The Edge of the Ocean

by L. D. Lapinski

  Flick felt herself going red again. “Oh?”

  “Blood’s pretty distant now, though,” Avery added. “And my parents aren’t Strangeworlds Society members. They don’t even know I’m here.”

  “My parents don’t even know the Society exists,” Flick said, getting one up on Avery. “It’s a secret.”

  “Wow, that must be tough,” Avery said. “I’m so glad I could talk to my parents about it if I needed to. It’s essential to have that closeness and support in your life, I think.”

  Flick bit back something unpleasant and flashed a fake smile instead, before going to sit in one of the armchairs.

  Jonathan, apparently oblivious to the mood in the travel agency, straightened a few papers. “Felicity, Averina has brought us news of something we—I—might need to investigate.”

  “The House on the Horizon,” Avery nodded. “It’s part of the Strangeworlds Society.”

  Flick folded her arms. “Like the travel emporium in Five Lights?”

  “Quicksparks? No, the House isn’t like that, exactly. It’s not just storage. The House on the Horizon is a safe house,” Avery said. “As safe as you can get. You can’t physically get there, you see?”

  Flick blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Jonathan began to explain how he thought the House worked, but it made Flick’s head ache.

  “…so the location might be relative to the position of the person attempting to—”

  “Okay,” she said, wincing. “I get it. You can’t get there. Probably.”

  “Unless we can find a suitcase that takes us to the house itself,” Jonathan mused.

  Flick looked at Avery. “And you think this Danser Thess person who lives there might know something about Jonathan’s dad.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Avery shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Someone who’s been part of the Society from the beginning might know more about Daniel than any of us.”

  “Then you’ll need me,” Flick said.

  Avery raised her eyebrows. “You?”

  “I would need your assistance, yes,” Jonathan said, ignoring his cousin. “We need to look at all the suitcases with the magnifying glass.”

  Flick nodded. “So, what’s the strategy once we find the right suitcase? We go to this Horizon place, and then what? I’d quite like a plan this time.”

  Avery looked begrudgingly at Flick. “She’s right, Johnnie, we need a plan of attack.”

  Flick looked up in delight. Johnnie?

  Jonathan ignored the nickname. “Yes, I shall do my research before we take off. The House isn’t going anywhere, and until we know what might await us there, neither shall we. This Danser Thess character sounds like someone to be wary of.”

  Avery stretched, her shoulder and spine clicking like castanets. “Right, then. Pop through to see me if you find anything out. I’d best be getting back. My mother’ll be wondering where—”

  Her words dried up.

  Flick looked up, following Avery’s eyeline. There, at the bottom of the wall of suitcases, was a glittering light, just visible through the keyhole of a large trunk. For a moment Flick thought she’d suddenly developed the ability to see magic without a magnifying glass, but if she had, then Avery and Jonathan had too, because they were all staring at it.

  Something tiny and golden and glowing like a firefly drifted lazily out from the keyhole of the trunk. The trunk was, like everything in the travel agency, not simply luggage. The trunk led to the Back Room—the immense storage space where the masses of suitcases that wouldn’t fit in the main area of the shop were kept.

  The golden spark drifted upward, until it was head-height with Avery, and hovered in the middle of the room. It looked like a glowing pom-pom.

  Jonathan steepled his fingers. “What are you?” he asked softly.

  At the sound of his voice, the glowing spark seemed to turn and floated over to him, bobbing on the slight breeze coming through the single open pane of the bay window. It stopped in front of Jonathan’s desk, as though it were a customer.

  “Is it alive?” Flick whispered.

  “I don’t think so.” Jonathan reached out and brushed his fingertips over the glowing speck.

  At once, the speck swelled, lengthened like a glow-stick, then unfurled like a scroll, dulling to a pale-brown sheet of paper that floated down onto the desk.

  There was smart calligraphy on it, and a smudged blue stamp in one corner.

  Jonathan picked it up. “It’s a letter. Sent through the keyholes. A little water-stained, but how marvelous.”

