I back away, grinding my teeth together so violently my jaw aches. Then without another word, I head away from him, down the shore. I know that what I need to do is stop myself from caring about Tiam. Just stay as far away as possible. Because if it hurts this much to lose a person you love, I don’t think I can live through it twice.
Six
Deliberate Disguises
We get our best sleep before the low tide horn, but I don’t sleep. When the sun rises, I’m still sitting alone at the base of the platform, popping the blisters and picking the brown scabs on my stump raw while watching the outlines of the fishermen in the distance as they throw their lines into the tossing waves. I’ve spent most of my life trying to press my stump against my ribs, keep it out of sight and sun with hopes it’ll be less noticeable. But right now I don’t care how visible it is.
I reach into my bag and pull out a small, ancient box. I am not sure what was once kept inside. There were words written on top long ago, but now they are gone. I slide it open and tap the smooth brown shell a few times. A claw pops out. “Hi, Clam, it’s me,” I whisper, sticking bits of kelp and fish beside him. “Sorry I neglected you.”
The hermit crab attacks a bit with its claws and then disappears. I think I have more in common with Clam than anyone on the island. “I know,” I say to it, looking down at my silly white dress, “I may look different, but I’m still the same. I don’t like coming out of my shell any more than you do.”
Clam was my dad’s pet. He gave it to me before he left. As a companion. He knew I didn’t talk to anyone else. Only him. He wanted me to have someone to tell my troubles to. Someone to trust.
“He’s a good little fellow,” he’d said, popping him into the back of my bag. “He won’t let you down.”
“Dad, do you have to go? Why does it have to be you?”
“It has to be me. I made a promise to our king. And I can’t put this off any longer. And...look at me.”
I looked into his soft blue eyes. I knew what he was going to say.
“I want to keep you safe. And I can no longer stay here, on this island, and keep you safe. Do you understand?”
And he turned around and pushed the raft into the churning waves.
I remember wanting desperately for him to say he would be back, even if he knew it was a lie. But he didn’t. It was as if he knew he’d never see me again. As if he knew he would fail. But he’d made a promise to the king. He never lied, and he never broke promises.
Xilia and Mutter are arguing a little ways off. Something about scribblers on the platform again. I realize Mutter has a spear with a dead scribbler attached to it. He’s poking it at her, taunting her. “It’s coming after you, Xil!” Mutter hisses, as Xilia spits and throws handfuls of sand at him.
I shiver and look at the crab. Clam is a good listener, sure, but a sad substitute for my father. In a million tides, I’d never understand why he thought sending himself off to certain death would keep me safe. Surely I’d be safer with him here.
I suppose that my mother didn’t love my father and just used him to have me. He certainly never spoke of her, and whenever I asked, he’d quickly change the subject. But as long as I can remember, Buck was always there for me, always smiling. He was the one who taught me to read, filled my mind with history of ages past. Here, love doesn’t exist, and we don’t talk about it. I think some people on the island don’t even know what it is anymore. But though we never said it, I know: my father and I loved each other.
Once, he told me about the solar system, about all the planets, and how they rely on the sun. How nothing in this solar system could exist without the sun. When he left on the Explore, I felt so weak I couldn’t help wondering if he was my sun. If every day without him, I’d wither more and more. Yesterday, when I’d gotten my new job, I’d almost felt as if there was another source of energy giving me strength. I almost felt as if I could make it. But now, as I sit slumped against the concrete barrier, I feel weaker than ever. My sun has gone out.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, staring at the horizon, willing my father to come back, to take that blue kerchief from my hand, pat my head and say, “Ah! Thanks for finding it.” Eventually I put Clam back into my bag and stand, swallowing the knot in my throat. He’s gone. Tiam will soon be my king, and then he will become almost as distant to me as my father. I’m alone. Completely alone. I wonder how many chips need to be made in my shell before I succumb to the madness like Mutter and Xilia.
Outside our sleeping compartment, a line begins to form. My stomach rumbles, and suddenly I remember. It’s time for the morning meal. I haven’t eaten anything since the last morning meal. We always have fish, probably bluefish, with fine, translucent bones that stick in between my teeth and catch in the back of my throat. Very rarely, we’ll have corvina, my namesake, but it’s a rare delicacy, and there’s no room to be choosy here. If I don’t line up in a hurry, there may not be enough for me. Even if there are twenty fewer people in line today, because some of the casualties were fishermen. Not having enough food is something new. There always used to be enough to eat, I think, because my father was a fisherman, and he would sooner die himself than see others starve when it was his responsibility. Now, though, the fishermen rarely pull in enough for all of us.
I walk to the end of the line, behind Xilia. I wonder what things she’s seen, what terrible losses have brought her to her state of madness. Somehow, I feel closer to her, as if I understand her. But then Xilia turns to me and scowls, her mouth opening into a cave so that I can see each rotten brown stub of tooth. “What are you doing here?” she demands. “You’re a royal servant now. They take their meals in the castle.”
“They do?” I ask. I’d never noticed.
“Of course. The king doesn’t want the royal servants to associate with rabble like us,” she says.
