The Oyster Thief

by Sonia Faruqi

  The words struck Coralline in slow motion, like repeated clobbers to her head. She slid away numbly from the ampoule, feeling as though the walls were closing in on her. The back of her tail bumped into the sage’s settee, and she fell upon it in a daze, her blood pumping thinly through her veins.

  Ecklon was betraying her. While Coralline was away on a mission to save her brother’s life, Ecklon was betraying her. Coralline imagined Rosette’s long red hair draping his chest, their scales shimmering together, silver and crimson. Perhaps at this very moment, they were lying together in the Mansion.

  You’ve loved Ecklon six months, Rosette had said to Coralline. I’ve loved him since I was six years old. I’ll steal him away from you before your wedding, mark my words! And I promise I’ll ruin you.

  Could Sage Dahlia be wrong? Coralline wondered. No, she couldn’t; she’d been right about everything else.

  Ecklon was betraying her.

  20

  Immoral and Immortal

  Wow!” Coralline gasped.

  The Ball was in an auditorium-like building called The Cupola. It had a dome-shaped ceiling and windows in the shape of half-moons, each half-moon facing its counterpart to form a full. Hundreds of luciferin orbs traversed the ceiling, like constellations in a bustling galaxy, and they dangled also in threaded clusters over pillars, making Izar think of bunches of grapes. Most mermaids wore sequined corsets that reflected and amplified the light of the luciferin orbs, creating a kaleidoscopic effect throughout The Cupola. Izar had the sense of having swum into a swirling disco ball.

  From the corner of his eye, he admired Coralline in profile: Her corset shimmered with silver sequins like droplets of starlight. At breakfast, when Coralline had told Linatella she had nothing to wear to the Ball, Izar had decided to get her a corset. The one he’d chosen for her fit like a glove, its single strap emphasizing the slender line of her shoulders and the hourglass curve of her waist. He had purchased it at a little shop called Bravura and had presented it to Coralline just before the Ball. He had never given a woman, let alone a mermaid, clothing before, and had been nervous at the gift, but Coralline’s eyes had sparkled, and she’d beamed and hugged him, appearing more pleased by the thirty-carapace corset than Ascella had been by the thirty-thousand-dollar bracelet he’d given her on her birthday. But as soon as Coralline had clutched the fabric in her hands, Izar had regretted his choice—in both its silver color and single strap, the bodice very much resembled the gown Ascella had worn during his last dinner with her at Yacht.

  While Izar had waited in the living room, Linatella, a hair dresser by profession, had helped Coralline get ready for the Ball, twirling her hair elaborately over one shoulder and embedding little pewter shells throughout its length like stardust.

  Izar straightened the lapel of his own waistcoat, which, come to think of it, looked like a spaceship tuxedo. He’d never dressed to match a date before and would generally have laughed at such foppishness, but he’d gotten himself a waistcoat with a silver-sequined lapel to match Coralline’s corset.

  He had pondered it all afternoon, but he’d been unable to figure out what to make of the past between him and Coralline—the oil spill and reef blast—and the future—which would feature Castor. Giving up, he’d decided to think about it another time.

  Next to him in The Cupola, Coralline absentmindedly fingered the pale-pink shell at her throat. “Why do you always wear that shell?” Izar asked.

  “Oh, this?” Her hand dropped to her side. “It was a present.”

  “Anyone special?”

  Coralline was silent.

  The corner of Izar’s tailfin knocked a decanter out of a merman’s hand. Izar stopped to apologize, then he and Coralline continued to flit about The Cupola side by side. About equidistant between the floor and ceiling, they formed part of a middle layer of minglers. On land, people moved in a single layer about the floor, like ants; in the water, people moved above, they moved below, they formed numerous layers—which meant that any part of one’s body could bump into any part of anyone else’s at any time. In thronged spaces like The Cupola, people moved slowly, vertically, in order to avoid collisions, their tailfins generating no more than the gentlest of currents. But despite his deliberate slowness, Izar found himself having trouble not bumping into others. Mingling underwater seemed a sort of delicate dance.

