by Chris Howard
I may have preferred my science teacher Mr. Henderson to the others, but I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Vilnious. And I certainly didn’t want to piss her off. I’d heard all the stories from last year’s class—she could be a total witch if you got on her bad side.
Unfortunately, I saw disappointment in the old woman’s eyes when she called me back and told me to wait while the rest of the class left the room.
My shoulders went rigid. Damn, I’m in trouble. None of those delicate butterflies in my stomach—not for me. It was a giant octopus unfolding, eight arms wrestling in a pool of ink and acid inside me.
“You’re a smart girl, Kassandra, but you make it difficult when you pull a stunt like running away from St. Clement’s.” Mrs. Vilnious glared at me in an angry motherly sort of way.
I hate that look. It makes my knees shake.
I stopped biting my lip because there was something I could read in Vilnious’ face, a struggle of some sort going on behind it. I risked a bolder look directly into her eyes.
Vilnious took a step back, almost a hop, and then looked away, startled as she pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes. I saw fear in them, just for a second, and then she wiped the expression away, set her glasses back in place, and turned back to me.
She’s afraid of me. Why?
In a low voice, Vilnious said, “I do not like that director any more than you do, girl. She came down here this morning and told me you were not to go to your elective classes for the next two weeks. I told her to go to...well, never mind what I told her. She knows you like science and... way of punishing you... she has brought me into this.”
By the time Mrs. Vilnious reached the end of her sentence she was fuming and had lost the ability to articulate a clear thought into speech. She pointed a bony finger skyward, puffed some weird sort of curse about strangling weeds and then waved me away.
“Oh, go on. I’ll deal with Ms. Matrothy if she comes looking for you.”
I nodded happily, tightened my grip on my book bag—and my gurgling stomach, and ran to class.
Mr. Henderson was tall, over six feet and half way to seven before Nature had apparently stepped in and told him to knock it off. He had coarse blond hair, sloppily parted in the middle. Funny hair. I mean his hair looked like the thatched roof of a medieval cottage.
He had university degrees in chemistry and biology on the wall in old frames with cloudy glass. He’d studied with famous marine biologists and biochemists. He’d done his thesis on Clownfish reproduction, and there were faded color photos of him in t-shirt and shorts on some Pacific island, standing next to three or four other scientists with scraggly beards.
He always complained that no one ever asked him about science. Everyone wanted to know if he played basketball, and he always gave them his trying-to-keep-it-civil answer, “Of course. Who hasn’t played basketball? Professionally? No.”
I never asked him about basketball.
I had asked him about breathing underwater the day before yesterday, but he’d been in Matrothy Recovery Mode after the director’s intimidation attack, and he’d handed me the “impossible with our current mammalian breathing apparatus” line.
So yesterday, I thought I’d go for another attempt to make his day and ask him about sound traveling through water, and how it worked.
“Very interesting subject.” He’d nodded at me with one of those huge you’re-reading-my-mind smiles that teachers use when you ask them exactly the right question. “The science of sound is called acoustics.”
And then everything had gone sideways. I had nodded back, and said, “Yes, from the Greek, akoustos, which means audible.”
Mr. Henderson had stopped and stared at me. Then I stopped and stared at myself, mainly at my shoes, trying to cover my shock.
Where had that come from? It hadn’t been Praxinos’ voice speaking the answers. I knew that, and I said it confidently.
Henderson had recovered, nodding his head. “Yes. I believe so. I took three semesters of Ancient Greek in college, had to, and two of Latin.” He had straightened his wire-rim glasses. “You have a language class here at St. Clement’s. Do they teach the classics?”
Shaking my head, still trying to pry through my memories for an explanation, “No. It’s...I like Homer...You know, The Iliad, The Odyssey...I just picked that up somewhere.”
And Mr. Henderson said he was impressed, and wrote something nice about me in his grade book.
Cool.
Today, I rushed into class late and made a lot of noise getting to my seat.
Marcus, one of the guys in the first row stuck his foot out to trip me. I dodged it, but the weight of my book bag carried me forward, and I fell into my desk, catching the wooden edge in the ribs before sliding into the seat.
I threw him an I’ll-kill-you-after-class look. I wasn’t really going to kill him. Marcus was cute, so I’d cut him a break. Then I swung to the front of the room to say sorry.
There was no need. Henderson wasn’t even paying attention.
He was half-leaning, half-sitting on his desk, rubbing his eyes with his glasses pushed up over his hand to his forehead. His hair was messier than normal. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
And when he focused on us, he wore a strange smile, a little scheming. He was about to teach something forbidden.
Even cooler.
Mr. Henderson levered his body off his desk and paced the width of the room, pushing his glasses up his nose. He stopped once, about to say something, and then went to the blackboard and picked up the chalk.
He drew a large circle and, toward the top, sticking out of it on each side, he drew the halves of two more circles. It looked like the beginnings of a giant cartoon mouse. He drew another small circle in what would have been the mouse’s forehead, and then wrote the letter H in the two semicircles.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?”
A few hands went into the air, and there were some chuckles and remarks about deformed rodents.
“Martin?”
