The main gallery is a dimly lit room as large as a steamship. Exowhale bones hang from wires above, and dead animals pose on pedestals as if they’re still alive. I see snow bears, fringed bears, striped panthers, long-tailed deer, water ox, gully-pigs, and dozens of other amphibs and landrunners that I don’t recognize.
“This place is strange,” I say, moving to one side of the hall. I can barely see the wires attached to the exowhale skeleton, and it doesn’t seem safe to stand beneath it.
Melily isn’t bothered though. Instead she inspects the crumpled paper she tore off the pillar.
After a moment, her eyes dart over to me. And as if worried I’ll inspect the paper over her shoulder, she quickly folds it up and stuffs it back into her coat pocket. “I have a big surprise for you after we’re done here.”
“What is it?” I suspect I won’t like it.
Melily’s mouth curves into a prim smile. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
A few uppies pass through the hall, pausing to view the dead animals and discuss them in hushed voices. Eventually a tan-skinned, white-haired man appears wearing a vivid blue jacket and frothy, gold-threaded scarf. I’m guessing he must be Saevel Mauricen, the man we’re waiting for.
Sure enough he walks over to us, looking at me. “Do I know you?”
I suppose I appear to be the eldest and therefore in charge.
Melily is quick to correct him. “Oh, no-no, you don’t know her, you know me! You just haven’t seen me in ages. My name is Melily Osperacy. I’m Lord Almen’s daughter.”
“Of course you are! Melily, it’s good to see you again.” He gives her a quick, formal embrace. “You are so grown up! Is your father well?”
“He’s doing wonderfully well,” Melily says. “And he also said that while I was in the high city today, I just had to stop by to see your personal collection.”
“And of course you must!” Sir Mauricen idly taps his walking stick on the gleaming floor. “I wish I could say it was as impressive as your father’s. Does he, perchance, have any new finds to sell?”
“Not this tide—not yet anyway,” Melily says. “But he heard a rumor that you acquired some arctic stones. Did you really?”
Sir Mauricen’s eyes glitter. “I did!” he says as if sharing a secret. “And they’re breathtaking. A friend of mine found them on an expedition to the skytide frozen cities. Can you imagine? Traveling all the way up there?”
I like the friendly crinkles in the corners of Sir Mauricen’s eyes. They make him look like the sort of half-rugged, half-refined person who might enjoy visiting Saltpool. I like his walking stick too. The handle is a glass ball with a tiny blue starfish inside.
“You’ll have to forgive my office. It’s in a terrible state!” Sir Mauricen leads us out of the main gallery and into a chamber lined with painted portraits. The subjects have unfamiliar hairstyles and clothing, but they have the same rounded cheeks and curved features that seem to be common in Beth.
“We just opened a new exhibit,” Sir Mauricen tells us. “It’s about Oro-Lemah, the Water Goddess, and the many ancient people who once worshiped her. However, the city priests are livid. They say it’s an offense to Threegod! Can you imagine? I’m sure Threegod doesn’t care about a lost culture and dead religion. Anyway, I’ve been writing letters to King Renji trying to sort it out. I’ve got papers everywhere.”
I didn’t know the Water Goddess’s name is Oro-Lemah. Maybe people only call her that in Beth.
“Can we see the…” I falter, not sure how to phrase it. “See the Water Goddess… room?”
Melily sighs. “No, Nerene. We’re here to see Sir Mauricen’s personal collection, remember?”
“Why don’t we see both?” Sir Mauricen smiles at me. “We’ll pass right by the Oro-Lemah exhibit on the way to my study.” He walks faster, swinging his starfish cane broadly as if it were for decoration rather than support. It makes me think of the way Sande and I carried sticks when we were children. We’d knock them against kelp trees, sending birds flying and rain monkeys skittering up into the higher branches.
We pass through another corridor lined with paintings of harbors and old-fashioned sailing ships, and then we enter a spacious hall containing a statue of a siren that stretches from floor to ceiling, nearly as high as a barracks building. Fins spread out from her dimpled elbows like oddly placed wings, and her legs curl into twin fish tails. Her mouth is full of jagged teeth, and a single beam of electric light makes her glow greenish-gold.
