“Who’s going to stop us?” she scoffed.
“Actually” — I called up another reinforcement of patience — “if a settler sees me, he’ll not only stop me from going into the Saloon, he’ll drag me home by the scruff of my diveskin.”
“Why?” She seemed genuinely perplexed.
“These people are my neighbors. Down here, that means something. The Saloon is the one place in Benthic Territory where, hopefully, no one will recognize me. But who knows? Maybe our librarian is down there kicking back the booze.”
“That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said softly.
“That our librarian drinks?”
She gave a choked laugh. “That everybody looks out for you.”
“Yeah. It’s nice until I do something I shouldn’t and my parents hear about it from six sources. By the way, sneaking into the Saloon falls into that category. So if you’ve changed your —”
“Haven’t.” She gave me the once-over. “But if people are looking out for you, you should put on new clothes, too.”
When the elevator doors opened on sublevel three, a tsunami of noise swept over us. I was dressed as a tidal mill roustabout in a blue jumpsuit and knit cap, which I pulled down to my eyes. I wasn’t worried so much about the customers recognizing me, but in the ten years since the Trade Station was built, I’d met most of the staff. We stepped onto a catwalk four stories above the Saloon floor. Gemma gasped. “Why are we up here?”
“This is the Hive. You wanted to bunk here, remember?” I pointed to either side of the center shaft, where three levels of windowed hatches lined the walls, resembling a giant honeycomb. Still, Gemma hung back. “If you want to get to the Saloon, we have to take three stairladders down.”
Although it had been years since I had been on this level, I knew the layout because I had free run of the place when my father supervised the Trade Station’s construction. Back then, the Recreation Deck had felt serene with its four-story wall of windows and underwater view. The view remained, but the shouting and clanking tankards demolished all sense of serenity.
I crossed the top catwalk to peer over the railing at the Saloon far below. It was like looking down on an eel garden, except that every so often a burst of flame would erupt. Seaweed cigars needed continual relighting, so the tables had built-in burners. At the bar, men pushed against one another unsteadily. Still, I’d rub shoulders with gamblers and wildcatters over a wealthy Topsider any day. I glanced at Gemma, who was unusually pale.
“Having second thoughts?” I asked.
She glowered at me like a hermit crab defending its shell.
“Come on. You’ll feel right at home,” I teased. “With all the people and noise, it could be the mainland.” She backed deeper into the elevator alcove. “What’s wrong?”
Grimacing, she pointed at the catwalk. The steel mesh was so fine that even though there were two more catwalks beneath it, I could still see the Saloon floor. With its suspension wires and thin railings, the whole structure did seem like temporary scaffolding.
“You’ll be the lightest person to ever walk on it.” I stamped my foot. Sure, the catwalk trembled, but that was a good thing. Every part of the Trade Station was designed to give a little. Or sometimes, a lot. The Surface Deck would automatically disengage from the lower station if any of the lower levels sprang a leak. Somehow, I didn’t think Gemma would find comfort in that fact.
“Look, it’s perfectly safe,” I said, throwing my weight from side to side so that all three levels swayed. Again, that was a good thing in subsea architecture, but Gemma remained backed against the elevator doors.
“I thought you were desperate to find your brother.”
She started coming forward again.
“Shoot,” I muttered. I’d just blown my chance to get her out of here, all because I wanted her to see that my father’s design was safe. I bounced on the balls of my feet, making the catwalk jump. “Actually, this does feel flimsy.”
“Walk away,” she snapped. “Now.”
I shrugged. Leaning against a suspension wire, I watched her leave the alcove and pick her way along the row of sleeping capsules.
Footsteps clanged beneath us and a voice bellowed, “Get away from my berth!”
Spreading my feet, I looked down to see two men on the catwalk below. I recognized Lefty Hathaway, the proprietor of the Hive.
“It’s not your berth no more,” Lefty growled at the man facing him.
Other than collecting the nightly fee, Lefty didn’t have to do much except keep the berths clean. The Hive was the ultimate efficiency hotel, in which the “rooms” weren’t much bigger than coffins. Prospectors rented them by the night, while mining companies contracted for whole rows and the miners lived in the cramped capsules all year long.
