Curse of the Forgotten City

by Alex Aster

  Engle rushed to the side of the ship, grinning as it neared the water. “Make the ride down a bit fun, will you?”

  Tor sighed and shifted the boat, commanding it into a nosedive, wind whipping their hair back. Engle screamed out in delight, and Melda, who had just come up, looked like she might vomit. Tor gripped the mast for dear life as the ship plummeted, plummeted, plummeted—

  And landed with a splash large enough to wake a sea monster.

  Tor fell back, laughing, and Engle rolled across the deck. Melda tried to scowl, but a grin broke through. “All right, you two have had your fun for the day.” She stood, rubbing her back with a wince. “I imagine we made up some time while flying,” she said.

  At once, the wood was bathed in colors, the map coming to life. Vesper stood a few feet away, shell charm hidden in her palm.

  Captain Forecastle’s eyes nearly bulged from his face. “What kind of map ye got there?”

  They ignored him. And Melda ignored Vesper as she stepped forward.

  “You would be correct,” Vesper said firmly. “We’re just a day away from Perla, with the wind on our side.”

  In a moment, the map was gone.

  Melda nodded sharply, then strode to the lower deck, where Tor had made a breakfast spread appear. Ice bananas, bitterberry porridge, cinnamon spiced yogurt, blueberry juice, and purple avocado awaited. He watched as she fixed herself a bowl, then walked as far away from them as possible, sitting against the last mast. She had brought the Book of Seas with her.

  Engle made a face. “That breakfast is looking a little light.”

  Tor rolled his eyes and added a basket of peanut butter muffins and peppermint roll bread.

  The pirate hobbled over. “I can’t help but notice there’s no ale…”

  Tor gaped at him. “It’s just past dawn!”

  Captain Forecastle put his hands up in surrender, then walked away, muttering to himself.

  Engle took a break from breakfast only to tilt his head and say, “That looks like a town.”

  Tor couldn’t see anything. Captain Forecastle produced his spyglass, pressed it to his eye, and nodded. “That there’s Siren’s Wharf,” he said. “Nice little town. Devoted to all things mermaid. A few jolly pubs. Good sweets, too.” He turned to Engle. “Have ye ever had sea salt caramel bars?”

  “Can’t say I have.” Engle turned to Tor.

  “No.”

  “But you just heard Melda and Vesper. We made up more than enough time.”

  Tor didn’t look up.

  “We need to get provisions for the journey!”

  “The boat has everything we need.”

  Engle’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to think of another reason to stop in the seaside village. He brightened. “I read that book! The Book of Seas. It says the mermaid’s comb was lost to time. Maybe it’s there. If we can find it, we get a wish, and we can just wish for the pearl! Then we don’t even need to go to Perla, or get the compass, or any of it.”

  Tor glanced at Captain Forecastle. “Have you heard any talk of the comb?”

  The pirate nodded. “Of course. Every pirate and their captain has searched for the thing.”

  “And how likely is it that we’ll find it in Siren’s Wharf?”

  Captain Forecastle glanced at Engle, whose eyes were pleading. “Er, there’s always a chance, right?”

  Engle punched at the air and jumped around.

  Tor rolled his eyes. “One hour. In and out.”

  Maybe a break in a new village was just what they needed.

  Melda didn’t look pleased as they were docking, very predictably reminding Tor about their deadline. Her protests fell dead in her mouth when she saw a small ribbons shop by the harbor. She gave him a look. “One hour.”

  Once they were off the ship, Engle said, “Not to be a downer, but how do we know no one will steal it?”

  Vesper shrugged. “Because we’re taking it with us.” Moments later, the ship was tiny in her hand, and she stuck it in her pocket.

  Captain Forecastle blinked. “Brilliant emblem, lass.”

  “Yes,” Melda said, mouth tight. She turned to Vesper. “Do try not to steal it and sail away without us.” She walked briskly toward the ribbons shop.

