by Erin Johnson
“It’s one way. Hope you’re not planning on going now. You’ll never make it before the tide comes up.”
“The tide?”
She looked at me for the first time, her dark eyes searching my face. “You don’t know.” Her brows knitted together, then she turned back to her painting. “When the tide rises at night, Bijou Mer becomes an island. You won’t make it before then, and anyway, if you did, you’d miss the ferry back. And there’s no place to lodge out there for our kind.”
“Our kind?” I blinked rapidly.
She turned suddenly and glared at me. “Unless you’re one of them?”
I stepped back. “One of who? I’m not one of anyone.”
Still glaring, she turned away. “Well, you’d better find a place to stay back in town then.”
“Yeah, I guess I should. Is there an inn?”
She dabbed at the canvas. “You’re looking at it.”
I stepped back then and noticed the wooden sign hanging below the balcony. It read “Caving Cottage Inn.” The slanting building did appear to be caving in.
“Mustn’t think of staying the night out there,” she said. “Strange goings-on in Bijou Mer. No good can come of mixing with that.”
“What kind of strange goings-on?”
Shaking her head, she muttered, “All kinds of things. Floating lights, strange music, odd animals. It’s unnatural.”
I felt torn between laughter and fear at this odd warning. She seemed weirdly fascinated, painting a place she seemed to distrust so deeply.
I met the woman, Lois, and her shaggy white dog in the empty lobby, and she set me up with a room in the attic. My attic room, with its peaked ceiling and dormer windows that looked out to Bijou Mer, made me want to stay forever, in spite of Lois’s hard manner.
For dinner, she ladled me out some soup she’d made the night before with vegetables from her garden out back, as her dog rested its head on my thigh under the rough wooden table. I gobbled every bite down, and when I held the bowl to my lips to tip the last drops in, I caught Lois almost smile. Almost.
Not long after the sun set, she bid me good night, and I tromped up to my own bedroom, exhausted.
I awoke in the middle of the night, bits of a song I’d been humming in my dreams still floating off my lips. I rubbed at my tired eyes and blinked them open, then lay very still. No, I still heard it.
I walked barefoot across the rough wood floor and pushed open the stiff window. I gazed out at Bijou Mer, now an island surrounded by the dark water reflecting the pinprick light of the stars. A slim moon shone in a sly smile above the town.
I squinted and leaned halfway out the window, the breeze catching my red locks and playing them about my face. Were those lights floating below the surface of the water? I rubbed my bleary eyes again. No, they had to be the stars reflecting off the moving surface of the water… didn’t they?
And that music. It gusted toward me on the wind now and then. Beautiful and eerie—could it be wind chimes? Or whales? In any case, lights lined the streets of Bijou Mer, the whole city glowing and twinkling out on the water. For a place that had no lodging, it certainly came alive at night.
Back in bed, I left the window open. I wanted the breeze and the strange music inside with me as I drifted off to odd and wonderful dreams.
8
Bijou Mer
The next morning I woke early and slipped on the only clothes I owned. Lois fed me a warm breakfast and eyed my slippers when I announced I was off to Bijou Mer.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
She told me to wait, and fetched me a pair of black leather boots. “We’re nearly the same size. These are old, you can have ’em.”
When I threw my arms around her in a big hug, she waved me off. “Don’t go gushing over a pair of old shoes, after all.” But her pale eyes twinkled. She warned me, twice, not to miss the last ferry back, then I took off to explore.
As I trekked across the marsh to Bijou Mer, I felt grateful for my new shoes. I kept waiting to feel the squish of water between my toes as I plunged my foot into mud puddle after mud puddle, but the boots did their job. No duct tape needed on those babies.
Seagulls cawed and flocked overhead, their white-and-gray bodies like clouds in the clear blue sky. Spires rose from the top of the mountain, while stone buildings spiraled all around its sides. What a lovely idea—a town on a mountain, becoming an island each night. I rubbed my chilled arms and let the wind play with my hair.
