Song of the Current

by Sarah Tolcser

Maybe it did look strange to someone who wasn’t used to it. Another gull landed, wings flapping. When I moved, all five birds swiveled their necks to fix me with their beady eyes.

  “Caw,” the closest gull said solemnly.

  “They look like they’re watching you,” Markos said.

  I laughed. “Shoo!” I waved my arms at the birds and they scattered, which was fortunate, because everyone knows gulls will shit all over your deck.

  It seemed like no time passed before we were at the mouth of the River Hanu. I reluctantly rolled myself to a sitting position. The channel narrowed as Nemertes Water drained into the river, and on top of that the tide was rushing out, revealing mudflats on either side. It was a job for an experienced sailor.

  “Almost,” Markos said, relinquishing the tiller to Fee. His hair was mussed from the wind. “Almost, I thought I understood.”

  “Understood what?”

  “What you meant, before.” He ran his hand along Cormorant’s trim. “The life in her.”

  Standing to stretch his stiff legs, he froze. He squinted at the cabin roof, voice darkening. “What’s that?”

  I spun, whipping out my pistol. I heard the whisper of steel as Markos drew his blades.

  The air before us began to shimmer. I blinked. It had to be a trick of the light. The image of the river and the mud and the afternoon sky seemed to melt away and flutter to the deck, like someone throwing off a silken cloak.

  My cousin Kenté sat on the cabin roof.

  “Now that,” I said, my voice an uncertain croak, “was unsettling.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  “Stay back,” Markos warned. He grabbed my wrist, forcibly moving me behind him. “She may not be what she seems.”

  “Let go of me.” I tried to wrestle out of his grip, but he held on.

  “Only one manner of creature can completely hide itself like that.” He didn’t take his eyes off Kenté. “Caro, it’s a shadowman.”

  “Don’t be stupid. That’s not a shadowman.” The idea was so ridiculous, I wanted to laugh. “That’s my cousin Kenté.”

  “Is it? Then how did she get here?”

  Kenté uncrossed her legs and stood, smoothing her skirts. She wore the same green-and-gold-striped dress from dinner last night. “Easy as peas and pie,” she said. “Perhaps I wished to know the secret of why my cousin was in such a hurry to slip away from Siscema.” She studied Markos. “I seem to have found you.”

  He advanced on her, brandishing his blade. “I know an illusion when I see one. If you’re Cleandros, I’ll gut you right now, you traitor.”

  She gulped, eyeing the sword. “I would greatly prefer that you not gut me.” She held up her hands. “Caro? A little help here?”

  My mouth felt as dry as if I’d been chewing rope. Could a shadowman really mimic my cousin, right down to her twisted hair and upturned nose? He couldn’t possibly know what she looked like. I shuddered, a horrible image crawling over me like icy fingers. My cousins, laughing as they wandered innocently across the dark cobbled street on their way to the party … while the shadowman lurked, watching them.

  I shoved my Akhaian dagger against Kenté’s throat—or the shadowman’s. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

  Her amber eyes widened. “This,” she said, “is an awful lot of blades. I’m Kenté, I swear!” She nodded toward Markos. “But he has the right of it. I’m also a shadowman.”

  “What do you mean, you’re a shadowman?” I demanded.

  “The god of the night has had her finger on me since I was a little girl,” she said. “How else do you think I know so many secrets?”

  I almost believed her. Kenté was indeed sneaky—and besides, if this was Cleandros in disguise, come to murder Markos, why hadn’t he done it already? He might have stuck a knife in his back anytime today.

  “When last we spoke,” I said, “you told me a story. What kind of creature was the story about?”

  “That’s easy. A drakon. Though I never did get to that part.”

  Satisfied, I put the dagger away. “It’s Kenté.” I raised my eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got a nose for trouble.” She pushed Markos’s blade out of her face. “And you two seem to have a boatload of it. As for how I got on board, like I said, that was easy enough. I cloaked myself in an illusion and followed you to the docks. Then I stowed away in the cargo hold.” She brushed her dress. “Which, by the way, is very full of sawdust.”

