When our nine-day trip is over, we return home holding hands, and Melily welcomes us back with a gleeful, “I knew it!”
Months pass and eventually the tide returns, which in Ellevah happens in the spring. Its arrival means that I’ve now been living in this remote city for three tides. Cressit and I finished our herb manuscript, although we’re still creating a final draft using a typing machine we saved up to buy. We’re going over our work one rainy evening when Melily rushes in.
“The Trident’s in port,” she cries, yanking off her canvas rain cloak and sending water droplets flying.
Both Cressit and I leap up to protect the manuscript, and he says, “Are you sure?”
Melily nods, wide-eyed. “A friend of mine loves steamships for some boring reason, and anyway, he told me this big ship came to port with a trident painted on it. So I ran up to the ridge to check, and it’s the Trident. It is.”
And of course the Trident would stand out. Since Ellevah is outside of the trade routes, large ships rarely come to our city.
I turn to Cressit, immediately afraid. “Why would they come here? Do you think they know where we are?”
“Surely not.” But he puts an arm around me. “They’re probably here for some other reason. We’ll just lay low—shut down the booth for a few days.”
I nod. “My snappers. I might need them. They’re at your place.” I used to hide them beneath Melily’s wardrobe, but since we now store our herb gathering tent at Cressit’s housing unit, that’s where they are.
“I’ll get them.” He pulls on his jacket and then turns to me. “What about that gunnerife? Do you still have it?”
“Yes,” I say with some hesitation, resting my hand lightly on the cookery drawer where I hid the weapon far in the back behind the drying cloths. “Do you want to take it with you?”
“You’re the one who knows how to use it.” Cressit reaches for the door. “I’ll just go quickly.”
I nod, thinking about how many times I nearly dropped that awful gunnerife into the lake, but then kept it—just in case. “Hopefully there won’t be any trouble,” I say, watching Cressit splash away into the rainy darkness.
And as I turn off the electric lamp in the cookery, Melily says in a small voice, “There might be some trouble.”
I peer around our tall pantry cabinet to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I…” she hesitates, cringing. “The thing is, remember how you wanted to bring Shara and Timsy and Dorla with us when we first left, and I said no? Well, last tide I was feeling really, really guilty about that, so I sent Shara a letter.”
“Melily, oh no!” I say.
She slumps across the table. “I tried to be secretive, and I never put our names on it, but… I did tell her to run away with Timsy and Dorla and come here.”
I feel a flutter of pride because when we first met, Melily never worried about other people’s safety or happiness. But it’s just a flutter of pride because I mostly feel dread. “Well, even if the Osperacys know we’re in the city, they’ll have trouble finding us. We never use our real names.”
“No, but I suggested visiting Delina and Voreska’s spice booth in the letter,” Melily says. “I’m so sorry, but I wanted Shara to find us.”
I sigh, but I also take her hand. “Maybe this is Shara’s doing somehow.”
“Maybe,” Melily whispers.
As we sit quietly in the darkness, I think about how long it will take Cressit to hurry around Caldera Lake, find my snappers, and return.
We listen to the rain. We listen to the sound of our neighbors in the distance, talking, laughing, arguing. And we keep holding hands. I wonder if Cressit’s struggling to find my snappers. I think I tucked them in the bottom of my large carrypack, although maybe I left them in the canvas tent bag. I probably should have gone with him.
And just when I convince myself that everything will be fine, and we should probably start getting ready for bed, I hear a sharp knock—a knock that is definitely not Cressit’s knock. I cover my ears tightly, crushing them against my head, but it doesn’t matter. I still hear Douglen say, “Unlock the door.”
There’s wavurl in those words, grabbing at me, clamping onto my will. It’s been so long since I felt that grip, and I try to resist, but I still stand up and move toward the door.
“No-no-no,” Melily whispers, wrapping her arms around my waist and using all her strength to hold me back. “He didn’t say which door! He didn’t say! Unlock the cookery door!”