Below, the fight about the prospector’s nonpayment escalated. Gemma’s breathing quickened as she peered down at the two men, who were now throwing punches. Their efforts had all three catwalks jumping and she swallowed hard like she was about to puke.
“They’re just eels. They don’t scare you, remember?” I reminded her.
“Those aren’t eels,” she said. “Those are psychos.”
When Lefty whipped out a jagged blade, the prospector pounded up the stairladder.
“Psychos with big knives,” Gemma amended. “They’re going to make this stupid thing fall down.”
“Probably,” I agreed cheerfully. “Can we leave now?”
“No!” She pulled her hood down to her eyes. “I didn’t come subsea to get scared away by a couple of—” She screamed as the prospector flew past us—thrown by Lefty, who was now at the top of the stairs. She caught my look of warning.
“Boys scream,” she whispered defensively.
“So do men. If we stick around, I’m sure we’ll hear one.”
“Scaring me isn’t going to work.” She headed for the stairladder.
Lefty blocked her way, squinting with suspicion. “You’re too young to be on this level.”
“Our ma sent us,” she said in a husky voice. “We’re supposed to find our pa and bring him home.”
To my surprise, Lefty nodded. “Okay.” He let her pass. “Just be quick.”
Pulling my cap low, I followed Gemma down the stairladder to the middle catwalk. “Good act,” I admitted grudgingly. “You sounded like a real pioneer.”
She grinned. “I was doing you.”
“Me?”
“Some people have poker faces, you have a poker voice. Guarded and a little hoarse. I nailed it.” The clang of boots on the second stairladder ended her boasting.
I beckoned her away from the top of the ladder. “You can’t go down if someone’s coming up. There isn’t room.” I didn’t sound guarded or hoarse.
She peeked over the railing and inhaled sharply. “It’s your friend. Jibby.”
“Is he alone?”
“There’s a man behind him. Big guy. Bushy black beard.”
That had to be Raj, whose mouth was even bigger than his ego. They’d see through my disguise in a click. Whirling, I pried open an empty capsule and motioned to Gemma, who gamely climbed inside. I wiggled in after her and closed the hatch.
At five, I’d loved the cozy berths complete with shelves, a fold-down desk, and a computer screen—all built into the walls. But the capsules were designed to hold one person, and seemed much smaller now that I wasn’t five. As we lay on our stomachs, it was a very snug fit.
Through the tinted window in the hatch, I saw Jibby climb onto the catwalk. “Ranger Grimes is going to turn the derelict sub over to the Seaguard,” he said, passing right by our berth.
Sure enough, Raj Dirani clambered up next, bigger and louder than life. “Grimes doesn’t give a barnacle’s knee if a prospector gets killed. He won’t go after the scum that did it.”
With one boot on the stairladder, Jibby paused to listen to him. I’d made the right choice by hiding. Raj took parental duty very seriously. Probably because
he was raising his twelve-year-old daughter alone. He would’ve hauled me back to Ma and Pa without breaking stride.
Inside the berth, Gemma sat back on her knees. The top of her head cleared the ceiling by inches. “Glacial,” she whispered. “I wish I had this much space of my own.” She leaned across me and pried open a door in the capsule wall, then ooohed with delight over the minifridge.
“Shhh. These aren’t sound —” I choked on my words when Raj smacked a hand to the hatch window and leaned against it.
“The Seablite Gang sunk the Peaveys’ house,” Raj went on. “It’s a fact. We let it go by and those outlaws will think they can help themselves to anything that’s ours. Crops … livestock … I can’t get a woman to come subsea on account of them!”
“Ever think it might be on account of your smell?” I heard Jibby ask.
Raj snorted and headed for the last stairladder.
