Currently

by Sarah Mensinga

  I guess correctly. Cressit opens the door when I knock. He’s wearing his nightclothes too, and he’s also recently bathed. His usually pale skin looks pinkish, and his hair hangs in damp waves.

  He looks surprised to see me but only asks, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I say. “Although I’m still uncomfortable.” My knees feel soft and untrustworthy too, which makes it harder to focus on the question I need to ask. “That first night in Beth, after your swingshow. Did you make me forget something?”

  Cressit doesn’t answer.

  I feel even more unsteady. “I know sirens can do that. So did you? Did you do that to me?”

  He puts a hand over his mouth. “Threegod,” he says in a muffled whisper.

  And then there’s another long silence that makes me feel tight and anxious and tenser than I already am. Something’s wrong. I thought Cressit might be defensive, but this is odd… He looks sick. He looks like he just swallowed a mouthful of that spicy Hill Kingdom sauce.

  “You should come in,” he says, stepping back from the door.

  I hesitate. Surely that’s not a good idea. There are no Threegod priests on this ship, but I know all about people assuming the worst. At the same time, Cressit clearly has something important to tell me, and I want him to. Swallowing, I step inside.

  There aren’t many lights on in his cabin, and it’s a larger and fancier room than mine with a sitting area and a desk. I see a few of his stringed swingshow instruments lying in open cases near the round windows, and the clothes he wore today hang draped over a chair.

  Cressit shuts the door. “You’re right. I did make you forget something.”

  “Why?” I ask, hugging the sweater-robe tightly around myself. It’s strange how I used to feel so comfortable in nothing more than a fern-flax dress, but now without my restrictive, uppy underthings on, I feel exposed.

  “I didn’t realize you knew Melily that night,” Cressit says. “Not at first. And I… The thing is, most girls I meet after swingshows are interested in… so…”

  I feel sick. I think I know what he’s trying to tell me. Faint light shines through the windows. It paints blue stripes across the folds of his nightshirt. It pools on his cheekbone and on one side of his eyebrow. It concentrates into a pinprick of light in his left eye, leaving his right a pit of black.

  “You don’t really want to know this, I don’t think,” he says, and it’s almost like he’s pleading.

  “I do.” I sound certain, but I feel so unsure.

  Cressit stands still for a short while, as if giving me time to reconsider, and then he takes hold of my shoulders, pulls me close, and breathes a command into my ear. “Remember.”

  The word settles into me just like Douglen’s wavurl. There’s a heaviness to it, like a stone in water. There’s nothing my mind can do to stop it from sinking in deeper and deeper.

  Cressit staggers away from me, and just like Melily after we left the museum, he faints, colliding with the corner of his bed and hitting the floor hard.

  Instinctively I move toward him, but my memories are also rushing back. Everything I forgot about that night in Beth returns, and instead of helping Cressit, I drop to my knees and cry.

  There was more than the kiss.

  The night I spent in Beth’s high city unfolds and uncurls from the corners of my mind. Hazy thoughts appear like smoke and then transform into solid, certain, and frightening knowledge.

  The kiss wasn’t so much a kiss as it was kissing. And as it went on, my reason for pressing against Cressit seemed to change. Our embrace began because I missed Sande and I was angry with Melily, and Cressit was a handsome bandage for my sadness, but very quickly those complicated feelings vanished. All that remained was a pleasant feeling of warmth and a sense that I was enjoying something delicious.

  I felt like I could trust Cressit, and even though he certainly wasn’t talking, all around the red sofa, wafting through the air, was a promise he seemed to be making—a promise of bliss.

  His hand traveled up my leg and beneath my skirt, and usually I wouldn’t let someone touch me like that, but I didn't stop him.

  And when he said, “my bedroom's down the hall,” it felt like a rare and special opportunity. I followed him through his spread, feeling lucky and powerful—as if I were the Water Goddess about to free the Varasay deeplanders or overturn the Osperacy’s ship.

  And what came next… I undressed without fear, and I touched Cressit without hesitation. This was love, I was sure of it, exciting and pleasurable, and yet at the same time, safe and cozy.

