I think he’s asking me which side of Beth I’m from, so I say, “Currentways,” in a cool tone I hope will end the conversation. Then I shimmy away from him and move toward the roasting hearth, a shining, metal monstrosity that could probably cook a whole froth turkey.
“Really? What neighborhood?” he asks, following me. “See, I’m from that peak too. You know much about Zevin Cove? My father renovates houses there.”
“Uh… no.” I glance at Melily. She’s now perched on the food preparation ledge, sipping something orange and bubbly, and giggling at a paddlebat story. I dodge around the man who’s trying to talk to me and snag her arm. “Let’s go find Cressit.”
The passages in Cressit’s home form a loop. We pass a luxurious washing closet, several bedchambers, and as we return to the large room where all the people are, I see a door leading out to a snow-covered balcony.
Back in what I suppose uppies would call a gathery room, a pretty girl with dark skin is now singing while two men play stringed instruments. I look for Cressit, expecting to find him still wreathed by young women, but he isn't there.
“When you see him again,” I tell Melily. “Just talk to him.”
She discards her empty glass on a small, low table. “But what if I say something stupid?”
“Do you think those other girls were being clever?”
That makes her smile, but she also sways. I should have intercepted that second drink. It’s time to be firm and get her back to the ship. It’s nearly midnight.
I lead her along the windows. We’ll just circle the spread once more, and surely we’ll find Cressit. But we’re only halfway across the room when the uppies around us go strangely stiff, like a startled herd of landrunner deer, and they all turn toward the housing unit’s entrance.
I look too, and bracken, six city guardsmen are shoving their way into the spread. Fear grips me. They must know Melily and I robbed Sir Mauricen. This is probably why Lord Osperacy wanted me to carry a gunnerife.
But then people start shouting, “Raid! Raid! R.S. Men looking for subs!” and telling each other to run for the “fire stairs!” I have no idea what those are or where they are, and since we are close to the windows, the easiest thing to do is pull Melily behind the heavy, scarlet drapes.
Unfortunately she won’t be moved. “I can easily get rid of Royal Shieldsmen,” she snorts and makes her tilting, unsteady way over to one of the city guards. “Um, hey, you over there, take your men and go away.”
To my surprise though, the man only snaps his fingers at another guard. “Ugh, Perrin, will you check that one?”
Melily’s mouth hangs open as another R.S. Man rushes over and shines a bright, electric torch into her eyes. “They look pretty red,” he says.
“I said leave!” she insists, but again it has no effect.
And oh no, it’s because she’s drunk. It must be. Why didn’t Lord Osperacy warn me that cohol would affect her wavurl?
With considerable regret, I step out of my hiding place behind the curtains. “Please, my friend hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” mutters the R.S. Man, now pocketing his electric torch. He then shoves a pale bit of paper into Melily’s shocked mouth. “We’re just supposed to check everyone. There’s always lots of substance pushers at these types of parties, and King Renji’s sick of ‘em.” He pulls the paper back out just as quickly and holds it up to the light. “But hey, good news, she’s clean, see?”
I don’t know what he’s looking at, or what the paper means.
“And don’t worry,” he adds, glancing at another R.S. Man on the opposite side of the room. “The captain said not to arrest curfew breakers tonight.”
Melily splutters angrily as he takes her handbag. “Give that back!”
Again the R.S. Man ignores her wavurl command. He clicks the purse clasp open and then frowns into the velvet-lined interior.
The arctic stones. Fathoms!
“Uh, sir?” He calls for the leader of their group. “You should take a look at these. I haven’t seen anything like them.”
The head R.S. Man inspects Melily’s handbag too. “Huh. Why are they glowing like that?” he asks Melily. “What are these?”
I hope Melily can think of a reasonable-seeming answer, but she doesn’t even try. Instead she folds her arms and says, “Just wait until you meet my brother.”
The leader of the R.S. team snaps Melily’s leather bag closed. “I guess this could be some new kind of subs. Who knows what floats in with each tide. Well, bind her. She’s gotta come with us.”
