“I’m lost,” she said to Pippit urgently, her voice low. “Can you smell your way out?”
“Salt,” he said, shaking his head.
Kestrel forced herself to slow down. Getting frantic wouldn’t help, and neither would the twinge of panic that was dancing in her stomach. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
“This way,” she said.
She walked softly around the statues, looking curiously into all their faces. Kestrel was starting to enjoy herself in the Salt Bog now. Being in the maze was like wandering around someone’s private museum. She gently reached out to touch the face of a frozen stag, then stopped dead, standing over a pool of water, balanced precariously on a layer of clear salt.
She wasn’t alone. There was something in the water, and it was watching her.
She reached for her slingshot before remembering that it was missing. She felt a pang of dread, then squashed it down.
As quietly as possible, Kestrel stepped back onto the grass. If the thing didn’t know she’d seen it, it might not bother her. She started to retrace her steps, now determined to find her way out as soon as possible, but the thing glided under the water and broke the surface in front of her.
Shards of salt flew in all directions as the bloated, damp creature rose from the depths. Kestrel backed away, but her heel broke through the surface of the bog and she almost toppled in. The creature continued to rise a few feet above the surface of the water, as though it were swimming in the air, then waded forward and down until it was standing in front of Kestrel, blocking her path.
The it was a he, a man with a bloated stomach, wet, glistening skin, and lips that were blue with cold. Small bubbles issued from his lips and nostrils as though he were still underwater. His clothes were wet, limp rags, and his beard was thick with weeds, but he had a clever face that told Kestrel he was more dangerous than any person she’d known.
Kestrel raised her spoon in front of her.
“Try it,” he whispered, in a wet, blubbery voice that sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well. He stepped toward her, moving his arms like he was pushing water out of his way, even though he was on dry land. Small blue fish darted around and through his head, vanishing into one ear and flying out the other. “You couldn’t hurt me if you sliced me into a thousand fillets.”
Kestrel imagined him laid out on a platter like a cold, wet fish, and shuddered. “What do you want?” she asked loudly. She made sure to look him right in the eyes, although they were so filmy and white she wasn’t sure he could see her at all. She waved a hand experimentally, but his eyes didn’t twitch. He was blind.
“What do I want?” he said in his slow, bubbly voice. “You’re the one who came to visit the Briny Witch’s museum. You’re the one who trespassed on my collection.”
“Some collection,” Kestrel said. “It’s just a pile of dead animals.”
He curled his lip, showing his slippery teeth.
“If you get out of my way, I’ll leave without hurting you,” Kestrel said, changing tack.
The Briny Witch laughed. His hair was floating away from his face in slow, thick clumps.
“Nothing can hurt me,” he gurgled. “I was dead long before my body floated into this salty pit.”
Despite the fact that she was standing in front of a foul-smelling, apparently dead man, Kestrel was interested.
“Where did you float in from?” she asked. She was wary of the Briny Witch, but she didn’t think he could move fast enough to surprise her. “Did you come from the outside?”
“You might call it that,” said the Briny Witch in his slippery voice.
“So it’s real,” Kestrel breathed. Then she remembered to jab her spoon threateningly. “Tell me how to get there,” she demanded.
“I can’t,” he said, and despite his frightful face and greenish teeth, Kestrel thought she detected a hint of sadness. “Long ago, and far away, I was on the run. I had murdered my older brother. My sister hunted me down and blinded me before throwing me into a river to drown. I floated for days and ended up here. The way I know is cold and wet, and dark and lonely. Only dead people take that route.” He leaned forward and slowly glided toward Kestrel, forcing her to take another step back. “There’s something in this water,” he whispered. “It preserves those who drown. Take care not to go through the surface or you’ll end up like me, cold and alone.”
“Come any closer and my weasel will burrow into your skull and give you the worst headache you’ve ever had,” Kestrel snarled. She plucked Pippit from her shoulder and held him out, but he was as stiff as a loaf of stale bread. “That means he’s getting ready to attack,” she added.
To her surprise, the Briny Witch didn’t come any closer.
“You’re brave,” said the Briny Witch. He reached out to touch the face of a nearby frozen bear, his expression turning dreamy for a second as he ran his fingers over its muzzle. Then he dropped his fingers and his face tightened again. “Maybe you’re brave enough to do a deal with me.”
“I don’t make bargains with the dead,” said Kestrel.
The Briny Witch stepped forward, his rags floating around him. Kestrel automatically stepped back again. Her heel cracked through the salt; she was standing right above the bog. She didn’t know if the Briny Witch was telling the truth about the water, but she didn’t want to risk becoming a half-dead thing like him.
“It would be a fair deal,” said the Briny Witch. “I can give you anything you want. I can make you stronger. I can make you prettier.”
“I don’t want anything like that,” said Kestrel derisively. “And I like the way I look, thank you very much.”
“I could even,” said the Briny Witch slowly, “make you invisible.”
“Why would I want that?” Kestrel asked, but a tiny part of her was already imagining all the things she could do.
“Oh, there’s so much potential,” said the Briny Witch, casually running a finger over the back of a fox. “Imagine what you could do to those who bully you. The village children destroyed your collection of forest trinkets a few days ago, didn’t they? You could hide under their beds at night and terrify them with whispers. You could slip away from that nasty black dog that’s always following you.”
Kestrel chewed her lip, hypnotized by the thought.
“An invisible girl could do anything,” the Briny Witch said, his voice suddenly low and silky smooth. “You could even get rid of Hannah before she steals your friend.”
“Wait,” said Kestrel, suddenly coming to her senses. “How do you know about that?”
“I know everything,” he said. “I can go anywhere there is water. I lurk in the village well and creep through the puddles. I stream in the river with my long, grabbing fingers, and I play in the gutters where the small animals drown. I can be in any glass of water or any cup of tea, listening to you all the time. I have ears and fingers everywhere.”
Kestrel imagined one of the blue fish sliding down her throat as she drank a glass of water, and shivered.
“I already know a lot about you, Kestrel,” he said, his voice lowering to a hiss. “I know you have the best eyes in the forest. I want your eyes for myself so I can see my precious statues. I want to see the light shine on their faces. It wouldn’t hurt a bit. . . .”
The Briny Witch slowly raised a hand. Kestrel took a step back and gasped as cold water sloshed into her shoes.