  Vesper sighed and ducked into a shop advertising enchanted cream to shield from the sun. Her shoulders had turned a bright, painful-looking red.

  Siren’s Wharf was a small village with a harbor that could only fit a few nice-sized ships. Many more rowboats crowded the dock, which seemed to be arriving from just down the coast, where a neighborhood of houses had been built along a sandbar.

  The town square looked modest, but crowded. The wooden shops had been long stripped of most of their color, courtesy of the salty breeze, and stood no taller than Tor’s hut back home. Most only fit a handful of people at a time, but that didn’t stop them from crowding inside. Many seemed content simply to point out objects in the window. Tor scrunched his nose. Down the boardwalk, a fish market had been set up, and something smelled sour.

  At the center of the marketplace Tor saw something that stood out altogether in the humble village, in its shining richness—a giant statue of a mermaid, perched on a rock, hair reaching her waist.

  “They idolize them,” Captain Forecastle said. “Which only means they’ve never seen a real one in the wild.” He shook his head. “There’re many species of mermaid, ye know. Most don’t know that. Sirens are the worst kind.” His shoulders twitched like a chill had snaked down his spine. Then, he grinned, gaze landing on a pub called the Crusty Barnacle. “Excuse us, boys.”

  Engle shrugged and headed toward a shop that looked entirely made of gingerbread called Lolly’s.

  Tor grabbed him by the back of the shirt. “None of that. We’re here to find the comb, like you suggested. Remember?”

  Engle sighed, then followed him through the town square, all the way to the siren statue. A small fountain was positioned at the bottom of her tail. She stood so tall, Tor had to lift his chin to see her face.

  “It looks like she’s combing her hair, doesn’t it?” Tor said, studying the statue closely. Her fingers were positioned right at the top of her tresses and were stuck together, like they had been holding something.

  Perhaps the comb had once sat right in the siren’s grip.

  Tor sighed. If it had, it was gone now.

  “Throw a coin in, and your wish will come true.” Tor turned to see a hunched over old man standing there, with a wide, toothless grin. “This here’s an ancient, enchanted wishing fountain.”

  Engle immediately went for his pockets, only to find nothing but crumbs. Then, his eyes narrowed. “Hey, there isn’t a single coin in this wishing fountain.” He turned to the old man. “Are you taking them?”

  The man quickly hobbled away, just as Melda strolled across the square. Her typically unruly black hair had been fashioned into a single braid at the side of her head; a glimmering golden ribbon weaved through it. She was holding a large text against her chest, and Tor wondered how she had possibly already found time to locate a bookstore.

  “Melda?” Engle said. She brightened, a finger going to her braid, as if he might say something about it. “Do you have dobbles?”

  She glared at him and sighed. “Yes. Ever since last time, I’ve made a habit of carrying currency with me.” Engle opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a hand. “And no, I won’t be gifting you any.”

  Melda walked away, and Engle trailed after her. “Not gifting! Just borrowing. I’ll pay you back!”

  Tor walked into the bookstore. It smelled of paper and salt and had a muggy feel to it, like a library at the bottom of a ship. The space was small but efficient. Shelves reached all the way to the ceiling, and across the walls was a wallpaper of book spines. A silver spiral staircase sat at its middle, and Tor watched the
woman atop it. She reached for a book at the other end of the shop, and the staircase suddenly moved, spiraling like a top beneath her, gliding across the wooden floor like ice skates before coming to a stop.

  She looked down at him, glasses slipping to the bridge of her nose. “Can I help you?”

  “What do you know about that statue?” he asked, pointing behind him at the siren.

  The woman pursed her lips. “A lot, I suppose. It was the first thing built in Siren’s Wharf. And it’s the most solid, tallest thing in the village. No shop or house is allowed to be built taller than it, out of reverence.”

  “Has the statue changed over time?”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. The woman was thin, with a head of curly white hair, like a living dandelion. “It’s made of stone, boy.”

  “I know. Just—” He stopped himself. Better to be specific. “Did it used to have a comb?”

