Drowned (8 page)

The pat is something my father would have done, and yet when Tiam does it, it sends shivers right down to my toenails. I am glad it’s dark to hide the flush in my cheeks. “How can you say that? Twenty people—”

“I have ideas. Trust me.”

I stare at him, doubtful. We do not trust. But, oh, how I want to. When I look into those eyes, I almost believe that we’ll be safe and live happily ever after, like in one of my fairy tales.

“What are you revealing to me this time?” I say when we’ve walked a few moments in awkward silence.

He cocks his head. “Huh?”

“We’ve never gone scavenging together before, until this morning. The last time we went it was because you were dying to tell someone that you were going to be king. So what’s up now?”

He smiles. “All right. Great. If I’m going to be king, I think I’ve got to stop being such an easy person to figure out.”

“Well, smartest person on the island, and all that.”

“Oh, right.” He laughs, such a mesmerizing laugh that I barely notice when he changes the subject. “So, how was your visit to the castle, really, genius?”

I know there’s something he wants to tell me, something he’s having a hard time with. And a big part of me is frightened of what it could be. Part of me just wants to go on talking with him, laughing, like two friends, forever. So I say, “Interesting. Frightening. I’m not supposed to talk about it outside, though.”

“I know, but I’ve been there, too. So you can tell me.”

He doesn’t have to twist my arm. “It was
amazing,
” I gush, words bubbling forth like floodwaters. “Just incredible. I never imagined it would look like that. Not in a million tides. I can’t believe that I—that we—are going to be living there.”

He laughs. “You act like it was your first visit to the palace.”

“I told you, I was too young to remember being there before. And guess what? I have my own room, with my own
bed.
Can you believe that? But I’m a little scared about the ghosts,” I admit.

“Ghosts? That’s a bunch of bunk.”

“Well, I don’t want to wake up to find the Dark Girl standing over me.”

“Dark Girl?” He laughs. “I remember that legend. Haven’t heard it in a while, though. She probably found a nicer place to haunt.”

We walk on for a few more strides, when I say, “Why did Star think I could sew her dresses for her?”

He shrugs. “Why, can’t you?”

“Of course not!” I say. I’m sure I don’t have to show him my stump to get him to understand why. “I mean, I can do just a few stitches to piece my clothes together, but not
real
sewing. I don’t think anybody on this island can sew anymore.”

He smiles. “Oh. I may have told her that. My mistake.”

“And she also thinks I know everything about the island’s people. That I can be this spy for her. She’s going to throw me off the balcony when she finds out you lied.” I sigh.

“No, she won’t,” he says. Then he turns to me. “Look, I really didn’t need to convince her of anything.
She
asked me about you first. After I got done talking to the king, she took me aside and asked me what I knew about you, and if you were, as she put it,
a good sort.
”

“She did? Really?”

“And so I told her you were the worst sort of ocean scum there is, and that even Mutter would make a better lady-in-waiting.”

I narrow my eyes at him until he laughs.

“Come on, Coe. Really. I told her that you were a perfect choice. So what if I embellished some things? The truth is, she had her eye on you from the start. Just do your best.”

Easy for Tiam to say. He’s always excelled at things on his first try. He could probably do any or all of the jobs on the island, so he doesn’t understand a person like me, who is fit for none of them. I bet he could even sew. “Maybe she won’t need any dresses for a while, and I can practice,” I offer weakly, feeling every inch of my lost hand. “But spying... Why did you lie about that?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at me in a kind, sincere way. In my dreams, there’s desire in the way he looks at me. But in real life, it’s much more sterile. The look says,
Because you are pathetic and helpless and wouldn’t last a second on the outer edge of the formation.

“Oh,” I say. I suppose I should be happy that he even cares. It’s more than most would do. Toward the horizon, the castle is straight ahead of us, in the distance, glowing pink in the moonlight. “Star’s very...interesting.”

“I know,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “She’s always been a little dramatic. Don’t you remember when we’d play together? She’d always pretend to hurt herself whenever she was losing a game. We never finished anything.”

I give him a blank look.

“Okay, okay. You don’t remember,” he says with a laugh. Then his face turns serious. “I promised Wallow that I would look after his daughter when he is gone. That’s what his largest concern is.”

I can tell from the wrinkle above his brow there’s something more, something he’s not telling me. “Okay...” I prompt. That’s when I see a bunch of builders rushing down shore with a good-sized piece of driftwood. They dance excitedly around it before hauling it off toward the platform. “Look at that. That’s a good find.”

“I wish...” He stops, and his face turns even darker. “Coe, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to let you know that they’re starting to build the new ship today.”

“Sure,” I say. I’d expected they’d start any day now. After all, my father has been gone for a season and a half. And they should keep building ships, in case he doesn’t come back. “That’s all right.”