  Then he pulled me onto his bed, and we twisted together with an urgent intensity. His skin felt like hot fire and mine cold water. He was on me, surrounding me, inside me.

  “Threegod,” he moaned.

  And I gasped and gaped, and by then I felt like the sirens I always thought were in the tide. I was trapped on land and couldn’t breathe, but everything felt so good, air didn’t matter.

  Then it was over, and we rolled away from each other, exhausted. I felt elated, peaceful even.

  But then Cressit fell asleep.

  And my contentment seeped out of me as another feeling took its place—a poisonous horror that I had just lain with a complete stranger and betrayed Sande.

  I didn’t love this singer. I didn’t even know him.

  Had I been gripped with insanity? Was the uppy drink more powerful than I thought? Could cohol fool a person so completely?

  I’ve always felt frustrated by Sande’s impulsiveness, and I was furious with Melily’s rash decisions about the swingshow, but now I'd done something far more reckless.

  I slid off of the unfamiliar bed, shaking, still naked. And I looked at Cressit, who still lay sprawled across the blankets snoring. And then I began to cry as I searched for my clothes. Snowy moonlight shone through three tall windows, helping me find my dress, but my underclothes, my shoes, my jacket—where was everything?

  “Quiet, I'm trying to sleep,” Cressit murmured, rolling over.

  What a callous comment. Another sob escaped me.

  After mumbling a bit more, Cressit sat up. At first he blinked blearily, but then his eyes widened. “You're upset. Why? What’s wrong?”

  I pulled my dress across myself, tried to answer, and instead sunk down on my knees, feeling crushed by shame.

  He slid off the bed and knelt beside me. “Fathoms, you’re not… hurt are you? Why are you so upset? Tell me, please.”

  “I didn't want to come here,” I said, hardly able to look at him. “I didn't. And I didn’t want to do that with you. I don’t know why I did that with you.”

  Up until then, Cressit wore a kind yet weary expression. But at that point, his face changed. It was like I'd told him the ocean stopped roaming. “You didn't want to lie with me, you mean?” he asked softly. “But you kissed me… and then…”

  “I kissed you because I was upset!” I cried, too confused to care about sounding mean. “And now I feel like I've gone mad. At first I just thought you were some spoiled uppy, but then… but then I did all of that. I've ruined everything.” Gren Tya always said rich uppies had fragile nerves because they think about themselves too much. Had I caught that illness?

  Cressit put his face into his hands. “Fathoms.” He wiped his fingers slowly down his cheeks before lifting his head again. “Ugh, this is my fault. I thought you were interested in me… and well, the girls who come to my spread after swingshows tend to be here for only one reason. But you’re saying, you didn’t want to do what we just did?”

  “I didn't even want to go to your swingshow,” I said. But this isn’t his fault. He didn't force me into his arms. He didn't make me do anything.

  “Ah,” he said, eyeing me. “This isn’t good, and I'm so sorry. How dreadful. When the R.S. Men appeared, the girls I was… spending time with… ran. I still felt like, shall we say, having company, and I saw you. You seemed interested, and it was late, so I skipped the formalities to hurry things
along. I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

  He collapsed onto his knees and buried his fingers in his hair, looking as horrified as I felt. “Fathoms. I… I don't even know your name.”

  “Nerene,” I whisper.

  “Well, Nerene, I confess I have a strange talent… I can make people feel things—so sometimes I make them feel good. I've always thought it was a kindness on my part in the bedroom—a sort of generosity—but I see that I went overboard with you. I misunderstood what you wanted.”

  “So you're a siren,” I said, wondering how many of them there were.

  Cressit looked at me with deep confusion. “How do you know about sirens?”

  “I'm… I…” I'd made things bad enough already. I couldn't confess all my secrets. “I can't say.”

  “Yes, you can,” Cressit said, moving closer to me. “How do you know? Tell me the truth.”

