But—
“Actually, Lais.”
“Mmm?”
“I don’t know if anything will come of it. I don’t know if he’s even noticed me, in the romantic sense of ‘noticed,’ but—”
“But someone’s caught that roving eye of yours?”
She nodded.
“Ah,” he said, and he didn’t seem at all put out. “Someone is in for a treat, then.”
“What do you say to that? Thank you?”
“It is a compliment,” he purred, rubbing her nose companionably.
The door opened before he could release her.
It was Parrish. He had a couple of cups of steaming tea on a tray and a faintly stricken look on his face.
Oh come on, Sophie thought. It’s not as if he’d got my bodice unlaced. The thought was bolder than she felt; blushing, she disentangled herself.
“Lais Dariach, this is Captain Garland Parrish.”
“Kir Dariach.” He was flustered, enough so that when he bowed, he almost dropped the tea things on the floor. “I—ah—of course. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I suppose, being raised by monks, it was inevitable he’d be prudish.
“Lais has given me a summons,” Sophie said, waving it.
What am I doing?
“Ah. That’s very … a summons?”
“It’s a legal excuse to come back, Parrish.”
Since Sophie’s attempt to smooth over the awkwardness was dead in the water, Lais gave it a try. “Tiladene owes you a debt too, Captain. “If you ever need—”
“Ah. No. And I’m intruding. Kir Hansa—” He bowed. “I came to wish you fair winds.”
“Call me Sophie, Parrish. And maybe I’ll see you when—”
But he was gone—the hatch closed with a click.
“—when I come back,” she said.
“Flailers,” Lais said. He flung himself onto one of Annela’s plush couches, grinning. “Don’t worry. He’ll head straight to the medic for some eyewash, I imagine.”
“Yeah,” Sophie said, feeling suddenly downcast—abandoned, almost. “I suppose he will.”
CHAPTER 28
She almost didn’t get to say good-bye to Cly.
After Lais left, she and Bram found themselves confined to Annela’s rooms, checking on the remains of their stuff. She’d had to give up both cameras; Bram lost his scientific equipment. She’d willingly left the diving supplies, all but the tank. “Keep it on Nightjar,” she said. “Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to need it again.”
“Sounds good,” Verena said. “It’ll be waiting if you manage to return.”
A harassed-looking clerk cracked the door and said, “His Honor the Duelist-Adjudicator would like a word, Kir.”
Sophie glanced at Verena.
“Be back in seven minutes,” she said, handing her back her phone. It had been wiped, set back to its factory presets. “Time it on this.”
“Okay.” She followed the clerk to a small audience room.
Cly enfolded her in a hug as soon as she walked in the door. “You should assume that someone’s listening,” he whispered, before saying in a normal tone, “You look lovely, my dear.”
“I look like a little girl dressed in her mommy’s clothes.”
“You sell yourself short. Sophie, your presentation to the Convene was…” He paused, searching for the right word.
In the past she’d have quailed, expecting something like “substandard.”
“Innovative. Revolutionary, perhaps,” he said. “You may have set a precedent by which those with tarnished honor may regain some capacity for addressing the courts and government.”
“You really don’t have a standard of proof here?”
“Oh, court cases occasionally revolve around evidentiary matters, when there are no good witnesses. It’s easier to duel them out,” he said. “But what you’ve done is raise the question of whether a person’s word should be the first line … but I’m wasting our precious time on constitutional minutia. Forgive me.”
She found herself smiling a bit, at the quaintness of his manners. “It sucks we didn’t get more time together!”
“Must you go?”
“For a while,” she said. “I’ve got a—sort of a ticket back.”
He nodded, as if this what he’d expected. “With your permission, I’d like to take steps to establish our familial relationship by the time you do return.”
“What do you need for that—DNA?”
He looked at her blankly.
“A biosample? A few hairs?”
“I have your name.” He circled the room, brushing the walls with his long fingers, with restless energy. “And I expect Beatrice will swear she honored our marriage vows.”
“Will that make me Sylvanner?”
“It’s a first step. There would be others. You can decide later.”
“About Beatrice … I wish you’d go easy on her.”
He made that gesture, the waving away of an airborne pest, and she thought that she could get tired of that fast. “Twenty-four years,” he said. “Almost your entire childhood. I can’t but feel robbed of something so fundamental…”
“I know, but—”
The clerk tapped at the door. “Two minutes, Kir.”
“Okay.” Had five minutes already elapsed? “Would you think about it?”
“For you, of course.” Cly’s smile was easy and gracious. Was it sincere?
“I have to go.”
“You must, you must. But come back to me, child, as soon as you can.” His eyes were alight. Whatever his flaws, Cly Banning wanted to know her—wanted it badly. And that was irresistible.