  “Who’s it from?” Flick stood.

  Jonathan cleared his throat and read:

  My good friend Mercator,

  I hope this letter finds you in fine winds and fair weather. We fare not so well. You will be aware, I imagine, that the circle is falling away year by year, but I must stress that the speed at which it crumbles is now of the utmost concern. We lose swaths of sea by the week, and only yesterday the Nastur failed to make port.

  I find myself in the position of being forced to bend a knee and ask your help. We are four ships lost, and have heard nothing from the freemariner sailors who are our allies.

  I have arranged a parley-meeting with the Mer-folk at the new moon and would request your presence as a noted expert in these matters. You have my word that you shall not be harmed by myself, or any of my crew.

  I await your arrival at the Break. I trust you will do us the honor of attending, but if you do not, I hereby curse you to sleep uneasily for the rest of your days, knowing you have sent us to walk with the corpses that dwell in the dark beneath.

  Yours,

  Nyfe Shaban

  Pirate Queen, and Captain of the Aconite

  “The pirates of the Break,” Avery said, taking the letter. “They’re being awfully polite.”

  “Polite?” Flick spluttered. “That letter included a curse!”

  “Only one for disturbed sleep. This is their best manners,” Avery said. “They must be desperate.”

  Flick wanted to ask how she knew, but the fact remained that Avery did know these things, and Flick didn’t. She found herself wishing rather hard that Avery had gone back home before the letter had arrived.

  Jonathan had his hand at his mouth, one finger tapping his chin. He was thinking. He didn’t move when Flick leaned over and lifted the letter from his hand.

  “They want your help?” she asked, skimming the letter again.

  “They want help in general,” Jonathan said. “But it’s not that which concerns me. I’m Head Custodian. My job is to help other worlds to the best of my ability. But the circle is falling away.…”

  “What does it mean?” Flick asked. “What circle?”

  Jonathan licked his lower lip. “The Break is a tiny world,” he said. “It’s very old. And very small. And”—he smiled—“circular.”

  “Well, our world is circular,” Flick said.

  “No, our world is a sphere—a globe,” Jonathan said condescendingly. “At least, our planet is a globe. I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to the shape of our universe as a whole. It could be shaped like a butternut squash for all it matters. The point is, the world of the Break is a flat circle. A thin plate, or a disk, covered in water from edge to edge. No outer space, no other planets, not even a sun. The place is lit by rips and tears in the darkness of the sky that let in light from other worlds. There’s no way to predict day or night—it just depends which worlds are passing by at the time. I gather they live very much by the clock, rising and going to bed when it tells them to, rather than doing what the sky says.”

  “And the only land worth talking about is a little island at the center of all the ocean. There are a few tiny islands, but the people don’t really live on them. They stay on their boats all the time,” Avery added.

  Flick blinked. “But, if the circle is falling away, that means…”

  “World-collapse,” Jonathan said. He took the lett
er back. “A meeting with the mer-folk is proof this is serious. The pirates and the mer-folk have been merrily killing one another for centuries. A parley—a meeting—means they are prepared to put their differences aside for a threat bigger than their ancient squabbles. This letter implies they’re suffering from world-collapse. That means everyone in that world is at risk.”

  “Why is it collapsing, though?” Flick asked. “Is it like Five Lights? Has everyone been bottling magic?”

  Jonathan looked uneasy. “Not that I know of. Bottling magic isn’t something I remember being part of life on the seas. We’d have to check the relevant guidebook. But no matter the reason, I need to go.” He folded the letter and put it into his inside jacket pocket. “This is Mercator business, and I have been summoned.”

  “You’re not going on your own,” Flick said.

  Jonathan opened his mouth to argue.

  “No, you’re not,” Avery said. “Not for one second, Johnnie.”

  “My name,” he snapped, “is Jon. A. Than. It’s three syllables long. I am perfectly sure you can stretch to it.”