I stare up at her in awe. So this is the Water Goddess or, I suppose, Oro-Lemah. I wonder if there was once a statue of her in our village.
If the real goddess is truly so huge, she could pick me up with one hand.
Keep Sande safe, I beg her with my thoughts. Please.
A glass box framed in polished wood rests at her feet. I move closer, and I see a miniature city lies inside, complete with tiny sculptures of people and animals.
Sir Mauricen joins me. “Fascinating, isn’t it? That’s a scale model of Dovi, one of the greatest deepland cities. Actually, Melily, your father helped me locate it, and we led the first expedition there together. I love how flat it is! Those ancient architects didn’t have to worry about limited space like we do.”
I lean closer, pressing my hands against the glass. These buildings are so much larger and more intricate than the huts we repair and rebuild after every tide. I wish Sande could see them.
I ignore Melily’s folded arms and walk over to another glass box. This one holds fine metal shafts the size of my fingers. Each shaft is engraved with angular patterns and what must be writing, some even have jewels on them. “Are these… snappers?” I ask.
“Why yes!” Sir Mauricen says. “You have a good eye. They are so much more refined than the snappers deeplanders use now.”
I prickle because I’m sure we deeplanders could make fancy snappers like these if we had fine metals and jewels.
“So much knowledge was lost during that first tide,” Sir Mauricen continues. “So many craftsmen and artisans drowned. Can you imagine what it was like for those people when the water first came? Most of them had nowhere to run. Many of the lowland cities weren’t near mountains, you see. There was no way to escape the floods. It was such a tragedy.”
“How did the tide start?” I ask. It’s a question I’ve asked before. Gren Tya says the Water Goddess lost her children and asked the ocean to find them. Bessel thinks it’s because people are sinful, and the Water Goddess is trying to drown us, and the Threegod priests say the Water Goddess is really a demon who spat venom into the ocean, driving the water mad.
Sir Mauricen grips his walking stick with both hands. “The professors at Beth University teach that it’s because our moons aren’t equal in size. They believe one was knocked out of position by debris in the stars. I wish I remembered their lectures well enough to explain it in greater detail because their theories are fascinating.” He moves over to a table. “Come this way, my dear, you might enjoy this. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s my favorite part of the exhibit.”
I join him at the table. It has a depression in the center that cradles a carved slab of rock.
“We don’t know what the writing says—hopefully one day we will—but isn’t the art interesting? Here are the uplanders.” Sir Mauricen uses his walking stick to point out a group of carved figures who carry spears and stand on a hill. “We were so simple then, hunters mainly. And here are the deeplanders.” He points to several people standing among flat, rectangular buildings. A few of them have hints of gold paint on their clothing, although much of it has been worn or washed away. “But who are these people?” Sir Mauricen points to a few figures standing in a lake. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”
“I’d like to see the arctic stones now.” Melily follows her comment with a loud sigh.
“Of course, of course.” Sir Mauricen turns to her. “Forgive me, I’m just so fond of all this dusty old stuff. I once led all the expediti
ons to Dovi—first with your father and then on my own, and it was so exciting! It’s been years since I’ve been down in the deeplands, but hopefully, I’ll be able to go again soon. Who knows if I have the energy, though!”
He seems to have plenty of energy to me as he jogs up a wooden staircase and nearly sprints down a thin hall. After a few more doors, stairs, and passages, he ushers us into a room with sandstone walls, a circular window, and mountains of clutter. It seems as if someone ran about the place tossing books and paper into the air. Within the chaos, stand countless shelves and glass cases, all crammed with rocks, rusted bits of metal, paintings, stone sculptures, and tattered scrolls.
“See? It’s such a disaster. I do apologize.” Sir Mauricen tugs on a thin chain, and electric lights that resemble candles flicker on. He then picks up a human skull as casually as I might hold a rock and doesn’t even whistle to soothe the death shadows. “We just closed an exhibit on the mining shafts beneath Beth. Much of this was on display and needs to be cataloged.”