  The woman smiled. “You’re observant, I’ll give you that.” She pursed her lips again, deciding something. Then, she shrugged. “Yes, she did. It’s the lore of our village, but some truly believe it. Believe Siren’s Wharf was built around it, founded on the power of the comb.” Tor must have looked hopeful, because she frowned at him. “Now don’t go running off on a treasure hunt. Even if the stories are true, that thing is long gone. Probably in a museum somewhere. Or at the bottom of the sea, for all I know.”

  “Thank you.” Tor rushed out of the shop. He remembered the blood queen’s words—the enchanted compass could find anything someone had lost.

  If the siren statue had once held the comb, perhaps they could use her and the compass to find it.

  And if they found the comb, all they would have to do was wish for the pearl.

  Engle was right. Wishing for the Pirate’s Pearl seemed a lot easier than having to compete with the Calavera, a Swordscale traitor, and a spectral to find it…

  Most importantly, by changing their plan, perhaps they could change fate and avoid the oracle’s deadly fortune altogether.

  Yes—they needed the comb. Tor swallowed. To use the compass to find it, the siren statue would have to be holding the enchanted device. But they couldn’t afford to come back to Siren’s Wharf once they located the compass… He could ask Vesper to shrink the statue, but stealing the town’s prized possession seemed like it would bring them endless trouble.

  Tor brightened. Maybe, they didn’t need the entire statue for the compass to work, just a piece of it.

  He approached the statue once more, looking for something. A crumbling bit, small enough no one would notice it was gone—

  “Looking for a souvenir?” The hunched-over old man was back again, this time holding up a transparent pouch full of powder. “Shavings from the siren statue,” he said, lifting a small blade, grinning. Tor saw he did have one tooth, hidden far in the back. “Said to bring luck. All sailors would be wise to keep a piece of the siren statue on their ships.”

  That might work, Tor thought. If they put the shavings on the compass, it might lead them to the comb that had been stolen from the siren statue. “How do I know it’s genuine?”

  The man looked offended. “That’s my work, right there.” He pointed to the siren’s tail, to its very tip, where part of it had been clearly shaved down.

  The old man bartered until he was blue in the face, before finally accepting Tor’s offer of the only thing he had in his pocket—a single dobble.

  Tor took the small sack and clutched it in his palm, hopeful. They might not have found the comb, but if he was right, this was the next best thing.

  Now, all they needed was the compass.

  The market had flooded with more and more customers, most happily sipping their large mugs of salted ale, window-shopping and chatting in the sun. A few street vendors fried fish right on the street, along with kelp kabobs and grilled shrimp, coated in an apricot chili glaze.

  His mouth was watering by the time he reached the harbor, where he found Vesper surrounded by a small crowd. A woman had her by the wrist.

  “Your hair!” she cried out. “Siren silver, it is.” She turned behind her and motioned furiously. “Come, take a look!”

  Another woman boldly reached out a hand to touch her head, and Vesper bared her teeth at her. But it only seemed to make the women happier.

  “Just as I’d imagined one! Could it be? Have your kind evolved to walk like us?”

  A young woman looked around in a panic. “If that’s true, maybe they’re all around us! And we didn’t even know it!”

  “How old are you?” a young boy said, clutching his mother’s skirts.

  Vesper pulled away from the crowd. “I’m not a siren,” she said sharply. But part of her look frazzled. Unbalanced.

  She rushed to the harbor, the crowd at her heels, then threw the ship into the water. It grew from charm to full-blown ship in half a blink, and, before the townspeople could gasp at the sight, she was climbing up its ladder and hiding herself below.

  Melda strolled down the dock, Engle at her side. He was holding a caramel bar. Tor wondered how much whining he’d had to do before Melda had caved.

  “Where’s Forecastle?” Tor asked.

  She shrugged, tying one of her old ribbons around her mermaid book, then to her wrist, perhaps to make it easier to carry while she climbed up the side of the boat. “You did say an hour. I wouldn’t be too gutted if you decided to leave him behind.”