She’s right, and her logic loosens up my thoughts up a bit. I stumble around the large pantry cabinet into cookery, and I slide the bolt back to unlock the side door. Douglen’s wavurl sloths off of me, and I quickly bolt the door again.
It doesn’t keep them out, though. I hear a sudden bang as the main door to our cottage breaks open. Melily shrieks.
I duck below the cookery ledge, out of sight
“Here alone are you?” Douglen snaps at Melily.
“Yes,” she squeaks.
“She’s lying,” Jeck says, and I hear them walking around the gathery—the heavy footfalls of wet, grimy boots that we would have taken off at the door.
I feel awful about leaving Melily to fend for herself, but I’d only be a puppet out there—a body for Douglen to control with wavurl. And what if he made me hurt Melily? Fathoms, that would be a nightmare.
“I’m not lying,” Melily says. “Look how tiny this place is, of course I’m alone—don’t be idiots. But it’s not as if I owe you any honest answers anyway. You tried to kill me—blowing up that ship.”
The drawer with the gunnerife is directly across from me. I reach over and slowly, ever so slowly, ease it open.
“Are you expecting an apology?” Douglen says. “Because you don’t get that. You ran away. You betrayed us. And you survived, didn’t you? How’d you like that long swim?”
“You killed a lot of people—innocent people,” Melily says, and her voice trembles.
I hope she’ll stay strong. She knows Cressit will return soon. I reach into the drawer, past the folded cloths, past a little box of matches; and then I feel the cold, weighty metal of the gunnerife. My heart feels like it’s bashing around inside of me, bruising and battering itself. Our happy life here might end tonight.
“Well, don’t you worry,” Douglen growls at Melily. “I’ve changed my mind about killing you. Come back to the ship.”
“So your power’s finally fading then,” Melily says. “That’s it, isn’t it? You need me now.”
“It’s not gone… yet,” Douglen says sourly. “But, yeah, I can feel it changing. Do you expect me to grovel and apologize? Because that’s not going to happen. You come back, or I drag you back.”
I see motion through the rain-spattered cookery window, past my tiny forest of herbs. Cressit’s returned! He must have heard Douglen’s voice because he usually uses the front entrance. I silently ease the bolt back on the cookery door, and he slips inside.
“You just try dragging me back to the Trident,” I hear Melily say. “I’ll scream the whole way, and it won’t even matter. I’ll just tell Father I’m done stealing because I am. No one can make me use wavurl.”
I hold out my hand for the snappers, but Cressit hesitates and nods at the gunnerife I’m already holding—an unspoken suggestion that I use it instead.
I’d much rather use my snappers. They aren’t deadly or loud or illegal. So I carefully, quietly lay the gunnerife on the wooden preparation ledge, and then I point at it and shake my head, no.
Back in the gathery, Jeck snorts, and Douglen says, “Oh you’ll use your wavurl or be in a great deal of pain. And you can’t go whining to Father anymore either. He’s dead.”
“Dead,” Melily repeats, and even though Lord Osperacy kidnapped her and used her, I hear sadness in her voice.
And to my increasing frustration, Cressit still doesn’t hand me the snappers, so I reach over and take them, shooting him a confused, frustrated look.
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He surprises me by giving me an intense, argumentative glare in return, and he mouths, “Gunnerife.”
“How did father die?” Melily asks, as I hastily untie the leather cord binding the snappers and select two of the little darts.
“He was sick,” Douglen says, emotionless, and I hear him move across the small room with decisive, heavy steps. “The Trident is mine now, along with everything and everyone on it.”
“I bet you killed him,” Melily says. “Just like you killed Elgin.”
Douglen snorts.
I peek around the pantry cabinet, thankful that I’m in the shadows, and now I can see them. Douglen stands near Melily, with his tightly-packed muscles wrapped in a gray suit. Jeck leans against the now cracked front door, and with his spindly arms and legs looking like they always do—unspooled. Melily is almost out of sight, standing behind our round table and the typing machine as if they’re a fortress. She looks tiny compared to Douglen and Jeck. She also looks terrified, and that makes my heart sting.