I open my mouth to offer an explanation of my own, but I struggle to think of one. Surely I can’t tell these men that the arctic stones are actually rare gems we stole from the museum. So feeling very useless, I mumble, “I don’t think they’re dangerous. Please don’t take her!” And I hang onto Melily as the R.S. Men wrap her wrists with a long black cord that has strange metal attachments on each end.
“Don’t you get arrested too,” Melily says, sounding a little more sensible than she did a moment ago. “You have to tell Father something’s gone wrong. Tell him my wavurl’s broken! Get Douglen! Hurry!”
Another R.S. Man leads her away, and then I have a bright light flashed into my eyes and a piece of strange paper pressed into my mouth—it tastes like rotten fish.
“She’s clean,” the R.S. Man calls to the other city guards.
I retreat to the windows, feeling helpless, stranded, and amazed that a night I didn’t think could get any worse, just did. Melily told me to get help—somehow I’m supposed to contact Lord Osperacy, but I have no idea how. I can’t even return to the Trident without her.
Once the R.S. Men leave, only about six or seven people remain in the gathery. I suppose most of the guests ran down those “fire stairs” or fled some other way. All the uppies still here are strangers to me. I don’t even see Tarrol and his matching ladies or the curly-haired man from the cookery or even Cressit.
Feeling shaky and desperate, I approach a plump young woman who has dark hair and brightly painted lips. “Please help me. My friend’s been taken by those men. I have to get her back!”
The strange uppy looks at me kindly. “Aw, night pick-ups aren’t processed ’till morning, sweetie. There isn’t anything anybody can do right now.”
I suppose I must be crying, because the woman puts her arm around me and says, “Oh don’t do that! Cheer up! This isn’t a big deal. They say it isn’t a proper party if there isn’t a subs raid. Does your friend use?”
I look at her blankly.
“Take anything? Anemone pills? Sea Star vapor?”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
She gives me another warm smile. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Now come with me, Terli looks after her friends.”
Terli’s idea of looking after me is to deposit me on a plush red sofa with a massive drink. The glass is just as fancy as Melily’s was. It reminds me of a mushroom cap perched on two stems that twist and wind around each other.
I stare at the liquid for a long moment, and then I drink the whole thing in one go. It tastes sweet but burns like barnacle peppers once I’ve swallowed it down. Managing to set the glass on the floor, I slump back into the sofa and let the room spin.
What am I going to do now? How will I get back to the Trident?
I suppose I don’t have to return. I have my passbook. I could stay here in Beth, find work, carve out a new life.
But that would mean abandoning Sande.
I wish I had another drink.
And then, like something out of Gren’s fanciful siren stories, one appears. “You look like you could use this.”
I look up in surprise, and although my surprise is dulled by the liquid that just seared its way through me, it’s still alarming to have Cressit Scale hand me a drink and then sit on the sofa beside me.
His hips wedge themselves in beside mine and the upper parts of him seem to crush the upp
er parts of me into the armrest, and I realize it’s not that large a sofa.
I expect him to say something about the raid, but instead he smiles that same smile I saw him flashing at the other girls and flips his hair back, revealing green eyes. “Did you enjoy the swingshow?”
I’m not in the mood for this conversation, so I say, “It was loud.”
Cressit’s smile vanishes for a moment, but then like a fire that isn’t quite extinguished, starts curling up again. “Yeah, I suppose so. What do they call you?”
“Nerene Keel.” The last time I pressed this tightly against anyone was when I shared my bunk with Sande. Remembering what it felt like to curl up against him sends a pang of sadness through me.
“So tell me, Nerene, are loud noises offensive to you?” Seeing Cressit’s sharp jaw and thick lashes up close, I can see why Melily’s taken with him. He’s handsome like a lot of uppy dresses are pretty—you don’t buy the dress because you want to wear it, you buy it to make everyone else jealous.
“Loud is terrible.” I feel raw, like an open wound that should be bleeding all over the sofa.
“I apologize.”