Martin straightened in his chair. “Easy. That’s a monster mouse Cyclops.”
Mr. Henderson frowned and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, it does look a little like that. What would the two H’s be then?”
He looked around the room and picked the straight-A student. “Nicole?”
Almost bored, she said, “It’s a water molecule.”
Smartest person I know, Nicole. If it was up to me, I’d make her Queen of the World.
“Excellent.” Henderson went back to the board. “Water, for those of you who don’t know, is made up of two elements, hydrogen and oxygen.” He ran his finger around the circle in the center. “The big O is the oxygen atom and the two smaller circles are the hydrogens. They bind together to make a most remarkable thing.”
Then he stopped as if that was enough to get us thinking, and it gave him some time to do something very peculiar. He dashed to the classroom door and jerked it open to see if anyone was in the hall listening. He stuck his head through the doorway, and looked both ways before closing the door quietly. Then pulled his chair away from his desk and sat down in the center aisle of desks, lowering his voice even more.
“Today, we’re going to talk about the most important substance in the universe.”
I leaned forward.
“Water.”
Every student in the class released a held breath at the same time.
Some looked at each other with “that’s it?” expressions. Some began to smile and chuckle, thinking our teacher had finally cracked under Matrothy’s pressure.
Most—like me—waited for more.
“Water is really amazing stuff.” Mr. Henderson half turned in his chair and pointed at the molecule on the board. “Oxygen is what?”
“A gas?” several students asked at once.
“Right. So is hydrogen, the lightest of the elements. There is a connection between the fact that we need oxygen to breath and that water is a major part o
f almost every living thing.”
Mr. Henderson went to the board and wrote H2O in large letters and then returned to his seat. “That’s the chemical formula for water, a capital H, a two that goes a little below the line and a capital O. You pronounce it H-two-O, and it means two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. That’s water.”
Time to start taking notes. Mr. Henderson’s overly serious presentation made it sound like we’d better get this down because it was the only time he was ever going to talk about water. Strange. It was as if he wasn’t allowed to talk about it, that it was an off-limits subject, like do-it-yourself electroshock therapy, gene splicing, or how to make explosives out of common household chemicals.
Henderson gestured with the chalk. “One of the many remarkable things about water, one of its special properties, is that it’s a liquid at room temperature even though it’s made up of two gasses. Another is that frozen water, ice, expands, and even floats. In fact, water expands so forcefully that it can break metal pipes. Have you ever left a can of soda in the freezer?”
There was some nodding and laughing in the class.
“What happens to it?”
“It explodes?”
It wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but it was close. “Something like that. It bursts. The expanding soda, most of which is water, creates so much pressure it can literally tear open metal like you would tear a sheet of paper.”
“What else?” I asked, caught up in the excitement.
“Water’s in almost all living things. It surrounds us. It is a gas in the air as vapor, in the arctic as ice, a solid, in the creeks, rivers and swamps as a liquid. Lakes of water, seas of water, oceans of water. Water is everywhere.”
Mr. Henderson scooted his chair back and went to the board. He wrote in big letters,
EARTH IS AN OCEAN WORLD.
He grabbed the way-out-of-date globe off the shelves by the window, slammed it down in the center of his desk, and spun it until the colors of the landmasses blended into the oceans and the entire globe became blue.
“The oceans cover about seventy-one percent of the planet’s surface and the emergent lands, twenty-nine. There are over one point three billion cubic kilometers of ocean on our world.”
He dropped one hand over the top of the globe and stopped it.
“As humans, we tend to favor land. After all, we’re air-breathing land animals. We don’t have gills or any other natural method of underwater respiration—respiration’s another way of saying breathing,” he added when some of the class looked puzzled. “But this doesn’t mean we live an existence in which oceans, seas, lakes and rivers play no part. Look at our planet.” He used his fingers to spin the globe slowly. “The majority of our most populous cities are ports. People like living by water, whether it’s an ocean, a lake, river, or pond. All life on land is maintained by the oceans, from the air we breathe to much of our food and transportation.”
Seeing some skeptical frowns he added, “You’re wondering how the food we grow and eat has any connection with the oceans? Here we are in Nebraska, right? What connection could fields of grain have with the oceans? Easy. Rainwater. Rain clouds are formed out of the evaporation of water. Evaporation is just a fancy way of explaining how water gets into the air. When this happens in the oceans, the salts stay behind. Just the water”—he pointed at the H2O on the blackboard—”turns to vapor. Evaporation from the oceans accounts for more than ninety-five percent of all rainfall. That means almost every drop of rain that hits the earth was once part of an ocean somewhere.”
Chapter 12 - Too Much Water
“Any sign of kassandra?” Helodes asked in a cheery voice.
The sun had risen two hours before and the naiads were busy with the bathtub, sinks, coffee pots, and glasses, anything that would hold water.
They’d been hoarding glasses for a week. Limnoria had gone on cup foraging excursions into the motel’s lobby and dining room—twice.
The slow hollow tone of the bathtub being filled seemed to come from everywhere at once. The walls moaned with the sound of running water.
