Drowned (11 page)

The shovel needs to be taken into formation during every high tide. Otherwise, it would have been lost ages ago.

Slamming the door behind me, I race across the dry sand, my lungs burning in the heat. As I scale the platform, the scavengers begin to whisper when they take notice of me. Soon the fishermen are talking as I push my way through the mass of bodies. Then the palace servants. Eventually the entire formation is abuzz. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” someone, I think Ana, says to me.

Ignoring her, I stalk over to Fern, scanning the space around her feet. “Oh, Coe! I was so worried!” she exclaims.

“Fern. I need the shovel, quick!” I demand, wrenching the bag from her hands.

She begins to chew on her fingernail. “Oh. The shovel?”

“Yes, where is it?” I ask, pulling open the tie on her sack. But I can already feel from the outside that there is nothing in there that even remotely resembles a shovel. “No time for games, Fern. Where is it?”

She is wringing her hands. “I—” She leans forward and whispers, “Please don’t tell Ana.”

“What?” I demand.

“I accidentally dropped it into the hole. In the craphouse,” she admits, a small sheepish look on her face. “Please, don’t tell!”

I don’t have time to answer. I shove through rows of people, the way I came, fielding all sorts of curious looks. The sun is beginning to lighten the horizon as I come to the edge of the platform. Mutter gives me an oily smile and says, “Looks like we’ll have another free space in the formation. They’re dropping like flies, fellas!”

A few of the other fishermen laugh. Finn grabs my hand. “What are you doing?” he whispers to me when he notices where I’m headed. “You can’t leave!”

“I have to,” I say, snatching my hand away.

He makes a move to grab for me, but I’m already scrambling down the ladder as quickly as I can. I skip the last five rungs, springing toward the craphouse faster than I’ve ever moved. I hear some of the people of the formation cackle as I rush away, louder than the waves crashing only inches from the castle doors. They’d all be happy to see me die, to be one of the many who succumbs for stupid reasons. I pull open the rusted latch of the craphouse door and focus on the task at hand.

I quickly reach behind the seat and pull out the line and hook I’ve tucked there. I’ve been Craphouse Keeper for over a thousand tides, and as adept as I was at the job, having only one hand meant that I’d often lose my grip on the shovel. After the fifth or so time, I’d snagged a fishing line and hook from my father and made my own device to retrieve it. I’m a horrible fisherman, but I am pretty good at retrieving shovels from crap. This time, though, it’s so dark, with not enough morning sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shed to be useful to me. Squinting, I throw down the line and bob it up and down in the dark, gooey surface, until the hook plunks against something hard and metal. The sweat leaks into my eyes as I try to loop the hook around the handle...once...twice...three times. Usually the third time is a charm, but the pressure is dizzying.
Don’t panic, Coe. Don’t... Yes!

With a yank I catch the handle of the shovel and pull it up into my hand. It’s coated in scum and slides through my fingers, but I fasten my hand tight around it and turn toward the door. Then I step backward, surprised.

Finn is standing in the doorway, his form taking up every inch of the free space there. “What are you trying to do?” he asks.

“Go back to formation,” I tell him firmly, moving forward, hoping he’ll clear a space for me to pass through.

He doesn’t. “Look at you,” he says, studying my blood-spattered tunic. “Are you hurt? Let me help you.”

I shake my head. “Please,” I whisper, trying to push past him.

His eyes narrow. “This is for Tiam, isn’t it? What did I tell you about siding with him? The others won’t like it.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” I snap, unable to meet his eyes as a wave crashes through the doorway, pouring into the hole in the ground. “It’s like you said, Finn. The end of civilization has come, and we’re at each other’s throats. But at least
I
haven’t lost the ability to care about my fellow man.”

“He’s just like Wallow, Coe. He’s been in Wallow’s pocket for too many tides. He came to the beach last night trying to convince everyone that if he was king, he’d save us all. But we can’t afford to believe him or Wallow anymore. They’d let us all die. We have to say ‘no more.’ Think of what your father would say.”

I shake my head. “My father would not let a person die like that.”

“Coe, listen. You can’t help him.” He puts his hands solidly on my shoulders. “He’s as good as dead.”