“You should.”
He wants to kiss me. He has that look—half-closed eyes and a sideways twist to his mouth. And I know, I absolutely know, I won’t be the first person he’s kissed tonight.
But I ache to be comforted, I’m angry with Melily, and my thoughts are spongy with cohol; so I lean over and kiss him. I close my eyes, I think of Sande, and in a bittersweet way—mostly bitter—I’m comforted.
It’s morning. I’m still on the red sofa. Oh no.
Sunlight floods the room, but at the same time, the air is cold—so cold it almost feels like I’m outside. I’m missing my coat, but someone’s covered me with a shiny, delicately-woven blanket. I try to pull it to one side, yet it stretches instead of moves, and I feel like I’m trying to unravel a fishing net. With the blanket still wrapped around me, I sit up.
My head feels three times heavier than normal, so I rest my chin on my hands and look blearily around the gathery room. It looks like a storm has gusted through the spread, scattering hats, decorative pillows, a scalloped rug.
Aside from the clutter, though, I’m alone.
Being upright seems to stir up the silt of my memories—R.S. Men arrested Melily, I’m stranded in Beth’s high city, and I made the horrible mistake of kissing that singer.
And even though my memory of kissing Cressit is fuzzy and far away, as if it happened several tides ago, I still feel a sharp sting of shame and guilt. Sande would be hurt and furious. And even more conflicting, I didn’t hate the kiss. Surely that’s because it was revenge on Melily, though.
But oh Melily! She has sunk us into such deep trouble.
Shivering, I brush strands of hair out of my face and tug my rumpled dress down. The balcony door is open, that’s why it’s so cold. Through a nearby window, I see two people talking outside.
Sitting here and regretting a mistake isn’t going to set anything right. I have to ask for help or beg if I must.
I rise, and as I do, more foggy memories surface. Did I tell Cressit about Melily’s arrest? I think I did. My eyes feel tight and dry like I’ve been crying too.
I hate that my mind is so sluggish. That cohol drink was far stronger than our deeplander springwine.
I bunch the stretchy, woven blanket up around me as if it were a Laeros Temple robe, and then I follow the path of wintry, outside light, keeping my hand on nearby furniture. The floor seems to slope toward the windows.
I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed when I reach the balcony door and see that Cressit isn’t out there. The men that are outside stand close together, wearing heavy, well-tailored jackets and sleek, brimmed hats. Both of them hold thin pipes, and they appear to be deep in conversation.
“Um, I’m sorry to bother you,” I say, my voice sounding gravelly and raw.
The men turn to stare at me as if I’m a gust pigeon or snowflake dove that just landed.
I press on. “I need help. My friend was arrested last night, and I have no way to return to my ship before…”
Before it leaves! I didn’t even think about that! Panic swells up inside me.
The men are older than I am. One has a single patch of gray marking his neat beard, and the other has thin lines around his eyes. The bearded one says, “All right, see? This is the perfect example of what I’m saying. We have a post-industrial society now, and young people are the victims of excessive luxury. They just don’t know how to contribute to the culture in substantial ways.”
The other man blows a stream of gray smoke over the balcony. “Yeah, Beth’s younger generation is spoiled, but are they the responsibility of the monarchy? I believe it will be a burden we all must bear if more of these youngsters abandon traditional family structures…”
And he keeps talking, giving me no chance to respond. Not that it matters, I have no idea what he’s saying, and it’s clear these men are not going to take me to the Trident. Are all uppies so self-centered? Sir Mauricen seemed kind, and I wish I could ask him for help. But even if I could find my way back to the museum, he surely wouldn’t recognize me.
Feeling both queasy and hungry, I hunch in my blanket and head back inside. I shut the door behind me, hoping the gathery will now warm up, and for a moment, I just stand there, clinging tightly to the curved handle as if it were the only solid thing in the tide.
If Sande were here, what would he do? I’m sure he wouldn’t expect the uppies to be kind to him or take pity on him. He’d probably start looking for shell papers or for something else valuable that he could tuck into a pocket and later sell. I don’t want to steal again, but—
“Ah, here you are.”