When I finally reached the base, my legs ached from the walk. I grinned in delight to find that I had to enter the tall stone city walls by drawbridge, passing under a stone arch and the dangling iron spikes of a portcullis. Of course, because this town couldn’t get any more charming.
Once inside, I forgot all about my aches and bounded forward, unable to stop myself. A maze of streets opened before me, all impossibly narrow, the tall thatched buildings leaning in to nearly meet above the cobblestone streets. Shop signs and wrought iron lanterns dangled from their sides. I passed souvenir shops, a wine cart, and several taverns, closed up for the morning. Up and up I wound, losing all sense of direction as I explored.
As the day went on, the streets filled with men, women, and children, echoing with the sound of chatter and footsteps, while the seagulls cawed overhead.
I passed through streets where the buildings on the first floor had no windows or doors, only solid stone foundations, with stone steps leading from the street up to the front doors high above. Stone archways passed over these strange roads, stained and covered in lichen. Fish sculptures poked their gilled heads from the stone walls, mouths wide open, fins splayed, globular eyes pointing in different directions.
I grinned at every new narrow alley, at every black cat that darted across my path, at the cawing gulls, at the hot sun and the cool shade cast by crooked, latticed buildings.
After a few happy hours of wandering, I came across a courtyard where a crowd milled. I meandered past some bistro tables and eyed a baguette sandwich—the crisp, golden brown bread calling to me, leaves of basil and big white mounds of mozzarella poking out the sides.
I pulled the letter out of my pocket and reread the instructions. “Old Miller’s Quarters, back garden, Royal Palace.” Someone had to have an idea of where that was. Hopefully, someone who spoke English. I didn’t need to be there till tomorrow morning, but I wanted to locate it today so I knew where to go. But, I probably had time for lunch.
A few minutes later and few euros lighter, I sat at a table under a white umbrella, crunching happily away at my sandwich. I licked up every last crumb, then sat in the sun, the occasional sea breeze making its way between the tightly packed buildings and rustling my hair.
I watched people go by, tourists mostly, gazing up at the tall buildings or at the wares lining the shop windows. The odd person strode past more quickly and directly, eyes ahead instead of gazing about like everyone else. Locals, I bet. Maybe shopkeepers.
Or could they work in the royal palace? I’d gathered from a map I picked up that the palace perched atop the mountain. I’d been winding my way up and up and had no idea how close I might be to the top.
After a couple of hours lounging and people watching, I roused myself and began again to climb. I popped into a soap makers, smelling every single bar, some like nothing I’d encountered in my whole life. I couldn’t even guess if it were herb or nut or flower. The shopkeeper indulged me for a while then asked me to please stop putting my nose on everything.
I popped into a shop that sold tea leaves out of bulk barrels and another shop located in an alcove in the stone, lined with shelves of handmade pottery. If I’d had enough money I’d have bought one of everything.
As I wound higher and higher, the crowds thinned until, instead of bumping shoulders with every step, I went minutes before passing another soul.
I’d just passed by a narrow, shaded alleyway when the earthy smell of baking bread wafted into my nose and made me backtrac
k. I followed my nose down the alley’s twists and turns, past stacked wooden crates and a hissing patchy cat. The sounds of the hustle and bustle faded away, until only my footsteps scraping over the stones kept me company.
My ears pricked at the tinkling of wind chimes nearby, and as I rounded a sharp bend between overhanging buildings, I spotted an uneven wooden sign above a doorway sporting a faded painting of a loaf of bread. As the heavy door closed behind me, I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the murky light inside.
A few candles burned in wall sconces. The large front window lay in shade, and the thick layer of dust and cobwebs coating the window further diluted the dim light. I walked to the center of the shop. The space behind the counter stood empty, the till unmanned.
“Hello?”
I listened for an answer.
A crash sounded and some muffled shouting, then another shout. I cleared my throat loudly, trying to announce my presence, but the argument continued. Awkward.
