The Edge of the Ocean Read online

  “LAND HO!” came a yell from the crow’s nest above.

  It was time.

  The parley with the mer-people, and then, their escape.

  18

  As Flick predicted, there were more sailors rushing to and fro after the anchor dropped than anyone could keep track of. All the small wooden boats were readied to be lowered into the water to take them right up to the cove, and Avery placed a bag containing a pack of food and several corked bottles of water into the bottom of Lifeboat Four. With any luck, it would still be there later.

  Flick roused Jonathan from his hammock and directed him to wash, get dressed, and eat something. It was like looking after Freddy in some ways, except that Freddy didn’t give her dirty looks when she told him he needed to scrub his armpits.

  “I do not require babying,” Jonathan snapped as Flick waved a slice of black bread in front of him. “I’m just a bit under the weather, is all.”

  “And that’s fine,” Flick said, trying not to argue. “Avery and I have got it all sorted. You know the plan. All you need to do is follow us.”

  “You mean do as I’m told? Wonderful. I can’t wait to be dictated to by a pair of tweenagers.” He pushed his broth away. “Has it occurred to either of you that I’m going to have to speak up at this parley? We won’t be lurking in the shadows at the back, you know.”

  “What? Why?”

  Jonathan made a duh sound. “Captain Nyfe summoned me here. I’m the one, apparently, who somehow has to get all of these people to another world safely. I think I might be required to speak up.” He put his head in his hands. “I’d sell either one of you for a cup of decent tea, right now.”

  Flick felt rather put out. “We’ve been trying to think of how to evacuate everyone.”

  “Any bright ideas?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m shocked. Well, let’s see if we can’t at least get my suitcase back first. Your plan had better work, Felicity.”

  They joined Avery at Lifeboat Four, and eventually they were lowered into the sea. Jereme was at the oars again, this time with another sailor Flick didn’t recognize. Edony was sitting between them, her drum between her knees. Flick had learned that the delicate tattoos on her body were actually prayers.

  The Cove of Voices was located in a bite-shaped bay on the largest isle of the world. The water was a deep blue that reminded Flick of holiday adverts on TV. The waves didn’t crash here; they bobbed and ebbed gently, flowing quietly under large wooden walkways built on stilts that rose above the waterline. Huge ships were tethered out to sea, and from them came a fleet of smaller boats that were being tied off on these wooden jetties.

  The walkways joined together like roads, leading from the sea to a flat crescent-moon of pale sandy beach. The sand was pitted here and there with huge gray-white rocks, each one the size of a car.

  The Cove of Voices was so enormous that it felt more like a stadium than a beach, with raised platforms built around the edges that looked down onto an area of flat slate next to the water, clearly meant to be a stage of sorts. Flick noticed there was less pushing and jostling than there had been in the cave meeting a few days ago. In fact, all the sailors looked rather fearful and somber as they climbed ladders onto the high platforms, or else settled cross-legged on the dry sand, eyes on the as-yet empty stage.

  As soon as their jolly boat had been tied up, Jereme directed Flick and her friends to a couple of crates acting as seats near the stage. “Sit tight on these,” he said. “They’ll help you be seen when you’re called on to talk.”

  He promptly returned to Nyfe’s side. She was already standing, hands on her belt, boots apart, staring at the water that lapped at the beach with a thoughtful look on her face. A warm breeze ruffled her clothes, but it made Flick shiver.

  “Have you been to one of these before?” she asked Jonathan.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I doubt anyone has been to something like this before, though. A meeting between humans and mer-folk? It’s a historic occasion.”

  Avery squashed up closer to Flick as someone budged beside her on the crate. Between Jonathan on one side and Avery on the other, Flick felt like a walnut waiting to be cracked open. It didn’t help that both of them had very pointy elbows.

