Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  I rush forward to hug him—gently—but he stiffens and steps away. “Not now, Nerene.”

  “Are you upset with me?” I ask, surprised. “Sande, I just saved you.”

  “You only had to save me because you shot me with a snapper. We could have run. You could have shot Giron instead.”

  I blink, and I’m so shaken by his anger I don’t know what to say. I suppose I understand how he feels about the snapper, but I thought by now he’d realize why I shot him. “I couldn’t let you kill Giron.”

  “So you were protecting me from myself again, huh?” Sande says bitterly.

  I suppose my attempt to protect him didn’t succeed. He was still captured and given a fatal sentence. Still though… “You shouldn’t have stolen from the medicry.”

  “I did it to help us.” Sande takes a deep, trembling breath.

  “But you also stole a gunnerife!” I cry. “Sande, that was stupid.”

  “No, it was a risk worth taking. Do you know how much gunnerifes sell for in the lower markets?”

  “But you almost shot Giron.”

  “To save Amista—I didn’t think he’d blame her.”

  I’m speechless because how is this my fault? I just saved Sande’s life, and now we have to say goodbye, maybe forever, and he’s ruining our last moments with an argument. I suppose Sande probably just spent the past few days enduring beatings and maybe even torture, and I suppose because of that, I can’t expect him to suddenly give me a tender goodbye, but…

  I hear laughter and turn to find Douglen and his balance, Jeck, sniggering.

  “As funny as it is to watch your boyfriend berate you,” Douglen says dryly, “finish saying goodbye. I need to bring him to the ship he’s traveling on.”

  I turn to Sande, and even though I’m upset, I still do my best to remember every detail about him. As awful as our final farewell is going, at least he’s safe. It’s dark, but the warm glow of Varasay illuminates everything I’m trying so hard to memorize: Sande’s large eyes, the soft curve of his lips and nose, his jagged mess of curly hair.

  I want to say something memorable, something he can run through his mind while we’re apart, but before I get the chance, Sande says, “I might be angry, but I also love you, and I’ll miss you.”

  “I love you too,” I say.

  I step forward to kiss him, but then he says, “You paid for my freedom somehow, didn’t you? What are you giving those men?” And his tone of voice makes me flush.

  “Not what you’re suggesting,” I say, although I suppose Douglen could command me to do whatever he pleased and I’d hardly have a choice. Another ripple of fear runs through me.

  “That’s enough,” Douglen calls. “Say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” I say, wincing against the wavurl and disappointed that Sande and I are parting like this.

  “Goodbye,” Sande echoes, and there is still sharp fury in his voice.

  Then Douglen makes Sande walk—or rather, limp—away, and a serveman leads me back to my cabin. Once there, I huddle in the center of my uppy bed and let out all the tears that I’ve been holding in. I’m thankful Sande is alive, but now I’m leaving him and Mount Varasay, the only place I’ve ever lived. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Gren, and thinking about her in particular, I cry myself to sleep.

  When I wake the room is full of sunlight, and I have a headache.

  A girl stands beside my bed, and I suppose she woke me up. She has tan, freckled skin like mine and curling brown hair like Sande’s, and she wears a belted, gray dress that has the tidy look of a uniform.

  “I’m so sorry to disturb you.” She takes a timid step forward. “But Lord Osperacy would like you to dine with the family today. He wants you to get to know Melily before we reach Beth.”

  Beth. My foggy mind latches onto the name. Of course, Beth would be the first mountain city we’ll visit, the closest one currentways. Sande told me about it once, but I can’t remember any details aside from the fact that it has a king.

  I try to sit up, but unhappiness holds me down, heavy as the tide.

  “I can’t come to dinner,” I say softly. “I’m not feeling well.” Whatever my job entails, it surely doesn’t require me to be friends with these uppies.

  The girl in the uniform is young, perhaps only five tides older than me. “Oh…” She looks down uncertainly. “Lord Osperacy’s not going to like that. But I can run a bath for you, and don’t you want some clean clothing? I think you’ll feel better.”

  I shake my head, closing my eyes. She’s being kind, and I should be thankful, but I almost wish she were behaving more Bessel-like. I want to lash out and fight someone.