“Count on it,” Sophie said.
He walked her back to the others and kissed her forehead. “Good-bye, remarkable one,” he said gravely. “Go with my blessings and know that I am proud.”
She was tearing up. “Bye, Cly.”
The clerk ushered him away and Verena took out the big pewter timepiece again. The switch home was much like the transit to Erinth—there was a gust of wind, a sense of her vision blurring, and suddenly they were in a bare room with old wallpaper, a thin carpet, and a loudly ticking grandfather clock.
The floor beneath her feet was still; they were on dry land.
“Is this Beatrice’s place?” Bram said.
“Yes. We’re in Bernal.” Verena opened the curtains, letting in the light. Through the window was a thick, familiar wash of San Francisco summer fog. Telegraph Hill was barely visible in the distance. Car engines hummed at them from the mist.
Home. Despite everything, her heart lifted.
Bram’s phone beeped.
He dug it out, glancing at it.
“You texted me even when we were both there?”
“It made me feel better when you were kidnapped.”
“And people think I’m a geek.”
Sophie brushed that off, turning to Verena. “So … we’re okay, you and I?”
“Yeah. I’ll be on Stormwrack a lot, especially until Mom gets home, but I’ll call when I’m in town. I thought maybe the three of us could all … get to know each other a bit?”
“Of course,” Bram said. “But you and Sophie might also want—”
“Right. Alone time. Sister time.” Verena blushed.
“It’s okay, guys,” Sophie said. “There’s something about the idea of us becoming a weird sibling trio that seems…”
“Optimal?” Verena said, with a ghost of a smile.
“Super-duper-optimal, even. I’d love it if we could all hang.”
“Okay,” Verena said. She seemed to struggle with something before saying, “Listen, I’m sorry you had to write off being Verdanii.”
“I barely know what I gave up.”
“I’ll try and spell it out one day.”
“Sure. And Beatrice? She won’t really go to jail?”
“Banning must want to be divorced. He’s got to let her off the hook, doesn’t he?”
I’m reckoned by some an ill-tempered and vengeful fellow. Was it true, or had he been posturing to scare John Coine?
“I know what Mom did was wrong. And she more or less went out of her way to make a bad impression on you,” Verena said. “It’s like a gift she has. But give her a chance, okay?”
“I’ll give her one if she gives me one,” Sophie said.
“It takes her time to get used to change,” she said.
“Okay. Thanks.”
There was a moment of awkward flapping.
“This is the part where you hug, idiots,” Bram said, and then he folded them into a three-way squeeze.
Sister, Sophie thought. She found herself beaming into Verena’s face. “I got a little sister out of all this!”
“Okay,” Verena said, turning pink. “I have to get back before the Fleet moves. Um … this…” She handed them each a long sheaf of pages. “It’s your copy of the repudiation of citizenship, and also the paperwork on traveling from the Fleet to here.”
“It’s longer than the last visa.”
“Annela felt it necessary to go into exhaustive detail about how Stormwrack’s a secret. Tell anyone else and you’re seriously toast.”
“What can they do?”
“The whole world’s got your name, remember?” She opened the sliding doors to the sidewalk. “Don’t tempt Annela to scrip you forgetful or something.”
“Would she?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I’ll have what’s left of your trunk sent to your place as soon as I have another look for video files,” Verena said. “And—I’ll call you?”
“Yes, please.”
Bram’s phone chirped again.
Dammit, Sophie thought. “Come on, Bramble,” she said cheerily, catching his arm and strolling out.
“Don’t let them know how smart you are?” he asked, reading another of the texts she’d sent while the Golden had him.
“They’d grind you up for genius powder and put it into inscriptions.”
“Eye of newt, toe of Bram.” He rubbed his forehead. “Friggin’ magic.”
“I know.” They were at the fence, through the gate. She was listening for footsteps, but no—they were clear, standing on an ordinary sidewalk in a familiar American neighborhood. Pigeons clucked at her from the awning of a corner grocery down the road.
“So,” he said. “What now?”
“I don’t know where to start. You never figured out the land mass thing.”
“You’re already planning a trip back?”
“Gotta. I have to get another look at those otter rafts.”
“Even if you got data, you couldn’t publish here.”
“Maybe they have a scientific journal or two on Stormwrack. Besides, I want to get to know Cly.”
“Right.”
“I’ll have to make the most of Lais’s summons, or get some kind of permit out of Annela to come and go.” She’d never felt so full of plans … of direction.
Bram’s phone beeped. “Hang on, I am going to get you out of this. It will all be okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry— Seriously, Sofe, how many times did you text me?”
“I was upset!”
