Marrill glanced back at the open hatch where Karnelius had disappeared, and twisted her fingers. Karny hated water, and so long as the smallest strip of it separated the ship from the dock, she didn’t need to worry too much about him heading out on his own. Even so, he was her only link to home, and she didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone.
“Bilge mice—I mean, pirats—will keep an eye on him,” Coll said, vaulting over the railing and landing neatly next to Ardent. “You’re crew now, under the Kraken’s protection—they won’t let anything happen to your cat.”
“That’s the problem,” she said. “Karny tends to eat mice.”
Coll let out a bark of laughter and held out a hand. She took it, and he helped her onto the wharf. “They’ve dealt with worse,” he said. “Come on, then, let’s get that Map.”
CHAPTER 13
Someone Who Remembers You
Fin’s heart froze in his chest. He knew that face, recognized those tears. He’d seen them not an hour before, looking back at him from the reflecting pool in the Meressian ship. On the statues spouting water into the death trap. But this was no statue; it was the real thing.
The Oracle. The very person the Meressians were trying to keep the Key from.
The man lurched forward, gangly and gaunt in the darkness. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He snorted a mighty snort and wiped his nose feverishly, little baby sobs still trailing out.
“You came,” he said. “I knew you would.” His voice cracked as he spoke, with sorrow, or laughter, or both. Fin watched one of the black tears fall from the man’s chin and land in a dark circle on the flour-dusted floor. Like a drop of ink on a page.
“It was you,” Fin breathed. “You wrote the letter.”
“Yes,” the Oracle responded. Bright red lips smiled, the corners of them quivering. “I wrote your letter, little lost boy.” Next to Fin, a scam artist he knew as Tubbly the Kid let out a choke, then another thief beside him broke into bawling, then another. “I guided you down the path you needed to go. I will guide you”—the Oracle flapped one hand in front of his face, then off into the air, following it with his eyes—“farther.”
“To my mother?” Fin asked, breathless.
The Oracle let out a sniffling, whimpering little laugh. “Which one? The real one you have made up, or the pretend one who is real and thinks you’re a ghost?”
The mention of the Parsnickles hit Fin like a physical blow. He stepped back. Everything about the situation screamed at him to run. Instead, his throat tightened. Without warning, all the years he’d spent being forgotten, pretending it didn’t matter, came crashing down on him. Why it came now, when he should have been terrified instead, he couldn’t say. But it came nonetheless, burning in his stomach and clawing behind his eyes.
Brow furrowed, the Oracle waved at the air dismissively. “The first, of course, of course. Worry not for the ones on Gutterleak Way. You have my word they will be safe as can be, and my words carry with them the future.”
The Oracle stepped forward. Flour whipped into dust devils around the hem of his cloak, as if afraid to land on the black cloth.
Fin opened his mouth, struggling to find words. But the only words he could think to say were, “Why are you crying?”
“Oh, Fin.” Hearing his name made Fin stumble backward; he hadn’t heard it spoken aloud in years. “Don’t you know?” The Oracle’s voice was almost apologetic.
Fin shook his head.
“I cry for the poor people in this shop.” The Oracle took another halting step. One colorless hand waved at the sobbing men around them. They each choked and shook harder as the pale fingers passed them by.
“I cry,” he said, “for myself.” Another step. “I cry for all people, everywhere.” He seemed to grow larger, pulling in the strength to say the next words. “For you see, the Lost Sun of Dzannin soon climbs its course across the sky. And its light, its cold, blistering light, shines on the end of all creation!”
His tears ran ever more freely, dark stains carving deep channels across the perfect white of his cheeks. “But right now, Fin,” he said in a low, trembling voice, “I cry for you!”
Fin felt a deep ache in the pit of his stomach. The words made no sense, but he felt them, somehow, a swirl of images and thoughts and emotions that made his gut clench and his head ache. A sorrow like a serpent, threatening to strangle him.
It was as though despair radiated from the Oracle, affecting everyone around him. Fin had never seen—had never even heard of—magic so powerful.