“That’s not true,” I protest. “What about the formation?”
“They have no choice about that,” she says. “Now scoot before us commoners get after you for being greedy and going after two meals.”
“But that’s not what...” By now the others in the line are looking at me, their eyes frightening slits. I always knew I disgusted them, but I’ve never seen such hateful looks in their eyes. I back away. “Okay, sorry,” I mumble, and hurry toward the castle.
Before I make it even ten steps, someone tugs on my sleeve. I whirl. It’s Finn. His face is pleasant, the first welcoming face I’ve seen in a while, and I guess it’s just what I need right now because I find myself leaning into him. “Don’t be alarmed. They’re just on edge because of what happened during the last formation, and because we haven’t been bringing in much food lately.”
“Oh,” I say. “I know. It’s okay.”
He smiles. “I wanted to congratulate you on your new position.”
“Thank you.”
“And it’s obviously hard to turn down an offer like that. I did want to...” He seems reluctant, but as if there’s something he needs to say. “I heard that the king’s men dragged you off like a criminal.”
“Well, yes. It was kind of unexpected, but—”
“It wasn’t right, Coe. If I’d been there, I’d have done something.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t have wanted you to. They didn’t hurt me.”
“Still, it was wrong. And some of us think it was too much. How dare they?”
“Some of you?” It suddenly dawns on me what he’s saying, but it seems impossible for them to get so worked up over me. “No, it really was no big deal. Tiam was there. He could tell you what—”
“I saw you speaking with Tiam. Be careful with him, okay?”
“With him?” I shake my head. “We’ve always been... It’s like—” I bite my tongue. I really don’t know what it’s like, and I feel myself blushing because of what I want it to be.
He nods. “Well, that’s good. He’s not a very serious person, is he? He has a rather silly side. One that I think will get him in trouble.”
I nearly burst out laughing. Tiam isn’t going to get in trouble.... He’s going to be king. And he’s the closest thing to a friend that most people on this island have. He’s no threat. Yes, he’s different, but... Suddenly I realize something. Different people are the ones who seem to suffer most in this world. My father. Me. And now Tiam. “But why? You mean because of how he acts in formation? He was just trying to get Fern to calm down.”
“That may be so, but his conduct is less than appropriate, considering people are losing their lives,” he says. “It has a lot of people upset.”
I stare at him. A lot of people? Surely he’s mistaken. Tiam is well liked, as Buck was. He and only he would be able to restore the peace we need in this kingdom. Without him, there is no hope for us. “You’re wrong. It’s just a bit of fun,” I whisper. “Everyone must know that.”
“Does fun have a place here?”
“Yes, it does!” I say. “I hate this. I hate tide after tide of gloom. Tiam makes us forget—”
“But not in the formation,” he says, his eyes boring into me. “Not when people are fighting for—and losing—their lives. I know it’s good to blow off steam. But blatant disregard—”
“He doesn’t mean that,” I say.
“Maybe he doesn’t, but it comes off that way. Consider it. And consider your place with the princess. She obviously chose you for a reason. Do you see what I mean?”
I shake my head, but as I study his face, it begins to fall into place. If people don’t like the royals, and I’m in the princess’s favor, where does that leave me? And if they hate Wallow so much, if Tiam becomes king, will they accept him, if it’s under Wallow’s direction? “I understand,” I say. “But I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m just doing my job.”
Finn nods. “But like I told you, it doesn’t matter what you think. What you show...that matters. Do you see?”
“Yes,” I answer, swallowing the knot in my throat. “I saw in the assembly that you were nominated. To take over when the king dies.”
“I thought you guys were spying out there!” He laughs, then hangs his head. “I suppose. If that’s what the people want, then I will not go against it.”
“What if the king wants something else? What if he has plans to be carried out before he dies? This is the Wallows’ kingdom, and we wouldn’t be here without their generosity. Is there no allegiance to their rule at all? Do we just throw it away?”
“I understand how you feel, Coe. That is the way Buck felt, too. Do whatever can be done to preserve the peace. But that was when most of the world believed in the goodness of the Wallows. They believed that Star was a sign from the gods that things would get better. But things have only gotten worse. And now, most of the world thinks his leadership, and his ideas, whatever they may be, are damaging to us. Whether I take his place, I think, is up to the people of this world. That is the best way to preserve the peace, don’t you think?”
I nod.
There are a thousand goose bumps springing up on my arms, and he must notice them, because he says, “I’m sorry. Hey. Do you remember when we were younger? When that giant sea turtle shell washed up on shore?”
Yes, of course I remember. I was about ten, and he was maybe thirteen. Back then, he and Tiam were even friends. But eventually Tiam, though younger, started besting him in races along the shore, in pulling in fish, well, in everything. I think that was why they grew apart. Finn couldn’t stand a younger kid doing things better than he could. Anyway, one day, a turtle shell washed up on shore. It was huge. We took it to the royals, thinking they’d want it, but it smelled, so they let the commoners have it. The commoners spent twenty tides trying to determine what to do with it. Ana wanted to use it as a pot for soup, other people wanted to make it into a bathtub and let everyone use it on rotation. “Oh, yeah. That night. We all convinced Mutter it would make a good boat.”