  The beach was packed now. Pirates were sitting on the platforms, boots dangling down. Small pirate children were sitting on their parents’ shoulders or running about underfoot. Taller pirates pushed forward against the shorter, who stood their ground firmly, arms folded and fingertips brushing the handles of their cutlasses. Out at sea, Flick could see the silhouettes of at least a dozen ships, maybe more. If each one was home to as many sailors as the Aconite, then there must be thousands of sailors packed onto this beach. How would anyone hear a thing?

  There was a great splash, interrupting her thoughts.

  In the bay, heads rose. Then shoulders, arms, and bodies surfaced, stopping at mid-chest. The mer-folk seemed to be resting on something unseen—some sort of underwater ledge that ran along the curve of the beach.

  These mer-folk were not like the ones that Flick had met in the ocean; they had scaly fronds down their arms and chest and through the clear water she also saw the glimmer of scaly fish tails, like mermaids from storybooks.

  Edony, standing a few paces away from Nyfe, banged her drum a few times, and Flick jumped at how loud the sound was. The curve of the bay seemed to act like a giant amplifier that even the mass of pirate bodies couldn’t dull.

  Nyfe watched the mer-folk crouch at the edge of the slate stage; then she sat down and crossed her legs so they were not exactly face-to-face, but closer in height than if she had stayed standing.

  The surrounding pirates fell silent. Even the children stopped chattering, clinging wordlessly to their parents.

  “Welcome, people of the waves, to this place,” Nyfe said. She didn’t have to raise her voice much to be heard. “We claim no ownership over this cove, nor ruling over this parley. Titles here mean nothing.” She inclined her head. “In this place, in this meeting, I am no longer the Pirate Queen. I am Nyfe. And I am your equal.”

  One of the mer-folk inched closer. Her face was similar to that of the mottled creature that had pulled Flick away from the path of the Aconite. Deep black eyes stared from overlarge sockets, and when she raised a hand, Flick could see that her four fingers had deep webbing in between them.

  She spoke, in a high-pitched voice. “All of you here know me as the Queen of Weeds.” She looked about, her expression defiant. “In the spirit of this parley, you may know me as Satura.”

  “Then let us talk, Satura,” Nyfe said. “Let us discuss what is happening to our world and what we must do to survive it.”

  19

  Our world is collapsing. And we must leave. All of us. Together.”

  There was a sudden chorus of upset and fright, as pirates and mer-folk alike shouted anxiously at Nyfe’s words.

  Not quite all of you, Flick thought bitterly. Jereme shouted for “Order!” but the bellowing only got louder. It reminded Flick of the time the TV had accidentally gotten stuck on BBC Parliament.

  Nyfe looked at Edony, who banged her drum hard with a stick until quiet fell.

  “Shut up, the lot of you,” Nyfe said, not raising her voice above a dangerous low note. “We can argue when we are safe. Every moment lost hastens our demise.”

  Satura pushed herself up the rocks. Her flat, muscular chest was marked with black and green patterns that ran down her skin like drips of paint. “Our tales say the tears in the sky are other worlds, and I believe you land-walkers say the same thing. If there are other worlds out there, can we consider them as a refuge?”

  Nyfe nodded. “Another world is our only hope, I agree. But to step into another world is not a simple task.”

  Satura considered. “This is magic that the people of the waves do not meddle with. Have you seen it done, Captain Nyfe, this stepping from one world to another?”

  Nyfe gave a grim sm
ile. “There are those who travel between worlds,” she said. “Those magic-wielders whom we call the Strangeworlders.”

  There was some uncomfortable shifting among the pirates and mer-people. Clearly, they didn’t like the sound of magic.

  “One of them was supposed to be our ally,” Nyfe went on. “But, unfortunately for us, he appears to have passed to the next world before we could ask his assistance.”

  Flick glanced at Jonathan, whose jaw had gone rigid.

  “Who was this man?” Satura asked.

  “His name was Daniel Mercator,” Nyfe said. She looked into the audience and pointed a finger directly at Jonathan. “And he was this young man’s father.”