  “When did you last eat?” she asks. “I didn’t know you were here yesterday, or I would have brought you some food. That might be why you’re not feeling well.”

  When did I last eat? I think it was at least one day ago at Parsita’s, but now my insides are too numb to feel hungry.

  The young woman reaches for the door handle. “Well, I’ll bring you some food. My name is Marthes, by the way, and I’m the servegirl for the Trident’s second deck. If you need something, just press that buzzer over there. And I’ll be…” she snaps her fingers, “right here.”

  Marthes returns shortly with biscuits topped with some sort of peppery fish mixture, and she offers to run a bath for me again. Her polite persistence probably means I’m even filthier than I feel, but I’m too broken to care. When she leaves again, I lie completely still, letting time wash past, formless and endless. I think about how miserable Bessel must feel, and I wonder if she knows about Sande’s fate. And I think about Gren, who’s surely worried—I hope Carnos told her where he last saw me. I also think a lot about Sande. What would have happened if I’d sent that snapper dart into Giron’s neck? If the riot had still broken out, maybe Sande and I could have fled to the docks and simply stowed away on a ship. He had robbed the medicry, after all, and it seems likely that he might have hidden what he stole in the factory. Maybe we could have escaped together. Did I ruin it all with that snapper?

  I feel like I’ve made a bargain with a family of demons too. Wavurl power has only ever been something I heard mentioned in stories, not something real. These people call themselves sirens, but they aren’t swimming through the tide, so what are they really?

  At one point the ship shudders and rumbles around me, and it feels as if I’m inside the mighty lungs of an exowhale.

  We must be sailing out of Varasay’s harbor.

  And Sande is also leaving or has already left on a ship I don’t know the name of—and where is he going?

  The windows darken and then grow light again.

  Marthes returns with a morning meal of toasted bread, ripe shallowberries, and roast gull. She lingers too, surely to make sure I eat. I pick at the food and swallow a few of the berries, but it all tastes wrong.

  It’s also strange, so strange, to have someone serve me and treat me like I’m an uppy. I don’t like it.

  Again Marthes shares an invitation from Lord Osperacy to dine with his family, and again I say I’m not feeling well. I’ll do my job and escort this Melily girl around when I must, but I don’t want to spend any more time with these frightening strangers than I have to.

  I only leave the vast bed to use the washing room, which to my surprise is not like our shared scrubpits in the barracks but, instead, my own private space. It’s nearly as big as my cabin, and there’s a strange washbasin shaped like a chair to relieve myself in. There’s also another washbasin built into a cabinet and a giant bathing tub.

  As the sky grows dark once more, my cabin door opens again. Yellow light from the outer passage falls over the foot of my bed like a rumpled blanket.

  “I’m not hungry,” I say, assuming Marthes has brought more food.

  The yellow light widens, and a shadow fills it.

  “Get up.”

  And I do because it’s not Marthes, it’s Douglen Osperacy. My joints protest, my muscles ach
e, and the stubborn thoughts in my head seem to shift and resettle as I stand. I feel as if I’ve either just recovered from a terrible flu, or I’ve aged fifty tides.

  I glare at Douglen.

  He wrinkles his nose. “Good Shale, it smells like something died in here.”

  Marthes hovers behind him, carrying a stack of towels.

  Douglen steps further into my cabin. With his wide face, square features, and slab-like hands, he looks as if he’d be more comfortable in a Gray Strap’s uniform, not the dark blue suit he wears. And even though he’s nearly a head shorter than me, he still looks strong enough to snap me in two. “You know that with a simple command, I could make you throw yourself off the ship. Do you really want me to stay and force you to bathe, dress yourself, and come to dinner?”

  I long to slink back onto the bed. “No.”

  “Good.” Douglen looks to Marthes. “Clean her up. You’ve got an hour.”

  As soon as he leaves, Marthes meekly says, “I’m sure this will make you feel better.”

  I stare at the closed door. “I don’t like him.”

  Marthes stiffens. “Not many of us do, to tell the truth, but it’s best not to anger him.”

