Deep Blue (Waterfire Saga, #1)(48)

“You think?” Serafina said, pulling her fins out of the bowl. She gave them a shake. “Yuck. So gross.”

“Sera, your hair!” Neela said.

“That bad?” Serafina asked. She glanced into the mirror and winced. “Oh, wow. That bad.” The edges were all different lengths. Some chunks grazed her chin, others were up around her ears.

“What happened?”

Serafina explained.

“No one has hair like that except swashbucklers,” said Neela. “You’ll attract attention.” She sang a prax spell—an illusio—and Serafina’s long hair was temporarily restored. “That should hold you for an hour or so. Now, where exactly are we?”

The door was closed. They could hear voices and the sound of clattering dishes coming from the other side.

Neela opened it cautiously. “It seems to be a café,” she said, swimming out of the grotto. Sera followed her.

The two mermaids looked around. The place was bustling. Bright morning light filtered in through the windows. Merfolk were sitting at tables or at the bar, eating breakfast. A mermaid wearing a red jacket glanced at Serafina and Neela, then returned her attention to her bowl of seaweed. Serafina pointed at a large plate-glass window. It had the café’s name on it.

“The Old River?” she said. “Nice going, Neels. We need the Olt River.”

Neela squinted at the letters. “Oops.”

“You have no idea where we are, do you?” Serafina asked.

“Well, I’m fairly confident we’re in, or close to, a river.”

“Really? What gave it away, detective? Couldn’t be the café window, could it?”

“Ha. So funny, Sera. What gave it away is the smell of freshwater.” She sneezed. “It always does that to me.”

Just then, a graceful turtle swam past them.

“Let’s ask him where we are,” Neela said.

“I don’t know Tortoisha,” Serafina said.

“I don’t either. I’ll sing a loquoro,” said Neela. Loquoro spells enabled a mermaid to temporarily understand another’s language. “Excuse me, sir,” she called out after she’d cast it.

The turtle stopped and turned around—v-e-r-y slowly. Neela knew that turtles did everything v-e-r-y slowly. He raised his head and looked at her with his large eyes.

“Hello,” she said brightly. “Do you know what town this is?”

The turtle frowned. He scratched his spotted head. Blinked. Thought hard. Took a deep breath. Blew it out. Scratched his head again. Flapped his flippers. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Z-d-r-a-s-t-i,” he said slowly.

“Does he know? What did he say?” Serafina asked.

“He said Hi,” Neela replied.

“Hi? All that for Hi? It’ll take a week to find out where we are! Forget this. Let’s ask someone else.”

Neela shook her head. The mermaid in the red jacket was looking at them again. “We’re attracting attention. Let’s get out of here.”

As they opened the door, they heard more voices.

“Shipwreck silver! Right off a gogg yacht! All first-rate!”

“Songspell pearls! Transparansea pearls! Best quality! Cast to last, folks!”

“Keel worms here, plump and juicy! Ribbon worms, sweet and slimy!”

The café was on the town’s main current and a morning market was in full swing. Its stalls were hung with all manner of goods. Foodmongers sold freshwater fare: braids of marsh grass, frog eggs, pickled crayfish, candied water spiders, and leech puffs. Saltwater importers displayed clams, mussels, scallops, walrus cheese, and the long, twining egg cases of whelks. There was a secondhand clothing stall and salvage stalls selling anything that could be scavenged from a shipwreck—dishes, clothing, lanterns, teapots, knives and swords, even the skulls of terragoggs for those who liked to collect them.

“Voice too small, ladies? Lift it up and push it out with our patented voice enhancer!” a merchant called. “Totally discreet! Results guaranteed!”

As they swam down the main current, Serafina could see that the town they were in was poor and sprawling, nothing like Cerulea. It was a shabby place, made up of found things. The freshwater mer, living so close to the terragoggs, had an abundance of one thing no matter how poor they might be: garbage. And they made good use of it. Serafina and Neela swam down the current, saw a shop built from oil drums, another from plastic buckets. Others were made from wrecked boats, stacked tires, or shipping containers that had fallen off freighters. Roofs were shingled with flattened tin cans or plastic bottles. Down at the end of the current was a department store that had been built from a sunken oil tanker.

“Sea cucumbers—still oozing!” a peddler called.

“Gooseneck barnacles—crunchy and sweet!” another cried.

And then the mermaids heard another voice, right behind them: “They’re coming.”

Neela whirled around. It was the mermaid from the café, the one with the red jacket. Her tail and torso were white with brilliant orange patches, the colors of a koi fish. She had almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones. Her black hair was coiled into two knots on top of her head. She carried an embroidered silk bag over one shoulder. A sword in a scabbard was slung over her back.