  And that was most definitely wavurl, although his power didn’t feel like Douglen's. Commands from Douglen felt like a rope around my neck, yanking me in a direction I didn't want to go. Cressit's command was more like a gentle-but-persistent nudge I couldn't resist. So sniffing back tears, I told him everything; all about my last tide in Varasay and how I am Melily’s balance and how I made a bargain with the Osperacys to save Sande’s life.

  “Augh, I’ve made a huge, huge mistake,” Cressit said. “I know I keep saying I’m sorry, but I really am.” Turning on the bedside light, he pulled on his clothes and helped me find the rest of mine. “I’ll fix everything, I promise.”

  “You can't fix this,” I said sadly, and by then I sat on the bed with my arms folded. “You can't undo it.”

  “Not exactly, no,” Cressit said, his brow furrowed. “But for you it will be like it never happened.”

  And I knew what that meant. He planned to clear my memory—the same wavurl trick Melily used on Sir Mauricen. “What if I don’t want you to?”

  “Trust me,” he said with wavurl in his words, as he reached for my shoulders. “It’s for the best.”

  And I suppose he was right for a while.

  Now on the Trident, with my broken memory made whole, I’m not done crying when Cressit wakes up.

  He doesn’t say anything at first, he just sits leaning against his bed.

  And as for me, I’ve tied myself into a knot, with my ankles locked together and my arms wrapped around my knees. I’m not a small person, but I feel tiny right now.

  After a long while, I say, “How did I get back to that red sofa?”

  “I put you to sleep and carried you,” Cressit says. “Again, I am sorry, and I was sorry, but I suppose you remember all of that now too.” He sits like I do, hunched up and small. “Back in Beth, it felt merciful to take your memory—but now… I realize I tricked you and then lied to you.”

  I skim through my repaired memory again, especially the parts that burn brightly and make me blush. “You didn’t command me, though, not until… after. Are you different from the Osperacys?”

  Cressit lets his arms unfold and drop into his lap. “No, but their way uses wavurl like a mallet. I prefer to use it subtly. I can make people feel specific emotions. It’s why I’m such a popular performer.”

  I hate that he sounds proud of himself. My anger rises up again. “That morning in Beth… I thought I could trust you, and that you could become a friend. I felt it. Was that just your wavurl?”

  “Probably,” he admits. “I often use it without thinking.” Cressit shakes his head. “I taught myself to use my wavurl like that with good intentions—I really did. Using direct commands to find Melily felt wrong, and I thought it would be better to bring people to me with music, and maybe they’d have information about her. It also gave me a good reason to constantly travel the trade routes. I just wanted to find Melily, and I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” For a moment, he falls silent again. “I have to admit, though, recently… I wasn’t as focused on finding her as I should have been. It had been so long, I thought that maybe she was dead, and…” He shrugs, looking away. “I suppose I was enjoying who I was.”

  “Who you are,” I say. I’ve stopped crying, but my sadness feels lodged in my throat.

  “I’m not going to be so selfish anymore. I won’t. I promise.” Cressit kneads the sides of his head, and I heard anguish in his words. I’m not sure I’m sympathetic, though. And what do I do with my memory of that night in Beth? It wasn’t upsetting while it was happening, but it’s devastating now.

  “I could be pregnant.”

  “You aren’t.”

  The way he says it, so certain, makes me upset. I wonder how many children he’s fathered on the tide.

  He didn’t have to give me my memory back. He could have just told me what happened in Beth—that sort of confession probably would have been harder on him but easier on me.

  Cressit must suspect what I’m thinking because he says, “Do you want me to make you forget again? There’s still time for that, and—”

  “No!” I say, sharp and loud, feeling defensive of my mind. And then I softly add, “But it’s not up to me, is it? You could lie with me and make me forget afterward, over and over. I’d never know.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Cressit stands, holding his arms at his sides, straight and stiff. “And besides, I didn’t make you kiss me. You did that on your own.” He isn’t whispering now. “It was wrong to influence you after that, yes, but you can’t blame me for thinking that you—” He falls abruptly silent and puts a hand on his mouth. When he speaks again, his voice sounds low and controlled. “I made a mistake—a big mistake. But I want to make it right. Look, if there’s an upside to this, it’s that I know I did wrong. Tonight is a turning point for me.”