  All eyes swiveled immediately to Jonathan, and Flick watched him blush fire-engine red, as though someone was filling him with dye from the feet up. He raised a hand. “Hello, everyone.”

  Satura sat up straighter. “What business does this boy and his family have in worlds other than their own?”

  Jonathan stood. He had put the piratical blue jacket back on over his shirt, and despite the lack of sleep and the emotional wreckage, he looked fairly certain of himself. “My name is Jonathan Mercator,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I am Head Custodian of the Strangeworlds Travel Agency. For over one hundred and forty years we have guarded the ways to other worlds. I was summoned here by the Pirate Queen,” he hesitated, “to take part in this parley.” He swallowed hard. Flick knew he was thinking about who the summons had really been for, and she hurt for him.

  Satura cocked her head to one side. “You guard gateways to other worlds? That is a great responsibility. What do you gain from it?”

  “Peace of mind,” Jonathan answered tiredly.

  The Mer-Queen looked skeptical. “I see. And you think you can help us?”

  “Nyfe Shaban thought I could,” he said. “However, what she wants isn’t something that I can provide.” He sat back down, as if his legs weren’t capable of holding him up any longer.

  “What did you ask for?” Satura asked, looking to Nyfe, who snorted.

  “Only what is necessary.” Nyfe waved a hand dismissively.

  “We gave you the best solution we had and you rejected it!” Flick cried out, standing up, fueled by a sudden rage.

  Nyfe was glaring daggers at her. “We are the pirates of the Break and the people of the waves,” Nyfe said, and there was an unmistakable threat in her voice. “We will find a way out. For all of us—past and present. No matter what it takes.”

  Satura gave Flick a look she couldn’t read, before turning back to Nyfe. “I do not foresee solving this issue this evening. And no doubt many of you have fears. I suggest those who sleep, do. And in the morning, we will open the floor to everyone, to hear every idea, and to share our plans.”

  “Before you adjourn”—Jonathan suddenly stood up—“I must say, Queen of the Mer-folk, that I would rather like the return of my property.”

  There was a murmur of confusion.

  “Your property?” she said.

  “My suitcase,” Jonathan said. “One of your people took it from us.”

  Satura’s mouth opened in surprise, and Nyfe’s expression turned murderous, her eye flashing in rage as she gripped her hands into fists. “Mercator…”

  Jonathan ignored her. He addressed the crowd. “You see, we did have a way out of this world—for some of you, at least. But it was stolen.”

  “It’s true,” Nyfe cut in quickly, standing up as well. “Stolen and handed over to those dregs—the Buccaneers.”

  Flick expected more shouting, but this time there was only a soft silence, and the sense of menace creeping through the air.

  “Captain Burnish has long tested us and our power,” Nyfe went on. “And now he is trying to keep the way out of this world for himself. This is our chance to rescue those sailors he has lashed to the deck of his rule, to take them under our own flag and help them escape this world with us. Who’s with me?”

  The question took the pirates by surprise, but after a second there was a roar of assent. It seemed they were keen on the idea of a battle to rescue fellow sailors from under the rule of apparent tyranny.

  Nyfe gave Jonathan a deathly stare as the cheers rang out. She’d been forced to reveal her plans for the Buccaneers, even if she had avoided mentioning what sort of “rescue” she really had in mind.

  Satura turned to one of her people and spoke quickly, in a language that sounded like a bow drawn over violin strings. Two of the mer-folk dived back beneath the water. She looked at Jonathan. “Your suitcase was not taken on my orders. We know nothing of it. But our people are sadly divided, much like the humans.”

  Jonathan opened his mouth to argue, before Flick prodded him firmly with a finger. He grimaced. “Very well,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Nyfe stretched, the muscles in her arms like steel bands. “The parley is suspended until tomorrow. Everyone, retire to your ships. Turn down the lights. Smaller boat crews first. My crew, wait here until I give the order.”

  Everyone began to move.

