Verse IV

  On any given day, the princess of Bryndoon and her companion might take their breakfast in the kitchens, or perhaps in one of the shell-work viewing rooms fixed to the cliffs. The only room they never ate in was the actual dining hall, which was reserved for the sort of grand events that rarely ever happened any more. For that day, the two of them could be found in the palace garden, a wide ledge that jutted a dozen tail-lengths out from the supporting cliff. The stone outcropping that supported it was known as the Pillar of Queens, and was visible from every corner of the Harbor of Bryndoon. By tradition, no shell-works or other architecture were allowed upon its vertical face. All along the top, rare kelps and grasses were planted, as well as numerous species of decorative animals. Anemones of all colors graced one boulder to Marai's left, the plot carefully tended so that its beautiful but dangerous inhabitants would not spread too far. Little orange and white fish darted between the waving masses of tendrils.

  The morning food assistants, well aware of the royal habits, had a garden meal all set for the princess's arrival. The kelpen basket was filled with goodies, enough to satisfy the two of them with some to spare. They finished off the fish eyes and other dainties quickly, then settled back against an algae bed to nibble on green pod fruits. Those did not last long, either, so currently they had their hands full of little cockle shells, each the size of a knuckle.

  These had been a special request, not a part of the regular garden meal. Delicious as they were, cockles required a special tool to crack them open. Marai and Rhiela hadn't brought the hinged cracking rods with them that morning, but then again it was not their intent to eat the things.

  Rhiela placed a shell on a rock about three arm-lengths away, then returned to Marai's side. They waited.

  A little farther past the rock, there was a patch of greenish sargo. It had been transplanted years before and anchored on a vertical spar of worked coral. Its greenery had spread up and down the surface of the spar, branching out into the water to form a pillar of verdant leaves. At its base, the foliage was shaking.

  Slowly, cautiously, an octopus revealed itself. Dark brown with patches of green, and about the size of their four hands held together, it would have been a common sight in any field of the Mere Tessra?, but how it had made its way to the high gardens of Bryndoon was any mer's guess. The two of them had been luring it out with treats since before Rhiela had discovered the grotto with the statue, and by now it was comfortable enough with their presence that it allowed them to stroke its head as it gripped the cockle shell and pried it open with its tentacle suckers.

  More treats followed, and the little octopus had no objection to using Marai or Rhiela as a convenient route to food, dangling from one proffered arm as it reached out.

  "I think I'll name her Tiffy," Rhiela said later, after all the shells had been devoured. The octopus, now a happy, brownish orange hue, was cradled in her arms. Its oblong brown eyes flicked back and forth between them, searching for more cockle shells.

  "It's an octopus, not a person."

  "Oh, shush. Tiffy's my octopus now, and I say she's too much a person to be an it." Rhiela held her new pet up until it was eye to soulful brown eye with Marai. "How can you argue with this face, hm?"

  Marai sighed and shook her head. Tiffy made a gloop, somehow, with her water jets. Behind them all, there came a slight cough.

  "An interesting argument you make, Your Highness. Would that I had known that you and my daughter should be so far ahead in your study of philosophy, I would have brought my copy of the Discourses of Deirdre min Thesia, which dwelt upon this very subject."

  The two young mers bolted up from the garden floor, their flukes leaving a cloud of silt where they swatted against the ground. Tiffy wriggled out of the princess's arms, and with a gloop it made a break for the cover of the sargo.

  "Of course, Messra min Thesia argues that personhood is derived from the common perception of characteristics as seen in the 'person' by outside observers who already are considered as persons by their school. The state of being a person is thus a posteriori -- that is, determined afterwards by those who supposedly know best. On the other hand, as Mitera Yesca and untold generations of leondra theosophists would argue, personality may also be seen as a gift from the Goddess, and thus a quality to be possessed a priori without the need for observation or justification. What would you say, Your Highness?"

  For the life of her, Rhiela had no idea how Marai's mother could sneak up on a mer in the manner she did. Marhyd din Linnea, of the royal ministries, was undoubtedly the largest mer the princess had ever met. The ministra was nearly globular above the waist, where the plastron scales of her lower belly had tried to contain the spread of flesh. Visible gaps had formed between them. Her tail was rounded and thick, moving sluggishly in the water. Only two things tied Marhyd to her daughter, Marai: the deep lavender color of their hair, one of the defining traits of the House of Linnea, and their faces. In sharp contrast to the rest of her, Marhyd's face was still sharp and lean, and in it Rhiela could see the barest reflection of her friend.

