Coral nodded.
Penelope was floating again. Only now it felt less like flying and more like spiraling out of control. Images flashed by, barely long enough for her to process what she was seeing. But Coral appeared in each one:
Standing alone, arms crossed, on the sidelines of Lake Trenchfoot while everyone else aided in Miles’s rescue…
Outside Penelope’s bedroom window, ear against the glass…
Sitting in Buzzardstock’s Freezy-Boy recliner, squeezing Wolfknuckle’s neck roughly…
Leading a stump-tailed cat down a dark corridor of the Ice House…
Lurking alone in a rocky corner of the Grotto…
Sneaking aboard the AF Delphia in the dark…
And then the horrible images began hitting Penelope so fast and hard—Stella waving her hand through a flame, a chunk of Glacier Cove falling into the ocean, babies crying, teeth gnashing, knives flashing, dogs whimpering—that nausea began to overwhelm her.
The last thing she saw was a spider squeezing its body inside a submarine periscope and flitting up, up, up through the portal until it was outside, on top of the submarine and swelling into a giant manta ray with red eyes that did not dim even when it slid off the craft and into the darkness of the water.
Penelope closed her eyes and felt the world spinning. She didn’t open them again until she was back in her bunk on the Delphia, soaked with sweat and certain that Makara Nyx had slipped away.
—
This time when she entered Coral’s cell, Penelope kicked the tray of food. Mucky soup shot in every direction.
Coral jumped to her feet, prepared to fight. But with her hands shackled, her options were limited. When she tried to pounce on Penelope in hopes of biting her shoulder, she slipped in the soup and crashed to the floor instead.
Twickie burst in. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” Penelope never took her eyes off Coral.
The little guy eyed Coral on the ground, broth soaking into her black shirt. “Just so you know, you’re cleaning this up.”
After Twickie left, Coral opened her mouth as if to speak. Before she could, a tear fell down her face. Then another. Then she kicked the concrete wall and the tears kept coming, faster and faster, until she was heaving and sobbing, thick drops rolling off her chin into the salty puddle of soup at her feet. Eventually, she broke into a coughing fit, though there didn’t seem to be much air in her hollow chest.
“Why did it have to be you?” Coral choked out.
“I don’t understand,” said Penelope.
“All I wanted was to see that stupid town at the bottom of the ocean,” Coral rasped. “I was tired of being picked on. But then you were so…You’re the first person who’s ever been nice to me in my whole life. I really liked— Oh, I don’t know anymore.”
Penelope tried to link the threads Coral was dangling. “Your grandmother. I walked in on her. She was wearing a red robe and was about to drink from a cup. She was chanting these words: ‘Reeny something—’ ”
“Ri ni bocaj ello ulee, kee ba ri ni llaj en gou holo viz baraj vinye,” Coral said quietly. “ ‘She that lurks beneath the waters, give her your strength so that you may live in light.’ ”
Something inside Penelope’s stomach dropped.
Her disciples are still out there, dozens of generations later, underwater and on land. They believe that one day the whole ocean will boil and everyone will die except the ones who pledge their devotion. And then they’ll be reunited with their ancestors.
Coral tried to bury her head in her shirt. “I was supposed to stop you. Sabotage you. Make sure the Shard got in Nyx’s hands and stayed there. Stella told me that was the only way I would see my parents again.”
Penelope’s fury faded. “Why did you sneak on board?”
“All the weapon fuel on this sub? One match would be enough to spread toxic gases into every compartment and melt the hull. Then the whole thing goes down. I was waiting for the right time. Then they caught me. And right here, locked in this stupid penguin jail, it hit me for the first time in my life: I’m not like Stella. I don’t care about Makara Nyx. I don’t think I ever did. This submarine was my escape. I was free! Free of school, free of my grandmother, free of Glacier Cove.”
“You should have said something.”
Coral wiped her eyes. “How could I possibly explain? I stood by and watched Miles almost drown on Lake Trenchfoot—and for what? Because I was scared of my grandmother?”
