Child of a Hidden Sea Read online

  She topped off the spree by getting an upgraded phone that was nearly as powerful as her laptop. It would sync with both cameras on Bluetooth, providing a backup for everything she shot.

  Once she had the tech organized and tested, she dropped their parents an e-mail saying the two of them were going sailing.

  Verena returned the next morning. She was clad in a silky-looking tunic and calfskin pants, and she had two pages, in an unfamiliar language, that she said were invitations—travel visas—to visit Erinth.

  “These came from Annela?” Sophie said. They were short, compared to the pages she’d been given before.

  “No, the Erinthian travel office,” Verena said. “I’m covering my backside a little.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “Gale’s big issues seem to be the inheritance, which is already messed up, and Mom freaking out, which has already happened.”

  “You spoke to her?”

  “She’s still unconscious. I talked to some people she’s close to in the Erinthian court.”

  “And the prophecy thing?” Sophie said.

  “What do we care?” Verena said. “We all agreed we don’t believe in foretelling.”

  “No. But if Gale does, it explains why I got the boot.”

  “Gale’s house has the prophecy—well, a transcript.” Verena shook her head. “You’re not mentioned.”

  “What does it say?”

  She shook her head. “It’s secret.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Bram shook his head dismissively.

  “He’s right,” Sophie said. “We’re back to sorting out how to make you Gale’s … apprentice?”

  Verena nodded.

  “So let’s go already!” In addition to the cameras, Sophie had a trunk full of diving equipment and a duffel bursting with clothes, antibiotics, a first aid kit, and instant food: protein bars, instant soup, dark chocolate, banana chips and a pound of trail mix. If she ended up among starvelings again, everyone was getting a big calorie fix.

  “Stand by me,” Verena said. She produced a heavy, lead-colored clock, laying it flat on her palm like a metallic pancake or a tiny serving tray.

  “Gale had a pocket watch,” Sophie murmured to Bram. “She fumbled it when those guys attacked her and splash, we were in the ocean. The woman who sent me back used a watch, too.”

  It was bait, of sorts, and he couldn’t resist. “Timepieces. Does that imply Stormwrack’s another time?”

  “Oh!” she said. “They call this place Erstwhile.”

  “Implying our world is a past Earth?”

  “But how could the land masses be so different? Even millions of years—”

  Verena interrupted them. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

  The clock ticked, metallic clinks that tapped on Sophie’s consciousness like icy raindrops against warm flesh. Her vision blurred, as if her eyes were suddenly swimming in tears. Blackness roiled in, but without faintness.

  When the murk cleared, they were standing in a dim, round chamber walled in black bricks and lit by torches. High above them, something was beating out seconds in sync with Verena’s clock. Weights, big ones, hung above, strung on massive chains whose links appeared to be carved from wood.

  “This is the grand clock tower on Erinth, behind the palazzo,” Verena said.

  Made it, made it back … Sophie thought gleefully. She put out a hand to her brother and another to her luggage, reassuring herself that both Bram and her equipment had come through.

  “Teleportation,” Bram breathed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Teleportation or time travel. Magic. Told ya.”

  “I am going to find physics that explains this. Somewhere within M-theory is—”

  That scritching-teeth sound, from Verena. “Do you guys ever stop?”

  “Come on,” Sophie protested. “I know this is old news to you, but even so, you must see that it’s incredible.”

  If Verena agreed, it didn’t show on her face.

  Bram, however, was practically crackling. “Can we go out? Can we see?”

  “We’re not staying here. You can leave the bags.”

  Bram had brought a single mid-sized backpack, about a fifth as large of Sophie’s duffel. It probably contained two outfits and a bunch of tools. It was dark leather and brown canvas, high-end, masculine but not macho. He was out of the nerdwear today, dressed for a hike: boots, light water-resistant jacket, fisherman’s sweater over his shirt, and dark pants.

  He shouldered the pack, declining to ditch it, as they filed up a spiral staircase, through a heavy wooden door and out into a wide, manicured garden that ornamented the courtyard of a grand villa made of black stone. Below the villa, a city spread down a coastal hillside, overlooking a big port filled with sailing ships at anchor.

  Sophie pointed out a sail: “Bram. That’s Gale’s ship.”

  “The one with the tasty captain?”

  Verena shot her a startled look. “Pardon?”

  “It’s just I forgot his name,” Sophie explained, blushing. Spectacularly tasty, she thought.

  “It’s Parrish,” Verena said. She flagged down a boy in plain blue livery, speaking a few quick sentences. The cadence of her speech had a familiar rhythm, but the words—

  “What’s she saying?” Bram murmured.

  “Dunno,” Sophie said. “They taught me the Fleet language, but the islands seem to have their own dialects.”

  “Latinate—sounds like a romance language,” he said.

  “Passegiare,” she agreed, repeating the one word she’d caught. “That means walk, I think … in Italian?”

  The kid ran off. Verena said: “The servants will deliver your baggage to Gale’s apartment.”

  “Thanks.” Sophie had spotted a red froglike creature about as big as her thumbnail, waddling across the base of a marble fountain. It had an elongated tail that tapered to a curling, hairlike wisp. Crouching close, she pulled out her video camera and zoomed in. The amphibian froze in place. “Bram! I’m positive this is a new species.”

  “Holy crap,” Bram said.