He runs a hand through his long hair so that it spreads over his shoulders, something he only does when he’s anxious, which is rare. Then he reaches into his bag and pulls something out. It’s a blue I know well, and it’s more tattered than the last time I saw it, as if it had a fight with a bunch of scribblers. I gasp.

“It’s his, isn’t it?” he asks.

I nod. My father never went anywhere without that blue kerchief. He’d tie it around his neck and use it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Or he’d pull it over his head to keep the hair out of his eyes. “Where did they find it?”

“It washed ashore today.” He takes my hand and gently pools the fabric into it. It, like everything, is damp. “I thought you should have it.”

“Oh. Thanks,” I say calmly, even though the world’s crashing around me. And to think only a heartbeat ago I’d been having stupid, stupid daydreams that Tiam had asked me to go off with him because I was special to him. When, really, all he wanted to tell me was that everyone who ever cared about me is dead.

“It might not be his, anyway,” he offers, but I know he’s just saying it to make me feel better. Material is hard to come by these days, and another scrap of material that faded sky-blue would probably be impossible to find.

“It’s his,” I answer.

“He may just have lost it. He may still be—”

“You know he isn’t,” I say. My limbs feel numb. My one hand, holding the fabric, doesn’t even feel like part of my body. I don’t think my heart is beating anymore. “Everyone who goes out on Explores never comes back. You know that.”

He says, “But everyone
isn’t
Buck Kettlefish.”

I know he’s trying to comfort me, but the words bounce off me as if I’m wearing a shell. I just stand there, dumb, as if I’m in a nightmare. Unable to do anything.

“You know,” he says gently, “I never really put too much faith in the Explores until your dad left on his. Because even if an explorer did find a way out, did find civilization somewhere else in the world, there was nothing to get that person to come back to save the rest of us.” He looks up at the sky. “But when your dad went on his Explore, I had this feeling. Like
finally, something’s going to happen.
And that piece of material doesn’t change my mind. Don’t let it change yours.”

I back away, grinding my teeth together so violently my jaw aches. Then without another word, I head away from him, down the shore. I know that what I need to do is stop myself from caring about Tiam. Just stay as far away as possible. Because if it hurts this much to lose a person you love, I don’t think I can live through it twice.

Six

Deliberate Disguises

W
e get our best sleep before the low tide horn, but I don’t sleep. When the sun rises, I’m still sitting alone at the base of the platform, popping the blisters and picking the brown scabs on my stump raw while watching the outlines of the fishermen in the distance as they throw their lines into the tossing waves. I’ve spent most of my life trying to press my stump against my ribs, keep it out of sight and sun with hopes it’ll be less noticeable. But right now I don’t care how visible it is.

I reach into my bag and pull out a small, ancient box. I am not sure what was once kept inside. There were words written on top long ago, but now they are gone. I slide it open and tap the smooth brown shell a few times. A claw pops out. “Hi, Clam, it’s me,” I whisper, sticking bits of kelp and fish beside him. “Sorry I neglected you.”

The hermit crab attacks a bit with its claws and then disappears. I think I have more in common with Clam than anyone on the island. “I know,” I say to it, looking down at my silly white dress, “I may look different, but I’m still the same. I don’t like coming out of my shell any more than you do.”

Clam was my dad’s pet. He gave it to me before he left. As a companion. He knew I didn’t talk to anyone else. Only him. He wanted me to have someone to tell my troubles to. Someone to trust.

“He’s a good little fellow,” he’d said, popping him into the back of my bag. “He won’t let you down.”

“Dad, do you have to go? Why does it have to be you?”

“It has to be me. I made a promise to our king. And I can’t put this off any longer. And...look at me.”

I looked into his soft blue eyes. I knew what he was going to say.

“I want to keep you safe. And I can no longer stay here, on this island, and keep you safe. Do you understand?”

And he turned around and pushed the raft into the churning waves.

I remember wanting desperately for him to say he would be back, even if he knew it was a lie. But he didn’t. It was as if he knew he’d never see me again. As if he knew he would fail. But he’d made a promise to the king. He never lied, and he never broke promises.

Xilia and Mutter are arguing a little ways off. Something about scribblers on the platform again. I realize Mutter has a spear with a dead scribbler attached to it. He’s poking it at her, taunting her. “It’s coming after you, Xil!” Mutter hisses, as Xilia spits and throws handfuls of sand at him.

I shiver and look at the crab. Clam is a good listener, sure, but a sad substitute for my father. In a million tides, I’d never understand why he thought sending himself off to certain death would keep me safe. Surely I’d be safer with him here.

I suppose that my mother didn’t love my father and just used him to have me. He certainly never spoke of her, and whenever I asked, he’d quickly change the subject. But as long as I can remember, Buck was always there for me, always smiling. He was the one who taught me to read, filled my mind with history of ages past. Here, love doesn’t exist, and we don’t talk about it. I think some people on the island don’t even know what it is anymore. But though we never said it, I know: my father and I loved each other.