In a steady voice, though, she says, “You murdered Elgin. Admit it.”
“Fine,” Douglen says. “Yeah. I killed that little sea foam. I made him write you a goodbye note, and then I made him stand on the motorliner tracks in Lellev. And I’ll do that to everyone you care about if you keep crossing me.”
Jeck laughs.
Melily’s hands fly to her mouth.
Douglen moves around the table and grabs her arm.
I lift my snapper, pulling the resin back, but Cressit catches my elbow. I try to shake him off, but he’s pulling me further back into the cookery.
“Jeck, don’t let Douglen hurt me!” I hear Melily shout.
But just as quickly, Douglen says. “Jeck, don’t move.” And then there’s the meaty, thumping sound of a punch, and I hear one of our chairs fall over. Melily wails.
“Jeck’s not really my balance,” Douglen growls. “Tricked Father with that one years ago.”
Cressit’s locked his arms around me. “Use the gunnerife,” he whispers, pressing the weapon into my hands. “Shoot them in the head.”
“No,” I breathe. Douglen hits Melily again, and she makes a horrible sound—like a ridge cat caught in the wheels of an automotor.
“Use the gunnerife,” Cressit repeats. “Shoot Douglen and Jeck in the head.” And this time, there’s wavurl in each word.
I want to stop myself. I want to do things my way, which I know is the better way, but my body won’t listen.
I step out of the cookery and into the gathery.
Jeck looks up seconds before his face explodes in a burst of red.
My doing.
No, Cressit’s doing, as he forces his will through me.
Douglen sees me. His eyes narrow, and I realize he’s holding a gunnerife too. He must have pulled it out of his jacket. He opens his mouth, surely to command me. “No!” I shout. And we both shoot.
He dies in a spectacular, gruesome, stomach-turning instant that will forever ruin the rugs, table, and typing machine.
And I’m unhurt. He didn’t have the chance to raise the gunnerife and aim.
There’s a terrible silence, but it’s not a complete silence. The rain patters gently against the roof, water sloshes around the floats supporting our floor—soft, irregular, and almost musical. And I hear a wheezing sound as if someone is trying to suck air into their lungs and failing.
“Melily!” I gasp, rushing to where she huddles beneath the table.
Douglen did aim, just not at me.
Melily is covered in blood by the time I reach her. She’s fighting to breathe, unable to speak, and staring at me with wide, teary eyes.
“It’s all right,” I soothe, but that’s an extraordinary lie because I just stepped over two corpses to reach her, and an immense amount of dark blood drenches her chest. I crouch down and search for the wound.
“Nerene!” Cressit tosses me several cookery cloths.
And there it is, an ugly hole in her ribs with blood streaming out of it. I press the fabric against her chest—just like I did when I was helping poor Pavoya.
Melily tries to speak, wrenching up her face and wheezing, “Elgin… Father… dead.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” I drape a hug around her, careful not to hurt her more.
“We have to get her to a healer,” Cressit says.
“How?” I whisper. The nearest healing house is up on the ridge, the closest thing Ellevah has to a high city.
Cressit kneels. “I’ll carry her.”
So the three of us, all soaked in blood, hurry out of the house and across the shifting, floating walkways. Melily struggles to breathe in Cressit’s arms, and I shove more cookery cloths against her ribs.
Sleepy neighbors peer out of their homes. Surely they heard the gunnerife shots. I don’t want to imagine what will happen when they find Douglen and Jeck’s bodies either. They’ll probably call Shore Control and Shore Control will want an explanation, but I can’t worry about that right now.
Melily is light, yes, but even someone small is difficult to carry after a while. By the time we reach the healing house, Cressit’s breathing is almost as ragged and uneven as hers.
The healing house is an ancient, solid-looking building held up by massive stone pillars, which are covered in spirals of carved fish. I’m used to everything in Ellevah being worn and a little grimy, therefore it seems strange that the healing house is so clean. The healers who come running into the entryway when Cressit calls for help wear trim, fernflax uniforms and their hair is either cut short or pulled back into neat buns.
