Verse VIII

  When the idea of a city had been described to Ardenne, one evening on the currents as she and Sera shared a meal with the wandering Rohaise, she had imagined it as a larger sort of reef, busier and more crowded, but not so different from the waters she called home. It had taken her but one glimpse from the far end of the Queen's Passage to realize how wrong she had been, and every beat of every verse since then had only driven that point further into her skull. It was not only the shell-work homes, complex of form and purpose. Those were the easiest to deal with in her mind. Rather, it was the strangeness of how, with all of the activity and life teeming around her, so much of everything was directly connected to her fellow mers.

  On the Grandest Reef of the Mere Sangolia, she was always reminded that she shared the nearby waters with the grass and the fish, and the distant ones with the sharks and the delphins. There was a pattern to life, and how that life connected with other lives not like her own. But here, the skein of connections was woven of mer activities, mer interactions. Her eyes swept across the waters, her ears ached and the lines down her flanks tingled as her senses sought out cues that were not there, for threats that could not survive within the safe harbor of Bryndoon.

  That was not to say there were no dangers to pay heed of. She and Sera avoided the attention of the guards in red and golden weave as they made a circle around the harbor. Even with her admittedly brief experience, Ardenne could notice the changes as she and the red mer passed through the different neighborhoods of Bryndoon, each with their own feel, their own skein of natural connections. The clusters of shell-work buildings grew shabbier, with obvious patches. Repairs consisting of corded kelp, barnacles, and hope became more frequent.

  The quality and quantity of wares available from each cluster's shop front changed as well. Several bought and sold secondhand items, and more than once she spotted an article of clothing for sale that was more darning than original weave. Her late grandmother would have been outraged to see that.

  Other shell-works had rooms open to customers, with large baskets of tuli pods ripening to a brownish purple. Ardenne shook her head, no, to several mers who loudly invited any mers who swam by to partake. Her mother had let her try one of the sour, gas-filled pods once, and she was never able to see the attraction. Her companion, she noted, gave those establishments a broad pass as well.

  Their current wended around and through several clusters of dwellings until they came to a cleared area on the far edge of the city. The peddlers here did not even keep a store front. Instead, kelpen mats were set upon the sand with various goods scattered across them like flotsam brought down from the firmament.

  Ardenne wished she knew where the red mer was leading her. Sera had gotten a lead from the caravan leader, and that was all she'd said. She could only trust in her companion's judgment. If only that were easier, she thought. Following Sera's example, she kept to the edges of the clearing and avoided even eye contact with any of the peddlers. She did not feel it within her to deal with anyone else that day, not after her nerves had betrayed her once already. Their body language should have screamed 'not interested' to any who cared to read it.

  Most of the peddlers gave the two of them a glance and moved on to more promising customers.

  "Excooose me, m'ladies!" I believe I have just the thing for you!"

  But then again, one of them might just be blind to the obvious. A young mer perked up at the sight of their passing, and had moved to intercept. Ardenne's eyes quickly took in her details: short orange hair and a splotched tail, much like one of the anemone fish back home. The peddler was small, young, with the soft look she'd seen on many a city mer so far.

  "Now, I know what'cher be thinkin'. Yer be thinkin' that there ain't no way, no how that little Rook here could know what'cher need, and yer'd be right," the little orange mer rattled on. "But what'cher failed to consider, if I may be so bold as to speak fer m'ladies, is the tiny, minuscule yet still poten'cherly true possibility that one 'a the items on little Rook's mat right there on the sands below yer flukes may be the thing -- in fact the only thing -- that yer need to make yer day complete. Why, many's the day I said to myself, 'Rook, yer should 'a gotten yerself that sine spiked conch while yer had the chance,' and blow me a bubble if I didn't regret it right then and there..."

  "How much for a full verse of peace and quiet?" Sera interrupted.

  "Five pearl. Or, yer get that service grah-tees with the purchase of any of the fine merchandise strewn decorously beneath our fins."

  The red mer sighed, and Ardenne could see why. The 'merchandise' was a loose collection of carved charms and amulets bearing random runes. The hunter from the reef was barely literate in the common marks, and could not have told one mystic sign from the next. She doubted that the talkative young peddler could, either.

  "One pearl," said Sera, "and you put us on the right current to find a mer named Rill."

  Green-brown eyes widened as a grin slid across the orange mer's face. "Knew it! Knew it, I did! I do got exactly what'cher need!"

  *

  The building to which their overly talkative local guide had led them was not shell-work, and that surprised Sera. Aside from the caravansaries, she had assumed that the entire city of Bryndoon was built in that style. Here was an enigma, then, a small structure of stone so covered with generations of barnacles that it had fused into a single mass. A round portal lay at its center, covered with a weave of shells and kelp. Floating right beside it was Rook with her mat of merchandise rolled up under one arm. The other arm was held out, palm up.

  "No payment till we know you led us straight," she told the peddler.