The jingle of a streetcar made them pick up the pace. They climbed aboard, heading for downtown. There wasn’t much to see. The fog was thick enough to make shadows of everyone on the street, to turn the buildings gray.
Another beep, from both their phones this time.
“Oh Emm Gee,” Bram said. “It’s the fourteenth. The parents are coming back today. Their flight lands in ninety minutes.”
Suddenly the prospect of seeing their lovely, sane, low-drama parents was the best idea in the world. “We should go pick them up!”
“Sofe, look at yourself. You’re dressed like Bridezilla.”
“Can we make it to your place and back again?”
“Are you kidding? We’ll ditch the dress at the nearest mall.”
“Can’t ditch it,” she said.
“You’d keep that as a souvenir?”
She tried to maintain an innocent expression.
“What have you done?”
“Done? Me?”
“Ducks.”
“If it turns out a few seeds and bits of shell got caught in the weird damned petticoat, that’s not my fault. Oh! And did you see that Erinthian princess dresses have pockets?” She produced the glass jar with the repulsive jeweler’s wasp.
He covered it with his hand. “You smuggled samples home. If anyone finds out—”
“I could have forgotten it was there.”
“I wondered why you weren’t mourning your data trove.” He frowned suspiciously. “Still, how much could you have shoved down your petticoat? A few seeds and a pickled bug…”
She couldn’t help bouncing in her seat.
“You got video? But Annela ordered you not to smuggle any data out.”
“Yeah. She ordered me twenty-four hours ago,” she said.
“But you’ve sent me texts.” He took her smartphone, looking suspicious, looking for files. Verena had deleted everything, setting the thing back to its factory presets and confiscating the data chip for good measure. “Nothing here … what did you do?”
“I sent the phone home in the pouch, with Verena, when she came back here for Beatrice. I told her I’d sent Mom and Dad an e-mail so they wouldn’t report us missing. Which I did, incidentally.”
“So Verena brought it here, the phone sent the text and synced all your files up to that point to the cloud, and … Sofe, what if she gets into trouble?”
“Haha! Thought of that. She couldn’t get into the courier pouch. Even if she’d realized what I was up to, she couldn’t have done anything about it.”
“Maybe you are a lawyer’s daughter after all.”
“See?” By now she’d gotten the phone online and accessed her cloud storage. “Here are my video files up to the point where she went to get Beatrice. And here’s the stuff you filmed in Erinth, all those books from the library, and some of your measurements.”
She saw the relief on his face.
“Your otter raft … that stuff’s gone?”
“I need to to go back and dive it properly anyway. With a partner and a plan and no damned monsters! And at least a week to look at everything. But in the meantime, we have pink narwals and the Tallon shipyards and the Erinthian market and a respectable chunk of the Conto’s library and John Coine being a creepy, threatening ass.”
“Sneaky,” Bram said. “You’re learning to hide your cards.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult? Oh!” She pointed as a shopping center loomed out of the mist. “I know what we’ll do. You can buy me a normal outfit somewhere, so I can go to the airport, and we’ll get a gym bag for the dress.”
“I can buy?”
“I maxed out my credit card buying cameras.”
They hopped off at the next stop.
“Mall air,” said Bram as they stepped through the doors. “Air conditioning and French fries. I thought we were never gonna get home.”
“Dry land, and the smell of pizza baking under heat lamps,” she said, raising her skirt above the food court floor. A gust of breeze—air conditioning, or a current from the open doors, caught the skirt, tugging her forward and in, pressing it and her samples against the backs of her legs.
Wind in my sails, she thought, and that was exactly it. Even though she didn’t know anything—how she was going to get a toehold into Stormwrack, what Cly was truly like, whether things would work out with Verena—she felt, perhaps for the first time, like her life was on course.
“Princess!” A little girl bounded up and down in a booth, waving a hot dog. “Mommy, look! Princess!”
“Princess Sophie,” Bram said. “Of Sylvanna?”
; “Of no great nation,” Sophie corrected, feeling strangely cheerful. Sketching a curtsy at the kid, she locked arms with her brother, sweeping into the familiar fluorescent-lit world of the mall.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A. M. Dellamonica is a recent transplant to Toronto, Ontario, having moved there in 2013 with her wife, Kelly Robson, after twenty-two years in Vancouver. She has been publishing short fiction since the early nineties in venues like Asimov’s, Strange Horizons, and Tor.com, as well as numerous anthologies. Her 2005 alternate history of Joan of Arc, “A Key to the Illuminated Heretic,” was short-listed for the Sidewise Award and the Nebula.
Her first novel, Indigo Springs, won the 2010 Sunburst Award for Canadian Literature of the Fantastic; she is also a Canada Council Grant Recipient.
Dellamonica teaches writing courses through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. Child of a Hidden Sea is her third novel.
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