  “We need to go,” Flick said. “Quick, before she realizes we’re gone. Come on!” Avery nodded. Flick grabbed Jonathan by the sleeve and yanked him along.

  They scrambled down off the crates, trying to blend in with the moving sailors. No one gave them much of a glance, but that might change when they tried to take the boat. Especially since everyone now knew who they were.

  “We could do with a distraction,” Flick said, as they carved their way through the busy walkway. “Something to take the pirates’ eyes off the lifeboats. Especially the sailors from the Aconite.”

  “Start a fight?” Avery suggested.

  “Could do. Between who, though?”

  “Let’s just get to the boat,” Jonathan sighed. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

  They darted through the crowds, making it out onto the portion of the wooden jetty where their boat was moored. Lifeboat Four waited for them, a dark slice of wood on the water.

  Jonathan got to it first and climbed in, picking up the oars as Flick and Avery started to untie the boat from its mooring.

  Flick could feel that they were indeed being watched by the surrounding pirates. Curiously, though, not with malice. Perhaps the sailors were wondering why they were leaving when the crew of the Aconite had been asked to wait. Flick focused on the knots, which were surprisingly complicated. If she just kept looking like she knew what she was doing, like she was following orders, then, hopefully, none of the sailors would get too suspicious.

  Flick finished untying the knots without incident, and she and Avery quickly climbed into the boat. Jonathan loosened the rope holding the sail down, and it billowed out quickly, inflating in the warm air. The boom swung across, almost knocking Avery backward. Jonathan planted his boot against it to hold it in place. There was probably a better way of holding it still, but none of them had ever sailed before.

  “What could possibly go wrong?” Flick asked out loud.

  Avery burst out laughing, and Jonathan gave her an incredulous look.

  But the water was kind, and the wind was kinder. They were quickly blown out into the open water and managed to turn the boat to aim for the Scattered Isles. Flick’s sketched-out maps were passed from hand to hand as the three of them set sail away from one bunch of pirates in search of another.

  20

  After about four hours on the ocean, the wind dropped. It dropped entirely, the sail collapsing, hanging from the ropes like wet washing.

  Flick pulled at some of the ropes attaching the sails to the mast, but none of them seemed to be the right ones to roll the sail back up. It hung there, casting a shadow and blocking the view so the three occupants of the boat had to lean around it to see where they were going. And where they were going was nowhere.

  The boat was bobbing on the slack water like a lazy cork.

  All three of them had a go at rowing, but it was like stirring quick-dry cement. No mat
ter how much they heaved, the oars jammed themselves into the water and refused to come up properly, threatening to spring out of their hands. Either they didn’t have the right technique, or the water was actively resisting them. Flick didn’t like to guess which. She leaned against the mast in the shadows, feeling the utter stillness of the air. It was as though someone was slowly sucking the oxygen out of the world, and after an hour, Flick caught herself yawning.

  “Tired?” Jonathan asked. There were dark purple blushes under his own eyes, and he had hurt his hands trying to get the oars to work.

  Flick let her head roll to one side. “They’re going to catch us.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they’re becalmed, too. And they don’t have oars, so they can’t even try to row.”

  “So it’s a race to see who can pick up some wind first.” Flick looked at the limp sails.

  Avery rested her chin on the edge of the boat. “I always knew I’d die like this.”

  “At sea, you mean?” Jonathan asked.

  “No—of sheer boredom.”

  Flick gave a small laugh. Jonathan went back to the sheet of paper he’d been examining. He had been making adjustments to Flick’s copied map as they sailed, though Flick didn’t see how he knew what changes to make given there were no landmarks—nothing but water in every direction, right up to the horizon. Occasionally, one of the dark waves would crest and break with white foam, but otherwise there was nothing.

  “The wind will come back,” Flick said, not expecting either of them to reply. “It has to.”

  And then the sun came out.

  It dawned suddenly, as though someone had switched on an enormous bulb, bright yellow-white light streaming into the world of the Break through the rips in the fabric of the sky.