“What do you want?” he gasped. Sadness pushed tears to the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. It all seemed so hopeless.
“The Key, of course,” the Oracle snapped. “The Key to open the gate. The Map to show the way.” He looked at Fin as if it should all be totally clear. But before Fin could react, he held up a hand. “Wait,” he said. “I mustn’t skip ahead.” He seemed to speak more to himself than to Fin. “All things in time, the verses in line. Order, order, patience. The Key first.” He shook his head, then took another step forward. The thieves, still weeping, stepped with him.
Fin’s fingers flew to his breast pocket, feeling the weight of the ruby key inside. Part of him shrieked not to give it away, that this man was evil. Insane. Another part of him begged to fulfill his contract, to give the thing over and let the Oracle lead him onward.
“You set this all in motion,” he said. “Just to get the Key.” He thought back to what the pirates had told him, about a mysterious ship of iron attacking the Meressians in a storm and forcing them to port where they’d be vulnerable. “That Iron Ship, it was yours?”
The Oracle shrieked at the mention of the Iron Ship. “No, no, no!” He waved his hands in front of him so violently Fin took a step back. “Iron slays dragons, from it I run! I fear the Iron Ship, steer clear the Iron Ship!”
His fingers drummed against his temples, and he shook his head, babbling pure madness. “Fools stand becalmed where the wise will run. I must be wise today, for a fool will I become. Keep the order in line, rhyme after rhyme. Race face fire, fear steer clear… iron slays dragons beyond the shores of frigid night.…” He sucked in a deep breath, gathering himself. “The prophet is bathed in golden light.”
At the last words, the pirates all around let out a wail. The Oracle straightened. He seemed to have pulled himself together, but Fin could see that his fingers still trembled.
“Remember my promise, Fin,” he hissed. “When the Lost Sun rises, you will be remembered, forever.” The Oracle held out a hand, palm up. Expectant. “This ends when you give me the Key.”
Fin’s entire body shook. The loneliness of those words hit him like a physical force. He felt lost, abandoned, helpless. Whatever the Oracle promised, he knew it wasn’t the kind of being remembered he wanted. But he would never get the kind he wanted. What was the point of resisting, really? What was the point of ever fighting?
A tear quivered at the edge of his eye as he reached for the lump beneath his coat. “Then have it,” he said.
CHAPTER 14
At the Khaznot Quay, Oh, the Things You’ll See!
Marrill’s steps slowed as they reached the end of the wharf. She’d been to more foreign cities and towns than she could count, but none of them were like the Khaznot Quay. Ramshackle buildings squatted just beyond the pier, and past them, streets led away in odd directions, as if a giant jungle explorer had chosen a path and hacked his way through the buildings at random.
Through it all, a strong breeze gusted and roared down from the mountain peak, howling along the twisting streets. Marrill thought she caught a glimpse of someone gliding through the air halfway up the slope.
As they pushed into the crowd, people were everywhere, along with things that looked like people but weren’t quite and things that didn’t really look like people at all but still seemed to be walking and talking and wearing clothing. One of them brushed against her leg, a stooped-over woman with eyes made of dark cry
stals and a beak almost like a bird’s. She gave a trill grunt at Marrill and pushed her aside. “I’m sorry!” Marrill stammered, but the bird-woman just kept moving.
Coll declared his intent to fetch some supplies for the ship and slipped off into the crowd. Marrill watched as he instantly blended in. “He seems kind of young to be a captain,” she remarked.
“He’s the best sailor on the Stream,” Ardent replied, lifting a shoulder. “Now, the thing you have to know about the Khaznot Quay,” he added, changing the subject as he took off up one of the streets, “is that it can be dangerous. It’s full of thieves and pirates and cutthroats and worse, so stick close to me for now.”
Marrill swallowed and tried to look unafraid, though she made sure to keep within grasping distance of the wizard’s purple robe.
“Also,” Ardent lectured, “it can get quite windy. If you hear or feel a big gust coming, don’t be shy about grabbing hold.” He gestured to the long chains bolted up and down the sides of the street. “It’s a great way to meet the locals, get in touch with the city, and not get carried away and dropped to your death from an enormous height.”
