The creature stood up, and at once two merlads swam over. Call Shair Shair. Tell her we have a rare treat. Tell her to hurry. The Shoney seemed hardly able to wait. Soon Shair Shair came speeding across the courtyard and sprang with a great leap onto the dais. Her eyes were feral, like a wolf’s when interrupted at a kill. Her dress was flecked with bits of meat. A shudder passed through her body.
This had better be good, she said.
Heather ale, the Shoney said, holding up the bag. Immediately, she reached for it, crooning and wheedling, and he poured ale into her V-shaped mouth before taking some himself. The two of them entirely forgot they had company. They circled each other, uttering wild cries. They bounced around like capricorns, offering each other sips or teasingly holding the bag out of reach.
Thorgil turned her back and sat with her legs dangling over the side of the dais. “I don’t know about you, but I find this somewhat embarrassing.”
The Bard and Jack sat beside her. “It’s really good ale,” the Bard said. When they eventually turned back, the royal couple had gone and Whush was there.
The Shoney says you are to have the best bedroom in the castle, he said. He asked me to bring you man food and anything else you might require. He will discuss your request in the morning.
They gratefully followed the fin man through a door and down a winding hall to a large, round room with a domed ceiling as smooth and pink as the inside of a shell. It was lit by lamps made of a frail, transparent substance that cast a soothing light without adding heat. Whush brought them a platter of grilled eel, fried oysters, and clams. With it was a keg, surely salvaged from a ship, of fresh, sweet water.
“It is possible to have a good meal in this place,” said Jack, tucking into the eel.
“Yes, but the beds are still made out of kelp,” complained the Bard.
Chapter Thirty-five
THE DRAUGR’S TOMB
In spite of the damp, rubbery kelp, they all slept extremely well and woke feeling refreshed. Whush staggered in with bowls of clam chowder and ship’s biscuits, a hard, dry bread carried on voyages. He looked decidedly hungover.
They had to soak the bread in the chowder to render it soft enough to chew. “Where do you suppose they got this?” said Jack, gnawing on his chunk. “If it was from a sunken ship, wouldn’t it have fallen apart in the water?”
“Adult fin folk can leave the sea, though they prefer not to and dare not go far,” said the Bard. “Sometimes they take revenge on humans fishing in what they consider their part of the ocean. They snap fishing lines and make holes in nets. They also steal food for the human children they are raising. A toddler can’t survive without land food.”
When they were finished, Whush staggered back and led them through the halls to the Shoney’s audience chamber. On the way Jack distinctly heard the fin man muttering ow… ow ow… ow as he walked along. He seemed to have a thundering headache. Here and there in the hallways, fin folk were collapsed on the floor. “Kelp lager,” said the Bard, poking at one with his staff. “They never know when they’ve had enough.”
“Will the Shoney also be—?” Jack began.
“He doesn’t allow himself to get drunk. I wish he did, because he’d be easier to deal with. Let me do the talking. He’s going to be angry enough when I tell him why we’re here.”
The Shoney’s audience chamber was filled to overflowing with chests of jewels and coins. Odd treasures stood everywhere—statues, furniture, goblets, Christian crosses, vases painted with flowers, and bolts of cloth that shimmered like pearls. Thorgil touched one of the bolts, and her fingers came away shining with gold dust.
One statue was of a man with the head of a long-nosed dog. Another was of a dancer standing on one leg. He had four arms fanned out on either side of him. “Are there truly such people?” Jack whispered to the Bard.
I’ve never been sure, said the Shoney. He was sitting in a chair so surrounded by treasures that the boy hadn’t seen him. I haven’t seen anything like them, but my knowledge ends at the edge of the sea.
Jack thought each of the treasures was beautiful on its own, but when they were jumbled up together, it was hard to appreciate them. The chamber reminded him of the chief’s root cellar, with basket upon basket of apples, turnips, and onions, stacked with firewood and cider kegs.
“I am here for a serious purpose,” the Bard said.
You always are. What is it this time? The Shoney seemed unimpressed.
“I wish to speak of your daughter.”
The Shoney sat straight up as though he’d been stabbed. What right have you to ask about my child? It was your kind who slew her, your people who left her spirit to wander.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
I hunted for her murderer. I watched the Holy Isle, and he did not come within my reach. When the isle was destroyed, I rejoiced, but he was not among the bodies that fell into my realm. Long years have I searched for Father Severus. Have you come to deliver him into my hands?
“I can’t do that—hear me out!” The Bard raised his staff as the Shoney loomed over him. For the first time Jack felt a breeze in Notland. It came through the door and blew a film of shimmering dust from the treasures stacked around the room. The dust flowed along the floor, piling up in a shining border against a wall. The breeze died.
“Your daughter’s plea was brought before the councils of the nine worlds, and I gave my oath that I would free her spirit.” The Bard then described what had happened in the village. “In her rage and sorrow she slew innocent beings. For this she has lost the right to demand Father Severus’ death.”
The Shoney bellowed like an enraged bull. The ground shook and the vases and goblets rattled. Several fin men rushed into the chamber.
“Anger won’t save your daughter,” the Bard said in the shocking silence that followed. “If you truly care for her, you’ll listen to me.”
Be gone, all of you, the Shoney ordered his men. But don’t go far. I may need you to throw these humans into the giant eel pit.
“Threats won’t help either,” the Bard said calmly. “Really, Shoney, I expected more sense from you. You’re too old to throw tantrums.”
Jack thought the Bard had gone too far this time, because the Shoney raised a jeweled goblet as if he intended to bring it down on someone’s head. But after a moment he lowered his arm.
“Very good,” said the old man, as if he were lecturing an unruly child. “If your daughter starts killing again, her spirit will never find peace. She’ll be trapped like a hogboon in an unending round of destruction. Eventually, like a hogboon, she will vanish utterly from the living stream.”
The Shoney moaned softly.
“The comb and mirror I have brought are for her tomb. I know these are the traditional grave gifts for mermaids and fin wives.”
Shellia. Her name was Shellia. The creature hunched over with his face in his hands.
“Take me to her tomb at nightfall,” the Bard commanded. “Let me lay the grave gifts inside. Then it will be time to summon Shellia and send her to the farther sea.”
For a long while the Shoney sat. She was so beautiful the last time I saw her, he said at last. So young and happy. Her bones were carried by the dolphins to Notland. They had not seen her drown or they could have saved her, but they knew what had happened to her. And who was responsible. I will call Shair Shair to go with us, though it will break her heart.