  Izar picked up two decanters of parasol wine from the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Coralline. He liked the dark-green wine more this second time he drank it—it stung his throat less and tasted sweeter.

  Music started abruptly, emanating from a pod carved into the wall, where half a dozen musicians clutched instruments resembling violas, their fingers pressing into the strings until their nails whitened. Izar did not know how to dance on land, let alone in the water, but the wine started singing through his veins, making his tailfin flick automatically.

  The first song was called “The Undulating Jellyfish,” Coralline told him. She and he began fluttering up and down along with everyone else, their arms rising and falling like the tentacles of a jellyfish—but Izar’s hand smacked someone in the chin. After “The Undulating Jellyfish” came “The Anemone Dance,” which involved swaying loosely side to side, arms swinging right and left. The motions resembled those of a homeless man on drugs Izar had once seen, but he enjoyed performing the dance with Coralline. The third song was tender and tragic, of longing and separation, of love that would remain unrequited. Unlike the previous two numbers, this dance, “The Seahorse Sprance,” was a precise duo—Izar and Coralline twirled tautly up and down, arm in arm, as around an invisible pole.

  Then, before Izar could stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed Coralline.

  The lips that pressed themselves against hers were tender but insistent, pleading but punishing. Fingers rested like a whisper along her tailbone, then skipped up to the nape of her neck, creating pockets of tingles along the line of her spine. She leaned into the kiss. If Ecklon was betraying her, why should she not betray him?

  “Cora,” Izar said softly.

  “Coralline—” she corrected emphatically, pulling away. Only Ecklon ever called her Cora.

  Her hand curled around the rose petal tellin at her throat. The shell’s smoothness, its gentle ridges, felt foreign under her fingers. Ecklon was betraying her—not for one moment had she stopped thinking about it since Sage Dahlia Delaisi had told her—but, still, that did not justify her betraying him.

  What was she even doing here, at this Ball? Meet me at the center of The Cupola when the music ends, the back of the invitation to the Ball had stated. The Cupola was dome-shaped, and so its center was easy to pinpoint—and the floor was anyhow marked with a cross at the center—but who were they to meet at the center? Also, whoever it was, he would be looking for Tang Tarpon, not them. He would have no way of identifying Coralline and Izar, just as they had no way of identifying him. In fact, perhaps he’d heard of Tang’s death and decided to skip the Ball altogether.

  “What’s wrong?” Izar asked her.

  Coralline was too distraught to reply. She, who’d never had a tantrum before, felt like shouting with frustration. But then the music ended, and she busied herself with casting a frantic glance about The Cupola—for whom, she did not know. A face close to the ceiling caught her eye, belonging to a gangly, topaz-tailed merman wearing an off-white waistcoat. The merman’s hair formed disheveled, white-gray streaks, and his eyes looked feverish and brooding. His complexion made Coralline think of a green moray eel. She recognized him—she’d never met him, but, somehow, felt certain she knew him.

  His eyes were scanning the crowds, just like hers. Appearing to not have found the person he was looking for, he turned on his tail and started cutting a path toward the doors of The Cupola.

  “Let’s follow him!” Coralline called to Izar.

  Colliding into heads and tails, Coralline and Izar hurtled upward diagonally through The Cupola in the merman’s direction. But
he was almost at the doors, just about to disappear into the darkness outside—in which case he would be practically impossible to find. Swerving around people, apologizing over her shoulder for knocking decanters out of hands, Coralline reached the merman just in time. Huffing for breath, she tapped his shoulder from behind. He turned around, but Izar, coming to a sudden stop behind her, collided into her, such that she collided into the merman. The decanter of bell sea wine in the merman’s hand spilled upon his waistcoat, splotching the off-white fabric with green. He contemplated her with ill-concealed irritation from beneath ice-white eyebrows.

  At close range, his face was unmistakable: She had seen it in the inside-jacket cover of The Universe Demystified. “Are you Venant Veritate?”

  “Yes.”

  Beaming, Coralline introduced herself and Izar. She felt aflush with excitement at meeting her favorite author, but she tried to keep the giggle out of her voice and the idolism out of her eyes. “Are you looking for Tang Tarpon?” she asked. “And did you write the note on the back of Tang’s invitation to the Ball, requesting him to meet you when the music ends?”

