Drowned (7 page)

“Tiam said that?” I say, shocked. Why would he tell such an outrageous lie? He knows how little I listen to the gossip, how I avoid everyone on the island as much as possible. “You want me to be...like...a spy? For what?”

Her eyes turn cold. “Just as there have always been people who work in the royal family’s service, there have always been people among us who would like to do us harm.”

I stare at her, unsure what she means.

“Some people forget the Wallows’ gift to them so many tides ago. Of course this has happened before. Many times before. And we have to weed these people out and bring them to justice before they...poison the thinking of others.”

I lie there silently, imagining her lying in her tower day after day, fearing for her life. But if her life is in danger, I don’t know it. People respect the king. He has kept us safe.

“In the coming tides, you are going to be more important to me than you realize. But I must know I can place my trust in you.”

Me? My mouth must be hanging open, because somehow I’ve swallowed lavender. It doesn’t taste as beautiful as it smells; in fact, it tastes rotten. “But, Your Majesty, I know nothing...” I begin, but then I realize what Tiam was doing. He wanted me to have this job for some reason. And I can’t let him down.

“Tiam says you’re a clever person.”

I shiver. The water suddenly feels icy against my skin.

“I am always your willing servant,” I say dutifully, because I don’t know what else to say. I wonder how many tides will pass before I’m exposed as a fraud. “And you can trust me.”

“Oh. And your dressmaking skills are required at once. I haven’t had a new dress in ages!” she says.

My stomach drops even lower. “My— Excuse me?”

She stands and wipes her hands on a cloth. “All done,” she says. “I told you it could be saved. There’s still sand in it, so dunk yourself a few times. Stay in there awhile and let the lavender soak into your skin.... I would get Burbur to bring you more water, but our reserves are low today. It hasn’t rained in so long.”

She wrinkles her nose, and I think she must be able to see my stump beneath the water, but then I realize that nothing can be seen beneath the surface. It’s an oily, dingy brown.

My scalp burns. I bring my hand to my head. The hair feels smooth, and when I look down, it falls over my shoulders quite nicely. Though it’s totally the wrong color, I imagine it shining in the sun like Star’s, adorned with pearl barrettes and ribbons, imagine everybody in the formation gazing at me with envy instead of disgust. I imagine Tiam unable to control his feelings for me and sweeping me into his arms right there, for all to see, the way the prince does to the princess in
Sleeping Beauty.
And then I shake my head and wonder when I’ll grow up and stop dreaming of things that don’t matter and can’t possibly happen.

She drops the comb beside the tub and then disappears through the doorway.

It’s comfortable in there, alone, almost too comfortable. I spend only another few moments in the tub. Not that I care about the dirty water; it still smells heavenly. But high tide is coming, and I’m afraid of falling asleep. Or of getting lost in this huge castle and not finding my way out in time. People have missed formation before and drowned, usually after small, careless mistakes. I don’t intend to be one of them, not now, when I’ll be inheriting space twelve.

After I towel off my body and hair, I slip into the new garment. It smells sweet, like lavender, too, crisp and new. It’s prettier than the simple tunic that Burbur wears—this one is white and flowing and comes just above the knee, which is rather risqué and not at all practical. I look at the ribbons and barrettes and, not having any clue how to use them, decide to just leave my hair straight. I hope the princess won’t object to that. Standing there in front of the mirror, with my hair beginning to dry and puff out in soft waves on my shoulders, I feel a tingling sensation in my limbs. I look presentable, if not a little pretty.

“Gathering!” someone is shouting down the hall. I hear a squeaking noise, coming closer. It’s Burbur. She pokes her head behind the curtain. Just when I expect her to say something pleasant about my appearance, she barks, “Gathering!”

I turn to her. “Gathering?”

She has a large metal thing on wheels, and it’s filled with square tubs like the ones I saw outside the rooms when I was being led to my quarters. “Yes. Before high tide. This room will be underwater in a bit. Put whatever you don’t want to lose in the tub outside your room, and I’ll take it to the stores in my cart.”

“The stores? In the tower?”

She seems annoyed. “No, underground. There are watertight compartments there. Surely you know that I am the manager of those stores? I daresay it’s the most important job in the kingdom.” She straightens, proud.