  I felt somehow lighter now that she was here. It might almost have been one of our childhood adventures. Two girls, conspiring under the tented covers. Only we weren’t children anymore—the danger was real.

  “We ought to put you ashore,” I told her.

  She pouted. “You two look like you’re having shenanigans. And I want in.” She waggled a finger at me. “I came for the fun of it. But you’re going to keep me because I can help you.”

  Curse her, she was right.

  “How did you do that?” I asked. “The illusion. If you’re a shadowman, shouldn’t you only be able to work your magic at night?”

  “It’s simple. If I make the illusion at night, it will last during the day. Unless I end it, like I just have.”

  I noticed Markos staring at Kenté. My cousin was no prettier than me, although her dress displayed a good deal more cleavage.

  I smacked him on the arm. “You might keep your eyes up here.”

  “I wasn’t—” His cheeks flushed red.

  “You were.”

  “Maybe a little,” he muttered.

  “But how did you come to realize you have shadow magic?” I asked Kenté, ignoring the sharp way her eyes darted between Markos and me.

  “Something inside all of us is always calling out to the world.” She shrugged. “That’s what magic is: when something in the world calls back.”

  It wasn’t an answer, but Kenté’s cryptic words sparked recognition in me. Calling out to the world was exactly what I’d been doing, only the river wasn’t saying anything back.

  She went on. “I’ve been able to do little tricks as long as I can remember. I used to think I was just good at hiding, until …” A strange note came into her voice. “Three years ago I heard the god of the night call my name. Since then I’ve only gotten stronger. I can make the shadows come or go. I can see flashes of Jacaranda’s dreams when she sleeps. I’m sure I could do so much more with the proper training, but …” She sighed. “I don’t want to disappoint my parents.”

  “Is there a—a school for shadowmen or something?”

  “The Academy,” Markos said, rubbing his earring absently. I suspected he didn’t even notice when he was doing that. “In Trikkaia.”

  I understood what Kenté had left unsaid. The Bollards hadn’t the least notion why anyone might not want to be a member of a merchant company. My cousin was expected to make an advantageous marriage and go into the family offices. Her parents weren’t likely to approve of her skipping off to a school of magic. It wasn’t that the Bollards didn’t believe in gods or magic—they were just too practical to put much stock in such things.

  “Now.” She grinned. “You must tell me how you came to be mixed up with the Black Dogs.”

  All at once Fee sprang to her feet, dropping the tiller. Her rubbery lips stretched into a sneer. She put me in mind of an animal with its hackles raised.

  I lunged for the tiller, steadying Cormorant before she sailed into the mud. “What is it?”

  She squatted on the deck, peering over the lee side, where Cormorant’s shadow made the water dark. Markos’s hand had flown to his sword hilt, while Kenté merely watched with bemused interest. My pulse pounded hot in my ears, sweat dampening my forehead. Fee would never just drop the tiller like that. Not unless something was wrong. I squinted into the river, but it was too murky.

  Fee hissed at the water. “Monster,” she whispered.

  Keeping a hand on the tiller, I leaned out. Nothing moved
under the water.

  “Her.” Fee hugged herself tight. “Her.”

  “There’s nothing down there.” I reached out to touch her shoulder.

  Her eyes flashed. “Not right.” She flinched away, as if my fingers were fire. “Not here.”

  “What isn’t right?” I asked, aware of Markos’s and Kenté’s gaze fixed curiously on me. It had seemed—but that couldn’t be it. That made no sense. It seemed like Fee was afraid of me.

  She scuttled back. “Her,” she muttered, shaking her head over and over, and refused to say more.

  Once again I glanced at the dark ripples. I saw nothing, but shivered anyway.

  “Don’t you wonder what’s down there?” Markos grasped a stay and leaned out to gaze into the water. I wished he wouldn’t. Fee’s strange behavior had set me on edge. Monster. I couldn’t help picturing a great tentacle suddenly popping out of the river to grab him.

  “Nothing’s there,” I repeated.

  Images jumped into my head. Something massive stirring in the depths. Fish darting in and out of a barnacle-crusted ruin. A woman’s long hair floating. Swallowing, I focused my eyes on the river ahead.