Marrill stiffened in alarm, but Ardent just patted her on the head. “Nothing to worry about. The back alleys are the worst, and we’ll just stay out of those. It’s not like the gutters in Sennslurp City. Nasty creatures, those. Once saw a man step out of the way of a passing wagon and get swallowed whole, spectacles and all.” He shivered. “They found the spectacles later, of course.”
Marrill’s face contorted with horror.
“Just in case, how about we meet up at the Kraken if we get separated?” the wizard quickly added.
Marrill swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and nodded, wondering if she should have stayed behind with Karnelius after all.
Fortunately for Marrill, Ardent’s ridiculous purple hat waved above the crowd, making him easy to follow. Because as they navigated the narrow roadways, eyes peeled for any sign of the Map, it occurred to her that telling the difference between a main thoroughfare and a deadly back alley must be an acquired skill. Every street seemed to be cramped, dingy, and full of dangerous-looking characters.
The sights and smells washed over Marrill, dazzling her. Stalls of various shapes and sizes squeezed into empty gaps between buildings. Vendors paced in front of them, calling out their wares: candles that filled the air with the smell of summer and skinned knees, baskets woven out of snow, silver charms that sang shrill notes as they passed.
She was so busy taking it all in that she almost missed the tattered scrap of paper caught in the gutter behind a row of carts. Fortunately, the familiar star-shaped pattern caught her eye just as they passed it. The Compass Rose!
“Ardent!” she called out. But the market was loud, and he was already drifting farther into the crowd. Her eyes darted between him and the gutter, trying not to lose sight of either.
She couldn’t let the Map get away, she decided. Ardent, she could find again. She dove between two of the carts, hoping desperately that the purple hat would be there when she came back up.
A thin man with a mangy beard ducked in front of her, blocking the way. “Psst,” he said, holding forward a grimy bit of cloth filled with tiny orangish spheres. “Someone like you must be having a fancy for trog eggs, eh?” Inside them, something dark twisted and squirmed.
Marrill barely had time to gag before a squat woman with thick hairy arms—and were those real horns jutting from her temples?—jostled her way between them. “That ’un here’s a cheat,” she said, jerking a finger at the thin man. “Everyone knows ‘egg of red, soon be dead,’ don’t we, deary?” she asked.
A trickle of unease snaked up Marrill’s neck. She glanced at the Compass Rose, still resting in the gutter. But when she tried to politely step around, the woman just shifted her bulk to block the way again.
“A girl…” The woman glanced to either side before continuing, “Nay, a lady of yer tastes is discernin’. I could tell that easy as lookin’. You’ll be wanting something sophisticated, that’s right, and I got jest the thing right here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry but—” Marrill’s voice cut off in a squeak when a grip like iron squeezed the top of her arm. She tried to struggle, but it was useless. The woman dragged her around the corner, away from the Compass Rose, and hopelessly away from the purple hat bobbing off through the crowd.
Marrill found herself pinned in a narrow alley, the woman’s massive girth barring the only exit. Alarmed, Marrill attempted to squeeze past her, but the woman plowed on, ignoring Marrill’s efforts to escape.
“You ever seen the sea silks woven by a Swiggamore siren?” she asked. “Toss one of them scarves over yer head, and any man will fall for ya. Before you can blink, he’ll be on his knees doin’ anything you ask of him.”
She wheezed as she leaned in to whisper in Marrill’s ear. “Trust me,” she added, slightly out of breath. “I got myself fifteen husbands, an’ them’s just the ones worth keeping.”
“Oh,” Marrill stammered, deciding that it probably wasn’t a good idea to anger a woman with horns. “That’s nice but—”
“Take this.” The woman thrust something into Marrill’s hands, then clapped twice. “That’s it then!” she said. “No take-backs! Now let’s see yer pay. AlleySalley cuts a fair price, anyone’ll tell ya.”