“What a fascinating collection,” Melily says, not sounding remotely interested. “Please show us the arctic stones.”
“Ah yes! Just let me get them.” Sir Mauricen digs a key out of his bright blue jacket and unlocks a small metal door in the wall. A moment later he pulls out a wooden chest, which he also unlocks. Nestled on foamsilk inside, are what seem to be ice shards pulsing with soft light.
“They’re beautiful!” I say.
“They are.” Melily sounds surprised. She squeezes between us. “Could a person make jewelry out of these? You’re going to give me five of them. Could one be cut and, like, set into a ring?”
“Arctic stone jewelry would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Sir Mauricen says. “I’ve heard they make some arctic stone necklaces skytide of the equator, but I can’t imagine…” He winces as if in pain and touches his head.
I look to Melily, impressed and a bit frightened by how smoothly she used her wavurl.
Sir Mauricen’s eyebrows pull together. “I can’t imagine how much they cost and…” He steps back from the table and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He then turns to Melily. “You know, this may sound odd, but I’d love to give you a few of these, perhaps five? It’s an extravagant gift, but I was once very close with your father.”
“Oh, well thank you so much!” Melily’s surprise is almost convincing.
Sir Mauricen holds out the chest of arctic stones with a crooked frown.
She’s here to steal. We’re here to steal. The reality of it squeezes me around the middle. I feel so stupid. I should have realized what ‘acquire’ meant earlier. “Is this what you do?” I whisper to her. “Is this what I’m supposed to help you do?”
“Hush, Nerene.” Melily gives Sir Mauricen a reassuring smile, and then selects one, two, three of the largest stones and slips them into her handbag.
Sir Mauricen’s eyes drift over to me as if he hopes I’ll explain what’s happening.
I turn away, feeling horrible. All of this is for Sande. This is what I must do to keep him safe.
After Melily selects rocks four and five, she snaps her handbag shut. “Aw, you’re way too generous. And now we actually have to be on our way. Show us out please.”
“Of course.” Sir Mauricen gives his head a little shake. He then puts the chest of remaining arctic stones on a precarious pile of books and leads us out into the corridor.
My cheeks burn with shame, and halfway down the first stairway, I say to Melily, “Is this why your family has so much money?”
She exhales heavily. “Ask your stupid questions later. I’m trying to focus.”
And I suppose I’ve distracted her from whatever she must do to keep Sir Mauricen in thrall because he pivots on the landing and glowers at us. “You’ve done something to me. Why did I give you those gems?”
“You’re supposed to be helping, not making things harder,” Melily hisses at me, hurrying down the steps. “Show us the way out, Sir Mauricen, and make it a back door.”
His face crumples as he tries to fight her wishes, but he also continues to limp down the stairway.
“You can’t control him forever,” I say under my breath, and at least I think she can’t. “He’ll call for Gray Straps.”
“You mean he’ll call for R.S. Men,” Melily tells me. “This is Beth, not Varasay. And no, he won’t. I’m not wrinkly old Douglen with fading wavurl. I’m a full-strength siren.”
I vaguely remember Lord Osperacy telling me that he no longer has wavurl. That makes me hopeful. If Douglen’s powers fade soon, maybe he won’t be able to control me much longer. And when Melily loses her wavurl, she won’t need a balance anymore—although I certainly hope I won’t have to serve her for that long.
Sir Mauricen opens a door, revealing a snowy alley behind the museum. I race outside, my boots punching out crisp footprints. But Melily lingers beside the older man, craning her neck as if she’s about to peck him on the cheek. “Forget everything about meeting us,” she tells him.
Then leaving him inside, she shuts the door, takes three staggering steps, and collapses.
“Wake up,” I whisper, rolling Melily over so she isn’t lying face down in the snow. “Wake up, please!”
I glance over at the museum door, half-expecting Sir Mauricen to barge through it calling for Gray Straps or R.S. Men or whatever the city forces are named here.
Several minutes drag by. Is Melily dying? Is she already dead? I take off a glove and work my bare fingers past her pearly knit muffler to find her neck. But when I touch her warm skin, her eyes spring open, bloodshot and purple around the edges.