  "I, er, I would say..." the princess stammered. "If... if she feels something and, ah, I can tell what she is feeling, then she possesses personality and I can call her a her."

  "And if such an answer would annoy Mitera Yesca?"

  "Then it'd be just the latest thing I've done that she does not think is proper," Rhiela grumbled.

  "As good a reason as any, I suppose," the ministra said. "Wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?"

  Rhiela hadn't even noticed the other mer floating discreetly nearby. The Duchess Aysmin could easily have hidden in Marhyd's shadow, though that was not to say she was a small mer. Aysmin was lean, in the manner of someone who woke early each morning for personal training. She had held command over the Home Guard for longer than Rhiela could remember, and her black hair was shot through with veins of white. Here and there beneath her military tunic, scars could be seen. The most magnificent example had been drawn across her face by a marlin's pike years ago, costing her the use of her left eye. It was now hidden behind a small abalone shell, held in place by kelpen twine.

  "I am rather more concerned that the two of them are here feeding the octopodes again," the Duchess said in a severe tone.

  There was a lump now in the pit of Marai's stomach. She had learned to dread that tone, in the days when she'd been forced to attend fencing lessons with the other noble daughters. Whenever Aysmin was there, that tone had been sure to follow, and it inevitably led to a whipping for someone. Marai envied her friend for the way she could face the Duchess. The golden-haired mer had the advantage there.

  "I believe you'll find that there's no rule against it, auntie dearest. As soon as we can get Tiffy to come with us indoors, we'll be stopping anyway." The princess managed an indignant glare. "But now you've gone and scared her off for the day."

  Rather than concede any points, the Duchess changed tactics. "The gardeners are reporting an incursion of blue-ringed octopodes. Those will not be as friendly as your little stray."

  "We've seen none of those so far, but thank you for worrying, Aunt Aysmin. Now, we really should be getting to our studies, shouldn't we, Marai? Thank you for the lesson in philosophy, Ministra Marhyd. I shall go read more about it soon."

  This was such a bald-faced lie that the words simply choked in Marai's gills. She could only nod her head in agreement. Marhyd grinned. Aysmin, as usual, was stone-faced.

  "Marai." The ministra turned to her daughter. "You shall find the Discourses in my outer study, fourth shelf above the median, about thirty degrees left from the door. It would please me if you and the princess were to discuss it more at length at our next scheduled lesson."

  "Thank you, Mother."

  "I shall be interested in what you have to say, I'm sure. But for now," Marhyd continued. "Her Grace and I must be off. If my eyes do not deceive, then the last hour of morning is upon us. Her Holiness is to meet with us upon the first hour of the afternoon."

  "What will you be discussing?" asked Rhiela. In the princess's voice, Marai could hear the faint tones of concern.

  "No you," was all the ministra would tell them. "Not this time, anyway." The the fat mer chuckled, low in her throat. The sound came out in three short bursts: "Heh. Heh. Heh."

  With that, she left, still quicker than Rhiela thought she had any right to be. The Duchess nodded to her niece and to Marai. Then Aysmin was gone as well."

  "Your mom is weird, Marai."

  "Your aunt is scary, Rhiela."

  "Yeah, yeah, and the firmament shines silver in the morning, and octopodes are cute. Speaking of which..." The princess glanced around, clapping her hands and cooing softly.

  "I am fairly sure that Tiffy does not have ears with which to hear you."

  "Shush, Marai. She should be able to feel the vibrations, at least. Ah, there's my lovely..."

  Whether by coincidence, as Marai later insisted, or because she'd actually felt something on the waters, the little octopus emerged from its cover in the foliage once more. With a scramble of tentacles it made its way quickly to the princess, to be hugged against her chest.

  "See? She knows me now. We could make her a bed in our room."

  There was nothing to do but sigh. Or gloop, as Tiffy did. The two sounded suspiciously similar.

  Rhiela ignored them all, of course.

  Verse V

  Of all the things Jumilla and Jumella min Tefira were good at, floating idly was not one of them. They could stay in place for long periods of time -- that was a necessary skill, when working the crafts -- but the lack of activity, the lack of distractions, could itself be the distraction.

  Unfortunately, life in a caravan included many periods of forced idleness, such as now at the port authority. When such times came, the twins were prepared. After having checked the mooring ties and having their chat with Estrella, they'd found themselves with naught else to do but float there, and so the next logical thing was to open their hip pouches and pull out the stone knives for coral carving.

  It had been a lucky find, a few days before, when their campsite for the evening had a beautiful mass of old growth coral nearby. There were signs of previous harvesting, abandoned years prior, so the twins could get at the deeper, compressed layers with fewer large gaps. So, when circumstances allowed, they could float and whittle away the time without problems.