  The bathing tub is a smaller version of the baths in the Laeros Temple. Hot, salty water pours out of a gleaming spout, filling the shiny ceramic basin. It’s so different than the bathing alcoves in the barracks where we deeplanders hastily clean ourselves beneath frigid trickles of water, and if I weren’t so upset about being compelled to bathe, I think I’d like it.

  Once I’m clean, Marthes swaddles me in a towel and shows me four dresses that belong to Shara. There are also some underthings, stockings, and uppy shoes.

  “I’m sure you’re gonna buy your own clothing in Beth,” Marthes says, smoothing one of the gowns out on the bed. “But Miss Shara says she’ll share hers with you until then, so aren’t you lucky ‘cause she has the loveliest clothes.”

  The dresses are beautiful, although far too slim for me. The only one that fits is an orange gown made of such flimsy, light material I expect it to tear as Marthes buttons it down my back. The shoes, though, are a little too big.

  When I’m dressed, Marthes has me sit near the washing room mirror, which is clearer and smoother than any mirror I’ve ever seen. She towel-dries my hair and then arranges it into a mound of twisting braids.

  On the way to the dining hall, we pass several other shipsmen, servemen, and servegirls. Most of them wear gray uniforms like Marthes, but a few wear black outfits or deep blue. I wonder how many people it takes to operate such a large steamship and how Lord Osperacy pays them all.

  We pass through a large dining hall full of elegant tables. Most of them are empty, although a few well-dressed, unfamiliar uppies dine alongside the far windows.

  “Who are those people?” I whisper to Marthes.

  “Lord Osperacy welcomes other passengers too,” she says, and I imagine some of those travelers were the people I saw peering out of cabin doors when I first met Melily.

  Through the windows beside the passengers, I see the tidewater, smooth and flat. It makes my heart quicken, for I’ve never seen the ocean this way, with no dry land in sight.

  We enter a smaller dining room that has a single, long table in it, as well as a glittering electric light that looks like a cobweb covered with raindrops. Lord Osperacy’s already eating, as are Douglen and Shara.

  Shara nods at the empty chair beside her, surely inviting me to sit. “That dress looks pretty on you.”

  I’m too amazed by all the food to reply. Huge quantities of tied bread, smoked fish, and sliced fruit lie in tidy half circles on gold-trimmed platters, and several steaming silver cauldrons stand nearby.

  “Welcome Nerene! I hope you’ve enjoyed your time on my ship so far,” Lord Osperacy says as if he has no idea that I’ve spent the past day and a half sulking in my cabin.

  “It’s nice,” I say stiffly, and I sit beside Shara, feeling like a fish swimming with the wrong school.

  A woman dressed like Marthes in a gray uniform and a white hairpiece pours red liquid into my eggshell-thin glass. I look around for the real Marthes, but she seems to have left.

  A uniformed man then serves me salted cabbage and squares of roasted meat in a dark sauce. I wonder how I’m supposed to bring the food from the plate to my mouth. The knife doesn’t look sharp enough to skewer it, and there are no clay ladles like we use in Saltpool.

  Just then, Melily drifts in.

  I haven’t seen her since we first met, when she was half awake and furious. Now she looks like a child wearing her mother’s clothing. A lacy, kelp-colored dress swings around her knees, a necklace of black pearls drips down past her waist, and a band of green velvet tames her curls. It’s still strange to think that we’re the same age

  She sits across from me but doesn’t seem to see me. “Ugh, I thought we were going to have lobster. Didn’t we have water ox, like, two days ago? Tell me this isn’t leftovers—because gross.”

  I look down at my meal. Water oxen are landrunners. No wonder it smells so good. Aside from fish and crab in Saltpool, we usually just eat stringy amphib.

  I try to stab a piece of water ox with a dull knife, but the cube slides to one side. Frustrated, I pick it up and pop it quickly into my mouth.

  “Oh Threegod!” Melily says. “Did you see what the sludge just did?”

  Shara touches my arm, points to the pronged tool lying above my plate, and softly says, “We use the bigger one for meat.”

