Mirror Sight (5 page)

T
he waves rolled Yap onto the pebbly beach. He dug his fingers between the pebbles into silt and sediment to keep the ocean from dragging him back into the deathly deeps. The retreating waves pulled relentlessly on him, hissing over stone and sand, pebbles clicking together. Yap scrabbled forward so he would not lose ground, even while retching all the sea water he had inadvertently drunk.

He managed to reach the crest in the beach that marked the high tide line, and he lay there atop knots of dead rockweed, panting and resting, relieved to have made it to land.

Not food for the fishes today, he thought, as he had often thought after surviving a bad storm on the
Mermaid,
a pirate ship on which he’d served.

Despite having spent much of his life aboard ships, he had never learned to swim. Most mariners never did. Why, learning to swim was bad luck for a sailor. It was like inviting the gods to send disaster, a wave to sweep you overboard or sink the ship.

Somehow he’d made it to land without knowing how to swim. He bet if he knew how, the currents wouldn’t have been favorable, and he’d have drowned. The storm and breaking up of the gig notwithstanding, fortune was smiling on old Yap and had brought him ashore alive.

He groaned. But how his head and lungs hurt, and how exhausted he was from his ordeal. He spared a thought for his master. Lord Amberhill was a landsman—surely he did not know how to swim either. Yap hoped it was so. He hoped that fortune had pulled Lord Amberhill ashore, too.

Yap lay there on the stones, oblivious as a hermit crab scuttled by his fingers. He closed salt-rimed eyes against the brightness of the sun uncloaked by the parting of storm clouds.

 • • • 

Later, Yap awoke with a start. His belly ached badly, very badly. He shivered. His back was dry from the sun, but his front wet from lying prone. Waves tickled his toes, which meant the tide was on its way back in. He rubbed his eyes, knocking his specs askew. Somehow they’d stayed with him through the disaster. He tried to polish the residue of salt water from them with his shirt, but when he put them back on, he found he’d only smeared them. It was then, when he looked up to see his surroundings, he realized he was not alone.

First he saw her bare feet and ankles, then he looked up her long legs to the simple kilt of seagrass green. She wore a necklace of pearls and sea glass. Her long hair tousled away from a face he’d seen before. A tremor of fear ran through him, threatening to disgorge the contents of his already upset gut. He writhed on the ground and floundered about in an attempt to crawl away. He’d crawl back into the ocean if he had to.

“Where do you go, small man?” she asked.

Yap squeezed his eyes shut, wanted to clap his hands over his ears, but he knew it was no good, her voice held such power, for she was the sea witch, Yolandhe. She had long, long ago cursed him and his crew to be held stranded on a windless sea, trapped in a bottle for all time until someone had dropped it, releasing the spell. Oddly, the
Mermaid
had materialized in a house nestled deep in the forest, far away from the sea. Yap was the last of his crew who lived.

“I believe,” she said, her voice the calming rush of the tide combing the shore, “you took something that is not yours when last you were upon my island.”

“N-no,” he croaked.

“Give. It. Back.” She did not shout, but the command had the power of a storm in it, the crashing waves, the shrieking winds.

An upwelling in Yap’s gut caused him to vomit, first only salty fluid, but then more came up, a viscous mass of globules that, when deposited on the ground, was a small pile of pearls slimed with bile. More heaving produced coins of silver and gold, an emerald, a pair of rings, a necklace of gold links, more pearls, a brooch of a dragon, and worst of all, a long dagger with a gold hilt and ruby pommel. He thought it would slice his insides as it came, that it would choke the life out of him as it caught in his throat. When the hilt reached his mouth, he pulled it out and tossed it aside, and yet more pearls gushed out. When it seemed he was finished, he lay there shivering.

Yolandhe did not move. She waited.

Waited for what? Sweat poured down Yap’s face. His belly ached, but this time it was from all the heaving. Then he hiccupped and a diamond pendant popped out of his mouth.

Yolandhe nodded. She walked on as if he were no more than driftwood. She didn’t even pick up any of the precious objects he’d spewed at her feet. Perhaps that they had been returned to the island was enough.

He rose shakily to his knees, feeling much, much lighter. “Wait!” he called. “Have ya seen my master? We was wrecked in the storm!”

Yolandhe paused, the sea breeze tossing her hair back. She spoke softly, almost delicately, but the breeze carried her words to Yap with no difficulty.

