The Edge of the Ocean

by L. D. Lapinski

  “Who’s this?” she asked, pointing at the three travelers with her sword.

  “They want to speak to the Pirate Queen.” Quillmaster circumnavigated the question. “They’ve the right.”

  “She sent us a summons,” Jonathan added.

  “Very well. Bring them through.” She nodded at them. “My name is Edony.”

  “Jonathan, Felicity, Avery.” Jonathan pointed at everyone quickly. “I don’t suppose you’ve any way of drying our clothes?” he asked. “We’re suffering, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “Drape them on the hot-stones.” Edony nodded at an area lit by oil lamps, where several items of clothes steamed on tables of stone. “There’s a fire-mountain below the ocean, here, and the heat comes up through the stones, see? You can choose something to wear from the slop chest for now, and then I’ll take you to see her. There’s a wee bit of time before the meeting begins, yet. Most of the captains are here; we’re just waiting for a few stragglers.”

  “We can choose clothes from the what?” Avery asked. But Quillmaster nudged her shoulder and led them all through into the lit part of the cave.

  Flick wrinkled her nose. The smell of rapidly drying clothes mixing with the stink of the oil lamps made the air so thick you could chew it.

  “Best get stripped off,” Quillmaster said, starting to undo his coat without preamble.

  Flick felt her face ignite, and Avery’s eyes widened into saucers.

  “What on earth happened to privacy, man?” Jonathan spluttered.

  Quillmaster paused, his shirt open to his collarbones. Enough wiry, gray chest hair to stuff a pillow was escaping. “Fine, if you’re all airs and graces.” He pointed. “The slop is out there by that outcrop, and there’s a bit you can hide behind, if you’re bothered.” He went back to undoing his buttons, and Flick, Jonathan, and Avery all fled.

  “What in the name of Pan’s pipes is the slop chest?” Avery whispered.

  “It’s where they keep clothes. Spares, and stolen,” Jonathan said. “It’s usually a store on a ship, but I suppose there’s been a crate or two brought ashore for this meeting. Nothing too disgusting, I hope.”

  The slop chest wasn’t an actual chest, it turned out. It was crates and boxes of clothes, shoes, drinks, and bottles stacked up against a damp wall of the cave. There were a great number of silk and jeweled dresses, and Flick was initially tempted by them before she saw Avery grab a pile of sensible waxed trousers, shirts, woolen sweaters, and thick jackets. Avery shoved some of them into Jonathan’s arms.

  “You go first. You’ll probably be ages.”

  Jonathan carried the clothing behind the tall stone screen, and Flick heard a sigh of relief as though he’d sunk into a hot bath. There was a comical throwing out of clothes, and then a pause as, presumably, buttons were done up. He eventually sauntered around from behind the outcrop, and the sight of him made Flick grin stupidly.

  “Oh, don’t start.” He brushed at the waxed trousers that were bunched around his ankles. “They’re not exactly to size.”

  “I wasn’t going to laugh,” Flick said quickly. “You look amazing!” She beamed.

  Jonathan adjusted the deep blue jacket he had on and tried not to look too smug. He had on two shirts and a thick, gray, knitted sweater under the jacket and was finally standing straight again. With his curls unbrushed and drying in a way that seemed to defy gravity, he looked rather like a naval officer who had decided it was a pirate’s life for him, but wasn’t quite willing to give up the finery. The only thing that let him down was the sour smell of the unwashed sailors who had worn the clothes before.

  Flick went behind the screen next and stripped down to her underwear. This wasn’t what she had expected to be doing just before going to meet a pirate queen. She decided that she was going to keep her underwear with her, even if they were wet. The last thing she wanted was for a pirate to see them drying on one of the hot-stones. She stuffed them in her backpack and checked over the contents. The only things entirely dry were the biscuits she’d brought, safe in their plastic packaging. She zipped the bag back up and pulled on the thick trousers, which creaked and smelled of old blood, then put on three of the huge sail-like shirts before pulling on a sweater that came down to her knees. She hung her shoes off one of her backpack straps by tying the laces together and walked out barefoot.