I look over his shoulder and realize that curiously, his scribbler-nose spear isn’t fastened to his back. He must notice my suspicion because he immediately drops his gaze from mine. “It was you who did it?”

He doesn’t answer. “Don’t be stupid, Coe. I want to...just...” He moves forward suddenly, closing the space between us, and his breath is hot and urgent on my face when he says, “Please, Coe, understand. It needed to happen. To preserve the peace.”

“My father never would have let you do that!” I shout, and this time I’m more sure of it than ever. I’ve never been this close to a man before, even when we’re in formation, and his hot skin pressing against mine burns like a torch. He tightens his grip on me, pushing me to the ground, and when we tumble to the wet sand, his full weight bears on me, crushing my chest. Another wave comes through and suddenly we’re both choking and gasping underwater. “Stop!” I shout with my last bit of breath, suddenly feeling the handle of the shovel in my hand. I raise it and smash it down over him, striking him in the ear and shoulder. His eyes immediately flash wide, and fear rips through me.

“You stupid Bait!” he whimpers, falling to his knees as his hands reach up to the side of his head. In the darkness I see the black blood coursing over his bare shoulder. I scream as he reaches for me, then squeeze around him and stumble into the bright sunlight. “I tried to help you!” he rages, and by now several people in the formation are jumping and craning their necks, staring at the crazy girl with a death wish with morbid fascination. I’m outside, in the cool air, and yet I can’t breathe. As I race down toward the ocean, where the door to the castle once stood, my heart rattles in my chest. From here I can see it is almost completely submerged; a wave pummels against the facade, covering the WI OW letters above the door.

I gulp air as if these are my last breaths. Maybe they are. I can’t swim more than a few strokes. But I can’t think about that. I will learn. Trial by fire. Though I have no plan of attack, I don’t slow until I reach the edge of the water, and only then it’s just a second’s hesitation. There is no choice. I have to do it, even if I drown, even if the scribblers get me. I already know that if I don’t, for the rest of my life I’ll wish I was dead. I dive in, headfirst, and paddle against the fierce current toward the door.

Immediately the reason why nobody goes in the ocean anymore hits me full force. It’s like being in a dream where the one thing you want is just out of reach. Every stroke I take toward the door seems to pull me in the opposite direction. The door is there, its gilded hardware glowing eerily in the murky blackness. Fingers of seaweed caress it, but no matter how hard I push myself, it’s impossible. Stupid, stupid lame hand. Finally, I rise toward the surface, take one breath, and as a wave smashes me against the side of the palace, I hear it, very near. Hissing.

My heart stops, even though my body keeps moving. Diving underwater, I use the shovel to edge open the door and slip inside. I swim up ten or fifteen steps before I reach the surface.
Thank goodness. Thank goodness he’s not already underwater,
I think as I rush down the hall to his room. When I get there, he’s now sitting straight in bed, intently watching rivulets of water trickling along the floor. A surprised relief dawns on his face when I hold out the shovel, as if he never expected to see me again.

He clears the sheet from his wrist. I lift the shovel over my head with my good hand, but the salt is still stinging my eyes, so that I see double, and I’m so exhausted from the fight with Finn and the swim I can’t stand straight. “I’ll just—”

He gives me a nervous smile and holds out a hand. “Please. Allow me.” I hand him the shovel. With a grunt he brings the shovel down twice, and a link breaks loose. Massaging his wrist, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and I help stand him up.

In the hallway, his face fills with the same dread I’m feeling. The water is inching up over the top stair, readying to meet us down the hallway. “There were scribblers,” I say.

“We can’t go that way,” he says. We turn toward the other end of the hallway. “We have to go to the tower.”

As we limp together toward the winding entrance, I think about how fragile the tower is. “But what about our weight? We’ll make the tower too heavy.”

“It’s our only chance. Besides, the water level doesn’t reach the top of the tower. We won’t go all the way up. We’ll stay outside the door. They’ll never know we’re there,” he huffs as we climb.

Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe I’m so dizzy from all the excitement, but I could swear the tower begins to shift as we take the stairs two at a time. I try to tread gently, but it doesn’t help. I look at Tiam, but his eyes are intent on the steps and his face is twisted in pain; he’s hunched over slightly, grasping his side. The swaying seems to stop a bit once we’ve made our way about three-quarters up the tower, where the waterline is etched on the wall. Tiam sinks down on the step above it, his breath raspy and uneven.