“She’s been shot,” Cressit huffs, and the healers whisk Melily away on a wheeled cot.
“Take care of her!” I cry.
We watch them vanish down a white brick hallway, and we stand like statues in the waiting area, surrounded by people coughing, clinging to feverish children, and pressing rags against minor wounds. We must seem injured ourselves with all the blood on us.
“You’re angry,” Cressit says at last, soft and under his breath.
I don’t even know if it’s anger that I feel, but whatever it is, it's destructive and sad.
“I had to do it,” he says, “It was the only way to stop them—to make sure they never come after us again.”
I look at him, and I feel like I’m looking at the polished and famous Cressit I first met. “It wasn’t the only way. I had snappers. You didn’t give me a chance.”
As if we are of one mind, we move to a quiet corner of the waiting area, where a kelpwood bench is tucked into an alcove. We don’t sit on it, though. We stand at either end.
“So you’re saying you didn’t want them dead?” he hisses. “I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s not the point,” I whisper back, trembling with anger. “If I’d stunned them, we could have thought things through, maybe come up with another option. Instead I killed them in a way that all of Ellevah heard. What now?”
My thoughts churn—I’ll have to stand trial, I’ll have to prove that I killed Douglen and Jeck to defend myself… and if I can’t?
Cressit rounds the bench and reaches for my hand. “I’m sure we can figure it out.”
I pull away and fold my arms.
He sighs angrily.
“You knew I didn’t want to use the gunnerife,” I softly say.
“It was an unusual situation,” he counters. “I did what I thought I had to.”
“And you used wavurl on me,” I add in an even softer voice.
The accusation hangs between us, a betrayal I wonder if I’ll ever get over.
“Surely you know I won’t do it again,” he says after a long pause.
And I don’t answer.
We’re broken or breaking. All the blood on our clothes seems like our own. It hurts, and I want to cry about what I know is happening, but I’m still too shaken and worried about Melily.
Time passes, too much time.
“We should check on her,” I say
.
Cressit nods.
We make our way to a small kelpwood desk where a woman sits among piles of charts and folders. She won’t tell us anything about Melily or maybe she just doesn’t know what's happening in the rooms and passages behind her. I storm past her impatiently and march down the tiled hallway.
“Uh, excuse me. You can’t go that way!” The woman struggles to stand, knocking over a stack of paper.
“Let her do what she wants,” Cressit wearily commands and follows me.
The first healer we find is a startled woman carrying a tray of glass vials.
“How is the girl who was shot?” I ask. “We’re her family.”
“Oh,” the healer pales. “Oh,” she says again, her eyes darting between us. “Well, the surgeon’s doing his best. He removed the bullet, but it did a lot of damage. And her body… it’s so strange inside. Everyone says operating on her is fascinating. Well, and tragic, of course,” she hastily adds, flushing. She then ducks her head and scurries away.
Cressit curses, and I turn to him. He has a stricken expression.
“What is it?” I ask.
“They can’t help her,” he says softly. “Of course they can’t help her. I never thought about it, but we sirens must be different inside. We have to be.”
And I feel stupid because Cressit and I have talked about such things before, just in a different way—Cressit’s never fathered a child, not with me or anyone else. We assumed that although we seem to be built the same, we’re different enough that having children was impossible.
“What do we do?” I say, but the answer is both frightening and obvious.
Melily needs someone who can fix her. Cressit has to take her home, truly home.
The surgeon doesn’t want to close her up. She’s dying anyway, he says, and he wants to study her. Cressit has to use wavurl and command him every step of the way.
I see shore controllers gathering in the healing house entrance as we slip out a side door. It sends a chill through me because they’re surely looking for us, but Cressit doesn’t seem to notice. Then we’re rushing back out into the night with Melily in Cressit’s arms. At least this time she’s wrapped in bandages and wearing a clean hospital gown. The healers also gave her some sort of medicine that’s put her to sleep, so even though she’s still struggling to breathe, she looks peaceful, beautiful even.
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