  Avery followed, copying Flick’s method with the shoes. Jonathan had merely loosened his laces and changed his socks.

  “I’m not putting my feet anywhere where other people’s feet have been,” he said, and that was the end of it.

  When they got back to the hot-stones, Quillmaster had changed into similar clothes, and he was clearly fed up with waiting for them.

  “Look lively,” he snapped, standing up. “She’s heard you’re here. She’s a-waiting for you.”

  8

  Quillmaster led them through the cave down a natural corridor of rock, worn smooth by centuries of rising tides and howling winds. The floor was pitted with dents worn from the constant ceiling drips, and Avery cursed as her foot slipped into a deep puddle.

  Eventually, the pathway widened again, and the channel of water that was beside them widened too, into a pool. Around the edge of it was a wide walkway illuminated by fat-lamps drilled into the walls, the stinking, yellow light making watery-white reflections dance on the ceiling.

  Edony, the woman in the conical coat with the tattoos, was waiting for them. She gave a nod, taking in their new, dry clothes. “Better.”

  “Thank you for your generosity,” Jonathan said. He glanced over the woman’s shoulder. “Is our host available?”

  “The Pirate Queen is ready to see you,” she said. “But she’s not the host. This is no one’s land to claim. We only come down here to discuss. Never to reign. This way. And watch your tongues.”

  Quillmaster waved goodbye as Edony led the rest of them around the walkway. Her conical coat was, Flick could see, rather more practical than it had first appeared. Edony had billowing trousers on beneath it, and the coat was soft, not stiff—if she had to climb in a hurry, the coat wouldn’t impede her movements. It was genius, really.

  “Captain,” Edony said as they approached a group of four pirates who were talking in low voices. “Captain, the Mercator child is here.”

  The Pirate Queen, Nyfe Shaban, turned around.

  She was the largest woman Flick had ever seen. Easily over six feet tall, with a neck broad and thick enough to break a hangman’s rope. Her shoulders could have supported a bridge, and though her clothes were the finest of anyone around, the trousers and shirt were almost straining at the seams with the woman’s obvious muscle. Her black hair was cropped short, and her brown face was entirely free from makeup, though she had a swirling tattoo on her throat. There was a black eye patch over her right eye, embroidered with a blue petal.

  She smiled, and it was as though she’d drawn a blade. “Mercator.”

  “Pirate Queen.” Jonathan gave a bow, though not a deep one, and he maintained eye contact.

  Flick, too shy to look up properly, kept her eyes on Nyfe’s belt buckle, which was a stylized fish with a hook through its lip as the fastening.

  Nyfe glanced at the pirates she had been talking to, then jerked her head toward the exit. The pirates walked away without argument, though with curious looks at Flick, Avery, and Jonathan. All except Edony, who stayed, leaning against the wall of the cave.

  “So, you received my summons,” Nyfe said once they were alone. She folded her arms over her chest.

  “Most ingenious, I have to admit,” Jonathan said. “I’ve never seen a message like that before. How does it work?”

  “By using blood-magic.”

  Jonathan blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Edony held up what looked like a marble, except that it was softly glowing in the gloom. Flick recognized it as being the same sort of glass container as the Thieves had used in Five Lights, though this one was much smaller. “We don’t use a
lot of magic,” Edony said, “but this technique is useful for sending messages long-distance. The marble is broken onto the letter, you see? And the released energy is activated to find the named person.”

  “Ah,” Jonathan nodded. “It’s a homing pigeon.”

  “Correct. Homes in on the named individual, or their closest blood relative.”

  “Well, it worked. I received your letter. The circle is collapsing, you said. Quite the claim to make.”

  “It’s not a claim,” Nyfe said. “It’s the truth. You’ve seen the boats floating on the water. I ask you: Where are the forests that grew the trees each plank is made from? Where are the mines that donated the iron for arrowheads, for bullets, for nails and buckles?”

  “Where?” Flick asked.

