If it was a good choice, yes. But your grandfather said rash. And mistake. We need to at least talk to him.
Kinchen glowered at the bright coral, the bright fish. The Raft King kidnapped my brother. I say we let him leave. I say we don’t help him.
But. Caesar tugged on Kinchen’s arm until Kinchen turned to look at her. Her eyes were dark and serious. Before he became king, he was always nice to us kids on Raftworld—even someone like me who didn’t have parents and wasn’t anyone important. He was a kind person. And he’s trying to fix our problems with not enough hydraulics, and too many people. He hasn’t figured out a solution yet, but he faces up to problems and tries to fix them. He could be a good king someday. And even if he never becomes good—
Yes?
We should still help him.
Kinchen sighed. She suspected Ren would agree with Caesar. But Ren wasn’t here. They walked again, keeping pace with the raft, and she thought to herself as they walked. If you could change someone’s mind—keep him from making a rash mistake, whatever that meant—should you? She wasn’t sure. Especially if that person had done something terrible, like drugging you and kidnapping your brother, then did you really have to help him find a home?
And if you did help, would it be like you were saying the terrible thing he did was okay? And even if Kinchen should help this man—even if all the answers to her questions lined up and spelled Help him—did she want to?
I can’t go up without you. Caesar’s thoughts contained a slight tinge of pleading. I’d just sink. I need you to swim me up.
Kinchen sighed, then realized something that made her decision a little easier. She could help Caesar, who could help the Raft King—which didn’t feel the same as she herself doing it. And she’d get her brother back. Okay. I’ll swim you up now.
• • •
AFTER A SHORT DISCUSSION, they decided that the best way would be for Caesar to climb on Kinchen’s back and ride her to the surface like a shell rides on a turtle. It was not an easy swim for Kinchen—especially since her arms, though no longer exhausted reeds, were still tired from her earlier swim. But she made it to the surface and pulled up at a middle edge of the raft, away from the hydraulics at each corner. Both girls grabbed on and heaved themselves aboard.
They lay on the dock, dripping and (in Kinchen’s case) panting, near a quiet garden outside a small house. Two children sat nearby, one on a folding chair and one on the ground, holding instruments: a small guitar-like harp that looked like its body was made from a bottle gourd, and a full-size xylophone. The first sounds that Kinchen and Caesar had heard when their heads popped out of the water were the sounds of children practicing scales in the plodding way people do when they would rather be elsewhere. The two young musicians—a girl wearing a brightly beaded necklace, and a boy with short twists of hair that ended just past his ears—froze when the girls rose from the water, dripping, the guitar-harp player with her thumbs and forefingers poised around the still-vibrating strings, the xylophonist with his mallets hovering above the wooden keys. The kids looked about eight years old.
Caesar waved. “I’m back,” she said. “To rescue someone and to persuade the Raft King not to be stupid.”
“Stupid and mean,” Kinchen added, thinking of what he’d done to Pip.
Slack-jawed, the children nodded.
“This is my friend Kinchen. From the Islands. Kinchen, this is Ije”—she gestured to the girl with the stringed instrument— “and Okoro”—she gestured to the boy, who lowered one mallet in a wave, still staring. “They’re learning music to accompany storytelling. Eventually, I mean. That’s a beginner’s kora.”
The girl held out her harp-guitar, while the boy said, “Her kora only has seven strings. My balafon is a real one like grown-ups use.” He banged a chord on his xylophone.
“That’s because the balafon is easier to play than the kora,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “All you have to do is hit things with sticks. I have to prop the instrument up and play with my thumbs and fingers all at the same time. And I have to tune it myself.” It sounded like an argument they’d had before.
Before they could continue, Caesar said, “Can you tell us where the king is?”
The kora player said, “Probably sleeping. There was a big party last night.”
The balafon player added, “Mama went. But she came back early to put us to bed.” He banged his xylophone again to punctuate.
“Where’s the boy from the Islands?”
“Living with Jupiter,” said the balafon boy, putting his mallets down. “They were at the party, too.”
“I bet the new boy doesn’t have to practice instruments,” said the kora girl gloomily, resting the guitar-harp against her knee. “I bet Jupiter just tells him stories all day long.”
A woman’s voice called from within the hut. “I don’t hear music. What will Miss Anna think? She might not let you study music with her anymore.”
The girl with the kora rolled her eyes, then readjusted her hands and picked out a seven-note scale quickly and badly. The boy echoed her on his balafon slightly less badly.
“Concentrate or come inside,” the woman’s voice said. But not angrily. The scales continued.
Caesar waved at the reluctant musicians and pulled Kinchen down a path that passed behind the house. As they left, a brief tune emerged from the scales and followed them.
• • •
THEY WALKED toward Jupiter’s house. The afternoon was warm and sunny, the light slanting into the gardens. Most people were eating supper—usually in their gardens—and didn’t see the girls walking past.
Caesar certainly didn’t attempt to hide, and when people did see her, she simply waved her jaunty wave and grinned at them. Puzzled, most of them grinned back.
One grown-up said, face long in surprise, “I thought you’d decided to live on the Islands.”
“Decided to come back—for a visit.”