  I nod and not wanting to wipe my gravy-covered fingers on my borrowed dress, I lick them clean.

  Melily bursts out laughing. “Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Father! Look at her! She’s like a mountain dog. I can’t have her following me around in Beth! What if she barks at someone?”

  Jeck, Douglen’s other balance, enters the dining cabin just in time to laugh at me too.

  I want to throw my useless, shiny knife at them. If only it wasn’t so dull. What is it for anyway? Cutting wheatmeal? Slicing water? Only uppies would have something so wasteful and foolish.

  Lord Osperacy turns to Melily. “If you don’t want Nerene to embarrass you, then you must teach her how to behave. How about you two spend the day together tomorrow?”

  Melily opens her mouth to protest, but instead she slumps back in her chair and puckers her lips as if she just ate sour river melon.

  Jeck has more to say, though. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, Mel. Deeplanders are really stupid. I hear it’s so damp in the kelp jungle, it rots their brains.”

  He and Melily laugh.

  “That’s enough,” Lord Osperacy says. “You’ll help train Nerene too, Jeck. She needs to know how to use a gunnerife by the time we reach Beth.”

  A gunnerife? That wasn’t part of our agreement. Gunnerifes only cause trouble. In my mind, I see Sande holding that awful weapon again and pointing it at Giron and ruining everything. “Why must I use a gunnerife?” I risk asking.

  “Sometimes Melily strains herself while using wavurl, and it can leave her vulnerable.” Lord Osperacy plucks a salt shaker up off the table. “It’s your job to protect her.”

  “I wouldn’t trust a sludge with a gunnerife,” Jeck says, and eyeing me, he cleans his teeth with his tongue. He’s skinny and tall, with a soft jaw and mottled skin, and strangely, even though he’s dressed as finely as everyone else, there are black oil smudges on his fingers and similar stains on his shirt. It’s as if he’s been working in a lower city factory. “I mean look at her,” he continues. “She can’t even eat normally. There’s probably only one thing she can do well… or I guess I could say, have done to her.”

  Anger burns through me, and I jerk my arm without meaning to, spilling the red drink. To my astonishment, the fragile glass doesn’t break, but the red liquid sloshes into my lap, soaking my legs through the borrowed dress. It smells like the springwine we drink in Saltpool, so it must be some sort of cohol.

  There are
no serveworkers around at the moment, so Shara helps me sop up red drink with the fine, foamsilk cloths that I didn’t realize were tucked beneath our plates.

  “I’m so sorry about your dress,” I say, for it’s surely ruined.

  “It’s fine,” she says lightly. “I have plenty more.” But then under her breath, only loud enough for me to hear, she adds, “Be careful.” And I know she’s not talking about the stain spreading across my skirt.

  The next morning Marthes helps me find Melily’s cabin. The petite siren appears at her door with her dark hair curling in all directions and wearing a frilly dressing gown. Seeing me, she frowns. “Oh right, I’m supposed to civilize you.”

  Melily’s cabin is much bigger than mine, with two adjoining rooms and windows that overlook a narrow deck. I’m sure she has a pretty view most days, but today it’s raining, and the sky is just as dull and gray as the ocean.

  Her room, however, is cheerful looking, with bright blue walls and dark blue trim. Two upholstered benches rest on a thick, circular rug, and there’s also a large bed veiled with transparent drapes. I’m most fascinated by her many railed shelves full of landrunner sculptures—some familiar and others not—as well as framed picturegraphs. The only picturegraph I’ve ever seen is the massive portrait of Chancellor Noble in Varasay’s wharf market. He looks so real in that poster, I’ve had dreams where he tears off the pressed kelpwood and stomps around, crushing market stands.

  “Would you like anything before I leave, Miss Osperacy?” Marthes asks.

  “You should already know I want some hot seaweed tea,” Melily says as she strides away to peer at herself in a round mirror, its frame decorated with carvings of water lilies.

  Marthes nods and then leaves us alone. For a while I wait for Melily to speak to me, but when she continues to busy herself at the mirror, combing her short hair, picking at her skin, and dusting her cheeks with pink powder, I walk over to the shelves and examine the picturegraphs.