And I feel like I failed her.
She doesn’t sleep in our cabin after that, and I worry about her the rest of the way to Tak Ceseren. At least we’ll be switching ships there.
But when I remind Melily of this, she says. “Um, so… about that. Why don’t we just wait and see if there’s a reason to change ships. I mean, we’ve already paid for our whole trip on the Wanderlea. And it was just Brindy who saw me. He’s harmless—and who knows if he even really recognized me or saw the name of our ship?”
“Melily,” I say, trying not to let my frustration show. “It’s very likely that Douglen and Lord Osperacy know where we are. Douglen wants me dead, and they both surely want you back. And if they take you back, that will end your friendship with Sharles—and,” I add, with a stroke of inspiration, “it might put him in danger too.”
“My friendship with Sharles?” Melily repeats with narrowed eyes. And we are thankfully alone on the windy prow of the Wanderlea because she raises her voice too. “I can’t stand you sometimes, Nerene! What I have with Sharles is deep and meaningful and worth risking everything for. And if I can spend twelve more days with him, I want to. He says he doesn’t want to travel the tide forever and that he eventually wants to settle down somewhere. Maybe that could be with me. Maybe that could be in Ellevah.”
“Melily,” I say weakly, feeling our safety slipping away. “Please just think about it.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You know sometimes I feel like I’m your balance—the person who has to talk sense into you. How about this; we’ll find a sleeperhouse in Tak Ceseren, and while we’re in port, I’ll have Sharles watch for any strangers that visit the Wanderlea. But if no one from the Trident comes looking for us, then can’t we just stay on this ship a bit longer?” Now Melily’s looking at me in a pleading way. “No one’s ever liked me like this.”
Her pitiful expression softens my frustration, and I find myself saying, “Fine.” And hopefully it will be fine if we take those precautions. I wish I could simply leave on my own. I wish I didn’t feel so responsible for Melily and, at the same time, dependent on her.
“I think I’m in love with him,” Melily says, her cheeks pink. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but I really think I am. I’ve never been so happy.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” I say, and knowing that she’s never had anyone pay so much attention to her, it’s not a complete lie.
Tak Ceseren, our only stop on the way to Leistelle, is a flat, structured city. Aside from a stretch of forest on its starways shore, there’s nothing about it that looks like a mountaintop. I only see straight walls, square edges, and neatly-arranged housing towers. Pavoya, the cook, tells me that in order to make the city larger, the people here broke down the mountain peak and used the rubble to build up the surrounding land.
We’ll be in Tak Ceseren for five days because if ships travel too fast, they run out of tidewater. And as promised, Melily uses wavurl to find us a room in a local sleeperhouse, and Sharles stops by daily to let us know if any strangers visit the Wanderlea.
“All I’ve told him,” Melily assures me. “Is that some tide travelers threatened us in Gatreijan.”
Whenever Sharles arrives at the sleeperhouse, Melily is, of course, eager to spend time alone with him, so I end up going on a lot of long walks. But as much as I worry about her, I also love exploring a new city. I’ve never experienced this sort of freedom before—simply being able to roam without having to worry about Gray Straps or the Osperacys or the many Threegod rules we had in Varasay.
On our second day in Tak Ceseren, I decide to find the city’s Weather Service Office. I’m fairly certain each mountain has one, and I hope the people who work there will know where a loose factory barge might drift.
As I walk through the flat city, the square balconies, perfectly straight walls, and carefully trimmed hedges remind me of the miniature city I saw on display in Beth’s museum—the recreation of an ancient deepland city. Hugging my arms to my chest, I imagine water seeping in and around these roads, and I picture the market stalls floating up, and people climbing onto roofs, afraid. The first tide must have been so terrifying. It’s amazing anyone survived at all.
The people in Tak Ceseren don’t wear white robes like the tiny figures in the museum’s city did, but their outfits are still very unique. The women wear pale, frilly gowns with huge skirts, and the men stroll around in layered coats, elaborate jewelry, heavy boots, and decorative, feathered hats.