“Yes,” she said. “I have found him. He has returned to me.”

K
arigan decided she was not a good patient. Not a
patient
patient. Following her conversation with the professor, she was up and down, pacing despite the pain lancing through her leg. She windmilled her good arm and stretched her back. Too much time in bed and her muscles would grow weak and limp. Arms Master Drent would never approve.

She further occupied herself by seeking out the privy Mirriam had mentioned. When she found it, she paused in awe, gawking at the shiny porcelain bowl supported by four bronze mermaids, its seatback fashioned into the shape of a breeching whale.

“Oh, my,” Karigan murmured. She peered into the bowl and saw that it contained still water. This was different than the privies she was accustomed to. There’d been shacks with holes and finer closets with aqueducts of actual running water coursing beneath. Selium had a fine system of piped water to deal with the unmentionable.

A brass lever, filigreed with twining seaweeds and periwinkles, jutted from the floor adjacent to the bowl, reaching to the height of her hips. It was not clear to her exactly what the lever was for, but its proximity to the bowl suggested it was integral to its functioning. There was only one way to find out. She pulled on the lever.

It drew back with a
clack-clack-clack-clack
that emanated from some hidden mechanism beneath the floor. When she pulled it back as far as it would go, she released it and the roar of water made her jump. She’d expected
something
to happen, but it still surprised her when it did. She watched in fascination as the water in the bowl whirled out of existence in a forceful vortex through a hole in the bottom.

As the lever slowly returned to its starting position, with additional muffled clicking and clacking, a trap door opened from above the seatback and a brass fish emerged. A stream of water spouted from its mouth and cascaded neatly into the bowl until it was refilled. Then the fish backed into the wall, and the trap door slammed shut.

One would need to be standing when one pulled the lever, she thought, or get all wet. Or, perhaps this was how the people here cleaned themselves?

So enchanted was Karigan, that she pulled the lever again just to watch the fish emerge. And again. And again.

After entertaining herself with the bowl, she discovered an adjoining room with a magnificent tub, also supported by brass mermaids, pairs of fish spouts poised on the edge of the tub, and higher above on the wall. So, one did not have to clean oneself while sitting on the bowl! There was a complicated looking array of levers around the tub. Karigan pulled on one, and again there was the mechanical clattering from beneath the floor and behind the wall, and a rush of water flowed from one of the fish. To her wonder, the water was hot. Perhaps they’d found hot springs to tap into, as in Selium? She guessed its companion spout must produce cold water, and without pumping or dragging in heavy buckets!

She was about to strip off her sleeping gown and fill the tub. She’d not had a bath since before leaving Sacor City—
her
Sacor City—and heading into Blackveil. How wonderful it would be to soak in such—

“There you are!”

Karigan almost fell into the tub as Mirriam burst into the bathing room.

“Are you the one playing with the water?” the housekeeper demanded. “The pressure is off in the kitchen, and Cook is most displeased. In quite a state, actually.”

“Uh . . .” Karigan began. “I—I was hoping to take a bath.”

“You must not use the tub. If you get your cast wet, you shall ruin it, and then where would we be? I’m afraid it’s sponge baths for you until your wrist heals.”

Karigan grimaced. “Sponge baths? Isn’t there a way to—”

“Mender’s orders.”

Karigan was beginning to resent the strict dictates of Mender Samuels.

“Speaking of which,” Mirriam continued, “you should be in bed.”

“I, um, need to use—” and Karigan pointed into the room with the amazing porcelain bowl.

“Land sakes, child, then use it, but no playing with the plumbing. I shall await you in the hallway and see you back to bed directly.”

Karigan sighed as Mirriam stepped outside. It was not going to be as easy to sneak around the house as she hoped, with the housekeeper patrolling the halls like a guard dog.

 • • • 

Back in her room, Karigan planted her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “I do not wish to get back in bed.” Before Mirriam could utter another of Mender Samuels’ proclamations, she added, “I’m restless. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

Mirriam’s pose mirrored Karigan’s, and the two stared at one another for several moments. “You are right handed?” the housekeeper asked.

Karigan raised her plastered wrist as if it were a foreign object. “Yes.”

“Then needle work is likely out.”

Thank the gods for small favors,
Karigan thought.

“Can you read?”

“Yes, yes I can.”