  “So many mysteries in the world,” Markos mused. “For one, what do we really know about the gods?” He nodded at the water. “Why does yours speak to you, while Akhaia’s keeps silent? He must be a powerful god indeed.”

  Whatever was down there was not the god in the river. Fee wasn’t afraid of him.

  “What makes you say that?” My mouth was dry.

  “Well, look at all this luck we’ve been having.”

  I should’ve admitted the truth to him—that our luck had nothing to do with me. But I told myself my pride couldn’t take the hit. That was a lie. A person can live without pride. It’s just not very comfortable, is all.

  That night we moored on the bank of the River Hanu, where the gleaming mudflats and sea of marsh grass had given way to rolling hills dotted with rocks. We’d made excellent time that day, what with the fair wind, and hadn’t seen a sign of the Black Dogs. While we sailed, I had recounted for Kenté the story of our journey, ending with the escape from Bollard House. It was hard to believe that was only the night before. It seemed like a dim memory. If the weather stayed fair, in two days we would reach the Neck. From there it was only half a day’s sail to Casteria.

  I bolted the cabin window, drawing the curtains across. “Well, we’ve had no sighting of Victorianos.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Kenté saw my face. “You don’t think that’s a good thing?”

  I dropped onto the cushioned bench. “We know she went up the Kars. It’s Alektor I’m worried about.”

  “What worries you?” she asked.

  Unrolling Pa’s chart of the lower riverlands, I spread it on the table. “Where is she? Perhaps Philemon went to look for us in Iantiporos?” I trailed my finger down the map. “Thinking we mean to hide ourselves there, or apply to the Margravina for help?” I shook my head. “I don’t like this.”

  “The pirates who are trying to kill you have disappeared without a trace,” she said with amusement, “and you don’t like it.”

  I shrugged. “I just don’t.”

  Markos sat with his back to the wall, fingering his sword hilt. He stared ahead with a moody expression, refusing to participate in the conversation.

  Kenté snapped her fingers. “I just remembered! I brought something. It’s in the cargo hold.”

  Markos watched her scamper up the steps. Lowering his voice, he said, “It still seems like too much of a coincidence to me. Are you certain you trust her?”

  “As if she were my own sister,” I said, instantly regretting my choice of words.

  He pressed his lips into a white line but said nothing.

  Kenté returned, dragging a brocade shoulder bag. She rifled inside it. “Courtesy of the Bollard cellar.” With a flourish, she produced an amber glass bottle. “And now we drink.”

  “Oh, well done!” Kenté always had been remarkably good at sneaking drinks. Now I knew why. I grinned, taking the bottle. “Long live the Bollards!”

  I divvied out the mugs, carelessly splashing three fingers of rum in each. Fee dipped a long finger into hers, then stuck it in her mouth. Markos was still brooding on the opposite bench. I pushed a mug across the checkered tablecloth at him.

  He took a gulp, then coughed. “What is this swill?” he managed, spluttering.

  “Rum. The sailor’s drink.”

  “I suppose some might call that rum,” he said. “It tastes as if it was distilled in a slimy barrel with an old shoe at the bottom. It’s vile.”

  It was, a bit. But I didn’t dare admit I agreed.

  “What happens when we get to Casteria?” Kenté asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Markos shift, likely bristling at the word “we.” Perhaps I was asking too much of him. It was only over the course of days and several narrow escapes that he’d come to trust me. He didn’t know Kenté like I did.

  After a long hesitation, he said, “My family owns an estate in Casteria that my grandfather used to keep for fishing. Since his time, the house has fallen into disuse. My father …” He paused, a tremor in his voice. “My father had no interest in sport. However, we still own the property, which is maintained by a small staff. That’s where my sister, Daria, was sent. The instructions specify that the box shall only be opened by the Emparch or his representative.”

  I noticed the way he lingered on his sister’s name. For his sake I desperately hoped she had made it to Casteria—and that, unlike Cleandros, the servants there were trustworthy.

  “At least we have some assets.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Kenté’s magic, Fee’s extraordinary eyesight, my skill with a blade, and Caro’s—well, your knowledge of generally unlawful behavior.”