For a moment, Penelope wondered if the whole thing was an act: Coral’s stumble in the soup, her parade of tears, the explanation, and now, playing on Penelope’s sympathy. The girl was a master manipulator. Penelope was nowhere near forgiving Coral—let alone trusting her. “You’ve been lying to me all along,” she said. “Why should I believe you now?”
“I’m sorry.” Coral looked away. “I’ve done terrible things. Sometimes ideas get forced on you for so long you lose track of whether you believe them or not.”
The lightbulb picked that moment to flicker off. The two of them sat in the dark, the only noise Coral’s pitiful sniffles.
When Stella Wanamaker had warned Penelope not to trust a new stranger in her life, at first she assumed that meant Buzzardstock. Then she supposed it must be Coral. Now she realized the deceitful stranger Stella Wanamaker had seen in the candle wax was not Buzzardstock, nor was it Coral. It was Stella Wanamaker herself.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Penelope said.
A shuffle came from Coral’s corner. Then, quietly: “How?”
The bulb went on over Penelope’s head, once more flooding the room with light. Only now it looked somehow brighter. “Do you know where to find Makara Nyx?”
Coral’s tired eyes came to life. They darted around the room, left, right, up, down, then everywhere at once and nowhere at all, until they landed on Penelope.
“Maybe.”
When word got around that the ship was headed toward a massive range of volcanoes in the northern region of the ocean—due to intelligence from Coral Wanamaker—the penguins went ballistic.
“First we rely on half-baked intelligence from a bunch of brain-dead crustaceans,” Omar whined, “and now we’re taking cues from a little girl who’s proven herself to be a lying traitor? How do we know she’s not Makara Nyx?”
The farther the Delphia ventured into the ocean, the testier the sailors became. Most of the crew was not sleeping much; it’s not easy to fall asleep with one eye on the guy in the next bunk. Decker argued against Coral’s release, citing her as a threat to the crew’s safety until she could be proven otherwise. Beardbottom agreed but asked that she be given better food, which Chef Dupree delivered directly.
Twenty-four hours before their planned military strike—which still had no exact location—Penelope checked on Coral. The girl looked a lot better, not that she’d ever looked particularly healthy. But she’d gotten back some of her pale glow, and Twickie had taken pity and dropped off a few books, which Coral read on the floor. “They gave me a chair, but it was penguin-sized,” said Coral, sprawled out on her belly. “I couldn’t even fit one butt cheek on there.”
“Coral,” Penelope said. “Do you remember hearing any specific details about Makara Nyx’s hideout? Other than the fact that it’s in a volcano?”
“Nothing more than I’ve already told you.”
“How did your grandmother communicate with Nyx?”
Coral swallowed hard. “She lit candles and went into a trance. Her eyes rolled back and her body started shaking. Then she babbled and shrieked these words and numbers and chants like something had taken over her body. It was hard to watch. You saw it once. I had to watch it every day of my life.”
—
That night, Penelope couldn’t sleep again.
“Miles,” she whispered. “You awake over there?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too,” came Martin’s voice from above.
“Same here,” said Lucas
.
“Omar? You awake?”
A ferocious snore blasted down from Omar’s bunk. Penelope and Miles started laughing.
“Guy could sleep through anything,” said Martin.
“Hey,” Miles said. “What’s the deal with Commander Beardbottom’s wing?”
Martin climbed down to Miles’s bunk. “Beardbottom came up during the First Avian War, and even then, he was brilliant. Former boxer, trained as a laser physicist. Toughest, smartest penguin in the whole outfit. One night, a sniper ambushed his troop on Wingfield Ice Shelf and blew off Beardbottom’s wing. But Beardbottom managed to wipe out the rest of the enemy platoon with one wing. Seal bouillabaisse, all over Wingfield. PU Beardbottom went on to win every medal the Navy had to give out. The dude won’t die. Do you know what the life expectancy of an emperor penguin is? Twenty years. Beardbottom is forty-one.”