“Good to know that that part of your education has not been neglected. I shall see what I can do.” Then Mirriam glanced disapprovingly at Karigan’s bare feet. “And I shall find slippers for you. Going without is quite inappropriate.”

Karigan glanced at her offending feet and wiggled her toes.

“You get back to bed,” Mirriam said.

This time Karigan obeyed, knowing the housekeeper would refuse to leave otherwise. She pulled up the covers, and Mirriam grunted in satisfaction and left, closing the door behind her. From the hallway, Karigan heard a muffled query about “the patient,” from someone and Mirriam’s caustic reply: “She has an apparent fascination with the plumbing, as if she’s never used it before. Did they not have any at the asylum? She’s—” Mirriam’s voice faded with her footsteps.

Karigan leaned back into her pillows, a little surprised by how weary her explorations had left her, and before she knew it, she had dozed off, only to be awakened sometime later by the clangor of bells from deep within the city. Though she might bristle at being forced to rest, she had to admit her body had been through much and obviously needed at least some.

Drawn by the bells, she swung her legs out of bed and padded to the window. The light against the brick wall opposite had changed its slant, reinforcing the sense of time’s passing since last she had looked. Did these bells signify time as they did in her own Sacor City? Did they call worshippers to prayer in local chapels of the moon? If so, they were not particularly beautiful sounding bells but dull and heavy.

Perhaps if she stuck her head out the window she might be able to see more. She struggled with the latch and tried to lift the sash. It was painted closed. She tapped it with the heel of her hand and forced, best as she could even with her broken wrist, to push it upward. The window screeched as it shifted, after no small amount of concerted effort. Had anyone raised it in the last hundred years? No doubt the noise would bring Mirriam running.
Let her come,
Karigan thought,
but not before I have a look.

She edged the window open wider, enough for her to stick her head out. She craned her neck, looking both left and right. She did not see much, but to the right, between this house and the adjacent building, there was an opening that led to the street. It was just enough for her to observe people, and horses and carriages rushing to and fro. Soon the bells stopped ringing, their leaden tones dying. The activity on the street also diminished. The warm air reminded her of mid- to late spring. She had lost track of time in Blackveil, but they’d entered the forest on the spring equinox. She could not say for sure, but it appeared she’d arrived in the future in the same season she’d left in the past.

“MISS GOODGRAVE!”

Karigan knocked her head on the sash. “Ow!” She backed away from it rubbing the back of her head and turned to gaze on Mirriam and Lorine gaping behind her.

Mirriam was the first to move, setting a pile of books on Karigan’s bedside table and storming across to the window to slam it shut. Karigan winced. She decided Mirriam was not good for the nerves of convalescing patients.

“Miss Goodgrave,” Mirriam admonished, “the air is not healthy. You must keep the window shut.”

The air did have that unpleasant acrid tang to it, but Karigan was definitely tired of hearing what she could and could not do, no matter how much these people were trying to help her.

“I was curious,” she said. “All I can see is that brick wall.”

“You shall find that curiosity has no place in this household. Now, Lorine has your midday meal and I’ve brought you some books.” She looked at Karigan’s feet again and rolled her eyes. “And there shall be slippers, and no more window opening foolishness, do you understand?”

Karigan nodded, and Mirriam marched from the room muttering to herself. Karigan and Lorine exchanged glances, neither of them willing to risk a move lest the slightest breath called the storm back down upon them.

Finally Karigan cleared her throat, and that appeared to be a signal for Lorine to carry the tray to the bed. Karigan hauled herself into bed quickly, observing the tray looked heavy.

“Don’t you mind Mirriam, miss,” Lorine said as she gently rested the tray on Karigan’s lap. “She doesn’t like her routine upset.”

“What’s wrong with the air?”

Lorine shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been. Dirty and bad for the weak and elderly. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, depending on what’s coming out the stacks and which way the wind is blowing.” Then she leaned close and whispered, “Ill humors roam the night air.” She held her grave expression for several seconds before nodding and adding in normal tones, “I hear it is better in the countryside.”

She removed the lid from the main dish on the tray, and Karigan recoiled at the pungent steam that plumed from the contents. Boiled dinner! Just like her aunts used to make. Boiled cabbage, corned beef, and potatoes. She tried to conceal her revulsion.

“Call me if you need anything,” Lorine said, and left.

Karigan stared at the pale, limp offerings on her plate. Ill humors, indeed, she thought, wishing she could reopen the window.