“Ah.”
“Brought a friend. And I’m going to introduce her to the king.”
“Ah.”
When they were alone again, Kinchen said, “You decided to live on the Islands?”
“Well, I did agree to trade myself.”
“Not a trade if the other person was stolen,” Kinchen muttered.
“I know. Which is why we’re undoing it.” Caesar waved at a family eating dinner, who returned the gesture. “Yes, I’m back!” she called. In a lower voice than Kinchen would have thought her capable of, she added, “What I don’t understand is why all the secrecy. Why doesn’t the Raft King just tell people that he wants your brother to show him the way to the first world, and that he plans to go there? People would miss him for sure. But he’s a grown-up. He can decide for himself, right?”
“Right,” said Kinchen. She thought about how Ren had insisted on telling the story of how Raftworld came to be, how Venus had brought everyone over. He hadn’t had time to tell the end of the story, but she knew the main point: Venus held all their hands, and she brought her people through the doorway and to the second world . . .
And that was it. That was the answer. Venus brought everyone through with her. That was why Old Ren told that story.
“It’s not just the Raft King,” Kinchen said.
“What?”
“That’s why the Raft King is keeping secrets.”
“You’re not making sense.”
Kinchen paused to organize her thoughts. “What if—what if it wasn’t just that the Raft King wanted to go to the first world? What if he wanted to take all of Raftworld with him?”
Caesar frowned as if about to disagree. But then her face scrunched up in thought; and a moment later it opened up in understanding. “Oooh.” She thought again. “But we don’t know that for sure.”
“It would explain the secrecy, though.”
“
True. So—everyone gets dragged to another world.” Caesar wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t seem hardly fair to do that without telling them—asking them.”
Kinchen nodded, struck with another thought. And what about Pip? What would happen to him?
• • •
BEFORE THEY REACHED Jupiter’s house, they met up with two more adults carrying baskets of food as if heading home with dinner, both of whom said hello (with curious looks) and welcomed Caesar back (with questions in their voices). Caesar said, “We’re going to Jupiter to see the new boy from Raftworld.”
“They’re not at home,” one of the basket-carriers volunteered. “I saw them heading for the east dock when we were over that direction.”
“Jupiter and the boy,” added the second basket-carrier. Her voice shifted into something more serious. “They were with a couple of rowers. And the Raft King.”
“What is he up to?” Caesar asked, more to herself than anyone else.
“The Raft King?” asked the woman. “We don’t know.” She hesitated, as if not sure what to say. “We were just talking about him.” She held out an apple from her basket. “Supper?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” Caesar said, taking the fruit and biting in.
The man said, “We were talking about how he’s been a great king the past few months, since his father died. But recently—well, he’s gone kind of crazy.”
“How do you mean?” Caesar spoke with her mouth full.
The man shook his head. He was shorter than the woman and box-shaped: wide square face, hands like bricks. “He’s not even trying to solve our overcrowding problems anymore—he canceled the council meetings to discuss solutions this week and last.” He shifted his basket to his other hip. “We live in a one-room apartment above a family of six. And the king cancels the meetings. Says we don’t need to fix the overcrowding problem, that it will fix itself. And—well, he’s just acting odd.”
“And he traded you away, didn’t he?” asked the woman, as if such an action had showed the Raft King was out of his mind. She handed them each another apple. The woman had very dark skin, even darker than Caesar’s. With round cheeks and a round body, she was comfortable and huggable-looking. “You’re a child—it’s not lawful to send you off.”
“I agreed to it,” said Caesar, beginning to bounce on her toes. Kinchen frowned, eating her apple. Why was Caesar defending the king?
The woman’s voice lowered and her hand reached out for the girl’s shoulder. “Caesar. I know it’s been hard for you, and your adopted family wasn’t very warm—maybe too busy to really care for you . . .”
“What we mean is,” the man said, “if you’re coming back to Raftworld, you can come live with us. Our Ru and Soph think you’re wonderful, and they’d love to have you as a big sister. Don’t think you have to exile yourself to the Islands.”
“The Islands aren’t bad,” said Kinchen, offended.
“Oh, of course not,” said the woman. “But they’re not home.” She spoke to Caesar again. “You should know there are plenty of families that would love to take you in. That would love to have you.”
Caesar blinked. Blinked again, her face blank. She stopped bouncing.
Kinchen shifted, surprised at the conversation. She’d imagined Caesar as completely alone in the world. Looking at her friend’s face, she wondered if Caesar had been thinking of herself that way, too.
After freezing for a moment in thought, Caesar shook herself as if she’d just remembered something important. “Pip. We need to get to the east dock.”
• • •
AS KINCHEN and Caesar approached the dock, they slowed down. It was almost evening, and all the fishing boats were pulled in, the area deserted except for a group of four men, two of them rowers. Though they all stood near the edge of the dock with their backs to her and Caesar, gazing out to sea, Kinchen immediately recognized the old storyteller Jupiter with his ponytail of white hair and the tall, big-shouldered Raft King with his close-cropped hair.
But where was Pip?