  “Plus three pistols,” I added. “And you’ll have your swords.”

  “What do I get?” Kenté asked in a fake wounded tone.

  “Shadows.”

  She made a face at me and turned to Markos. “What will you do after you rescue your sister?”

  “I hadn’t dared to think that far ahead.” He sipped his rum. “It tastes better if you don’t smell it.” He twirled the glass slowly on the table. “It’s my hope that some of my father’s advisers also escaped. They all knew we were to meet in Valonikos in case of … well, in case something like this ever happened.”

  “The Free City is lovely,” I told him. “It rises up on a big hill. The houses are whitewashed brick. There are porches with pink flowers spilling over them, and rooftop gardens. And temples with red domes.”

  “The Free City,” Markos repeated. “My father hated when people called it that.”

  “He would,” I muttered. “Seems to me Valonikos is doing perfectly fine without an Emparch. Did you know their Archon is elected by the people?” Even here in Kynthessa, cities were ruled by Archons appointed by the Margravina. Though the senate made most of the decisions, she still held on to a significant amount of power.

  “All very well for them,” Markos sniffed. I hoped he wasn’t about to get all stuffy again. “Akhaia is three hundred times the size of the Free City. It requires the stability that comes from a strong ruling class. If we turned around and handed all that power to the people, like Antidoros Peregrine wants to do, it might have disastrous consequences.”

  He was going to get all stuffy. I rolled my eyes. “You sound like you’re reciting from a book. What do you think? Not your tutors. You. Markos.”

  “I can think for myself, you know,” he said sourly.

  “Oh really?” I teased him.

  “A toast to Valolikos, then,” he announced, “just so Caro will cease pestering me about it.” He lifted his glass, finishing off the last of his rum. His eyes crinkled at the edges. “You know, this is the lightest I’ve felt in days. I actually feel like we might make it.”

  “That’s because you’re drunk.”

  “I’m not dru
nk.”

  “You are too.” Kenté grinned. “You said ‘Valolikos.’ I heard you.”

  “I didn’t. Valonikl—Valol—damn.”

  We all dissolved into snorts of laughter. “You’re a bad influence on me, you know.” I eyed the half-empty bottle. “The both of you.”

  Kenté wiggled her eyebrows, furtively gesturing toward Markos under the table. I elbowed her hard.

  “Well, I’m to bed,” she announced, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, Fee. Let’s fix me up a hammock.”

  The gods preserve us from meddling cousins.

  At once Markos and I leaped to our feet. “I’m just going to—” He grabbed the rum bottle.

  “Right,” I mumbled, my cheeks flushing as I bent to gather up the dishes. Kenté tapped one finger on the side of her nose before ducking through the curtain into the next cabin.

  Markos watched her go. “You’re different with her.”

  It seemed ridiculous that I had never noticed what a strikingly handsome combination blue eyes and black hair were. My heart was going at a frantic pace. I didn’t know where to look.

  “She’s my cousin.” I pretended to arrange the dirty dishes.

  “My cousin tried to assassinate me, so …” He shrugged.

  “Ayah. Your life is kind of a mess, isn’t it?”

  “It is. It really is.” He paused. “Caro, I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen when we get to Casteria.”

  I felt ashamed for having been laughing only minutes ago. And for thinking—well, whatever I’d been thinking.

  “If …” He took a deep breath. “The shadowman’s magic … it’s only broken when someone opens the box. What if everyone who knows Daria’s in there is dead?” He set his hand on my sleeve, and sparks rocketed through me. “Caro, if something happens to me and I don’t make it, you have to get her out. Promise me.”

  “You’re going to make it.”

  He wouldn’t let go of my arm. “Promise.”

  I didn’t see how I was supposed to make it out alive if he didn’t. We were on the same boat. We’d likely live or die together. “All right, I promise.”

  “Listen. In Valonikos there’s a house.” He spoke in a rush. “In Iphis Street. Go to that house and ask for Tychon Hypatos. His family are cousins to us. He’s a very wealthy man. He can help Daria.”