  “Yes,” Venant said, looking from her to Izar in surprise. “Tang is a good friend of mine.”

  But of course: The only volume on Tang’s bookshelf other than the books he’d written himself had been The Universe Demystified. And of course Venant would be invited to the Ball of Blue Bottle, given his status as an esteemed stargazer. The murky anxiety that had just moments ago shrouded Coralline vanished—Venant was the most brilliant merman in Meristem, in her opinion. If anyone could help her find the elixir, it was he.

  “Where is Tang?” Venant asked.

  “Sadly, Tang has died. . . .” Coralline let her voice trail off.

  “I didn’t know that,” Venant said, his face turning a dull gray. “How did he die?”

  “He was murdered.”

  “By whom?”

  Coralline glanced at Izar before turning back to Venant and muttering, “We’re not sure.”

  “Is there a principal suspect at least?”

  “No,” she lied, swallowing her guilt. It would not do to inform Venant that she was the principal suspect in his friend’s murder. In addition to refusing to help her, he might well turn her in to the Constables Department of Blue Bottle. “We’re looking for the elixir,” she said. “Tang suggested that the merman who wrote the note on the invitation—you—might be able to help us find the elixir, just as you helped him, thirty years ago. Would you know where we can find the elixir?”

  Venant pointed a long forefinger toward the ceiling. Coralline glanced up at the luciferin orbs roving over it, then turned back to Venant quizzically.

  “Eons ago, a star exploded in one of them,” he said.

  “One of what?” she asked.

  “The constellations, of course.”

  “What do the constellations have to do with the elixir?” Izar asked.

  “Everything, given that the elixir is made of starlight.”

  “Hmm . . .” Coralline said. “But do you know where the elixir can be found?”

  “The deep sea.”

  But less was known about the deep sea than was known about the moon; was Venant the only person who did not know that? Had his studies of the universe led him to forget the basic tenets of life on earth? “The deep sea lies five thousand feet below the surface,” Coralline said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. “It’s a pitch-black abyss considered inaccessible to merpeople. Entering the deep sea is known to be a suicide mission. Wouldn’t we die if we were to go there?”

  “It’s possible,” Venant agreed.

  A throng was starting to form around them—people were beginning to recognize Venant. He squirmed visibly, wringing his hands.

  “If we were to enter the deep sea,” Izar said, “how would we proceed once there?”

  “I’ll tell you what I told Tang: Seek the light.”

  “But isn’t that an oxymoron,” Coralline countered, “given that not one iota of light penetrates the deep sea?”

  “If you require any further assistance,” Venant continued, as though Coralline had not spoken, “you may find me at my Telescope Tower. It’s a solitary place a short distance precisely southwest of Blue Bottle, about a half-hour’s swim from here.”

  “Any further assistance!” Coralline cried. “But you haven’t helped us at all. I can’t imagine how I ever admired you!”

  Venant’s lips pressed together, and he looked at her grimly. Then, with a swish of his tailfin, he swam out the doors.

  “Let’s leave!” Coralline fumed to Izar.

  She sliced a path through the throng toward the alcove where they’d deposited their satchels with a guard. They could have left their possessions in the Laminaria apartment, but Coralline’s satchel had been on her person so consistently over the last days that she now considered it almost a part of her—like a turtle shell—and had decided to bring it along with her to the Ball. Izar had done the same.

  On their way back to the Laminaria apartment, Coralline and Izar swam just over the seabed, because it was brightly lit by luciferin lampposts. Coralline knew it was farfetched, but she had hoped she would be leaving the Ball of Blue Bottle with the elixir in hand—she had even gone so far as to envision that, early tomorrow morning, she would start on her way home to Urchin Grove. Instead, at present, she did not even possess a reasonable path to the elixir, let alone the elixir itself.

  “What’s the matter, Cora?” Izar asked.

  “Everything’s the matter,” she snapped. “And how many times do I need to tell you—it’s Coralline!”

  He scrutinized her but did not say anything.