A few people glance curiously at my simple, belted seacotton dress and wildwool sweater, but like all cities, most everyone seems used to seeing tide travelers.
It takes me all morning to find the weather office because not many people in Tak Ceseren speak Equitorian, the common language of the trade routes. I can’t read the street signs either, for they use a different set of letters than the ones Shara was teaching me to read.
I’m finally led to the weather office by an older lady who seems to understand me, although I have trouble understanding her. The office, I learn, is on the top floor of a box-shaped building made out of white bricks. Inside I find people wearing more familiar uppy clothes, like suits, blouses, and skirts. They’re also working quietly at large drybark tables, marking charts, and using relayphones and other mechanical devices.
“Excuse me,” I say to a mild-looking man with a lot of hair running down the sides of his face; it’s somewhat like a beard, except his chin is bare. “Can you help me?”
I expect he won’t understand my Equitorian and that I’ll get the same confused stare I’ve been getting all day, but instead he smiles wide and says, “I know that accent! Are you from Beth? Me too! Currentways peak, grove park? You?”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “No, I’m from Varasay.”
He nearly bounces around his table. “Close enough! I’ve heard Varasay isn’t a nice place to visit these days, except for the puppetry competitions of course. Those are always a treat.”
Puppetry competitions? That must be something that happens in the high city.
“My name’s Fesro,” the man says. “And do I ever miss Beth. The big boss transferred me here two tides ago because she wanted workers fluent in Equitorian to handle all the relaycalls, but let me tell you something…” He lowers his voice. “She promised I’d be temperature tracking supervisor when I agreed to take the job, but then old Marsrin over there decided not to retire.”
I’m not sure what retiring is. Dying maybe? “I’m sorry,” I say, attempting to be polite. “But, um, my friend is lost on the tide, and I’m trying to figure out where he drifted.”
Even though Fesro seems to be a positive person, he can’t give me any good news about Sande. After spending a long while unrolling charts and examining the currents, he looks at me sadly. “Since you don’t know exactly where your friend’s barge started, this is only a guess. But most factory barges are far starways or far skytide, and the way the currents move around Noret and the UPT… If he started there, that barge probably slipped into frozen waters.”
Fesro even calls over several other workers and asks for their advice. After looking over the charts, their predictions are just as dire. Unless Sande’s rescued by a ship that’s late on the tide and far outside of the trade routes, I’ll just have to hope he can survive a year stranded in the ice forests.
It’s hard not to cry in front of these strangers.
Fesro rolls up his charts. “Listen, Novie…” he says, and it’s so strange to hear people use my false name. “I don’t think…” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if overcome by grief. “I don’t think it’s possible to rescue your friend.”
First Cressit thought Sande was dead and now these people. I refuse to believe it. I know Sande. I know he won’t just give up.
“Thank you for your help,” I say stiffly. “I should be going.”
While we wait for the Wanderlea to set out on the tide again, Sharles shows us around the city. Melily pays for our
outings because she suddenly seems to have more money in her purse, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by that.
Sharles brings us to a couple of stageshows, which are new to me, like so many uppy things. Apparently, during a stageshow, groups of costumed performers pretend to be other people in order to tell stories. The performers often act these tales out in front of painted screens that show all sorts of places, like kelp forests, ships, or caves.
The first stageshow we see has a lot of singing. It tells the sad story of a girl who marries a prince, only to discover her love is really a fire demon who wants a human baby. The second stageshow is all about fish-like sirens who rescue a drowning child. They think the little girl is an orphan and enchant her, turning her into a siren. In the end, her mother appears, but it’s too late to bring her daughter home because the enchantment can’t be undone. Thinking of Maam and Gren, I cry as the two say goodbye forever.
Sharles also brings us to a paddlebat game, which is the water sport I heard about in Beth. It takes place in a floating, oval pool built out into the tide. Around the edges of the water are seats for spectators, shaded by huge canopies, and in the pool, two teams of eight players kneel on floating boards and hold double-ended, scoop-like paddles.
