“Nothing worth your time.”
Returning to his clipboard, Zaurak scribbled along the margins of his checklist, while Izar’s gaze roved over the workers, surveying their activity.
“Zaurak,” said Deneb, arriving between Izar and Zaurak, “I’ve checked the lifeboats; they’re all in good shape—”
His face froze, and his eyes widened as his gaze flew over Izar’s head. Izar felt a shadow darkening over him, but before he could crane his neck to look, Deneb had flung himself onto him with the force of a grizzly bear. They hit the floor together with a smack and tumbled toward the opposite rails of the ship. A crash sounded just where Izar had been standing.
He rose to his feet and stared incredulously at the derrick that had, just moments ago, stood stalwart at the center of the drillship. A tower of power and stability meant to withstand extreme winds and waves, it now lay flat on its side like a fallen tree. It had almost splintered the floor of the three-thousand-ton vessel; if not for Deneb, it would surely have splintered Izar from head to toe. Someone must have secretly traipsed below deck and loosened its foothold—someone who wanted Izar dead. But who?
Izar looked suspiciously at the workers, assembled now to the other side of the derrick. They stood with their arms wrapped around themselves, their faces distressed, as though someone had just pointed a gun in their midst. Standing next to Izar, Deneb examined the collapsed derrick, his brow as puzzled as at a spaceship that had landed before him.
“You saved my life,” Izar said, pumping Deneb’s hand.
“Good man,” Zaurak told Deneb, slapping him so hard on the back that Deneb coughed. “Now, derrickhand, lead the men in re-erecting the derrick.”
Deneb ambled over to the crewmen, appearing equally excited and flustered by the responsibility assigned him.
Zaurak beckoned Izar over to the rails of the ship, his eyes like black ice. Their heads together, their elbows on the highest rail, they looked out over the sea, deliberately facing away from the workers.
“We have to cancel the oil drill tomorrow,” Zaurak hissed.
“We can’t. Antares asked me when to schedule a press conference, and I suggested tomorrow. The drill tomorrow is meant to mark two years of oil exploration for Ocean Dominion. The Marketing department has already written it into the press release.”
“Blast the press release! There’s a traitor among us, someone trying to kill you. We can’t go out onto the ocean until we learn who. Trust me, cancel the drill.”
“I trust you with my life, but I’ve given Antares my word. We have to proceed as planned tomorrow.”
“If you insist,” Zaurak muttered, chewing the lid of his pen. “I’ll dismiss the crew for the evening as soon as the derrick is re-erected. Then I’ll double-check the whole ship myself, down to the lowliest corkscrew. Tomorrow, in the middle of the ocean, any mistake will be fatal for all of us.”
6
Muse
Abalone carried a limestone tray into Coralline’s room, with two covered bowls upon it and a pair of stone-sticks.
Her stomach rumbling, Coralline eagerly uncovered one of the bowls. Rich red clumps of pepper dulse tangled with bright-green tubular fingers of velvet horn. The contrasting colors created a tornado effect—the dish looked like a work of art. Coralline’s mouth watered; she particularly loved pepper dulse, the truffle of the sea. She reached for the stone-sticks.
“The algae in this bowl is not for you to eat,” Abalone said.
“What’s it for, then?”
“Once you’re married, Ecklon will expect you to prepare supper for him. This is the kind of beauty and complexity you should be aiming for in the dishes you prepare. The algae in the other bowl is for you.”
Coralline uncovered the other bowl. It contained light-green sheets of ulva. She looked questioningly at her mother.
“I know sea lettuce is tasteless, darling, but it’ll help you lose weight between your engagement party and wedding. I remember that in the weeks before my own wedding, my only goal in life was to become wispy, just barely visible, like a moon jellyfish. Until your wedding, consider ulva your only friend—after me, of course.”
Coralline reluctantly ate a few fronds of ulva. They tasted like sand.
“Now, let’s get you ready for your engagement party, starting with your hair!”
Coralline plopped down in the chair her mother placed in front of the full-length mirror behind the door. Abalone brushed Coralline’s long black locks briskly, using the olivine-encrusted comb she’d gifted Coralline for her twentieth birthday. Coralline examined her mother’s reflection in the mirror.
Abalone’s cheekbones were aristocratic, and her neck was long and regal. Her bodice was woven of a fine white brocade; long, translucent tendrils of white swayed off its hem and swirled about her hips like a school of eels. The white bodice above the golden scales led Abalone to resemble the beautiful white-and-yellow butterfly fish darting about the coral reef outside the window. As a mergirl, Coralline had hoped she would resemble her mother when she became a mermaid, but they looked nothing alike. In addition to a difference in hair color, there was a difference in tail color—Coralline’s bronze scales were closer to her father’s copper than her mother’s gold. Coralline’s shoulders were also narrower, and she was half a head shorter. As she sat in front of the mirror, she felt herself very much in her mother’s shadow.
Abalone put the comb aside and began fashioning Coralline’s hair into a fishtail side braid.
“I wonder why her eyes look puffy and her cheeks splotched,” said a shrill voice.
Coralline’s glance flew to her mother’s shoulder, and she groaned. She had not detected Nacre because of her mother’s side bun, but two finger-length tentacles were poking out through the golden locks now. Nacre, a medium-sized snail with a thick, solid shell carrying a high spire and five rounded body whorls, looked down on Coralline from Abalone’s shoulder. She was a scotch bonnet snail, her shell cream in color, with a pattern of red rectangular patches. Most snails were beautiful, but Nacre was more beautiful still than most. Even within her scotch bonnet species, she was particularly bright—others tended to have orange, brown, or tan patches rather than a vivid red. Her location on Abalone’s right shoulder was not coincidental; she claimed to always be right.
“She looks sullen and ungrateful,” Nacre continued, speaking of Coralline to Abalone as though Coralline were not there. “She’s forgetting that no one likes a bleached coralline.”
“You’re right, my dear muse,” Abalone said. Raising cautionary eyebrows at Coralline in the mirror, she tugged Coralline’s hair sharply, making her wince. “There’s no excuse for you to not be smiling from ear to ear, Coralline. You’re marrying the sole heir of the wealthiest family in Urchin Grove—an heir who happens to also be handsome and intelligent. You’re the envy of all young mermaids in the village. You’ll spend the rest of your life in the Mansion, as cozy as a clownfish among anemones. Unlike your mother, with her continuously toiling fingers, carving stitch upon stitch into fabric, you’ll never have to work a day again in your life.”
Well, Coralline could not work even if she wanted. She had cried all night about her firing, hence the puffy eyes and splotched cheeks Nacre had mentioned. She was planning to tell her parents about her firing tonight, after the engagement party, when things were less busy, and, hopefully, she would be able to talk about it without bursting into tears.