I look up too quickly and nearly fall.
Cressit stands on the far side of the room near the entrance. He doesn’t look like the polished young man who leaped and bellowed his way through a swingshow last night. Instead he looks like the monster in a children’s story whose princely disguise has melted away. His eyes are red and swollen, he wears a dull gray sleeping robe, and his hair either juts straight up or hangs limp.
“Would you like some tangelemon spice water?” He holds out a steaming mug.
I shake my head no. I’ve had enough unfamiliar drinks.
He hugs the mug to his chest and makes no move to come closer. “I have good news and also some unfortunate news.”
I tighten my grip on the door handle, not sure why he would be bringing me any sort of news.
Cressit edges along the wall as if trying to stay as far away from me as possible, or perhaps just far away from the still chilly area around the balcony door. And even more confusing, he speaks to me in a kind voice. “I’ve spent the entire morning on the building’s relayphone trying to locate your friend.”
So did I tell him about Melily, or did I tell him about Sande? The memory of kissing him keeps overshadowing everything else. I wish I could shake off my fogginess and think straight. I’d have a better chance of sorting everything out.
Cressit tosses his head, flipping his long, slept-on hair to one side in a way I suspect he’s practiced in a mirror. “So I searched, and at first I couldn’t find her. Someone said she spent the night in the countertide city cells… and then someone else told me she’d been released—so that’s the good news. Unfortunately, I don’t know where she is now.”
So it was Melily I told him about, and yes of course, once sober she’d be able to use wavurl again. That means she is probably either back on the Trident or traveling there. Relief that she’s surely safe and distress that I’m not battle for my attention. My thoughts also circle around Cressit’s mention of a relayphone—perhaps I can contact Sande. “Your relayphone, is it nearby?”
Cressit nods and sips from his mug. “The housing tower has a shared line for all guests.”
“Can I call a friend of mine? A different friend, please?” Sande might still be traveling on the
tide, but it’s worth a try. He might even be here in Beth like me.
Cressit looks sideways, and I can’t tell if he’s tired or annoyed that I’m still here. “Would you be using a ten number code?” he says. “The relayphone here is probably not wired for twelve.”
“Number code?” I echo in a whisper, feeling lost again.
Cressit nods. “Yes. You need a number code if you want to make a relaycall.”
“I don’t…” I drift off. I don’t understand. I frown, feeling stupid and frustrated. “Never mind.”
He’s silent for a moment as if he expects me to say more, and when I don’t, he runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to dress and wash up. Then I thought I’d summon us a ringer. Do you need anything else?”
Yet again I don’t understand.
I must look bewildered because Cressit offers an explanation without being asked. “What I mean is, I’ll hire us an automotor, and that way I can return you to your ship. I promised that I’d help you.”
He says the last bit with a strange punch of surliness as if I’ve doubted his helpfulness and now he must prove me wrong. He then wades across the cluttered floor to the far passage. “If you’re hungry,” he says, without looking back at me, “there is food in the cookery.” And then I’m alone again.
I realize with sudden dread that I put my passbook in the pocket of my coat, so now I really must find it. As I’m searching, two young people emerge hand-in-hand from another part of the spread and pass me as if I don’t exist. I also find three servewomen in the cookery; one of them scrubs glassware in the sink while the other two wipe the preparation ledges with gray rags.
There’s a mirror in the washing closet, and looking into it, I see that I’m just as disheveled as Cressit. My hair is jammed up on one side, and sunken, gray circles are under my eyes.
I unravel what’s left of Marthes’ hairdo, splash water on my face, and rinse out my mouth. Then feeling a little cleaner and more alert, I return to the gathery and thankfully soon find my coat. It’s wedged beneath a chair. When Cressit reappears, he looks more like he did last night, wearing shimmery, expensive-looking clothes with his hair brushed down over one eye. “Come on then,” he says, pulling on black gloves and walking to the door.
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