“I heard he’s fifty,” Lucas said.
“Forty, fifty, whatever. They’re just numbers. He can still do more push-ups than any man on this vessel.” Martin hoisted himself up. “I’m racking out. Got to be sharp tomorrow.”
Penelope couldn’t believe creatures like Beardbottom existed. Knowing the formidable old sailor was on her side helped—no matter how many wings he had or how old he was. They’re just numbers.
They’re just numbers…
Numbers.
Numbers!
Before anyone could ask what she was doing, Penelope had jumped out of bed and was sprinting down the corridor.
—
“The numbers!” she yelled as she busted into Coral’s cell. “Do you remember the numbers?”
Coral lay on the ground in the dim light. “What numbers?”
“The numbers your grandmother used to chant during her trances. Can you remember them?”
“Sure. I heard it enough times.” Coral twisted her face into an odd shape. “Six, two—and then she always paused—then two, two, six, nine, nine, six. Then one, six, two—pause—five, zero, nine, seven, six, six.”
Penelope handed Coral a pen. “Write them on my hand.”
62 226996
162 509766
“Okay,” Coral said. “So what?”
“They’re coordinates. Latitude and longitude.” Penelope threw her arms around Coral. “We know exactly where to look for Makara Nyx.”
The crew packed every inch of the mess hall. The lucky ones got seats, but many more sat on the floor or stood on tables. Others hung from ladders or clung to stairways. More than a dozen hunched in the pass-through of Dupree’s kitchen. In back, two penguins perched on Miles’s shoulders.
Decker stood before the room with a giant map of a volcano. “Sailors, your attention, please!” he boomed. “As of this moment, it is essential that you put aside your suspicions and place your trust in one another. No more blaming. No accusing. We’re a team. The only way we’ll succeed is if we act like one. For a little background on our target, Chief Special Warfare Operator Sparks.”
Sparks stood up. “A few years back, Pooley and I pulled a search and rescue up around Slippery Pike. My commanding officer called the area Lava Alley. Lots of enormous volcanoes, and they all look the same. It’s pretty hairy in there. Took us two weeks to get the ash out of our feathers.”
The audience laughed.
“On our way home, one of the volcanoes erupted as we were passing by. Lava spurting everywhere, bubbles oozing molten rock. In between these giant plumes of steam you could see electric sea snakes and some other rough characters mulling around. Closer to the sea floor were deep-sea vents spewing burning water. The old-timers called the volcano Brimstone Peak.”
“Thank you, Officer Sparks.” Decker tapped the map with his wing. “If our coordinates are right, Nyx’s base of operations is inside Brimstone Peak. If currents and wind hold out, we will arrive within six hours. Once we’re there, Operation Thunder Strike will go in two waves. Many of you will be among the troops that infiltrate Nyx’s volcano from above—here—to divert attention from the SEAL team, led by Sparks and Pooley, which will infiltrate near the base—here. It will not be easy. Brimstone Peak is a volatile rock. It could erupt at any moment. We have no way of knowing how heavily guarded it will be. For specifics, each section leader will brief his or her team. But first, Commander Beardbottom would like a word.”
Beardbottom stared out over the crowd, as if to make eye contact with each and every member of the crew. Then he cleared his throat.
“In one hour, the AF Delphia is officially on war patrol. You know what this means. You know your roles. What you don’t know is how you will respond in the moment of truth.
“Unlikely circumstances have led us to this moment. Some may call it luck. Anyone familiar with me knows I don’t believe in luck. I believe in strength. The strength to listen, the strength to think, and the strength to act.
“Many of you have never seen battle. Those who have, you’ve never been in a battle this important. We are on the eve of a conflict to end the reign of terror that has devastated our world for generations. Our mothers and fathers didn’t have the power to fight that oppression. You do. What are you going to do with it?
“We have allowed evil to thrive in our midst for too long. Why? Because we are evil? No. Because we are afraid. But there is nothing to fear. Stand up, do your job, and do it well in the face of difficult circumstances. If you fall in battle, consider yourself blessed, for you will have ended your days in a manner that few creatures, sea or earth, are granted—with dignity.