Once, he told me about the solar system, about all the planets, and how they rely on the sun. How nothing in this solar system could exist without the sun. When he left on the Explore, I felt so weak I couldn’t help wondering if he was my sun. If every day without him, I’d wither more and more. Yesterday, when I’d gotten my new job, I’d almost felt as if there was another source of energy giving me strength. I almost felt as if I could make it. But now, as I sit slumped against the concrete barrier, I feel weaker than ever. My sun has gone out.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, staring at the horizon, willing my father to come back, to take that blue kerchief from my hand, pat my head and say, “Ah! Thanks for finding it.” Eventually I put Clam back into my bag and stand, swallowing the knot in my throat. He’s gone. Tiam will soon be my king, and then he will become almost as distant to me as my father. I’m alone. Completely alone. I wonder how many chips need to be made in my shell before I succumb to the madness like Mutter and Xilia.

Outside our sleeping compartment, a line begins to form. My stomach rumbles, and suddenly I remember. It’s time for the morning meal. I haven’t eaten anything since the last morning meal. We always have fish, probably bluefish, with fine, translucent bones that stick in between my teeth and catch in the back of my throat. Very rarely, we’ll have corvina, my namesake, but it’s a rare delicacy, and there’s no room to be choosy here. If I don’t line up in a hurry, there may not be enough for me. Even if there are twenty fewer people in line today, because some of the casualties were fishermen. Not having enough food is something new. There always used to be enough to eat, I think, because my father was a fisherman, and he would sooner die himself than see others starve when it was his responsibility. Now, though, the fishermen rarely pull in enough for all of us.

I walk to the end of the line, behind Xilia. I wonder what things she’s seen, what terrible losses have brought her to her state of madness. Somehow, I feel closer to her, as if I understand her. But then Xilia turns to me and scowls, her mouth opening into a cave so that I can see each rotten brown stub of tooth. “What are you doing here?” she demands. “You’re a royal servant now. They take their meals in the castle.”

“They do?” I ask. I’d never noticed.

“Of course. The king doesn’t want the royal servants to associate with rabble like us,” she says.

“That’s not true,” I protest. “What about the formation?”

“They have no choice about that,” she says. “Now scoot before us commoners get after you for being greedy and going after two meals.”

“But that’s not what...” By now the others in the line are looking at me, their eyes frightening slits. I always knew I disgusted them, but I’ve never seen such hateful looks in their eyes. I back away. “Okay, sorry,” I mumble, and hurry toward the castle.

Before I make it even ten steps, someone tugs on my sleeve. I whirl. It’s Finn. His face is pleasant, the first welcoming face I’ve seen in a while, and I guess it’s just what I need right now because I find myself leaning into him. “Don’t be alarmed. They’re just on edge because of what happened during the last formation, and because we haven’t been bringing in much food lately.”

“Oh,” I say. “I know. It’s okay.”

He smiles. “I wanted to congratulate you on your new position.”

“Thank you.”

“And it’s obviously hard to turn down an offer like that. I did want to...” He seems reluctant, but as if there’s something he needs to say. “I heard that the king’s men dragged you off like a criminal.”

“Well, yes. It was kind of unexpected, but—”

“It wasn’t right, Coe. If I’d been there, I’d have done something.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t have wanted you to. They didn’t hurt me.”

“Still, it was wrong. And some of us think it was too much. How dare they?”

“Some of you?” It suddenly dawns on me what he’s saying, but it seems impossible for them to get so worked up over me. “No, it really was no big deal. Tiam was there. He could tell you what—”

“I saw you speaking with Tiam. Be careful with him, okay?”

“With him?” I shake my head. “We’ve always been... It’s like—” I bite my tongue. I really don’t know what it’s like, and I feel myself blushing because of what I want it to be.

He nods. “Well, that’s good. He’s not a very serious person, is he? He has a rather silly side. One that I think will get him in trouble.”

I nearly burst out laughing. Tiam isn’t going to get in trouble.... He’s going to be king. And he’s the closest thing to a friend that most people on this island have. He’s no threat. Yes, he’s different, but... Suddenly I realize something.
Different
people are the ones who seem to suffer most in this world. My father. Me. And now Tiam. “But why? You mean because of how he acts in formation? He was just trying to get Fern to calm down.”

“That may be so, but his conduct is less than appropriate, considering people are losing their lives,” he says. “It has a lot of people upset.”

I stare at him. A lot of people? Surely he’s mistaken. Tiam is well liked, as Buck was. He and only he would be able to restore the peace we need in this kingdom. Without him, there is no hope for us. “You’re wrong. It’s just a bit of fun,” I whisper. “Everyone must know that.”