  “Only if you call me Avery,” she smirked back.

  They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jonathan looked away with a sigh.

  “Fine,” he said. “The name you choose is up to you, of course.”

  “You should know that.” She sniffed. Then she brightened. “So, pirates. What do we need?”

  5

  They call themselves pirates,” Jonathan said to Flick, once Avery had gone back to her world to get a change of clothes, “but they aren’t really. Not if you want to get technical. They’re not committing piracy, as such. There’s no king or queen with a navy for them to be pirating against.”

  “That letter was signed Pirate Queen,” Flick pointed out. They were hunting for appropriate wet-weather clothes in Jonathan’s wardrobes, which seemed to contain only secondhand suits and hideous knitwear. But she was pleased to have Jonathan to herself for a little while, at least. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why Avery had gotten under her skin. In terms of personality she was quite similar to Jonathan, and she seemed clever and was even a bit funny. But Flick felt like keeping her at arm’s length (and possibly farther) for now.

  Jonathan gave a small laugh. “Oh, Pirate Queen is a chosen name. Every leader picks one. There’ve been all kinds of names… Painted Soul, Wandering Eye, Davy Jones’s Bride.… Pirate Queen is just another title. But Nyfe won the right to use it in what was probably not the fairest of fights.”

  “So she’s not to be trusted?”

  “I think we should be wary, at least. She might not be a true queen, but she has a fearsome reputation as a ruler. She’s always respected Strangeworlds, and the world-hopping we do, but she’s never been exactly friendly.”

  “And what about the mer-folk?” asked Flick. “Is there a king of the sea?”

  “A queen,” Jonathan said.

  “A pirate queen and a mer-queen?” Flick felt a swell of pride at the women holding positions of authority in that world.

  “Just so.” Jonathan picked up his small backpack. He was wearing his usual deep-blue tartan trousers and matching waistcoat, though without a tie, and he had put on heavy leather boots instead of his usual brogues.

  Flick was trying to ignore the prickling anxiety in her stomach. It had been a few weeks since she had traveled via suitcase, and although she had missed it terribly, she suddenly felt nervous and slightly seasick. “Is time the same there?” she asked, to avoid thinking about stepping into a world that was almost entirely water.

  “No,” Jonathan said. “It moves faster. And it’s difficult to track if you don’t have a clock with you, due to the unpredictable light and dark. They measure a twenty-hour day and a ten-day week.”

  “What’s the conversion rate for time?” Flick asked, frowning. “I can’t stay out past six in the evening, our time. Mom will brick up my bedroom door.”

  “Relax,” Jonathan drawled. “For every one of our hours, the Break experiences eighteen. I’ll keep my watch running to our time. If we’re going to overstay, I’ll know about it.” He shrugged the bag onto his back and clipped the strap across his chest.

  “Your dad went there,” Flick said, suddenly remembering the list of worlds that had been jotted down in Daniel Mercator’s notebook. The notebook was something Flick had found in a silent world with an island and a lighthouse—the only clue to his disappearance. Flick did not like thinking about that place. It gave her the shivers. “The Break was on his list, at least.”

  “He went there fairly often.” Jonathan sighed. “It’s a popular place for people to visit, you see? High-seas adventure. I’m sure if he was still there, they wouldn’t have bothered writing to the travel agency.”

  Avery knocked, and looked around into Jonathan’s room. Jonathan had advised that layers were best, since the Break could be any temperature, depending on whether or not a sun was shining on it, so Avery had come back to Strangeworlds wearing several T-shirts and some waterproof trousers over her black jeans. She still had her black leather boots on, with thick woolen socks folded down over the tops. They looked serious.

  Flick was suddenly very conscious of her teal and pink leather Converse. She had one of Jonathan’s old yucky hand-knitted sweaters on under her splash-proof jacket, and it came down to her thighs.

  “I think we look the part.” Avery nodded at them. “Except Jonathan, who looks like he’s taking the rest of the local parish council on an afternoon hike.”

