priest Fenelly of Laeros to join us as well—he oversees holy justice in the lower city.”

  The High Priest bows his head. “As you know, true justice comes from a power higher than our mortal selves. I am simply a representative of that power.”

  Douglen gives Shara a quick, annoyed look that must mean he’s not a devout Threegod follower and then says, “It’s a simple matter. We’re taking this girl, and we also want one of your other prisoners released to us.” He turns to me. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

  “Sande Olin,” I say softly.

  “No!” Again Giron tries to stand, and again he collapses back into his rolling chair, this time muttering several ugly curse words.

  I have to admit that as unhappy as I feel right now, I’m glad Giron’s miserable too.

  “You can’t have that deeplander,” Giron says. “He stole from me and tried to kill me, and he started a riot that destroyed my factory. He’s extremely dangerous!”

  “My son is right,” Chancellor Noble adds, although he speaks calmly. “We value our friendship with your family, of course. Lord Osperacy has certainly helped me out in some thorny situations, but that prisoner cannot be released. You are welcome to take the deepland girl; my goodness you may take more deepland girls if you like—have your pick—but the prisoner you ask for must be punished. We need to restore peace and order to the lower city.”

  My stomach twists at Chancellor Noble’s suggestion that Douglen help himself to other deepland women.

  But Douglen doesn’t seem interested. “I know I ask for a lot, which is why my father has sent a token of deep appreciation.” He opens the latched case, and because he’s standing in front of me, I can’t see what’s inside. Whatever it is, though, seems to impress Giron, Chancellor Noble, the High Priest, and even the smartly-dressed servants in the doorway. Everyone’s eyes widen.

  Chancellor Noble brings his hands together. “Generous as that may be, we will not—”

  “Come and take a closer look,” Douglen says. “All of you.”

  And even though his wavurl command isn’t directed at me, I can feel it rasping painfully against my thoughts. I also watch in amazement as everyone obeys him—Chancellor Noble steps closer with a humiliated blush, the High Priest approaches Douglen with a slow shuffle, Giron grunts in pain as he moves the large wheels of his rolling chair with his hands, and even the servants drift nearer to Douglen with expressions of helpless shame. I suspect they aren’t supposed to move from their posit
ions in the doorway unless summoned.

  “And now that you can all clearly see Lord Osperacy’s gift,” Douglen says in a low, rather menacing voice. “Surely you are also reminded of how easy it would be for me to free the prisoner myself, but since my father would like us to remain friends, I hope we can come to an agreement.”

  “Of course, of course.” The Chancellor nods and with a look of defeat, reaches for the case. “We here in Varasay value your friendship too much to quarrel.”

  Now that Chancellor Noble is holding the case, I see that a golden, jewel-covered necklace lies inside.

  The High Priest of Laeros frowns at Chancellor Noble. “Such a valuable trinket should be given to the gods.”

  And Giron glares furiously, not at Douglen but at me. “Is the deepland girl paying you somehow? I know your power can be bought.”

  “Hush Giron,” Chancellor Noble says, and then he turns to the High Priest. “We’ll find a fair way to make sure our city and Threegod both benefit from this generous gift.”

  Shara smiles faintly as the servants scuttle back to their places alongside the doorway, their cheeks red. And I am tremendously relieved that the Chancellor will free Sande, but beneath my happiness, I’m troubled. The Osperacys are more powerful than I thought, for the most influential people I have ever known just yielded to them.

  When we return to the ship, I spend the rest of the day in my new cabin. I suppose I should be admiring the luxurious, pleated curtains, the shiny brass lights and the huge bed, but all I see is how hatefully uppy it all is.

  Gray Straps bring Sande to the ship at dusk, and Douglen, with his balance Jeck this time, reunite us on an upper deck.

  “Father wants you to be certain that he’s honoring your agreement,” Douglen tells me.

  And as for Sande, he looks awful. His face is swollen and bruised, and a deep cut runs beneath his left eye. Unfamiliar, grungy clothing covers the rest of him and probably hides other injuries. Judging by the crooked way he’s standing, I’m sure there are plenty.