  Jumella's piece was shaping up nicely. It had a natural curve along one edge that spoke to her of a delphin's plunging dive. She'd never seen any such animal, as they didn't frequent the waters of the Mere Kazahn, but tales from the caravanners had given her some finer details to work with.

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  They only had a few counts of a verse to enjoy their craft. Messra Berenice soon arrived back from her meeting with the port authority, and then no one had much time to chat for a while. Tethers were undone and belongings quickly stowed as the experienced caravanners roused the floats. Jumella and Jumilla, lacking the training of their seniors here, kept their posts at the front, securing the leads against any wayward currents.

  Once all was in proper order, Berenice gave the signal that sent everything in motion. With a smooth, sibilant command, the caravan attendants urged their floats onward and upward into the currents. As ripples of the spoken words traveled along the outer layers of material, lines of runes glinted. These symbols were barely brighter than the shine of the morning firmament, and where they were drawn, fabric stiffened and shifted, causing the outer layers to unfurl around the main body of the float.

  Bundles of precious cargo formed a core, from the top of which sprouted five broad spans of fabric. These overlapped on the edges to form a bell around the bundles. An active float resembled nothing so much as an oversized jelly in the way its outer layers expanded and billowed in the currents. Tow-lines and anchors trailed behind like tentacles.

  The voices of the handlers joined in a low-toned chant filled with odd-sounding syllables. The volume rose and fell, and the floats spread and contracted in response. Messra Berenice led the song, setting its cadence and tempo as she conducted her caravan along the route to the city.

  Voices low. Expansion. Water rushed in to fill the folds of the floats.

  Voices high. Contraction. Water was pushed out and the floats jetted forward.

  Jumilla and Jumella stayed quiet. They'd studied diligently, but the two of them had not been with the caravan long enough to learn all the words or the rhythmic variations for the larger floats. Instead, Messra Berenice had set them the task of directing the course intstead. The five broad fronds of the float met in a central disk, below which the cargo was attached. On top of the disk, at the center, was bolted a leading-rope. Holding taut, the sisters could gently steer the float as it pushed forward.

  This was not as easy as it sounded, as the steering mer had to move faster than the float itself to keep the lead-ropes taut. They had to take turns at it, with one sister resting against the crown of the float while the other kept stroke ahead of it. The work was familiar enough by this point that they could enjoy the scenery as it floated past.

  A patchwork of silt and sand spread away from Noora's Idyll in all directions, but beyond that loomed the Harbor of Bryndoon. As they approached, the shadows of the cliffs reached forward to embrace the caravan, and the light of the firmament receded to a thin line limning the crest of their walls.

  There was one break in the twilight, one place where the light shone through. Here the cliffs stopped, forming an immense V-shape. The morning light spilled through this opening, the Royal Passage, and provided a beacon to direct and welcome all who swam towards it.

  Their entrance into Bryndoon proper did not take so long, but for the rest of her life Jumilla would remember it well. The walls of the passage were worn smooth from both the natural labors of the current and the focused crafts of merkind, showing no blemishes or outcroppings between the sands at the bottom and the cliff's edge at the top. The firmament was a bright threat twisting far above, and the light which trickled down revealed the contrasting streaks of varied strata.

  If the twins had been surprised by their first experiences with manoa in large schools, they were amazed now at the number and variety they could see. Above and below the caravan, mers of all hues darted, raced, entering or or exiting, laden or with only the raiment of their trade. Colors abounded, with more shades of hair and scale than they'd ever seen in Valden. Jumilla had come to assume that all manoa fell into a few rough groups: black-haired with dark blue scales, like Estrella and Tachiana; brunette with russet scales like Messra Berenice and most of the other caravanners; red-blonde with metallic scales like the twins, or blonde and burnished like Elshia in Valden. Certainly she'd never thought that mers might come with dark blue hair or pink scales, and yet examples of both had swum by within a few beats of each other. From her vantage point, taking her turn of rest on the float, she searched for a color to match her own. If red-blonde was less common than they'd supposed, then that only made it more likely that anyone they did find with that coloration was a relative.

  Her search was fruitless, but when she traded positions once more with her sister she did see one mer who was close: a strong red mane of hair with matching scales. The red mer was swimming quickly past the caravan from below, following another whose coloration was the dark green of kelp.

  Jumilla shook her head and grinned. The seas were broad, and their fathoms deep indeed. With guide line in hand, she led her float forward.