I turned to leave, and an unusual assortment of eggs in baskets along the counter caught my eye. In front of each, a little label announced their type: tiny, spotted robin eggs, brown-and-white speckled chicken eggs, white swan eggs, bright Indigo eggs the size of my head labeled miniature dragon eggs. I paused at that one and grinned. Maybe they were dyed ostrich eggs for the tourists? Next to the huge eggs sat teeny, tiny ovals labeled snake eggs.
Another crash made me jump. A deep voice boomed, “Glenn.” A sound of disgust. “Why, our Maple will knock him down a peg or two, I tell ya that.” Another metallic crash sounded, like baking sheets clanging together. “He’ll think twice about saying those things about our guild when one of our own is the next royal baker.”
A stocky bald man with beefy arms rounded the corner and came toward the till, calling back over his shoulder, “Oak, grab the list, will ya? Oh!”
He jumped when he saw me and smoothed his large hands down the front of his stained apron. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, miss. I, uh, hope you haven’t been waiting long?” He swallowed and glanced over his shoulder a few times. “Oak! That list?”
I shook my head. “Oh no, it’s all right.” Geez, I’d hate to get on this guy’s bad side. “I did overhear you mention something about the royal baker?”
His blond brows shot up his head, red splotches flushing his cheeks. “I, uh, I’m not sure what you heard but—”
“I’ve been chosen to be part of the contest.” I leapt in to help ease his confusion. “But I’m not sure where to go, can you point me in the right direction?”
He lifted his chin. “You are, eh?” He squinted at my unicorn shirt and folded his enormous forearms across his chest. “You from the Earth Kingdom?”
I blinked at him, my brows drawing together in confusion. “Earth Kingdom? No, I’m not from any kingdom.”
He slammed his broad hands down on the counter, rattling the baskets of eggs. He shook one finger at me, eyes narrowed. “You a Badlander then, eh? Out!”
I jumped back. “No, I’m from the US.”
He frowned. “An immigrant? Where you originally from?”
I shrugged. “I grew up in Missouri, but I was adopted, so I’m not sure where I was born.”
“Hm.” Apparently he finds that answer acceptable? “My daughter’s in the contest too, ya know.”
I smiled. “Really? Does she know the way to the place we’re supposed to meet, the, uh—” What had the letter said? “The Miller’s Quarters, at the Royal Palace?”
The man thumbed over his shoulder. “Maple’s already up there, but it’s not too hard to find. You staying on the grounds as well?”
“Oh, um.” The letter hadn’t mentioned lodging. I thought back to Lois’s warnings—she’d said that travelers stuck on the island at night had never been heard from again, or their bodies had washed up on shore the next morning, or they’d gone mad, ranting of voices and faces below the sea. “No, for now I’m staying in St. Rael. In an attic,” I added, though I had no idea why.
His brows lifted again. “Well, if that’s the case, you should head back down. Ferry’s leaving any minute now.”
I jumped. “Really? Any minute?”
He nodded. “Go out, head right down the alley, two twists, three right turns, and you’ll hit the main road. Just head down and you’ll find it… but I’d run.”
I jogged backwards, bumping into a table filled with unsold bread, cobwebs catching on my jeans.
“Oh, and when you see Maple, tell her her papa says hello and good luck!”
I nodded. If she were anything like her quick-tempered father I’d do my best to stay as far away from her as possible.
I skidded down the alley, already darkening in the setting sun. The hazy darkness caused me to stumble over the uneven cobblestones. Not the easiest place to find, that bakery. No wonder there’d been no customers. After banging my shin on a crate, I hobbled out onto the main road, empty of all people. I sped downhill without seeing anyone, my chest tight from my racing heart and a creeping sense of something being very off.
Dong! Dong! Deep bells rang out. The map had indicated several temples with bells in Bijou Mer, the largest and oldest one at the top of the mountain. Dong! The sound of time running out.