Once their boots were out of sight, I flipped onto my back, to find Gemma leaning over me. She pressed a hand to my chest for balance as she switched on the screen above the hatch. “Oh, it’s a phone, too.” She sat back, smiling. “We have everything we need in here. We could hide out for days and see who goes by. Hey, you’re glowing again.” She considered me a moment. “I think you glow more when you’re embarrassed. Maybe that’s how you blush.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” Now I sounded hoarse. Total poker voice. I pushed open the hatch and climbed out. Spending days inside a berth with her was too unsettling to think about given our precarious situation. I needed to focus. Looking up through the steel mesh catwalk, I watched Jibby and Raj disappear into the elevator. “And I don’t glow.”
“Please,” she scoffed, climbing out of the berth. “Fireflies have nothing on you.”
Rather than ask what a firefly was, I said, “Before we hit the Saloon, we need a plan.”
“Like what?”
“Like don’t go up to anyone. Just look for your brother in the crowd … but don’t make eye contact.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
I followed her down the next two stairladders, whispering more instructions as they came to me. “And don’t flash his photo around. You don’t know if he’s on someone’s bad side.”
“Got it,” she said over her shoulder as she alighted onto the Saloon floor.
Staggering drunks surrounded us, but that didn’t faze Gemma. She cut her way through the mob, easy as you please, leaving me to trail in her wake. At least she was following the plan, I thought … until she clapped a slim blond man on the shoulder. When he turned, she thrust her brother’s picture at him. Maybe if she’d waited to get a good look at the guy’s ice blue eyes, she wouldn’t have been so quick to demand, “Have you seen him?”
At most, the guy had three years on us. More likely, he had two and a fake ID. Yet there was nothing young about his hard expression. His hair was dead straight, almost white, and so long that it touched his ribs. He glanced at the photo. For a split second, I saw surprise flash across his face, but when he lifted his gaze, I wondered if I was wrong. Friendly as a barracuda, he stared at Gemma. Studying her, I realized with a start. Taking in every detail of her face.
I plucked the photo from her fingers. “Either you’ve seen him or not,” I said, stepping in.
“Not,” he replied coldly, then slipped away through the crowd.
“Will you please stop drawing attention to yourself?” I whispered angrily.
For some reason, that had Gemma snorting with laughter. I clapped my hand over her mouth with striking speed as men turned on their stools to look over.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I said in my bossiest big brother voice. “You don’t talk while we’re in here because even when you’re doing me, you sound like a girl. Same as when you laugh. And don’t poke any more strangers.” She shoved my hand away. “I mean it. Or I’ll drag you straight to the ranger and tell him you’re a runaway and wanted for stealing.”
Now her eyes were alight with fury.
“Are we clear?”
She said nothing, just steamed.
“Gemma?”
“You told me not to talk,” she hissed.
“What are you boys doing in here?” a voice behind us demanded.
I spun in time to see the bartender slam the counter open and storm over to us. The man was old and missing an eye. “I’m not losing my license over a pair of guppies like you.”
Before I could reply, a second bartender leaned over the counter. “Leave them alone, Otto.” The pitch of the voice told me that a woman was addressing us. Still, it was hard to reconcile that with the narrow-eyed, shaved-head bartender in front of us. “Boys, you better tack out of here if you know what’s good for you,” she said.
Gemma snatched Richard’s photo from my hand. “We don’t mean to cause you trouble, mister,” she said, doing another lousy imitation of me, but even gruffer this time. She offered the photo to the bartender named Otto. “We’re just here to look for my brother. He doesn’t know that our ma is sick. Have you seen him?”
The man’s expression softened.
“Now you feel like crap, don’t you, Otto?” the female bartender taunted. “Next time ask a few questions before worrying about your license.”
“Shut up, Mel.” The old man took the photo from Gemma and squinted his one eye at it. “Nope. I don’t believe I’ve seen him.” He passed the photo to Mel.
She shook her head, too. “Not that I remember every ugly mug that comes down here,” she added, handing the photo back to me. “But I try to keep an eye on the young ones. You never know what will happen in this cesspool.”
“Why don’t you leave the picture with us,” Otto suggested. “We’ll show it to these thugs when they buy drinks. It’s not safe for you boys to stick around down here.”