“The goal of the game,” Sharles tells us, “is to knock the balls off those poles—” He points to three large pillars in the middle of the pool, each of differing heights. “And then move the balls to the team poles.” He points to slightly lower pillars that stand further away. “I used to play when I was young. People said I was good, and that I should join the intertide leagues.”
“You should have,” Melily says. “I’d love to cheer you on.”
As she proves this by kissing him—a kiss that goes on and on—I examine the crowd, and I’m amazed by its size. We’re surrounded by at least five hundred people, maybe a thousand. And everyone seems very excited; I see lots of children waving flags and adults wearing colorful hats.
A pretty woman strikes a gong and the game starts, and at first, I find it tremendously confusing. Players churn up the water and shove opponents off their boards. But at least the teams wear different colors—green and orange—and I slowly realize that the players move the balls around in clever ways. They either wack the balls across the top of the water or use their paddles to scoop up a ball. And sometimes, if a player has scooped up a ball, he’ll ride on another player’s board to move faster.
I decide to cheer for the team wearing green, and although they don’t win, I still have a lot of fun. My favorite part of the game is when players scale the notched pillars to balance the balls on top. Climbing the pillars looks like it takes incredible strength and agility.
Sharles also offers to take us to a swingshow, but I manage to talk Melily out of that. “I know it’s not a Cressit Scale show, but we could still run into him or some of his musician friends. I think it’s better to stay hidden—we don’t know who Douglen and Jeck are talking to.”
And then, although I’m deeply reluctant about it, we return to the Wanderlea to finish our trip to Leistelle. Sharles is adamant, though, that no unfamiliar men have come by the ship asking questions. He also seems to think that the reason Melily and I are being so cautious is because we’ve run away from our families—which I suppose is somewhat true.
“I’ve met girls like you before,” he says as we carry our luggage back onto the ship. “You want to go on a wild adventure before you get tied down. I don’t blame you, and I hope I’m helping.”
Melily laughs as he kisses her neck. “Just keep an eye out until we are on our way, okay sweets?”
And it seems she’s still hoping that Sharles will leave his job on the Wanderlea and continue on with us to Ellevah.
“Imagine if we got married and had babies!” Melily tells me as we unpack in our cabin. It seems silly for her to leave her small, blue luggage case here, though, for I’m sure she’ll be sleeping elsewhere.
But all that soon changes because new passengers boarded in Tak Ceseren, and when Sharles invites the golden-haired sisters to dine in his cabin the next evening, Melily is livid.
She tries to hide it, of course. “He’s a friendly person,” she says lightly, joining me on the window bench to eat in the gathery. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Melily sleeps in Sharles’s cabin that night, but the next evening, I find her lying on her bunk with her arms folded, staring at the wall. “Sharles thinks we’re spending too much time together. He says on such a small ship, we should give each other space.” She turns to me, looking helpless. “And I guess that makes sense, but whenever I’m not near Sharles, those stupid Tak Ceseren girls appear. They like him, I can tell.”
The next day, things get even worse. After Melily and I eat our midday meal in the gathery, we go for a walk on deck and find Sharles with his arm around the oldest golden-haired sister. He’s also standing in the exact same spot where I first saw him kiss Melily.
“Don’t touch her!” Melily cries, and Sharles’s arm drops away because it’s a wavurl command. “What are you even doing with her?”
“Duckling,” Sharles says. “Maryasa’s just nervous about traveling on the tide. Not everyone’s as brave as you.”
He walks Melily below deck, and since I’m left standing with this Maryasa person, I say, “Sharles is involved with my friend. I don’t want her feelings hurt.”
Maryasa shrugs, says something in the Tak Ceseren language, and walks away.
