Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(31)
Marcus straightened up from tidying nets around the corner from where they stood, telling himself it didn’t count as eavesdropping if you simply happened to be there.
“Still nothing?” Fergus inquired, his tone sympathetic but not surprised.
Marcus snorted to himself, stifling the sound. He’d told her there was no damned treasure down there.
“Nothing that I can find, anyway. Although clearly there’s something, or I wouldn’t keep coming across fish and plants that were dead, or soon to be.” She tossed her collection bags onto the deck with a frustrated thump. “I’m tired of gathering up masses of blighted kelp and three-legged starfish. Even without them for evidence, I can sense the damage to the ecosystem—I just can’t pin down what the hell is causing it. I am checking different sections to see if I can find anything out of the ordinary and finding nothing. Nothing except bits and pieces of sea life that are dying or warped for no obvious reason. I keep collecting samples for the lab to look at, but if they can’t give me answers, I’m at a dead end. And my powers are no help at all. It’s driving me crazy!”
Wait. What the hell was she talking about? Kelp and starfish? Damage to the ecosystem? Marcus felt like he’d opened a straightforward ship’s log and fallen headfirst into a mystery novel instead. What the hell did dead fish have to do with sunken treasure?
Beka’s voice was muffled, as if she’d dropped her head into her hands. “I’m failing your people, Fergus, and the others too. I’m so sorry.”
“Maybe this laboratory will find the answers we seek,” Fergus said. “If not, you will think of something else. You are the Baba Yaga.”
“Hmph,” Beka said. “That’s the current theory, anyway.” Marcus could hear her gusty sigh from where he stood. “Regardless, there’s no point in my diving anymore until we get the results back from the lab. You might as well head home for now.”
“Are you certain?” Fergus asked, but even Marcus could tell the other man was relieved. “I would like to see my wife and children again, and check on my little son. He was one of the babes affected by the illness, and part of my reason for volunteering to help. If you are assured that you will not need me further for the moment, I will gladly return to my family.”
“Go with my blessing,” Beka said. “I’m sorry we don’t have a cure for your son yet. What are you going to tell their majesties?”
“I will tell them the truth: that you are working diligently on the problem and will soon have a solution,” Fergus said gravely.
Marcus almost fell over. Fergus was married with children, there was some kind of illness, and now they were talking about royalty? Were they using some kind of code? Clearly, there was something going on here that had nothing to do with salvage. And he was going to find out what, dammit.
*
ONCE THE BOAT pulled into port, Marcus walked Beka and Fergus to the end of the pier. Fergus nodded at him and gave Beka a friendly peck on the cheek before walking off with a lanky, confident stride, leaving his diving gear sitting in a heap at Beka’s feet.
Marcus indicated the equipment. “He’s not going to need that anymore?” Marcus had decided, probably against his better judgment, to give Beka a chance to explain herself. She might be flaky, but in the week they’d spent together, he’d never gotten the impression that she was a liar. If anything, she’d gone to great lengths to dance around the truth. Maybe there was some kind of reasonable explanation—although for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what that might be.
“You’ll be relieved to know that you’re rid of me at last,” Beka said, giving him a smile that didn’t quite have its usual radiance, although it tried gamely. “I’m giving up on the diving for now, although there’s always the chance I might need to go out again at some point. Tell your father I’ll drop off the final payment tomorrow.”
“Didn’t find what you were looking for?” Marcus asked, the very personification of innocence.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I think you know I didn’t. Are you going to say ‘I told you so’ now?”
“I’d rather take you for a beer,” he said, enjoying the look of shock on her sun-burnished face. “And have you tell me exactly what’s going on here.”
Beka opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything after taking a careful look at his expression. He stood there patiently, arms crossed, in what his men used to call the “Hell can freeze over before I move” pose. There’d never been a marine who didn’t eventually cave when faced with that pose, and Beka was no different.
Finally, she heaved a sigh, glanced at her waterproof diving watch, and shrugged in defeat. “I’m meeting someone later, but I guess I have enough time for a beer.”
Marcus tried not to grind his teeth at the thought of the someone she was meeting; no doubt her mysterious surfer pal again. None of his business, after all. Even though his heart sometimes whispered that it would like it to be. He stowed the diving gear back on the boat and escorted her to his favorite bar, the Cranky Seagull.
Inside, it looked like what it was: a working sailor’s tavern. No frills for tourists, no cute pink umbrellas in the starkly utilitarian glasses. But the beer was cold, the bartender minded his own business, and nobody cared if you smelled like fish at the end of a long day at sea. The dusty floor, the long wooden bar, and the massive beams in the ceiling had all come from the bodies of long-dead ships, sailing now only in the dreams of hard-drinking men. Since he’d come back to Santa Carmelita, the Cranky Seagull was the only place that had felt remotely like home.