Of course I knew this; this is why Burbur is space four. There is no more important job than managing the watertight compartments under the castle. Once, the compartments held boxes and boxes of food and supplies for the survivors of the floods, but now they are virtually empty of useful things, and so the ones that are still watertight are used for storage of necessities we need to keep dry, like firewood. It’s also quite the dangerous job, because of the ghosts and bloodthirsty demons and other vicious creatures that dwell in the hellish never-regions below the castle stores. Many earlier stores managers’ lives have been claimed. I’ve always had questions upon questions about the mysterious stores, and being this close to Burbur, I itch to ask her them. What are the stores like? Had she ever seen any frightening creatures? Is it true that some of the compartments were flooded through carelessness tides ago? But looking at her, I clamp my mouth shut. She’s flitting around like an insect, too busy for conversation.

She walks into my room and begins piling things into a bin for me. The towels, the ribbons, the jars, the pieces of coral and shells for decoration. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it all back. I try to have things arranged soon after the rooms drain.”

“Oh!” I say, marveling at her efficiency. What a difficult task. It makes me wonder even more about the unspeakable dangers of the stores. To think that we have to scramble about on the platform for the last bit of space while the compartments keep safe the ribbons and other worthless trinkets. “There is very little dry room in the stores now, I guess?” I venture.

She grunts, but I can’t tell if it’s a yes, or a no, or a mind-your-own-business. She hefts the bin out of the room, and as she leaves, affixes the curtain over a hook attached to the ceiling. I take another glance at myself in the mirror, and this time, a slow smile pulls up the corners of my mouth.
Space Twelve.
Then I head off toward the platform.

Five

The Dead Land

I
step out into the glare of the setting sun, shielding my eyes, and immediately a cold wave rushes up to greet me. I splash through it, onto dry sand. My skin feels strange, unprotected by the layers of grime that once covered it. The sun is sinking in the sky but still high, and again, no clouds or chance of rain. A drought may be coming. It’s such sweet irony to think that we may all die of thirst, surrounded by all this water.

Trying to keep the short white dress from mushrooming out and showing everything I’ve got underneath, I climb up to the platform, feeling all the while as if I’m forgetting something. My bag. I know Tiam will have kept it safe for me, but it almost feels as if I’ve lost another limb. For the past five thousand tides, I’d never let that bag out of my sight. I’d done everything the same...formation, craphouse, bath, food, sleep, craphouse, formation, craphouse, bath, food, sleep... Now my entire world has turned upside down. Everything about today feels odd. Despite the blistering heat, there are goose bumps on my shoulders.

When I make it to the space that will be mine only until my sixteenth Soft Season, Fern is sitting cross-legged on space number one. She squints in the sun as she looks at me.

“Oh, Coe, what have they done to you?” she says, jumping up.

I grimace. “Is it good or bad?”

She picks up a lock of my hair and lets it fall. “So shiny. So pretty.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.” She sticks out her bottom lip. “I want to grow up. I can’t stand being the only baby in the world.”

“You’re number one, though,” I point out. “That’s the best space there is.”

She frowns. “They’re making
me
clean the craphouse now.”

“Oh!” I say. I hadn’t thought of that. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs. “That’s okay. I like having a job.”

Fern rifles through her bag and produces her wand, which she presses to the skin of my arm. “Your wish is granted.”

Dear, dear Fern. There is so much hope in her. How else would she be able to find a bright side to something so terrible? I wonder how long it will take before she sours of it, before it breaks her. I can’t bear the thought of Fern, the one pure example of what we could have been, broken. I want all of her wishes to come true.

More people are arriving now, and I’m distracted from our conversation because so many people seem to be staring at me, wondering what imposter is standing in space two. Blushing, I look across the way toward space twelve, which will be my new space in a matter of tides. It’s a good space, not at the center but very nearly. Much better than I’d ever dreamed I’d receive once I came of age. My eyes scan upward to Kirba, who is glaring back at me. Wherever she is going when she leaves her position, she’s not happy about it. I look away, shameful. Even though it’s not really my fault, it feels as if it is.

The sun is nearly gone before I see Tiam crawl up onto the platform. He’s carrying both bags and his spear over his shoulders, hefting them as if it’s no work at all and striding toward me. He’d always walked confidently, but now he seems even more regal. I pretend to be interested in something behind him, even though the only thing I’ve been able to think about since I left the tub has been his reaction.
Tiam is very sensible. He won’t notice something so trivial. If he does, he probably won’t say a thing,
I tell myself, preparing for the heartbreak.
After all, my skin is still ruddy and blistered, my eyes still pink, my hair still black. I’m still weird, different. A bath can’t change that.

When he is standing in his space, he drops my bag beside me. “Thank you,” I say.

“Anytime,” he says, reaching his hands over his head and yawning with the most luxurious stretch. You’d think he’d just been napping instead of catching the food for the evening meal. “Did everything go all right?”