And as stormy as things are on the ship, a real storm swallows the Wanderlea later that day. I experienced bad weather on the Trident, but nothing like this. Maybe the storms weren’t as fierce, or maybe Lord Osperacy’s steamship was just so large it was easy for passengers to ignore everything beyond the boat’s wood-paneled cabins. Here on the Wanderlea though, we spend our afternoon suffering through ceaseless, sickening motion, and that night, I can’t sleep. Thank the Water Goddess, my bunk has a sturdy bar along the open side, or I’d surely topple out.
“Sharles is helping the captain,” Melily shouts over the booming noise of waves slamming against the hull. “I bet he’s soaked through, and what if he needs something? I’m gonna check on him.”
I try to talk her out of leaving the cabin, for the crew made it very clear at dinner that no passengers should be underfoot during the storm. Melily ignores me, though, and stumbles out into the dark passage.
She returns not long after, slamming the door shut, locking it, and climbing back into bed, breathing hard.
“Melily, what’s wrong?” I ask.
Seconds later someone pounds on our door.
“Molli?” Sharles shouts her false name, his voice raw and enraged. “Mollifae? Open up!”
“Go away!” Melily screams.
And he does because he has to—because she’s using wavurl. But he’ll be back, I’m sure.
“What happened?” I cry, climbing down from my bunk and fumbling for the light. Moving around is much harder than usual because the ship’s rocking from side to side.
Melily doesn’t answer, and when I click the lights on, I find her bunched up at the end of her cot with her hands covering her face.
“Talk to me,” I urge. “What’s going on?”
Melily just shakes her head and keeps her hands over her face. She then heaves with a sob.
Only one thing could make her this upset. I’m sure of it. “You caught Sharles with that girl, didn’t you?”
She nods, her face still hidden.
“I thought he was on deck,” I say.
She shakes her head. “He wasn’t there. Found him in his cabin with her!”
“Then why is he so angry?”
Melily gives me no response.
I hear a key in our door lock. Someone is entering our cabin.
“Don’t use wavurl,” I hiss at Melily, afraid of what she might do. “Don’t. I’ll sort this out.”
Sharles opens the door and he’s with the Captain—a sopping, tubby man I’ve on
ly ever seen at a distance. I’m not even sure what his name is.
“What happened?” I ask, and I stand in the doorway, feeling protective of Melily. “She won’t tell me anything—she’s too upset.”
“She attacked a woman,” Sharles says, bracing himself against the tilting door frame. “There was a woman in my cabin, and we were just talking…”
That’s a lie. I can see it in his eyes. I can see the Captain knows he’s lying too.
“Then Mollifae came in,” Sharles continues. “And she’s angry because apparently I can’t spend time with anyone but her.” Sharles glares at Melily, and although she still has her hands up near her face, she glares back. “Then, then Mollifae tells Maryasa to smash her face into the wall. And Maryasa does! I’ve heard rumors about people like you.” And now he speaks directly to Melily. “You’re some kind of water demon. You can make people do whatever you want! It’s terrifying! Evil!”
“You weren’t just talking to that girl, you liar!” Melily screams from the bed. “Do you want me to force you to bite off your own tongue, ’cause I will! You just tell one more lie, and I’ll make sure you never lie again!”
“Captain, we should throw her off the ship,” Sharles cries.
This is getting bad. “Melily,” I shout, forgetting to use her fake name. “Calm down.”
“She’s crazy!” Sharles says, but now I can’t see him because he’s backed down the passage—afraid, it seems, of losing his tongue.
“Enough!” The Captain says, and I notice now that unlike the rest of us, he’s steady and stands tall even though the boat keeps rocking. “I’m needed up top, and Sharles, that’s where you should be too. You ladies will stay in this cabin until I sort things out, or I will indeed throw you both into the tide.”
He reaches forward and shuts our door with a clang. I have just enough time to step out of the way.
I crawl onto the lower bunk with Melily.
“Sharles was…” she sobs. “He was with her! I saw it all!”
“I know—I believe you,” I say, squeezing myself in beside her. “Did you really hurt that girl, though?”
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