  Nyfe’s dark eye slid over to her, and she stared at her for several seconds. The temperature seemed to drop. Flick wondered how the pirate they’d passed in the cove, Jask, thought he could take on this woman. She was fearsome. She made you feel fear. “Those parts of the world have fallen away, girl,” she said. “Gone into the ether before my time, or my grandmother’s.”

  “Do you know why?” Avery said.

  “No.” Nyfe shook her head. “World’s always been shrinking, but those who lived in the past looked at it as a problem for the future. Not their job to keep us safe, they thought. Others would sort it out one day. Well. Now we are the ones in charge. And it’s happening too fast to stop it now. We’ve run out of time.” She looked away, and Flick had to remind herself to breathe.

  Jonathan frowned. “What is it you plan to do?”

  “We talk, first of all.” Nyfe indicated the water. “It’s taken me a long time to convince the mer-folk to parley with us. I plan to tell them there is still hope, and a way out. Which is where you come in.”

  “Me?” Jonathan went pale.

  “You own the means of transportation.” She waved an impatient hand. “The suitcases. The way out. For all of us.”

  “You own a suitcase, do you not?” Jonathan asked. “How else would have you sent me that letter?”

  “The ruler of the Break has access to one case only.” Nyfe raised a finger. “The case is passed from leader to leader as a sort of talisman. It was a gift, so they say, from the Strangeworlders back when my grandmother captained my ship. And using that suitcase is how I sent your summons—the message traveled from our world through that one, and then another and another until it found what it was looking for. But the land inside the suitcase is useless to us for any other purpose. It leads to a sand-covered world—a sweltering desert of nothing that is suitable for no one. We would not even survive traveling through it. We need another suitcase. One we can all travel through. One that leads to a water world. You can provide it, so we can move to another world to begin our lives again.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “You must.”

  “I can’t,” he repeated. “Living in a world that you were not born in is impossible.”

  “Not impossible,” Nyfe sniffed. “We know of people who have.”

  “Yes, but their lifespan is so greatly reduced that—”

  “And you think our lives are not about to be greatly reduced here?” Nyfe raised her voice.

  Flick and Avery shrank back in alarm, but Jonathan kept his skinny shoulders as square as he could.

  “Look,” he said. “The truth is, I’m not in a position to help anyone at this exact moment.”

  “What do you mean, Mercator?”

  Jonathan spread his hands. “Do you see a suitcase in my hands, Pirate Queen?”

  Nyfe’s expression went from annoyed to shocked in an instant. “How came you here, then?”

  “Oh, we came here through a suitcase.” Jonathan snorted. “But we were capsized by mer-folk on our way here. One of them stole the suitcase.”

  “Stole it?”

  Flick hunched slightly, wanting to disappear from view.

  Nyfe frowned. “There is bad blood between them and us. I’d thought we might be able to work together on this, but if they’re attacking my visitors before we even begin…”

  “But they saved me,” Flick added quickly. “I couldn’t find the surface, and I was panicking. They could have let me drown, but one of them pulled me to the surface and then out of the way of your ship. They saved me.”

  “That just makes it a robbery without murder.” Edony shrugged. “Just because you’re keen on one doesn’t mean you’ll happily do the other.”

  “Unless there’s more to it,” Nyfe said. She looked thoughtful; her formidable expression had softened slightly. Flick wondered if the Pirate Queen’s ferocity was real, or whether it was an act to cover her true feelings.

  Nyfe unfolded her arms and planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t mention that your suitcase has been stolen to anyone else, do you hear? Unless you want to feel the flat of my blade across your face.”

  The mood was lightened somewhat by Avery, whose stomach let out a growl that rumbled around the cave like thunder. She blushed.

  Nyfe gave a snort that might have been a laugh. “I need some time to think, and you evidently need something to eat. Let’s talk again after the meeting. And remember, you are here only to observe,” she repeated, pointing a finger at Jonathan like it was a cutlass. “This is my armada, my crew, my people, and my world. Understand?”

  “Yes, thank you,” he said, as if he’d been offered some luxurious Belgian chocolates.

  “Ed,” Nyfe said, addressing Edony. “Take them to Jereme.”