“We’ll be safe here,” I say, shivering in the damp sea air, trying to convince myself.

I hear the wind whistle outside. It’s a windy day. And standing here, still, it’s very obvious. The tower
is
moving. Swallowing the bile gurgling in the back of my throat, I push against the side of the wall to stop myself from being sick.

“That’s...interesting,” he says, studying the walls as if he’s looking for ghosts as the tower sways again.

“Let’s just hope no one up there notices,” I say, pointing at the ceiling.

He tries to adjust himself on the step but grimaces. What he needs is rest and not to be moved for days and weeks. This must be excruciating for him. “I can’t believe you did that, Coe. I thought I was done for.”

I shrug. “Why wouldn’t I? You know you would have done it for me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. The moment he opens his mouth to speak, a door above us swings open. I bite my tongue as the shadow of the princess appears on the step.
She will understand,
I think.
Tiam is soon to be her husband. She will let us stay.

But all those hopes disappear when I see the terror in her eyes. “What are you two doing here?” she shrieks. “Get!”

I say, “The water’s too high. Tiam is hurt. We can’t....”

She bites her lip, contemplating for a moment until a loud gust of wind slams against the outside of the tower, echoing through the narrow staircase. The tower lurches with it. “But the tower is swaying!” She shoos us vigorously with her hands. Bewildered, we just stand and stare at her. Surely she’s not serious. “You’ll kill us all! Please, go! Find somewhere else!”

“But—” I start.

“Guard!” she shouts into her room. She disappears, and a few moments later, one of the guards approaches us with his spear.

He jabs it at Tiam’s chin. “Move out to formation.”

Formation?
“But the water—”

Tiam knows better than to argue. He takes my hand and pulls me quickly down the stairs. Down to our doom. There is nowhere to go.

“But what do we do?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “There’s no way out there. And the scribblers...”

When we arrive at the base of the tower staircase and splash into ankle-deep water, his expression is bleak. He’s surveying the walls, the markings above the doors, biting his lip, as if waiting for the elusive answer to appear.

He has no answer.

“I can’t believe she did that to us!” I shout as the water swells over my shins. There is no escape. We’re going to die.

“It’s not her fault. The tower is swaying. And she doesn’t know,” he says calmly. “She has no idea how bad it is down here.”

I bite my tongue, feeling stupid. How can he defend her like that? “You have to talk to her. You need to get her to come to her senses. Otherwise we’re—”

“Do you know what these markings on the walls mean?” he asks suddenly. “You do, don’t you?”

I stop. We’re not playing treasure hunt now. Annoyed, I say, “Yes. But we don’t...”

“Tell me.”

I sigh. “Some are just markings that tell what the room is for. Like outside the room where they serve the food, it says DINING. Others, I can’t understand.” I think back to the letters on the engraved panel across from my bathtub. “They might be...”

And then it hits me. The panel beside my bathtub. The letters.

I grab his wrist. “Come with me.”

We race down the hallway, just as the tide rises high enough for the ocean to begin pouring through every window on the east side of the second floor. It smashes against the inside walls, swirling with foam. Waves boom around us, and black water immediately swirls up to our thighs...our waists...

I pull Tiam into my quarters and grab the shovel from him.
Oh, please, let me be right about this,
I repeat to myself as I begin to pry away at the engraved panel on the wall. The water surges up to my chest. In another few breaths it will rise over our heads, and it will be too late. All I am really doing is making dents in the metal and scratches in the stone wall. Without asking questions, Tiam scuttles beside me, pulls the shovel from my hand and starts to work. The shovel makes a clanging noise, and with a final creak he bends the metal panel back. Stale air puffs forward. There is a dark hole there, maybe two of my feet wide, leading down into the unknown.

We don’t have time to celebrate. Celebration would be premature, anyway. I have no idea where we’re going, or if this will work. Maybe this is just another way to die. “Go, go!” Tiam urges behind me as I climb to the edge of the tub and take a deep breath. I pray it’s not my last as I stuff my bag into the chute and dive headfirst into the narrow passage.