As dusk deepened, and darkness settled around me, I burst forward out of a narrow road and slammed into a waist-high stone wall, the vista suddenly open to the sea below and everything beyond. The sea crept up the sides of the stone walls bordering the base of the mountain, the water level nearly covering them. Many twists and turns of the road below, I made out the rectangular ferry, beaded in white string lights, and the line of passengers boarding up the gangway. “Wait!” I shouted at the same time another bell rang out. I bounced on my heels, anxiety constricting my chest. They probably couldn’t hear me from up here anyway.
I pushed off the cold stone wall and dashed back out to a wider road. I sprinted down, hoping I wouldn’t break my neck on the uneven cobblestones. Torches sprang to life all around me, as did lamps and string lights, though I still passed no one. Dong!
I ran faster, a stitch pinching my side. Strange shadows flickered against the wall to my side, and I looked around but saw no one. A chill crept up my spine. I had to get to that ferry.
I slipped on a slimy stone and skidded into a stone wall. I jumped when a trickle of water dribbled from one of the stone fishes’ mouths above my head. Great, fish drool on my head. I dodged to the side as the dribble spluttered, then turned into a gushing fire hose.
I looked up and down the passageway. Every twenty feet or so, another fish poured water, and I realized I wasn’t standing in a street, but a canal. A canal that was now filling rapidly with water.
I splashed on, the water swirling up around my ankles. In the dim light I searched for a way out. The canal walls stretched far above my head and the smooth stones felt too slick to climb. My breaths coming in frantic pants, I waded through the calf-high (and rising) water, and nearly cried with relief when I found a stone stairway set into the wall.
I sloshed up the stairs and doubled over at the top, trying to catch my breath. When I straightened and looked around for a path down to the ferry, I found myself another tier higher than I’d been before, with no clue how to find the main street. I whimpered, picked a direction, and dashed on, my feet squishing in my wet boots. Dong!
Lights sprung on in shop windows and taverns. Voices and laughter trickled out into the night air, but still I saw no one. When I came face-to-face with a gaunt young man, I recoiled, gasping. I pressed a hand to my chest when I realized it wasn’t an actual person, but a very lifelike drawing of one plastered to the side of a building.
“Wanted: Horace, leader of the Badlands Army.”
The young man’s hooded blue eyes seemed to bore into mine. I backed away from the poster with the eerie feeling that it watched me. When I spun away, I noticed scores more posters lining the street. I’d have sworn they weren’t there a minute ago.
A
huge splash had me turning toward the now full canal to my left. My stomach clenched as a huge, iridescent green tail lifted out of the water and splashed back down again, the canal water glowing from below.
I spun and raced down, not stopping for the strange shadows, the watchful posters, or the haunting music that emanated from the canals. Dong! Dong! Dong! The bells rang with increasing frequency.
On and on I went, my thighs aching, toes throbbing from being jammed into the toes of my boots. I rounded a corner and found myself on a road that skirted the edge of the town. I realized the road was actually just the top of the city border wall, which now sat totally submerged except for the top foot or so. I could see the lights of St. Rael across the water and spotted the dock up ahead.
I waved my arms. “Wait!” I screamed. I tried again with my hands cupped to my mouth. “Wait!”
The ferry had already pulled away from the dock but was only about fifteen feet out to sea. They could still turn back. I sprinted on, willing myself faster and faster until I reached the docks. An older man pulled the folding iron accordion gate closed.
He looked up at me, his white mustache twitching. “Just missed it, I’m afraid.”
9
The Rising Tide
Lois’s warnings swam through my head. “I can’t stay here,” I yelled over the howling wind.
The older man locked the gate then came over to me. “Don’t have lodging?”
I shook my head.
“All the rooms are booked for the Summer Solstice.” He shrugged. “You’re young. S’pose you could stay up all night at one of the taverns?”
I swept my hair back from my face, looking out to sea. For a moment, I considered the ludicrous idea of swimming out to the ferry, but the water had turned choppy and rough.