  Engle carried the rest of his caramel bar between his teeth as he followed her up the ladder.

  Tor didn’t know why he expected timeliness from a pirate. He rolled his eyes and headed straight for the Crusty Barnacle.

  The door wasn’t cut correctly for its frame, allowing the sounds of shouting and bad fiddling to seep out into the street. Glass shattered, and laughter followed, along with calls for another serving of ale. Tor took a breath and stepped inside.

  A thick, wooden bar dominated the pub, and behind that was an intricate wooden carving that ran the length of the wall. Five mermaids were perfectly crafted, laid on their sides so that their tails served as shelves, filled with all sorts of elixirs.

  Captain Forecastle was seated at a round table, surrounded by a horde of sailors. Glittering pieces of some game Tor wasn’t familiar with were laid before him. But not nearly as many as there were in front of everyone else.

  “We’re good for it!” he was saying, as he demanded more pieces. “Trust us, we’re more than good for it, look—”

  He caught Tor’s eye and raised an eyebrow. “Thought ye’d be sailing off by now.”

  Maybe they should have left without him.

  Tor crossed his arms. “We have a bargain. Remember?”

  Captain Forecastle shrugged. “If ye want to be rid of us, we’ll take no offense. This here’s a good village. And we’ve got new friends.” He grinned at a table that most certainly didn’t grin back. He tilted his head at Tor and said through the corner of his mouth, “Got any dobbles, boy?”

  One of the sailors stood. “I knew it.” The men at his right and left stood, too. “You’re not leaving this pub until you’ve paid what you owe, pirate.”

  Captain Forecastle laughed nervously and stood, hands coming up in defense. One of the men flinched. “That’s a nasty lifeline you have there.”

  The other men looked, too, and gasped.

  Tor hadn’t seen it yet. But now was no time to investigate. “Run!” he said, and they bolted for the door.

  The pub owner made a move to block them, then shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth the effort.

  They barreled through the door, and down the block, the sailors at their heels.

  As they ran, Tor swore he saw something from the corner of his vision: a floating hat, just like the one the Calavera captain wore. He turned abruptly, careful not to slow down, but whatever he thought he saw was gone.

&nb
sp; Melda was on top of the ship, mouth ajar.

  “Ye better get that thing moving quickly!” Captain Forecastle yelled, gasping like he hadn’t run in a great while.

  “You just focus on hanging on,” Tor yelled back.

  The moment they reached the boat, Tor leapt onto its ladder, climbing just high enough for the pirate to fit beneath him. Then, with a quick close of his fist, the ship’s sails puffed up, and they bolted away.

  “Farewell! So long! Good, bloody day!” Captain Forecastle said to the sailors shouting at him from the dock, turning to wave his hat in the air, just one hand and foot on the ladder.

  Tor climbed the rest of the way with anger hot in his stomach. If they didn’t need the pirate to help them find the compass in Perla, he’d have gladly left him to the wrath of the sailors.

  Melda stood waiting, eyebrow up.

  “Don’t ask,” he said, walking past her downstairs. He suddenly had a raging headache, and all he wanted was a nap. Just as he passed Vesper’s room, though, he heard a hushed voice.

  It sounded like she was speaking to someone.

  He pressed an ear to her door.

  “Please,” she said. “I’m begging you—”

  The plank beneath his weight groaned and she cut off. Tor knocked on her door a few moments later, and Vesper answered, face flushed.

  “Yes?” she said moodily.

  Tor peered inside. The room was tiny, no place to hide. She was alone. The large conch shell she had found on Indigo Isle sat on her desk.

  “Lunch,” he said simply, before snapping his fingers and making a tray of food appear in her room.

  Then, he turned on his heel to talk to the only people on the ship he could trust.

  * * *

  Melda listened to Tor recount what he’d heard with flared nostrils. She undid and redid the ribbon in her braid, which gleamed brightly in the waning sunlight.