“Does fun have a place here?”

“Yes, it does!” I say. “I hate this. I hate tide after tide of gloom. Tiam makes us forget—”

“But not in the formation,” he says, his eyes boring into me. “Not when people are fighting for—and losing—their lives. I know it’s good to blow off steam. But blatant disregard—”

“He doesn’t mean that,” I say.

“Maybe he doesn’t, but it comes off that way. Consider it. And consider your place with the princess. She obviously chose you for a reason. Do you see what I mean?”

I shake my head, but as I study his face, it begins to fall into place. If people don’t like the royals, and I’m in the princess’s favor, where does that leave me? And if they hate Wallow so much, if Tiam becomes king, will they accept him, if it’s under Wallow’s direction? “I understand,” I say. “But I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m just doing my job.”

Finn nods. “But like I told you, it doesn’t matter what you think. What you show...that matters. Do you see?”

“Yes,” I answer, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I saw in the assembly that you were nominated. To take over when the king dies.”

“I thought you guys were spying out there!” He laughs, then hangs his head. “I suppose. If that’s what the people want, then I will not go against it.”

“What if the king wants something else? What if he has plans to be carried out before he dies? This is the Wallows’ kingdom, and we wouldn’t be here without their generosity. Is there no allegiance to their rule at all? Do we just throw it away?”

“I understand how you feel, Coe. That is the way Buck felt, too. Do whatever can be done to preserve the peace. But that was when most of the world believed in the goodness of the Wallows. They believed that Star was a sign from the gods that things would get better. But things have only gotten worse. And now, most of the world thinks his leadership, and his ideas, whatever they may be, are damaging to us. Whether I take his place, I think, is up to the people of this world. That is the best way to preserve the peace, don’t you think?”

I nod.

There are a thousand goose bumps springing up on my arms, and he must notice them, because he says, “I’m sorry. Hey. Do you remember when we were younger? When that giant sea turtle shell washed up on shore?”

Yes, of course I remember. I was about ten, and he was maybe thirteen. Back then, he and Tiam were even friends. But eventually Tiam, though younger, started besting him in races along the shore, in pulling in fish, well, in everything. I think that was why they grew apart. Finn couldn’t stand a younger kid doing things better than he could. Anyway, one day, a turtle shell washed up on shore. It was huge. We took it to the royals, thinking they’d want it, but it smelled, so they let the commoners have it. The commoners spent twenty tides trying to determine what to do with it. Ana wanted to use it as a pot for soup, other people wanted to make it into a bathtub and let everyone use it on rotation. “Oh, yeah. That night. We all convinced Mutter it would make a good boat.”

He smiles. “And he believed it. And it sank like a rock the second he launched it.”

I laugh, remembering him thrashing about in the ocean, shrieking like a seagull for his “boat.” We never found it again, after that. “He had one foot in, ready to cast off, and it just disappeared. He was so sure it was going to float!”

He nods. “Now,
that
was a bit of fun. But things were different then.”

Things
were
different. He doesn’t have to tell me how. Back then, we still had shreds of hope. But fun does seem out of place when there is no hope left.

He says goodbye, and still warmed by the memory of us as kids, I turn toward the castle.

At the castle entrance, two guards nod and pull open the enormous metal doors to let me pass. I’m less anxious than the first time I came this way, so I notice more. There are faded letters, like the ones in my room, written above the castle doors in big block print. W OW HO L.

WowHol? Then I make out an
I
to the right of the first
W.
WI OW. I think some letters are missing. Two
L’
s, probably, for WILLOW, the people who have always reigned. I wonder when in history they began substituting an
A
for the
I
and started going by Wallow. I guess it probably happened gradually, as everything does, once they stopped learning to read and write. The HO L must have once been HOTEL. The Willow Hotel was mentioned in the diary I have, though the Kettlefish ancestor who wrote about it used a lot of antiquated phrases that didn’t make sense. I’m not really even sure what a hotel is. I suppose it is another word for palace.

As I walk down the vast foyer, I notice there are faded letters above the arched doorways to every room, but I don’t stop to read them. One has the letters DININ over it. The smell of cooked fish wafts out to meet me, and my mouth starts to water. There are tables and chairs inside, and some people are eating. A moment later I realize the letters must have once spelled out DINING.

I follow an incredible aroma toward a banquet table. I’ve never smelled anything that has made my mouth water so much. Cordon, the cook, who is permanently blue-tinged, bulgy and hairless, like a jellyfish, is doling out heaping spoonfuls of some sort of fish chowder from an enormous pot. The pot is so huge I think that everyone on the island could eat and go back for seconds and thirds. He doesn’t look at me, just places a bowl in front of me, and I go and find a seat alone, in a corner. It feels weird to eat at a table instead of sitting in the sand, balancing my bowl between my knees.