Rogue Wave (Waterfire Saga #2)(33)

Moving slowly, Serafina made her way up the hall. She paused now and again to listen for voices. She was almost at the fourth level when she felt vibrations in the water. She stuffed the lava globe under her skirt, dousing its light, and ducked into an empty doorway. A few seconds later, a small school of blennies swam by. Her shoulders sagged with relief.

The TideSide was tucked between the geology and biology collections. When Sera reached it, she saw that it was dark and deserted, like the rest of the Ostrokon. She swam to the counter, hoping for a bag of mussel chips or some snail gums, but there was nothing to be had. Not even a salted sandworm.

“Great,” she said out loud. Now she would have to risk a trip outside. She tried to recall if there were any cafés nearby. If so, maybe she could break into one and find some beach plums. Clam puffs. Anything.

That’s when the net went over her head.

Serafina screamed. She dropped her torch. Its globe smashed on the floor. Lava oozed over the stone, hissing and bubbling and sending up steam through the water.

“Let me go!” she shouted, as the net enveloped her. She struggled and tried to swim away, but only succeeded in tangling herself so badly that she could hardly move.

A face, pale and bespectacled, came close to hers. It belonged to a young merman. “She’s one of us, Magistro, not a death rider,” he said. “I think. At least, she hasn’t got a uniform on.”

Serafina recognized him as an ostroko who used to work in the literature section. Another face came into view—an older merman’s. He wore glasses too. His long hair and beard were gray. His broad, magnificent fins were black. He was pointing a spear. At her.

“Magistro Fossegrim?’ she cried. “It’s me, Serafina!”

A third face peered down at her. A child’s. She looked to be about twelve. Serafina had seen her before. If she could only gather her wits, she might remember where.

“It is her, Magistro!” the young mermaid said. “She’s cut her hair off!”

“Good gods! What have we done? Release her!” Fossegrim ordered.

The net was removed. Serafina, who’d sunk to the floor, looked up at her would-be captors—Fossegrim, the young merman, two other mermen, two grown mermaids, and the young one.

“Cosima!” she said, the child’s name finally coming back to her. “Lady Elettra’s little sister. I remember you from the court.”

“Coco, Your Grace,” the merl said, with a quick dip of her head. “I hate Cosima.”

“Coco, Fossegrim, what are you doing here?” Serafina asked.

“This is our headquarters, Your Grace. I’m sorry about the rude welcome. We were only trying to defend it,” Fossegrim replied.

“I don’t understand,” Serafina said. “Whose headquarters?”

Fossegrim pulled himself up to his full height, swept a hand toward his companions, and grandly said, “The Black Fin resistance.”





“PLEASE, PRINCIPESSA, take more snails. Have more worms,” Fossegrim said.

“Thank you, Magistro, they were delicious, but I’m full.”

It was a lie. Serafina was still hungry. But Fossegrim and the others were too. She could tell. They were thin. Their clothing was baggy.

She was sitting with the liber magus in the Ostrokon’s sub-basement. It was nearly ten at night now. The others had gone off on their rounds. Sera had slept for most of a day.

They’d all introduced themselves on Level Four—after Serafina had gotten up off the floor. She already knew Fossegrim and Coco. Then came Niccolo, the young merman with the glasses. The others were Calvino, Domenico, Alessandra, and Sophia.

A handful of ostroki and a child. That was the resistance.

“Cerulea is very lucky to have you fighting for her,” Serafina had said, smiling.

Cerulea is totally doomed, she’d thought.

But that was before they’d taken her through a trapdoor in the floor of the basement. There she’d discovered a clean, warm, fairly large chamber that contained cots, a small lava stove, medical supplies, and a stockpile of food. The walls were covered with maps of the city.

“The war room,” Fossegrim had said proudly. “From here, we’ve managed to cut lava lines to the palace, release a lava flow that destroyed the kitchens, and let crabs loose in the food stores.”

“How did you know to do all these things? Did the acqua guerrieri help you?” Serafina had asked, amazed. She regretted underestimating them. These ostroki were as formidable as the Praedatori.

“Conchs!” Coco had piped.

“We listened to field marshals from the Hundred Years War, Qin’s Yǒnggǎn Dynasty generals, guerilla fighters from Atlantica’s swamps, and a lot of early Merrovingian commanders. There’s nothing Quintus Ligarius can’t teach you about sabotage!” Niccolo had said cheerfully.

“We’re a large and sharp sea thorn in Traho’s side,” said Fossegrim now as he put the uneaten snails and worms away. “We shall rout him and return Cerulea to the Merrovingia!”

“Magistro, I’m afraid that the battle is much bigger than Cerulea,” Serafina said gently. “I know a way to fight it. But I need your help.”

“Anything, Principessa,” he said. “Say the word.”

“I came here last night to listen to conchs on Merrow’s Progress, but they were gone.”