The next thing I knew, the door was rattling. I leaped up as Mr. Beeston came in carrying a net basket filled with shellfish and seaweed. He placed it on a rocky ledge beside me. Water crashed around me as I reached for it, throwing me against the sides.
“See that?” he snarled as I grabbed the ledge to stop myself from being thrown back against the wall. “That’s virtually constant now. And it’ll keep getting worse, until you’ve done what you need to do.”
I didn’t reply.
“Eat your breakfast,” he said, nudging a finger at the basket. “You need to be strong.”
“I don’t have to do what you say.” The edges of my eyes stung.
“Really? Well you won’t be interested in our new visitor, then. Kyle tells me he’s found someone who might make you feel differently.”
“A visitor?”
“A friend.”
I quickly rubbed my eyes. “You’ve got her here? But how did you know —”
“Eat up quickly,” he growled in a voice that made my skin itch. “It’s time for a reunion.”
We swam up toward the surface, Mr. Beeston’s hand gripping my wrist so tight it burned. The water grew lighter and warmer as we made our way along tunnels and out into clear water. He pulled me down under a clump of rocks, scattering a group of striped triggerfish. A metal gate filled a gap between the rocks.
“Up there,” he said.
My heart thudded. I was really going to see Shona! But what if she wouldn’t speak to me after everything that had happened? She’d probably hate me even more now, for dragging her into it again. I had to explain. “Can I see her on my own?” I asked.
“What for?”
“It’s personal.”
“Ah, friendship, so sweet,” Mr. Beeston snarled, his throat gurgling into a laugh. He gripped my arm, his broken nails scratching my skin. “You can have five minutes,” he said. Then he fiddled with a lock, and the gate bounced open. I swam through it, along a narrow crack. “And don’t try anything smart,” he called through the bars.
“I won’t.”
I swam all the way up to the surface. I was inside a cave, in a tiny pool. Gray pillars lined the edges, their reflections somber in the greeny blue water. A tiny shaft of sun lit up the stalactites hanging from the ceiling like frozen strands of spaghetti. Where was she?
I swam between the pillars, where the pool opened out. Slimy brown rocks lay all around. Thick clusters like bunches of candles protruded upward from the water, black as though they’d been singed.
“Shona?” I called.
And then I saw her. Sitting on one of the rocks, her back to me.
But it wasn’t Shona.
Her hair was short and black. She turned around. For a moment, she looked shocked. Then she forced her angular face into a twisted smile.
“Hi there, fish girl,” she said. There was a smug look on her face, but I was pretty sure her voice wobbled a little. “Long time no see.”
Liz Kessler is the author of the books in the best-selling Emily Windsnap series as well as the Philippa Fisher books. She lives in Cornwall, England.
Liz Kessler, The Tail of Emily Windsnap
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