I pull back. “Oh thank the Water Goddess! Are you all right? What happened?”
She shudders out a breath. “Making someone forget… it’s hard.”
“Come on, let’s get you up out of that snow.” I pull my glove back on and hoist her onto her feet, glad she’s tiny and I’m not. This must be what Lord Osperacy meant when he told me that Melily might strain herself.
Snowflakes collect in our hair as we hobble down the alley toward a lively street full of bundled uplanders and creeping automotors. I expect Melily to scold me for distracting her in the museum, but she doesn’t. Perhaps fainting softened her temper.
“Doug and Shar keep saying that I need to be more subtle.” Melily leans heavily on me. “They say it’s better if people don’t know I’m commanding them. But it… takes so much focus to do that… and it’s especially hard when I have a new balance.” She gives me a cloudy look. “Sometimes it’s just easier to make people forget they ever saw me.”
It doesn’t seem easy. She’s hanging off me like a springwine drunk or someone sick with a fever. When we reach the busy roadway, I steer her toward the front of the museum. Hopefully none of the uppies slogging past will notice how weak she is, and hopefully Brindy will have the automotor waiting.
“No.” Melily turns in the opposite direction, and when I resist she seems to double in weight.
“Yes,” I say. “We have to return to the ship.”
“But the surprise, remember? I have a big surprise for you.” She rummages in her fluffy, white coat and hands me the flier she tore off the pillar. “This is tonight.”
I can’t unfold it one-handed, so I pinch a corner and shake it open. Large, urgent writing covers the yellow paper. I also see the same drawing that was on one of Melily’s music squares—the drawing of a young man with flame-like hair that breaks apart into fish. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s a Cressit Scale swingshow tonight! Right here in Beth!” Melily’s voice is high and airy as if she’s telling me that one of the Threegod forms is about to descend.
“A swingshow?” I echo, confused.
“He’s performing!” Melily taps the words on the flier with her mitten. “Singing!”
“We’re supposed to go back to the ship,” I say firmly. Again I tug Melily toward the front of the museum.
But she’s regaining her strength a
nd pulls away. “You don’t have to come, but I’ve wanted to see Cressit sing for forever, and I’ve never been in the right city at the right time. Father still thinks I can’t be trusted at swingshows. This might be my only chance. I’m taking it.”
Which means I’ll be blamed, and if Lord Osperacy’s angry with me, he surely won’t let me speak to Sande on the relayphone. Panic flutters in my stomach. I try a different approach. “What about the arctic stones? Your father will want them as soon as possible.”
“Pssht, that doesn’t matter. He won’t find a buyer for months. He can wait a few stupid hours.” Melily staggers away from me.
I debate running to the front of the museum. If Brindy’s there, I can tell him Melily’s plans, and he can tell Lord Osperacy or Douglen. But if I leave Melily, I risk losing her for several hours, and it’s my job to protect her.
I flick snowy hair out of my eyes and wish I knew what to do. I need to make up my mind quickly, though, because she’s already several housing towers away.
With a moan of frustration, I plod after her. Surely Lord Osperacy wouldn’t want me to leave her side while she’s weak.
Melily waits for me to catch up. “Does this mean you’re coming?”
I nod in resignation. “Can we at least ask Brindy to pick us up when this Cressit person’s done singing?”
Melily makes a face. “No, absolutely not. Brindy will want to tell Father, and I don’t want to spend the night wavurling him. Don’t worry, I’ll just make someone drive us to the Trident later on.”
Then as if to show me just how easy that will be, she waves the flier at the roadway until a bronze-colored automotor rolls to a stop, and then she orders the driver to take us to the Cressit Scale swingshow.
As anxious as I am about Melily flaunting her wavurl, I’m happy to climb into a warm auto. I squeeze in beside a scandalized-looking young woman and her three fuzzy black dogs.
Melily glares at her. “Don’t ask us any questions.”
The young woman opens and closes her mouth a few times, and then says, “Excuse me, you can’t just ride in my —”
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