  “I have to go.” I struggle to stand. My thoughts and feelings are still churning. I need to make sense of them and that can't happen here.

  Cressit moves to the door, but before he opens it, he stops and looks at me. “I know you’re furious, and you should be, but please don't let what happened between us ruin Melily’s rescue. When we reach Gatreijan, my ship…”

  “Of course I won’t say anything. I care about her.” I’m a little surprised to hear myself admit it, but I suppose it’s true. “You can’t take her just yet, though.”

  He still lingers at the door. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure you’re any better than the Osperacys, and besides, if you take her, you’ll put Sande in danger and me too. If you owe me anything, you owe me patience.”

  Cressit blinks and wipes his red eyes. “But… I promised to help you. When I take Melily home, you’ll leave with us. And since I’ll have my ship by then, we can find your friend, Sande. None of that has to change.”

  “Well I don’t want your help. Not anymore.” I push past him and out into the corridor.

  Back in my cabin, my bed feels too large, and the fernflax sheets refuse to absorb my warmth. Ever since we left Beth, Cressit has been kind to me, and today in the Hill Kingdoms, he even acted like a friend. And yet for sunpeaks, he had secret knowledge of me. I thought I could trust him, but the only person I can truly trust is Sande. And oh Sande, where in the Sea Spread are you? I lie on my stomach, and with my arms folded under my ribs, I shiver myself to sleep.

  For the next few days, I avoid everyone, and my stomach slowly heals. Melily badgers me to go swimming with her, but I tell her I’m still not feeling well. I keep my eyes down in the dining cabin, and thankfully Douglen ignores me. He spends his meals like he usually does, talking with Lord Osperacy and Jeck. They debate which trade route will make them the most money, discuss how much time the Trident should spend in each mountain city, and suggest ways to avoid the storms that appear on the weather sweeps.

  Cressit is easy to avoid. He doesn’t eat with us, and he spends most of his time either practicing in the cavernous hold with his band or trailing after Melily and, I suppose, letting her think she has power over him.

  I even stay away from Shara. I’m not sure I can l
ie to her if she asks me what’s wrong.

  At least Gatreijan is close, only days away, and if Lord Osperacy is true to his word, I’ll have another chance to speak with Sande.

  Now that I’ve had some time to think about my last relaycall, I suspect Douglen didn’t just end the conversation to be cruel. He ended it because I asked Sande where he was. Yet if I’ve figured out why Douglen cut our call short surely Sande has too. Hopefully the next time I speak with him, he’ll tell me where he is immediately. I probably won’t even have to ask.

  I stubbornly put all thoughts of Beth and Cressit out of my mind, and I feel genuinely happy when I arrive in the dining cabin one morning to find that we’ve reached Gatreijan. The city seems to stab its way out of the tidewater—a jagged spike growing larger on the horizon. After my meal of cold shallowberry oats, I’m so busy thinking about what I should say to Sande, I don’t notice Cressit waiting for me in the corridor. He snags my arm and bundles me into an empty cabin, hushing me at the same time.

  “Don't touch me!” I don’t want anyone handling me, especially him.

  “Shh! Quiet,” he urges, shutting the door. “I just needed to speak with you for a moment.”

  He doesn’t use wavurl when he’s telling me to be quiet, although I suppose with him it’s hard to tell when he’s using his powers. The cabin we’re in is empty but looks as if it could be another private dining room. I stand on a pretty, patterned carpet, paneled kelpwood walls surround me, and on my left, several bright windows look out onto the upper deck.

  “What do you want?” I retreat to the furthest corner of the cabin, putting as much space between us as I can.

  Cressit reaches into his pocket. “I have something for you.”

  He offers me a crumpled scrap of paper.

  I move close enough to snatch it, and then I scuttle back to my side of the room. There’s something written on it, yet despite all my reading practice with Shara, I don’t recognize the symbols.