  The speckled face screwed up into a very studied portrait of affront. "M'ladies, rest assured that Rook always does her best to deliver goods and services in as up-front and prompt a manner as possible I am insulted, positively insulted that 'cher would even consider..."

  This time, the interruption came not from Sera or Ardenne, but from the inside of the stone hut: "Rook! What is all that blather?"

  "Um, customers, Baba..." Rook shrank some, her body losing some of the animation which defined it so. "They, um, said they were lookin' fer the shop, so I led 'em direct."

  "Well then, stop flappin' yer gills and let 'em in!"

  "Yes, ma'am..." The orange mer unfastened the lid of the portal and slipped inside. Sera and Ardenne followed shortly.

  It was more spacious than Sera had expected. The surface structure of the hut was not so large, but below that a large chamber made the home three or four times larger than it appeared from the outside. The hollow below the Silver's Scales was larger, but this was quieter and less cramped with traveling mers. The walls were covered in carved shells, charms, statuary, and other decorations the purpose of which escaped her. What brought amazement was that she could see any of this at all. Set high into one wall was a shining orb the size of her head, too strong and too bright to be a glow-lamp. She could only assume that it was a rune-worked item of some sort. Those did not come for just a pretty pearl.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  As they descended, Sera took a better look at the walls. No expert was she, but it took only a little experience to notice that many of the amulets adorning the chamber were active, the lines of their runes glimmering faintly. Whatever she may think of the little orange mer's merchandise, the mer who lived here held to a different level of wares. Some of the rune-work items on the walls were in obvious stages of repair, which spoke of a crafter with great skill.

  The mistress of the chamber was settled at the bottom, in a snug alcove with her attention focused upon the shelf before her. One side was cluttered with shells and stones, while on the other end, carving tools were arranged neatly. In the center lay a broad, flat scallop shell with half its surface etched with delicate runes. Baba Rill finished the line, set aside her carving stylus, and turned to face her visitors. Rook settled to the floor beside the old mer, folding her tail beneath her and resting her hands in her lap. The orange head of hair was kept low.

  "So. Customers. What be yer wantin'?" Baba's voice was smooth and low, with traces of the same accent that colored Rook's speech. Her scales and hair had gone mostly grey with age.

  Sera began, at her most formal. "Greetings, Maestra Rill. We were told you dealt in information."

  "Information, knowledge, and secrets," the old mer replied with a nod. "Not always bein' the same thing, yer be kennin'."

  "Yes, of course."

  "An' yer allegiance being?"

  "Pardon?" Sera said. Stalled, rather. There were some things she would rather not give away at this point to present company, and she included the green-haired hunter in that schooling.

  "I know yer type. Workin' fer someone. Yer kind always be. I can smell it on yer. So, what be yer? Crown's service? One 'a the Houses? Time is valuable, an' I am not a rich mer. If it be information yer want, then pay it forward first."

  "Not for the Crown," said Sera. "Never for the Crown."

  That got her a curious eye from the old mer. "Like that, is it..." Baba Rill muttered. "Well. Dealt wit'cher friends before, I believe. Got my fins scalded fer my troubles. I doubt'cher be worth it to repeat the experience."

  "What is she talking about?" Ardenne whispered in Sera's ear. The red mer just shook her head and waved the hunter back. They'd agreed that she would do all the talking here.

  "Can yer give oath that what'cher be plannin' won't bring me trouble from the Crown?"

  "Not in good faith, no," admitted Sera.

  "Then I am sorry, but'cher be no customers o' mine," said the old mer. "Please leave us be."

  "She can't do that!" hissed Ardenne, but again Sera motioned for her to be silent. This time, the green mer would have nothing of that. She kept talking, getting louder with each word. "No. No! I have come this far for her and I am not stopping here! Crown this, house that, or whatever the depths you are, I am not going to let you mess this up for me! Messra Rill," the hunter said to the old mer. "I can tell you that I serve no crown, no house, and no other mer. I am here because of the duty of a daughter to her mother of birth. I am here to take back she who was stolen from my life, and I'll send every soldier in this city to the depths of the indigo hell if I must."

  The hunter's green eyes caught and held the light blue gaze of the old mer through the entire speech. Baba Rill considered for a five-beat, and then motioned for the two of them to return to their spots on the floor.

  "Start at the beginnin'," she said. "An' no skimpin' on the details. Rook, prepare the karo nuts. Might be this will take some time."

  *

  Well how d'yer like that? Rook thought to herself. Just when things were getting interesting, old Baba had to send her to the kitchen for the snacks. As if she hadn't been the one to bring the customers in, on her very own initiative. But what was a lass to do? This was Baba's grotto, and Rook just happened to live there. Still, she figgered, no harm done for listening in.