I was in total agreement but before I could convince Gemma of anything, I noticed the icy blond guy in a back corner, whispering into the ear of a huge dark-skinned man.
“Let’s get out of here.” I pressed a hand to Gemma’s back. “Now.” But it was too late. The big man’s eyes were on us.
“We just got here,” she whispered, not budging under the pressure of my hand. “We’ll pretend to leave and then mix in with the crowd.”
I couldn’t peel my eyes off the leviathan seated on the other side of the Saloon. He had his back to the glass wall, which had to be on purpose. His skin was so dark he practically disappeared against the murky blue sea outside. He wore pants and a sharkskin vest but no shirt. Showing off his chest, which was roped with muscle. His face was unreadable, as if it had been carved from granite. His features were broad and heavy. His head clean-shaven and —
Recognition hit me like a crowbar to the gut.
I knew the shape of that skull. The slash of that mouth. So what if the man’s skin was now brown, not stark white? There was no doubt in my mind. None at all.
It was Shade.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
“Shade,” I hissed, tugging at Gemma’s arm. “He’s over there.”
She squinted in the direction I was looking. “How can you see anything in —” Her words were lost on a sharp intake of air. I didn’t blame her; the size of the man would scare anyone. And worse, he was staring right at her. Lifting her chin in defiance, she glared back at him. Quick as an eel, I slipped in front of her to block the outlaw’s view. This was not the time for Gemma to prove how tough she was.
“You said he was an albino,” she whispered, trying to peer around me.
“He was.” I shuffled her backward. “Maybe he covers himself in zinc-paste when he’s robbing supply ships. I don’t know. But that’s him.” I steered her toward the stairladder. “Listen, you’ve got to get Ranger Grimes. He’ll be in the Observatory. Tell him to come down right away and you stay up there.”
Torn, she glanced over my shoulder at Shade. “What are you going to do?”
“Wait here so I can point him out to Grimes.” I wondered if I’d
have to shove her up every step.
“But —”
“I’ll meet you in the Observatory after the ranger arrests him.” Saying it out loud gave me hope. Who’d have guessed that sneaking into the Saloon was the best move I could have made to help the territory? Not that Ma and Pa would view it that way.
“The ranger is going to want to know who I am,” Gemma protested. “What am I supposed to say?”
“You’ll come up with something.” After seeing her in action, I didn’t doubt it for a second.
Frowning, she darted up the stairladder. I turned to see Shade get to his feet. Looking bored and intent at the same time, the outlaw peeled off his sharkskin vest and tossed it to another man, not the one with the ice blue eyes. This guy had a wide grin and dark hair swept back with a bandanna. No doubt another member of the Seablite Gang.
Shade strolled out from under the catwalk to watch Gemma inching along overhead. Warning bells clanged in my mind, sending vibrations to my fingertips. I sprang forward. No way was I going to let this opportunity slip away. Scary as he was, I had to distract Shade until the ranger got here, hopefully with backup.
Shade saw me coming, as did the guys flanking him. I knuckled down my jitters and kept walking. I needed an excuse for approaching them, and quick. Ten feet from the outlaws, I took out the photo of Gemma’s brother. I had my excuse, but still I stumbled to a stop upon getting a better look at Shade. Up close, he wasn’t as dark skinned as I’d thought. Black tattoos swirled over his bare chest, spiraled up his muscled arms and wrapped around his neck and skull like the tentacles of a squid. No wonder he covered his face with zinc.
Suddenly a drunk pushed into me and knocked the photo from my hand. I dove for it, landing in the mixture of spit, alcohol, and mud from a hundred soles that slicked the Saloon floor. As my fingers touched the photo, a booted foot stomped onto my hand. My fingers throbbed with pain. A second later the foot lifted. At least the photo was laminated. As I wiped it off on my diveskin, I stood up, expecting to face Shade….
But he wasn’t there.
Instead, his bandanna-wearing henchman thumped his booted feet onto the table. He grinned at me, revealing two gold teeth among his pearly whites. The other outlaw with the icy stare now lounged in the chair that Shade had vacated. My skin prickled.