Marrill’s eyes went wide. “I’m afraid I don’t have any money,” she confessed nervously.
The woman moved closer, pinning Marrill against the grimy wall. Marrill cringed, her eyes fixed on the woman’s horns.
“Still a fresh one, ain’t ya?” The woman laughed. “The Quay’s about trade, love. And you always got something to trade.” She whipped out a wicked knife that looked much sharper than her horns. Marrill sucked in a breath, ready to scream.
“Oh, love, if you could see the look on yer face.” The woman made a tsking sound as she reached toward Marrill’s head. AlleySalley was quicker than she appeared. In a heartbeat, she grabbed a hunk of Marrill’s hair. “As lovely as midnight,” she purred. And then, snip. Marrill felt a tug against her scalp and then a push, and she was back out on the main street, a grimy scrap of fabric clutched in her fingers.
Marrill shoved it in her back pocket and sucked in a gulp of fresh air, choking when it wasn’t so fresh. She glanced toward the gutter where the Map had been moments before. It was empty; the Compass Rose was gone. Again. And there was no sign of Ardent anywhere. A sick sense of dread began building, and it only got worse when she caught sight of AlleySalley lovingly stroking a length of dark hair. Her hair, Marrill realized.
Bracing herself, Marrill reached up, ran her hand along her forehead, and winced. Great. She’d lost the Compass Rose, she’d lost her wizard, and now she had bangs. Short, uneven bangs. She groaned. She looked horrible with bangs.
Feeling defeated, Marrill started into the crowd, thinking that she should probably try to find her way back to the Kraken before she got too hopelessly lost. She’d hardly taken two steps when someone grumbled, “Wachet!” and knocked her to one side. “Walk or be a cobblestone, kid,” said someone else, shoving her back the other way.
She dodged out of the way of an impressively spherical creature covered in pointed spines, so panicked that she didn’t hear a shopkeeper’s warning until too late. She spun, catching sight of huge black eyes and a mouth full of wickedly sharp teeth only seconds before tumbling into his cart.
Glass shattered everywhere as Marrill hit the ground. Suddenly, her mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on a shoe that had stepped in three-week-old mayonnaise. She smacked her lips furiously against the wretched sensation.
“Not the flavors!” the shopkeeper cried mournfully. He rounded on Marrill, the gray scales covering his triangular face turning purple with rage as he bellowed.
Marrill scrambled to her feet and ran. This time, the crowd parted for her easily, each passerby wrinkling their faces and gagging when she neared them, as if tasting the worst flavor imagina
ble. She plunged through them wildly, putting as much distance between her and the shark-toothed shopkeeper as possible.
When she finally slowed, Marrill found herself in the middle of a market square, no longer sure which way she’d come from. Nothing was familiar. Not the sights, not the smells, not the sounds, definitely not the tastes. Carts were loaded with funny-looking meat and vegetables with eyes. Men called out to each other using words she’d never heard. Even the colors seemed different: the pinks closer to orange than they should be, purples so brilliantly blue it hurt to look at them.
Never in her life had she felt so alone and lost. Not in any of her family’s adventures, not even when she’d first stepped out of the car at her new house in the desert. At least back in Arizona she could’ve found a phone, called for home or dialed 911.
But here… everywhere she looked she saw knives tucked through belts, daggers strapped to calves. Even women’s earrings looked sharp and wicked. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
Just as despair threatened to overwhelm her, something caught her eye. A scrap of paper, slightly tattered, carried on the breeze. It skipped across the street and down a narrow alley. She knew it well by now: the Compass Rose!
Wind ruffled her shorn bangs as she raced down the thin alleyway after it, turning sideways at one point to squeeze between two tilted buildings. Up ahead the scrap of paper almost glowed in the gloom, plastered against a dingy wall.
Marrill did her best to channel Karnelius as she stalked it, crouched low to the ground. Her fingers curled. She prepared to pounce.
And then, just as she reached striking distance, she heard something roaring behind her. Too late, she figured out what it was: the wind. Coming down on her fast, louder than any wind she’d ever heard before.