“Some of us will not come back. This volcano could be our grave. This ship could be our grave. But whether you perish tomorrow or as an old penguin looking back many years from now, this will be the moment by which you are measured.
“Did you show bravery? Creativity? Resilience? Did you follow when asked? Lead when needed? Did you believe in the penguin beside you and give that penguin reason to believe in you? Did you lend a wing if you saw someone struggling? If you struggled, were you brave enough to ask for help? Did you show compassion for your fellow penguin—whether male or female, young or old, regardless of shade, personality, or preference? Will you be proud to tell your story?
“I will be beside you in battle. If I can answer yes to those questions, I have no reason for fear. Death isn’t half as terrifying to me as the prospect of living with shame.
“Good luck and Godspeed, sailors.”
Commander Beardbottom led 120 penguins in formation around the Trouble Bubble, their wings flapping in unison like ballet dancers in icy blue waters.
Inside the Bubble, Penelope whistled to relax herself. To call the feeling churning in her belly “butterflies” was too mild. There were butterflies, sure, but also bees and wasps and mosquitoes, maybe a few moths and dragonflies, too, all fluttering and fighting and stinging.
She felt slightly better watching the penguins glide effortlessly around her in a manner that did look more like flying than swimming. She’d grown accustomed to their awkward waddling, but now she understood. In the water, their bodies could not be more graceful. This was where they belonged.
“Penelope,” Miles said. “The whistling. Driving me crazy.”
“Driving everyone crazy,” Martin said.
The scenery grew more rugged as the mountains and cliffs soared around them. The Bubble rose closer and closer to the surface, sunshine streaming into the waters from above. It was the first natural light any of them had seen in a week.
To his left, Miles spotted a creature lurking behind a rock. It almost seemed to smile, but when it did, two rows of razor-sharp teeth glinted in the light. “Hey,” he said. “There’s something by that rock over there.”
“Commander Beardbottom!” Sparks barked into her headset. “Leopard seal at ten o’clock!”
Without a word, Beardbottom had the entire swimming fleet reversing direction. The seal, an enormous gray hunk of muscle, lunged at the penguin on the outermost edge, just missing its feet. In frustration, it slammed into the Tr
ouble Bubble with all its weight. The force of a furious seven-hundred-pound predator rocked the vessel. The seal pressed its wet nose against the dome just inches from Miles before swimming off in search of another meal.
“How thick is this glass again?” Miles asked.
Pooley grinned. “That was almost seal versus SEAL.”
“Thanks for the escort, guys!” Sparks barked into her headset. “Good luck.”
Beardbottom’s troops disappeared in the distance as they ascended ever closer to the surface, while the Trouble Bubble went in the opposite direction. Downward it plunged, back into darkness so pure that the headlights illuminated the sea only a few feet in front of them.
As they zoomed past thermal vents bubbling up from the ground, Penelope felt like she was diving into the center of the Earth. Though they had no eyes, colonies of swaying tube worms seemed to stare in disbelief as the strange vessel piloted by five penguins and two humans passed by.
They were close. Penelope could feel it.
Sparks turned around. “Okay, Marches. Do whatever you need to do with those cookies.”
Penelope and Miles looked at each other.
Are we really doing this? Miles’s eyes asked.
I guess we are, Penelope’s eyes said.
They reached in their dry suits, into which they had each attached a waterproof bag filled with the rest of the cookies. “I’m going to eat two,” Penelope said. “Just to be safe.”
“Two?” said Miles. “I’m eating, like, nine.”
As the siblings bit into their cookies, the SEAL team once again unbuckled themselves, strapped harpoons to their backs, and prepared to open the escape hatch.
Lucas, who Penelope had almost forgotten was aboard, stuck out his wing. Omar slapped his on top of it. Then Martin added his, followed by Sparks, Pooley, Miles, and finally Penelope.
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