I nod. “Thank you for recommending me.”

He shrugs innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What happened to your bracelet?”

For a moment I don’t know what bracelet he is referring to, but then I remember that bit of plastic with RUN on it. It’s gone. I can’t remember where I lost it. “I don’t know.”

There’s a long break in the conversation, and just when I’m sure he isn’t going to say anything more, he smiles. “Did anyone ever tell you, Coe Kettlefish, that you are positively stunning?”

“Stunning?” I ask. No one has called me that before. “You mean...frightening?”

He laughs. “I mean beautiful.”

Beautiful! No matter how hard the waves pound against the sides of the platform, even if I get carried out to sea today and the scribblers make me their evening meal, I know I won’t be able to stop grinning like an absolute fool. I do my best to try to control it, but a few seconds later I always find the edges of my mouth creeping up again. The last thing I want to do, in formation, when everyone can see me, is look like a lovesick idiot.

But this time I don’t try to press closer to Fern to avoid him. This time, when his body presses against mine, I press back, wanting to feel every inch of his skin against me. I pretend I’m doing it innocently, and at first I think he doesn’t notice, but then I feel him leaning in toward me, and his breath is warm on my shoulders. He inhales deeply, taking in my scent. If I turn, our lips would touch. I imagine the feeling of his lips, warm, soft, saying my name over and over again. The thought sends a wave of tingles over my bare arms, down my back, everywhere.

I’m jarred from this euphoria when someone suddenly screams.

The whispers begin. I sneak a look at Tiam, but now he’s facing the other way, standing on his toes, trying to see what has happened. He is one of the tallest on the island, so he has a better chance of finding out than anyone else in the center of the platform. That’s the one negative thing about the center. Even though we are safest, we are always the last to know when bad things happen.

It’s Hard Season. And things are like this during Hard Season. We expect it.

I grab Fern’s hand, and she presses against my thighs. “Tell me one of your stories,” she says.

“Okay,” I say, relieved to have something to take my mind off the havoc around us. I try to think of one from the book I’ve never told before. “Once upon a time, there was a cook named Gretel, and her master never did give her enough to eat. One day, he was having a guest over for dinner, which is the evening meal, so he ordered her to make two roast fowl for the—” I stop and answer the inevitable question on her lips. “Fowl are birds. Like seagulls. Anyway, she makes these two birds for dinner, but as the night wears on and the guest doesn’t arrive, she ends up eating them herself.”

I hear someone whisper, “On the west side! At least twenty!” and I clutch Fern’s hand tighter. Someone jabs me in the back, and I stumble forward. Clutching tight to Fern, I steady myself.

Fern, thankfully, is absorbed in the story. “Did she get in trouble?”

“You’ll see. Unaware that the feast has been eaten, her master goes outside to sharpen his knife to cut the fowl, and while he does, his visitor arrives at the door. Clever Gretel says to him, ‘Shh, go back as quickly as you came! If my master catches you, you’ll be in a terrible fix. He invited you to dinner so he can cut off your ears. Listen, you can hear him sharpening his knife.’”

Fern’s jaw drops open. “But that was a lie.”

The new moon climbs ever so slowly into its perch in the sky, a silent witness to our panic. People are muttering under their breaths, final prayers in the darkness. Voices rise, and I know what this means. The crush will begin. Bodies push against one another, closer together, into the center. Elbows and hands come at us. We stand at the very edge of our spots, at the exact center of the platform, so near to one another that we can barely breathe. But that is not enough. I suck in my stomach, tilt my chin upward, toward the star-filled, peaceful night sky, and draw in the cool air. Our spots are being usurped, and we may be squeezed to death in the ensuing panic. I bring Fern in front of me and drape my body over her as a shield, as she presses into my thighs. A breeze blows a spray of salt against my bare arms, making me shiver. It is too close.

Tiam wastes no time moving behind me, acting like a barricade between me and the horde. He pushes back against them, groaning. “Get back!” he shouts, and I can feel every muscle of his back against mine.

People are whispering along with the crashing waves, but I bow my head low to Fern’s ear and try to remember where I’d left off. I try to keep my voice calm, but it’s shaking as I finish the story: “You’re right. And then while the guest hurried away, Gretel ran screaming to her master, ‘Alas, you invited a fine guest. He stole the fowl!’ The master rushed after the thief, knife in hand, crying, ‘Stop! Let me have just one!’ and the guest thought he meant an ear, so he ran faster than ever, until he reached home and bolted the door.” By this time, Fern’s eyes are wide. She’s still waiting for more, so I add, “The end.”