  Verse VI

  The beauty of the Queen's Passage was lost on Ardennne as she passed through. It wasn't that she could not see, it was that she saw too much. Too many. Too many mers, too many floats, too many obstructions to the orderly flow of her movements. Her eyes flicked back and forth, straining to keep track of everything around her. Mers in the red and gold uniform of Bryndoon officials swam further below, hurrying towards the port. Above, a caravan of floats made its slow passage into the city. Ardenne increased the strength of her strokes, and Sera matched her speed without a single word said.

  After a full verse-count, they quit the passage entirely. The Harbor of Bryndoon sat in a basin sheltered by cliffs, filled with clusters of shell-work buildings like tethered bubbles. The elder's hut in her home village had been but a crude copy, Ardenne realized now as they approached the outskirts. Each cluster was a complex of shell-work spheres connected by kelpen cords and woven grass passageways. The individual parts were at least the size of the grotto she and her mother shared in the Mere Sangolia, and many were larger still. They jostled in the morning currents, and the light of the firmament shone back blue and green and pink from their many facets.

  Each of these clusters would be inhabited by one large group of relatives, Sera had explained during their trip. Family connections were of great importance in Bryndoon, and those who could not or would not claim a place within a family's home would have to stay in a specific part of the city, to the left and along the cliff from the Queen's Passage.

  The shell-work complexes were spaced evenly across the basic, with a dozen or more tail-lengths of open water between each. Shopfronts hung from them, with mothers and daughters of a family presenting handicrafts or foodstuffs to passing mers. As Ardenne followed Sera along, she could make out netted areas within the shell-work, where fish were kept. The next complex had a broad, flat top that was completely covered in maidenhair mussels. Cloth made from the anchoring fibers of the shells hung proudly in a display in front.

  Soon the two of them came to a wider area, clear of the usual Bryndoon architecture. Many of the buildings here were a hodgepodge of stone, coral, and shell-work set into the side of the outer cliffs. Caravan floats, both empty and laden, filled the waters.

  The red-haired mer pulled up short and motioned to Ardenne. "We'll be staying here," she said. "Got contacts in the caravansaries who can help us gather information. Which we'll need," she hastened to add before Ardenne could say anything. "Because there's no way we can pull this off without knowing the flow of the waters."

  Ardenne nodded. Even an hour before, she would have been ready to storm the palace singlehanded, but a hunter in strange waters needed a guide, and this city was a bigger and stranger place than she would ever have imagined.

  "Gonna be staying at a public house called the Silver's Scales," Sera continued. "Been there before, know the owner. She's on the current."

  The green-haired mer grunted. Then, after a beat, she added, "And then?" It was the first words she'd spoken to the red-haired mer in that hour of the day.

  "After that, depends on what we find out."

  *

  The Silver's Scales was a nicer place than Ardenne had expected, being a sprawl of half a dozen large structures spread across a prominent rock in the cliff. Her companion went inside immediately, leaving Ardenne to admire the entryway. The circle of fitted stones was old, probably made with rune-craft if she were to guess, and its surface was studded with the scales of a silver: large, oval, with narrow spikes tapering off the far end.

  She had only seen a school of silvers once, while hunting in the open waters with her mother Diana. The fish were large, easily the size of a mer, but crafty and difficult to catch. Their schools also tended to attract predators like sharks, orcs, or even the great black cachalot looking for a big meal. The two of them had steered clear of the silvers then, and soon returned to the safety of the Grandest Reef. There were more of the large scales here than could have come from a single fish, and some were newer and shinier than others. Whoever might supply them, the mer had Ardenne's respect. Maybe one day...

  "Hey, hey! If you would please move? You're blocking the portal."

  Part of her had forgotten where she was, so caught up was she in dreams of hunting. Her nerves took control, jerking her around and landing her face-first in a bosom. Surprise and shock conspired to make her freeze, in the most embarrassing position possible.

  "Awfully friendly lot they are, these Bryndoon mers," the same voice commented. "Is she giving you trouble, sis?"

  "No..." The answering rumble, also a low alto, vibrated against Ardenne's fast-reddening face. She stroked back, ashamed and panicky. Neither feeling went away as she got her first look at the accidental molestee.

  Two mers floated before her, as perfect a pair as she had ever laid eyes upon. Larger, too; either of them would have dwarfed Ardenne with their matching leather vests, matching red-blonde hair, and matching sets of muscles. That one look was enough to tell Ardenne that she surely did not want to offend these two when she was on her own.