  “I have standards.” Jonathan sniffed, hitching the backpack up.

  Avery smirked. “Can you both swim?”

  Flick nodded, but Jonathan looked as though she’d asked him to lick the sole of someone’s foot.

  “I have no desire to enter water that has played home to someone else’s bunions, thank you.” He sniffed.

  Flick’s mouth did a good impression of a goldfish’s. “But the whole world is water, Jonathan.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t swim, and I don’t particularly enjoy even being wet.”

  They all clattered down the stairs. Flick noticed that Jonathan touched the frame of his dad’s photograph as they passed it. Avery checked that the front door was locked, and Jonathan cleared a space to lay down the suitcase to the Break.

  The case was water-damaged, black, and peeling in places. The latches were orange and brown with rust, and the handle’s leather was softened and worn with the ghosts of old grips. It looked well used and, Flick thought, loved.

  “Ready?” Jonathan asked.

  “Ready.” Avery checked her coat-cuffs in a way that was so Jonathan it unnerved Flick for a moment.

  “You may wish to stand back a little,” Jonathan warned. “Last time this suitcase was opened, a rather aggressive octopus tentacle came out.”

  Avery backed up against the wall. Flick forced herself to stay where she was. She was a real Strangeworlds Society member, and she definitely wasn’t afraid of tentacles, no matter how slimy they might be.

  Jonathan undid the latches.

  Immediately, a wave of water splashed out of the case. It was mercifully tentacle-free.

  Jonathan pulled a face. “I’ll bring the suitcase through, if you don’t mind.”

  Flick nodded and steeled herself, before gritting her teeth and stepping down into the watery suitcase.

  The world rocked for an instant, and Flick flung her arms out for fear she was about to tumble into the sea. She staggered out onto a skinny jetty, no wider than a small car. The boards beneath her feet were rotting and sodden, green slime and seaweed hanging down from them into the sea like drapes.

  Avery erupted from the suitcase next, catching hold of Flick and apologizing as they both wobbled awkwardly on the jetty. Flick grabbed a thick wooden pole to steady them, then immediately wished she hadn’t. The pole was covered in slime and scratchy barnacles, and the stuff clung to her hands.

  Avery pulled a face. “Thanks for the catch,
but at what cost?”

  “Uh, I know, right?” Flick tried to wipe her hand off on a cleanish bit of wood.

  Jonathan came out as gracefully as ever, quickly pulling the suitcase through after himself. “Let’s get somewhere less damp, shall we?” he asked, looking at Flick’s slimy hands. “According to the guidebook, this is the main island of the Break, so there should be someone around here who can point us in Captain Nyfe’s direction.”

  Avery handed Flick a tissue for her hands but walked off before Flick could say thank you.

  The wind blew straight off the sea as they trotted down the jetty onto what could generously be called a beach, but would more accurately be described as a pile of boulders with some sand in between. There was a promenade of sorts on the flattened rocks above, where small wooden booths stood gloomily overlooking the sea. Old rope and nets were tangled here and there, along with broken lobster pots and heaps of sackcloth weighted down by rocks planted on the tops of them. Running down from the walkway to the beach was a pathway, which had been smoothed deliberately to allow boats to be slid down into the water. A thick stripe of seaweed marked the beach in a permanent line, the older stuff rotting beneath newer plants. The seawater bobbed constantly back and forth, leaving a dent where it kissed the sand.

  “I’m not entirely sure of protocol,” Jonathan said. “But I believe we should make ourselves known.”

  “There’s no one about,” Avery said, looking at the deserted booths and the empty lobster pots and nets strewn about. She fastened the top button of her jacket and folded her arms across her chest as the wind blew.

  “Perhaps it’s night.” Flick looked up at the sky. Instead of stars, there were thin strips of light shining through the blackness, like rips in dark velvet showing white silk beneath. There was enough light to see by, though oil lamps were lit here and there along the seafront. “By their clocks, anyway, I mean.”