He smiles. “And he believed it. And it sank like a rock the second he launched it.”
I laugh, remembering him thrashing about in the ocean, shrieking like a seagull for his “boat.” We never found it again, after that. “He had one foot in, ready to cast off, and it just disappeared. He was so sure it was going to float!”
He nods. “Now, that was a bit of fun. But things were different then.”
Things were different. He doesn’t have to tell me how. Back then, we still had shreds of hope. But fun does seem out of place when there is no hope left.
He says goodbye, and still warmed by the memory of us as kids, I turn toward the castle.
At the castle entrance, two guards nod and pull open the enormous metal doors to let me pass. I’m less anxious than the first time I came this way, so I notice more. There are faded letters, like the ones in my room, written above the castle doors in big block print. W OW HO L.
WowHol? Then I make out an I to the right of the first W. WI OW. I think some letters are missing. Two L’s, probably, for WILLOW, the people who have always reigned. I wonder when in history they began substituting an A for the I and started going by Wallow. I guess it probably happened gradually, as everything does, once they stopped learning to read and write. The HO L must have once been HOTEL. The Willow Hotel was mentioned in the diary I have, though the Kettlefish ancestor who wrote about it used a lot of antiquated phrases that didn’t make sense. I’m not really even sure what a hotel is. I suppose it is another word for palace.
As I walk down the vast foyer, I notice there are faded letters above the arched doorways to every room, but I don’t stop to read them. One has the letters DININ over it. The smell of cooked fish wafts out to meet me, and my mouth starts to water. There are tables and chairs inside, and some people are eating. A moment later I realize the letters must have once spelled out DINING.
I follow an incredible aroma toward a banquet table. I’ve never smelled anything that has made my mouth water so much. Cordon, the cook, who is permanently blue-tinged, bulgy and hairless, like a jellyfish, is doling out heaping spoonfuls of some sort of fish chowder from an enormous pot. The pot is so huge I think that everyone on the island could eat and go back for seconds and thirds. He doesn’t look at me, just places a bowl in front of me, and I go and find a seat alone, in a corner. It feels weird to eat at a table instead of sitting in the sand, balancing my bowl between my knees.
Even though it burns my tongue, I practically pour the chowder down my throat, it’s so good. I am not sure what Cordon has done, but this has a taste I’ve never experienced before. Every meal outside tastes the same, like fish and salt. When I’m done, my belly growls, wanting more. I wipe my chin and realize it’s wet, then look down and notice my stupid white garment has an orange stain down the front. Perfect.
“You’d best change before the princess sees you looking like that,” a voice says.
It’s Burbur. She has her cart with her and is placing little shell-and-seaweed sculptures at the center of each table. Ridiculous decorations. Considering all the ridiculous decorations I’ve already seen in my short time in the castle, that poor woman probably never rests.
“Change?” I ask. I was thinking I would find some water and try to wash it out. After all, I’ve only been wearing it a day. I’d worn my old tunic a thousand-plus tides without changing.
“Of course. You’ll wear a fresh garment after every formation. I’ve hung yours in your room.”
“But that isn’t—”
“It’s the king’s orders. Besides, pressed together with the commoners, our garments tend to get dingy and smelly.” She presses her lips together. “Now, go on, hurry. If the princess sees you, she will be upset.”
Muttering to myself about how unnecessary it all is, I jump to my feet and scurry up the form
al staircase, trying to find my way back to my room. At the door, I pull back the curtain to find that all the little trinkets are back in place on the damp vanity. Other than a few wet spots on the stone floor, there’s nothing to indicate the room was underwater a short time ago. As promised, a new gauzy white garment is hanging near the doorway. It’s probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but it looks even shorter than the other one. I quickly change into it and realize I’m right—this one hits only my midthigh. I think of Star’s bare navel and wonder if this is the way it’s supposed to fit.
As I’m turning in front of the mirror, trying to stretch the material to at least graze my knees but getting nowhere, a form appears in the door. I know from the flash of pink that it is the princess. She’s wearing a scowl. “I must have forgotten to mention. After every high tide you must, immediately, come up to the tower to see if there is anything you can do for me.” She shakes her head. “Come at once. I require a bath.”
I follow dutifully at her heels as she leads me to the winding staircase to the infamous tower. There is a bell at the base of the tower, small, shiny brass. Here, the hallway is nearly black except for the light streaming through a small window, open only a crack. I inspect the walls, and then I realize that the window is not closed off. It is not a window at all. It’s simply a hole in the wall. There are markings surrounding it, and they remind me of my scars. Some are mere scratches, but others are deep, jagged slits, crisscrossing the wall, as if somebody had been digging away at it, trying to loosen the stones. Trying to make the tower fall?
“What is—” I begin, raising my finger to point, but she silences me with a loud shush. Her eyes linger on it for a moment, and she shudders, then hastens her pace up the stairs.
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