  Karo nuts, though. Old Baba just had to ask for the karo nuts. Annoying little things to prepare, they were. The floaty little pods had a thick skin that trapped bubbles inside. Only way to make them properly eatable was to heat them up, and wasn't that a trick and a half. Keeping an ear turned towards the other side of the hollowed chamber, Rook readied the little leather pot that Baba'd made for herself, years before.

  Popping the nuts into the pot, she quickly recited the commands as Baba'd taught her. All across the worn surface of the vessel, small marks of grammar shone as her song touched them each in turn. There was a particular cadence to the commands, a rhythm and a lilt that the magic reacted to, making sure that the heat would roll properly within the pot and the nuts come out soft and tender.

  Wait. Did the green one just say orcs? Her attention dragged away from the karo nuts to more interesting things. Orcs were the monsters of many a tale, but she'd never seen one or met someone who had. There were a thousand questions bubbling away in her mind just then.

  Sad for her, then, that she was in the middle of a key beat of the incantation. She'd never muffled a syllable at this point before, never considered what could go wrong with it. Then the pot grew too warm in her hands. Miniature currents began to roll off of it, licking and stinging her arms with their heat. With a shriek, she dropped the vessel, but the spell kept going, spinning off clouds of heated bubbles in its wake.

  "What'cher be doin', silly girl?" And suddenly Baba was there, as she always was when Rook messed up.

  "I, um, the pot!" she stammered. Never could talk straight with Baba, not like how she could with customers. Her cheeks were hot and her voice stuck in her throat.

  "Yes, yes. The pot." Baba spat out a few short syllables and the waters grew cold. "Things should hold till the heatin' grammars run down. We shall talk 'bout this later."

  "Yes, Baba..." Rook didn't know if the old mer meant a scolding or a lesson in how to do it right. If she was honest it would probably be both things at the same time, but mostly a scolding.

  The old mer returned to her guests, leaving Rook mortified in the corner. She could see Sera and Ardenne look her way, and she'd have liked nothing better than to swim out of there at her fastest stroke. They probably thought she was an idiot now, some sorry orphan that Baba Rill had taken in.

  The thought wrenched her gut. It was practically the truth, anyway. She busied herself with tidying the cooking niche -- carefully avoiding the still-seething pot -- until the time came for the two mers to leave.

  *

  "She okay?" Sera asked when the old mer rejoined them.

  "Yes, yes. Only a little unfocused, she is. Nothin' to worry yer. Now, back to business." Baba Rill folded her hands together and closed her eyes for a moment. A five-beat past, and then a ten as their host gathered her thoughts. Sera was about to poke the mer to see if she was still awake when those pale blue eyes snapped to attention and Rill began to speak.

  "Yer mam most likely arrived in the city on the early hour this mornin' with the last o' the pods. Brought her this far, so they want somethin'. Yer'd've heard 'bout it if yer had what they want, so it's gotta be somethin' yer mam knows. In that case, she'll be handed o'er to the questioners, eventually." The old mer held up a hand before Ardenne could say a word. "Won't be too soon. I know a bit of how the ministra and her lackeys go 'bout the business. They'll give yer mam a few days to recover from the journey, to relax and reflect a bit, and hopefully get what they want without getting messy.

  "An' there are the festivities," Rill continued. "Princess has her comin'-of-age in five days, and everyone -- includin' the ministra -- is gonna be busy. Not likely fer the questioners to start a'fore then, and it's yer best chance to get into the palace."

  "And you'll help us with that part?" Sera still had her doubts there. Information was one thing, but they were heading deep into the mud on this one, and headlong at that.

  "Been talkin' wit'cher this long, haven't I? Gonna need some fake shells, but I can manage."

  "How much?" Certainly the most important question, as far as the red-haired rogue was concerned.

  "Well... not the ordinary sort 'a circumstances and all... A special deal. Favor fer a favor."

  That made her eyes go narrow. "Much as I'd hate to back out now, need to hear what that'll be before we agree to anything."

  "Fair 'nuff." Baba Rill picked a cockle half-shell off the wall and handed it to Sera. On the inner curve was a simple glyph. "Caravan foundered 'bout a week back, dropped some of its cargo. One package was marked wi' that symbol. It's mine, and I'd like it delivered to me."

  She shared a long and well-understood glance with the green-haired hunter, who shook her head slightly. Even Ardenne was smart enough to realize something was off, and this was the mer who'd trusted soldiers to keep their word.

  "And... where was this caravan at the time?" Sera inquired.

  "Day out of Bryndoon, less than a day fer a pair 'a fast swimmers if they start on the morning hour."

  "More specifically?" she pressed.

  "The Mires."

  She could see the look of confusion in the green mer's eyes. To Ardenne, the word would mean nothing, just another strange name in a sea full of stranger things. But she... oh, she knew. Sera knew enough to understand that she did not like the direction this mission was turning. No, she did not like it at all.

  But depths take the smug look on Rill's face. It was still the best they were going to get. "Okay then, every detail on this float, if you would."