  Soon, Coralline saw the string-of-beads shape of the building Needle-to-the-Sky. Swinging her tailfin, she ascended from the seabed to the tenth-floor apartment, alongside Izar. But just as she reached the door, the waters above swirled as sharply as though clouds were plopping down into the ocean from the sky. The ripples were so thick and heavy that Coralline could see nothing through them, but she did not need to see to know who it was—Pavonis. The ripples were an alarm signal that something was wrong.

  “Don’t!” she whispered to Izar, but it was too late—he knocked on the door.

  It flew open immediately. Limpet stood there, accompanied not by Linatella but by two mermen. All three of them wore deep-purple waistcoats with the black seal of the Under-Ministry of Crime and Murder. Limpet was a constable, Coralline realized with a jolt. She’d been pleased about staying with Limpet and Linatella because she’d thought constables would not search for her in a home—she’d never imagined that her host himself might be a constable. No, that was not true—she had imagined it, just briefly; when she’d first seen Limpet at the outskirts of the clearing around the corner, she had thought of a constable.

  Now, his nostrils flared, and his brow furrowed dangerously—by sheltering someone beneath the law, he had, even if unintentionally, broken the law, probably for the first time in his life.

  “Hands up, Coralline!” he said. “Not a flick of your tailfin!”

  Coralline could not move even had she tried. In Limpet’s scowl, she saw the Wrongdoers’ Refinery; in his narrowed eyes, she saw a prison cell, with five bars across the windows, like gill slits. Her own gill slits no longer seemed to be functioning; she could not breathe.

  Limpet extended a hand through the doorway to grasp her arm, but his hand was blocked: Pavonis descended vertically in front of the door, a pillar of muscle. His thirty-foot-long body trapped Limpet and the two other constables indoors. The supper-plate-sized windows of the apartment were too small to fit through, and this door formed the only way in and out of the apartment—unlike houses, apartments did not have back doors. In order to get out, Limpet and the two other constables would have to push Pavonis away from the door.

  They started to thump his flesh, to push it with all their strength—Coralline could hear their efforts from Pavonis’s other side. “Go, Co
ralline, go!” Pavonis said, in a voice muffled with pain.

  “I’m not leaving without you,” she cried, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could.

  “Stop being a fool, Coralline!” said a shrill voice.

  Nacre. Coralline raised her head and looked about, discovering the snail on Pavonis’s head, forming a small, bumpy shape like a wart.

  “I’ll follow you, Coralline,” Pavonis muttered. “But I want you to get a head start on the constables.”

  “How will you follow me? How will you know where to find me? If we don’t leave here together, we may lose one another.”

  “We can meet Pavonis at the Telescope Tower,” Izar suggested hurriedly. “Venant said it’s just a half-hour’s swim precisely southwest of here.”

  “I’ll find you there,” Pavonis agreed, but with a grimace, as the wallops on the other side seemed to turn to thuds. “Now, go!”

  “I won’t leave you.” Coralline curled around Pavonis such that her tail and torso together formed a C-shape around his length.

  “Make yourself useful, human, and take her away!” Pavonis growled.

  Izar’s arm wrapped around Coralline’s waist, and, in a single swipe, wrenched her away from Pavonis.

  Abalone looked at Naiadum. His face was yellow and waxen, and his hands were folded over his chest as though he was already dead. Abalone wished she could leave his bedside, she wished she could change out of the mourning-black corset she’d been wearing for the last four days, but it would make her a bad mother. A good mother was supposed to sit by her son’s bedside and watch him die.

  “I hope Coralline returns with the elixir,” Trochid said. He was sitting on a chair to the other side of Naiadum’s bed, wearing a mourning-black waistcoat. “I wish she’d taken my dagger.”

  “I’m glad she didn’t,” Abalone rejoined. “Well-mannered mermaids don’t wield daggers.”

  “Manners will not help her on her elixir quest.”

  “Well, they will help her get married. And goodness knows she could use help in that department. I can’t even sleep anymore—that’s how worried I am that Ecklon will cancel his wedding to her. Did you know, Rosette has been spreading rumors that Coralline left Urchin Grove for a lover?”