Fern grins. “She was pretty clever.”

“So are you. That’s the name of the story.
Clever Gretel.
”

“I like that one,” she says.

It feels like an eternity before our bodies are no longer crushed together. Before the tide finally begins to go out. By then, the moon has risen to its height in the sky. Another tide survived.

I turn to Tiam, who was just conversing with Ana, behind him. “What happened?”

His face is stone. “There was a large wave on the west side. Ana says we lost twenty. Maybe more.”

“Oh!” I gasp softly. I begin to ask who, but Tiam is talking with someone else.

I exhale a few times, but I can’t stop myself from shaking. Never has a tide been that terrible. Never had I felt so close to being crushed like that. I’m about to step out of my circle when Tiam suddenly turns back to me. “What are you up to now?”

I whirl around and blush, speechless. Truthfully, I’m not sure how to answer the question. Star never told me what I should do. I suppose I am expected for training. Or maybe I’m supposed to be roaming about among the rest of the commoners, eavesdropping. But my legs are wobbling so much that I can barely stand. “I—I don’t know,” I answer.

“I wanted to see if you’d come scavenging again with me. I want to try the
east
side this time,” he says with a small smile. I know that he sees me shaking, and that smile is for my benefit, to make me feel at ease. “No scribblers on the east side.”

“But...it’s dark,” I say.

“Full moon,” he says, pointing skyward.

“Oh,” I say, feeling dumb. I wonder if backpedaling will make it too obvious that I’m dying to accept his invitation. After all that’s happened in the last formation, I’m still shaking. I don’t want to be alone. Out of everyone on the island, no one can comfort a person as well as Tiam. It scares me to think that right now, I
need
him. “Well, I guess I could go for a little bit.”

“Hey, good,” he says with a grin.

He climbs down the rope and is waiting for me as I descend the ladder. I have to press my knees together so he can’t see up my dress, even though it’s dark and he isn’t the type to look. The second I jump from the last step, I realize he’s holding out a hand to help me. Clumsily, I fall into it, then into him, and we both stumble backward a little before he catches me. Once again, his face ends up inches from mine. I look away first, wanting to bury my head in the sand.

“Thank you for protecting us today,” I say once we are farther away. “In formation. I was afraid this time we were done for.”

He nods. I know he doesn’t think he did anything special. It’s just what he does.

“Who...who did we lose?” I ask, my voice still shaking.

“Mostly scavengers, a couple fishermen, too. They’re counting the survivors right now. If that’s right, that leaves only about 470 of us.”

I try to breathe normally, but it’s as if a heavy hand is holding me underwater.

He notices, because he says, “Coe. You know as king, I’ll try to think of something. I will. I won’t be like Wallow and just sit there—”

“Is that what you—what people—think about him?”

He looks at me, an odd expression on his face. “Of course.”

“But Wallow is good,” I protest, although my voice is weak, faltering. “He has kept us safe.”

“
You
have kept you safe. He’s useless,” he mutters. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

There is a wall I’ve built around myself. Of certainties. Things like the rule of the Wallows. Of Buck Kettlefish. Of a heaven after death. These things, knowing they were there for me when everything else fell away, comforted me. Everything else didn’t matter. Everyone else, I avoided, just as they avoided me. But gradually, that wall has been eroding, much like the platform, and now, as I stare at Tiam, I feel more exposed than ever. “Is that what people say? But the Wallows saved us, so long ago....”

“That was some Wallow a million tides ago. Everyone here says that
this
Wallow is a do-nothing nobody. If he weren’t already dying, someone would probably try to kill him.”

I gasp. The wall is crumbling, almost as if he’s pulling it down with his bare hands. I shudder, feeling my ankles weaken. “But who’s saying that?”

“Everyone.” He studies me. “When Buck was here, things were different. He respected the king’s rule. And people respected him. So he kept the peace. But lately, the unrest has been growing. And everyone—”

“Everyone? But in assembly—”

“People don’t talk about it in assembly. They know the royals have their spies. But there are whisperings. And everyone—”

“Including you?”

He looks away. “I understand where they’re coming from. Your father knew he had to keep the peace because there was no alternative. But I think even he knew that Wallow was weak, that he doesn’t look out for us.”

I shake my head. “But you need to stop it. I can’t believe this. The princess said the same thing to me, but I didn’t believe it. Because it can’t happen! Chaos will reign, and we’ll—”

“I
will
stop it. When I become king, I will take care of them. I won’t be like Wallow.” He must see how flustered I am, how my world is crumbling, because he pats the top of my head. “Coe. Calm. Everything will be all right.”