A finger poked her in the side, hard. When Kinchen turned to glare, Caesar, otherwise motionless, gestured with her chin. “Just past them. Is that Pip?”
Kinchen had been looking for someone standing. But Pip was lying belly-down on the dock’s edge with his head and arms in the water, only his hips and legs anchoring him on the dock itself. Kinchen was thrown back momentarily to the memory of Pip floating in the pond behind the governor’s house. He lay just as still now (as far as she could see). This time, he wasn’t performing an entertainment for the Raft King. He was doing some kind of underwater job, something he’d either been tricked or forced into.
“That’s IT,” Kinchen yelled at the Raft King’s back. Caesar jumped in surprise next to her, but Kinchen didn’t take time to explain. She needed to stop this madness right now, save Pip, and get him home. “My brother isn’t working for you, you—kidnapper.”
She darted forward, meaning to grab Pip’s legs and haul him out of the water. She wouldn’t let him help the Raft King, not after all the king had done to them.
But as she shoved past the men to get to Pip, one of the guards grabbed her, not violently but firmly. As he held her shoulders, she screamed, more in anger than in fear. Caesar yelled something; the Raft King’s voice snapped out in reply; the guards spoke urgently.
And the old storyteller, above the din, bellowed one loud call. Everyone stopped, surprised, and in that moment of silence, Jupiter leaned both hands on his cane and said, “Kinchen, wait. Your brother isn’t in danger. Let the boy finish his work.”
“He’s helping the Raft King—”
“That’s right!” Caesar grabbed Jupiter’s hand as if she were going to pull him somewhere. “The man who kidnapped me and stuffed me in a sack—which wasn’t nice at all!” She glared at the king.
“He did what?” asked one of the guards. “Wait—you were the sack we dropped off on the Island?”
“He stole Pip!” Kinchen brought the conversation back to the most important topic. “I’m here to rescue him.”
The Raft King scowled. “You’re all—”
“Pip doesn’t need rescuing,” Jupiter said firmly. “He’s got everything worked out.”
“What do you mean?” Kinchen asked. How could Pip have things worked out? He could barely bring himself to talk to people.
“Wait and see,” said Jupiter. “I think he’s coming up.”
Sure enough, Pip’s hands reached up out of the water to grip the dock, his head and shoulders emerging as he scooted backward. On his knees, he sat now, heels to butt, and tossed his head back. From his hair the water flew backward in an arc, fountaining on the dock and spattering the closest guard, who jumped back. Pip rubbed his hands over his head, shaking more water out of his hair, and turned toward the guard, grinning. But when he saw more people on the dock, he froze, staring at them, his face suddenly blank.
Kinchen tilted her head so he could see the bleached stripe of hair.
“Kinchen!”
Pip’s voice was happy, excited—but not relieved, which was what Kinchen had expected. “I came for you,” she said. Her voice sounded almost whiny, even to herself.
Jupiter, meanwhile, hugged Caesar, slapping the back of her head gently. “Crazy person. Did you walk here?”
“Partway.”
His eyes glinted. “That sounds like a story. But maybe there are other things to discuss first.”
Pip rose and hugged Kinchen. Then he said to the king, “I’m going to tell you some of what the fish said. But not all of it. Because before that, we’re going to talk.”
PART FIVE
What the Raft King Thought.
1
IT MIGHT surprise you to know that while Pip was talking to the fish, his head underwater and his feet sprawled on the dock, the Raft King—standing with Jupiter an
d the two rowers—was not really thinking about Pip at all.
What the Raft King thought about was how he was Amelia’s adopted son and how she loved him and named him Putnam. And how she deserted him. Though he’d been only five years old when she left, he could not forget that day. Nor could anyone who was there—or who had heard the story. A woman riding away on birds? Everyone remembered that.
But the other thing the Raft King pondered was a moment known only to him: a conversation he’d had with his father just before the old man had died. Putnam had asked, more than once over the years, what the fish had said the day Amelia left, when his father had dunked his head and talked with them. What were their exact words? He wanted to parse those words, to look for a clue as to what had happened to his mother and why she had left him. But the old Raft King refused to divulge the specifics. He told Putnam merely that Amelia was gone, irretrievably—and safe—and back in her own world. More than that he would not say.
Until one day, shortly before his death, when Putnam was well over thirty years old, the old man did say.
The old Raft King had always seemed impossibly ancient to Putnam—perhaps it was the gray head he acquired before Putnam was even born, or perhaps it was his wife’s death at Putnam’s birth that aged him, or maybe it was Amelia’s disappearance that pressed on him. He had ruled Raftworld quietly, always asking the council for advice before making a decision and never rushing into roiled waters. He was at heart conservative, and the old ways carried weight with him. The old ways that he knew, that is: the ways of Raftworld and isolation and trading and traversing the second world and visiting the Islanders.
But shortly before he died, when the skin of his hands had turned ashy and his walking became a frail thing, he finally told his son what he thought had happened to Amelia—what the fish had told him.
“They said that Amelia’s birds carried her into the heart of a storm, where there was something—a doorway—”
“A doorway?” The two men, father and son, walked the king’s garden, the old man gripping his son’s arm for support.
A Crack in the Sea Page 18