  9

  Jereme hardly seemed like a pirate. He was incredibly well-spoken and moved like a dancer, dodging around other pirates and skipping over puddles without a single pause. He accepted Flick and her friends from Edony, who looked glad to be rid of them, and led the three of them to a curve of rock at the back of the cave, where there was a table, several benches, and various pots bubbling over banked-up fires. The warmth was delicious, and Flick sighed as her bare feet touched warm rock and the heat began to spread into her muscles.

  Jereme lifted the lid of one pot and inhaled the steam.

  “What are the choices?” Avery sank onto the ground in relief, spreading her legs out in front of her. Flick flopped down beside her, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline from earlier had clearly worn off.

  “Well,” Jereme said, checking the pots, “there’s confit, or tafelspitz, or—”

  “Tafelspitz?” Jonathan frowned.

  “Meat and apple stew,” Jereme said. “It’s good if you add some buckthorn berries to it.” Jereme scooped up a spoonful and tasted it. “Been cooking long enough. Carrots are a bit soft, mind. Here…” He picked up what Flick had assumed was a disk of dried tar, pulled a knife from his belt and deftly slit the thing in half, then opened it up like a pita bread. “Once this is filled with hot tafel, you tell me that it isn’t worth crossing an ocean for.”

  He did the honors and handed Flick one half of the black bread, now steaming with tafelspitz.

  She licked at it. It tasted only vaguely of apples, mostly of carrot and some other unidentifiable green. She took a nibble and decided that it was probably safe. The black bread had an aftertaste like liquorice.

  Avery bit into her bread-half without preamble and then hastily fanned her open mouth, giving everyone a good look at some half-chewed black bread. “Hot,” she said, unnecessarily.

  Jereme smiled. “We’re supposed to make it with beef,” he said, handing Jonathan a half, and taking the last one for himself. “But it’s been many a year since I ate cow. None left anymore.”

  Flick swallowed, looking at the strips of red-gray meat in her pocket of bread. “Then what meat do you use?”

  “Depends what we can get.” Jereme shrugged. “I think this is—”

  “I’d really rather not know, if it’s all the same to you,” Jonathan said, false cheeriness making him sound slightly hysterical. “I’m supposed to be vegetarian; this is testing
me enough as it is. Let’s just pretend it’s chicken and be done with it.”

  “It might be.” Jereme shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Everyone fell silent, and Flick swallowed her food quickly, trying not to let her brain fill in the blanks about the nature of the mystery meat. Avery clearly didn’t care what it was. She had found a spoon from somewhere and was scooping out the last of the stew from her bread. When she asked for more, Jereme gave her a helping of what he called “casso,” which he promised was made of seagull meat and nothing else.

  “Seagulls are basically rats,” Avery said, blowing the steam from a hot spoonful.

  “If it’s rat you’re interested in,” Jereme said, “I know that Cook likes to finely chop the tails and add them into the—”

  “NO,” Jonathan boomed, killing the explanation. “No, thank you. Let’s not sit discussing which vermin are in which pot.” He examined what was left of his black bread, before popping it into his mouth. “No chance of a dessert, I suppose?”

  “A desert?” Jereme frowned.

  “Desserrrrrrrrrt.” Jonathan drawled it out. “A sweet. Afters. Pudding.”

  “Cook does a stomach-and-blood pudding,” Jereme said innocently.

  Even Avery said no to that. Instead, they washed their meal down with cold tea, having refused the alcoholic-smelling cloudy juice Jereme offered around (though Avery had a swig of it when Jonathan’s back was turned. She later told Flick it tasted like paint stripper, though Flick had to wonder how she knew that). Then they gathered their things and headed back toward the largest cave.

  The meeting of the captains and Pirate Queen was about to begin.

  10

  The walls of the tunnel leading back to the main room were a blur of stalagmites and stalactites, which blended together into ridges of rock. It was like stepping into the island’s rib cage. It was cold. It was the sort of cold that dripped down your throat into your lungs and made you want to cough it out, as if the cold were an object lodged in your chest, stealing your breath.