  Unfortunately, it was too late for that now. Her blush deepened as she noticed where her collision had undone a tie on the other mer's top.

  "No..." continued the second mer as she fixed the knot. "You startled her. It's your turn to apologize."

  "She should first."

  There was a deep alto sigh as the matched mers glared each other in the eyes. "Is this really going to turn into the tale of the starfy's apology, Jumilla?" the second mer demanded.

  The first mer, apparently named Jumilla, made a face. "Honestly, I think we've talked about Granny Liesa's stories enough for today. Alright then." She floated closer to Ardenne and nodded her head. "Sorry to startle you."

  "That's okay."

  "Though by the look of you, I'm betting you enjoyed it, right?"

  The hunter blinked signs of confusion. "Er, what?"

  Behind Jumilla, her sister just put a palm to her face and shook her head.

  "I mean, you've got to have the flattest chest I've ever seen, so you probably enjoyed the novelty. Or maybe you're jealous?"

  "Jumilla..."

  "See, Jumella? She's blushing more. I hit that chisel on the mark, now didn't I?"

  The heat of embarrassment that had pooled on her cheeks now drained away, flowing inwards to melt into the growing mess of embarrassment, nerves, and frustration that was her life. She could feel it like a wave moving through her, passing red through the space behind her eyes. All that stress, embarrassment, and unfocused anger now had a target.

  Her head did not realize what her hands were about to do, nor did it care.

  *

  "What in the indigo hell were you thinking?" Sera yelled, several counts of verse later. With a brisk flick of the hand, she cut Ardenne off before the green mer could respond. "No. Been playing the quiet game today. No need to stop now. You two," she said to the sisters. "What happened?"

  The one named Jumella was holding her sister steady a short distance away. The other twin was clutching at her chest and wincing. "I must beg pardon for my sister and her impatience," she began.

  "Depths, sis! She punched me in the..."

  "Only after you called her flat."

  "I was joking!" It was more wheeze than whine.

  "If you tease the ray, then you get stung."

  "Spare me, sis..."

  The conversation was perhaps three beats away from turning into another argument. Sera interrupted before it could get that far. "So my friend didn't start this?"

  "She had blocked the entrance a little, but that's all," said Jumella.

  A small crowd had begun to school around them, mostly passersby from various caravans. The sightseers all floated at a respectable distance, enough to give space to Ardenne and the sisters if it all came to blows once more. Several caravanners had pearl pockets out and ready for betting, should it happen. If their business weren't what it was, Sera might have been tempted. Alas, they didn't need that sort of attention. Scanning the crowd, she allowed herself a smile when she saw who was pushing her way through the schooling onlookers.

  "Well as I live and swim, it's Sera the Red!" Berenice announced her presence at the usual volume, clearing her way by force of voice. "My young friends haven't been causing you trouble, have they?"

  "Only what trouble as they and my own young friend have managed to one another, it would seem."

  Berenice shook her graying head and turned to the twins. "If you lasses have that much energy, make yourselves useful and get back to the floats. There's still stuff to unload. I'll handle lodgings for you."

  "Go and help," Sera told Ardenne. "And try not to start any more fights."

  It was a feeble hope, but she kept it to heart. She and Berenice let the hunter and twins stroke off before slipping through the entrance to the Silver's Scales and finding a quiet niche inside. The hollowed space of the Scales was deeper than it looked from the outside, and wider as well -- a sort of bubble several tail-lengths in width, carved into the rock and capped over. A string of glow-lamps dangled the fathoms to its bottom, providing light for the seats carved into the sides.

  The waters inside were bubbling with the sounds of many dozens of mers all talking at once, echoing and shaking until no sound could survive more than an arm's length before it was shattered into tiny bubbles of noise. It was the loudest privacy Sera could ever desire.

  "Last I heard, you were sent south," said the caravanner, leaning in close to send the words past Sera's ears.

  "Was. Spent a few weeks tailing a pod of Bryndoon lackies."

  "So, what happened?"

  "Sunk if I know. Just that my friend is in it up to her pretty green eyes." Sera shook her head. "Messy and complicated."

  "And?"

  "And if you know any more, they'll get you for abetting when it all goes muddy."

  Berenice's sigh traveled farther in the vibrant waters than any mere words could. "Just tell me later, after it settles. Is there anything I can help with, under the circumstances?"

  The red-haired mer considered her needs for a beat. There wasn't much the caravanner could help with directly, and even less she could help with safely, since the soldiers were involved. Depths, Sera herself wasn't sure she knew what they were getting themselves into. And there, she realized, was where Berenice could help. "Know where to get the best information?"