Helodes went to make sure the front door was closed and double-latched again. She got up and checked it every fifteen minutes even though no one had left the room by the door since the day before. As she crossed the room, she turned to listen to Parresia’s faint singing coming from the bathroom.
Olivia slouched in a worn cloth chair by the window, picking her teeth with her claw-like nails, itching to get back to her swamps and lakes. She sat and waited while her sisters went looking for that girl who wore the Wreath.
“Nothing,” said Limnoria absently, her finger dipped in one glass and her eyes staring intently into a dark blue coffee mug filled to the top with water.
“She’ll be in classes by now, right?”
“Huh?” Limnoria glanced up. “Yes. Most likely, but she might slip out for a drink at the fountain or use the sink in the ladies room. Then we’d know.”
“Any word from Agatha?”
“Nope. Of course not. Paranoid. Pretends she doesn’t have sisters.”
“I don’t think Kassandra left the school.”
“You said that already.” Limnoria growled the words, not easily forgetting that it was Helodes’ idiotic idea to lure the girl away from St. Clement’s in the first place.
“We couldn’t have missed her passing by in the river.” Helodes folded her arms, self-satisfied. “I think she was caught outside last night.”
“We’ll find out,” said Limnoria in a tone that silently add, If you’ll just shut up.
So Helodes went into the bathroom to bother Parresia. The eldest of the four naiads sat on the edge of the tub with her bare feet in the running water. She leaned forward, rocking and singing.
“See anything?”
Parresia stopped, but didn’t look away from the rough rippling surface of the water. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ve followed every large waterway to the Gulf of Mexico. I found four of our cousins along the way and none of them have seen her.” She lifted her head. “Oh, I saw Theupheides.”
“The one who likes to ride on trains?”
Parresia nodded. “He spent the last month in Galveston, right on the Gulf. Apparently there’s a railroad museum of some sort there. No sign of Kassandra, though.”
Helodes noticed the faraway look in her eyes and an almost imperceptible fear. “Is there something else?”
Parresia shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s been talking between someone up at the school and the seaborn. Abrulla still lives along the Mississippi and she said she’s heard the talk, very faint from the north but loud and furious from Atlantic.” Her brows lowered even more. “Abrulla said the sea king’s angry.”
“Got her!” Limnoria shrieked from the main room. “She’s at the school, just used the water fountain.”
Helodes and Parresia left the bathroom and stood around Limnoria, Parresia pressing her feet into the carpet to dry them. Even Olivia sat up straighter in the armchair. Limnoria leaned back, pulling her hands from the water.
“Well done, Limnoria,” said the eldest of the naiads.
“Parresia has some interesting news,” Helodes added brightly.
“What?” Limnoria glared back at them, thinking that Helodes just wanted to diminish what she’d accomplished, finding that damn girl.
Olivia gripped the arms of the chair, her claws digging into the soft material.
“King Tharsaleos may know about the Wreath-wearer.”
“What?” Limnoria took a quick sip of water. “How?”
“Someone’s been talking to the seaborn.”
“Another one from the sea at the school?
“Might be,” said Parresia. “Hand me one of the cups, dear.”
“Tharsaleos has agents everywhere,” said Helodes, passing a mug of water, shaking her head in an I-told-you-so sort of way.
Limnoria didn’t notice, still staring at the floor. “I once...” She started. Her voi
ce faded behind a frown. She put the glass to her lips and then drew it away. “I didn’t think much of it. Maybe some background coming up one of the rivers from the sea.”
“What is it?”
“I heard someone singing. The day we came ashore and took a room here at the motel. I heard a woman singing in the water. Very faint. And in Hellene.”
“Was it Agatha?”
Limnoria shook her head.
“Could still’ve been a naiad. You think it’s a seaborn?”
“What was the song?”
“Something about strength. I couldn’t really hear it, but it didn’t sound like a naiad, too rich and dark for lakes and rivers. It was like the song of a dying mother to her daughter. The singer stopped before the end, as if someone else had prevented her from continuing. I haven’t heard it since.”
There was silence between them for a minute before Helodes gulped down more water and broke it. “That was weeks ago. Who’s talking to the seaborn now?”
“How do you know it’s not that Kassandra girl herself?” Olivia squeaked.
Parresia’s glare stopped on her. She hadn’t thought of that. “That’s a good question, Olivia.”
“Back up,” said Limnoria. “How’d you find this out? You didn’t go all the way out to see the king did you?”
“Abrulla told me.”
“The one who lives on the Mississippi?” Limnoria frowned. “You don’t trust her, do you?”
“She told me. I didn’t ask. She said there’s been some talk between someone north of her and the seaborn below.”
“But that doesn’t—”
A firm rapping of knuckles on the door cut off their conversation. Helodes whisked off to see who could possibly be disturbing them at this hour of the morning. It was way too early to scare off the cleaning staff.
“Don’t let anyone in!” said Olivia in a feverish whisper, her hands thrown up into claws as if to fend off an attacker.
Limnoria pushed passed Parresia. “Why not?”
“Yeah. Let’s see what he wants.” Helodes had her face against the wood and her eye glued to the door viewer. “He looks friendly.”
