The merman had a long, lanky frame, as though someone had stretched him end to end. His features seemed at war with one another—he looked equally pleased and disappointed to see Coralline, as though a part of him had been hoping no one would answer the door. He was attired in a deep-purple waistcoat with a circular black seal of the Under-Ministry of Crime and Murder stitched upon the breast pocket—he was a constable.
“I’m Pericarp Plicata,” he said nervously, pulling handcuffs out of his satchel. “Coralline Costaria, I pronounce you under arrest. Place your hands behind your back . . . please.”
The Constables Department of Urchin Grove must have been on alert for her, Coralline thought, waiting for her to return home, knowing that she would eventually.
A crowd started to form behind Pericarp, people gathering in thin, whispering strings. Coralline recognized some faces and not others, but she had a difficult time telling them apart—they all wore identical expressions of gleeful nosiness.
“On what charge are you trying to arrest my daughter?” Trochid bellowed. Arms crossed over his chest, he slipped between Coralline and Pericarp, his dark-brown eyes bulging.
“Father, it’s all right,” Coralline said hurriedly. She did not want her parents to know about her murder charge, not like this, with the whole neighborhood watching.
“Coralline Costaria is under arrest for the murder of Tang Tarpon in Hog’s Bristle,” Pericarp replied.
“Murder!” voices repeated. Neighbors beckoned passersby over to watch, such that the crowd behind Pericarp swelled to around the same size as that of her engagement party—a hundred or so people. For the first time, Coralline understood Pavonis’s aversion to Urchin Grove.
“You’re mistaken,” Trochid said, glowering at Pericarp. “Far from being a murderess, my daughter is a savior. Just before your unceremonious arrival, she saved her brother Naiadum’s life in a most revolutionary way.”
Coralline placed a warning hand on her father’s elbow. He did not know that a second criminal charge could easily be added to her name, on account of her defiance of the Medical Malpractice Act.
“This is not a time for humility, Coralline,” Trochid continued loudly. “Everyone should know you’re a genius, the most brilliant mind this village has ever seen. Yes,” he boomed to the crowd, “Coralline gave Naiadum a solution of desmarestia and—”
An uproar erupted, drowning out the rest of his words like a breathless, out-of-tune orchestra.
Coralline whirled around to look at her mother. Abalone had been in the doorway earlier, but she’d retreated to the middle of the living room now, distancing herself from Coralline. When their eyes met, she looked at Coralline like she did not know her. Blinking back her tears, Coralline turned back to her father and Pericarp.
They were glaring at each other, as though the first to break eye contact would be the one to lose the battle for mental domination.
The waters swelled, and Pavonis swooped down suddenly, the gush of water from his descent pushing Pericarp into Trochid’s arms. The constable looked up at Pavonis’s gargantuan white belly, then, disentangling himself from Trochid, dashed through the door of the Costaria home. Coralline followed him in, as did Trochid, muttering under his breath. Pericarp slammed the door and leaned against it, his shoulders slackening with relief at having escaped Pavonis. But Pavonis’s head materialized in the window, his dark orb of an eye staring steadfastly at Pericarp. The constable gulped.
“I’ll show you my son,” Trochid said, “back from the grave, thanks to Coralline.”
Coralline trailed Pericarp and Trochid to Naiadum’s bedroom. Pericarp stopped in Naiadum’s doorway, his face blanching. Coralline considered the scene in the room from his perspective: a pale, emaciated merboy, passed out in the middle of the day. Pericarp bent to the floor and, with a long, shaking hand, collected the empty flask next to the door, his fingers clasping it gingerly at the neck. He placed it carefully in his satchel; it would serve as evidence, Coralline knew.
“Show me your medical badge, please,” he said.
Coralline could pretend to search for the sand-dollar shell, she could pretend to have misplaced it, but what would be the point of prolonging the inevitable? A part of her was relieved it was over, relieved she would no longer have to look over her shoulder to see if a constable was following. “I don’t have a badge,” she said.
Pericarp looked at her apprehensively, then at Trochid, whose gaze had a manic quality. Appearing to deem himself safer outdoors than indoors, Pericarp swam out the front door. Coralline and Trochid followed him. The mob of neighbors slipped back just enough to create a wedge of space for the three of them to emerge.
Coralline turned away from Pericarp, her hands behind her back, her wrists together. Her father started to protest, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
“Coralline Costaria,” squeaked Pericarp, “I pronounce you under arrest for the murder of Tang Tarpon and for defiance of the Medical Malpractice Act.”
The clang of handcuffs around her wrists made Coralline think of the two ampoules of a sand-clock, neatly dividing the past and future. So excited had she been in Blue Bottle about her desmarestia discovery, about how it would change the future of healing, but none of it meant anything anymore. Naiadum was to be her last patient.
“What’s going on here?” a voice demanded.
“Ecklon!” Coralline said, as his silver tail arrived next to her and Pericarp.
“Answer me, Pericarp,” Ecklon said.
“Coralline Costaria has committed two crimes—” the constable stuttered.
Ecklon held up a hand. Pericarp’s lips closed immediately. “A word, please,” Ecklon said. Before the constable could reply, Ecklon grabbed both Coralline and Pericarp by the elbow and, ushering them in through the doorway of the Costaria home, slamming the door in the faces of onlookers.
“How long have you known me?” he demanded of Pericarp.
Coralline had never seen Ecklon at work before. He had often seen her at work at The Irregular Remedy, when he’d collected her there for supper, but his work was necessarily of a more discreet nature. There was a natural command to him, she saw now, a clear authority—he did not raise his voice because he did not have to.
“Hmm . . .” Pericarp glanced up at the ceiling, as though trying to not get distracted while he counted the years. “About six years, I suppose,” he stated eventually.
“Precisely.” Ecklon nodded. “That’s how long I’ve been at Urchin Interrogations. In that time, I’ve apprehended plenty of criminals for you and your fellow constables. I have not merely directed you to them, but have brought them to the Wrongdoers’ Refinery in handcuffs. As such, I’ve done your job, or aided you with it, time and again. And I am the detective on Miss Costaria’s case.”
He was using her last name, Coralline knew, so Pericarp would not detect they knew each other personally.
“I intend to prove that the allegations against Miss Costaria are mistaken. I’ve never asked the constables of Urchin Grove for anything, but I ask you now to give me a week to solve Miss Costaria’s case. In this week, leave her on house arrest here instead of detaining her for trial at the Wrongdoers’ Refinery. If I am unable to prove her innocence by the end of this week, you can arrest her then.”
It was not a coincidence Ecklon was requesting a week, for their wedding was in a week. If he could not prove her innocence by then, they could not marry.
“When allowances such as house arrests are made,” Pericarp said, “guarantees are usually offered. What is your guarantee?”