  “I know, right?” she said. “Everywhere you look, there’s something new. So what do you think? Past Earth or—”

  He pulled her upright, turned her so she was facing uphill. “You need to stop and smell the terrain. That is an active volcano.”

  The mountain rumbled, as if it were pleased to have been noticed. It had the perfect cone shape of a volcano picture drawn by a child—the sloping sides, the cut-off point of its tip. Like Vesuvius, Sophie thought. Could it be Vesuvius? A flag of smoke stretched from its caldera, marking the direction of the wind.

  “Cool!” She took a 360-degree shot, starting with the volcano, catching the city.

  Verena said: “It’s perfectly safe, Bram.”

  “Active,” he repeated. “Volcano.”

  “The Erinthians sank a massive intention into the top of the mountain—Muerdia flows slow and steady.”

  “Intention—that’s another term for magical spell?”

  “Yeah. It blew a few centuries ago and wiped out half the city, so—”

  “If you’re trying to reassure me, Verena, you’re doing a lousy job.”

  Sophie had panned down from the volcano to the palace. The heaviness of its stone walls gave it a solid look, and the doors were big and heavy, too. Overall, though, the structure didn’t look as though its primary purpose was military. There were no turrets and parapets, no slits for boiling oil or archers. It rose five stories high, with large windows on the upper levels and abundant flower gardens at its base. The windows on the upper three levels opened onto large balconies, and royal blue silk was wound into their railings, adding a band of color to the otherwise sober-looking structure.

  Lemon and lime trees planted in a keyhole formation around the palace formed a promenade that led to a gate downhill from the palace itself. Guards stood watch at the gate; about a hundred feet below them, an outdoor market was at fu
ll boil, vendors and customers gesturing and shouting as they argued, presumably over prices for fish, vegetables, and whatever else they were trading.

  Sophie finished her circle, coming back to the wall and the red and black amphibian there. “Are the frogs toxic, Verena?”

  “Why don’t you eat it and find out?”

  She met her half sister’s gaze, holding it until Verena blinked.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Come on. There are about a zillion of the things on the path to Gale’s, if you want to catch one.”

  Sophie looked at Bram, who shrugged, as if to say: What else are we gonna do?

  They followed Verena around the side of the palazzo, passing more servants, all of them dressed, to Sophie’s eye, like extras from a Renaissance costume drama—the women in long skirts, the men in balloon pants, hose, and puffy-sleeved coats. A uniformed guard let them out through a gatehouse on the side wall. It led to a secluded path walled on either side by lava gateposts and tall glass lanterns. The posts were covered in a creeping vine, not unlike ivy, with unlobed chordate leaves and bell-shaped orange flowers. A stream ran alongside the path, and more of the red amphibians rested on damp ground cover near the water.

  Sophie plucked one flower and a sprig of the vine and packed them in a plastic sandwich bag before hurrying to catch up.

  Bram was still getting his geology geek on: “How do you tame a volcano, Verena?”

  “You can go up to the caldera to see the inscription if you want,” she told him. “It’s safe, and the path’s—”

  “I’m not leaving my sister.”

  Sophie threw an arm around him. “Isn’t this cool? Aren’t you glad you came?”

  He elbowed her. “It’s not enough to go looking for a few biological relatives, you mad overachiever? You have to find a whole birth planet.”

  “I’m the mad overachiever. Who’s got two and a half advanced degrees?”

  “Who’d have one herself if she didn’t keep chickening out on defending her thesis?”

  “Jerky jerk,” she said, but she felt her face heating. Thanks for telling little sis I’m an intellectual lightweight.

  Change the subject. “So, Verena, does courier mean what it sounds like? You do deliveries between here and home?”

  “Yes and no. There are a few Stormers in the know about Earth, and a few who actually live there, mostly in San Francisco—”

  “Why San Francisco?” Bram asked.

  “It’s easiest to get through there,” she said. “Gale does carry messages, from their families and such. She gives the letters to Mom; Mom sends them out. There’s also a couple spellscribes who make sure Stormwrack remains undiscovered.”

  “Because…?”

  “The Convene—that’s the government—believes that establishing contact would hurt both societies.”

  “Gale brings the mail back and forth? That’s her job?”

  Verena nodded. “It’s a minor government post.”

  Sophie frowned. “I thought she was way more important.”

  “She is. The courier badge gives her freedom to travel and nose around. She spends most of her time here, doing favors for the government. Meddling in politics.”

  “Like a spy?” Bram said.

  Sophie thought of the attack in San Francisco, the one that had brought her here. “So there’s lots of people who would have had a reason to attack her?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Does she know who stabbed her?”

  “If she does, she hasn’t said.”

  The walled path wound downhill, taking them maybe three hundred meters from the palazzo before forking deep into a residential district. There was nobody else on it; it had the feel of a private walkway. Verena led them through a vine-draped gate, through the back courtyard of a four-story building that looked like an apartment block, and past two guards with swords. A barefoot servant scrambled to open the door, leading the way, huffing, up three stuffy flights of stairs, to a landing with two more guards.

  “This is Gale’s place.” Verena raised her hand, but before she could knock, the door swung wide.

  Hello, Mister Tasty! Close up, Captain Parrish’s good looks remained Bollywood-perfect. He looked to be about thirty, with coloring that, at home, she’d have said made him South Asian—Indian, perhaps, or Bangladeshi. His skin glowed like hand-polished walnut, and his black, lamb’s-wool curls all but begged to have someone’s fingers plunged into them. And his mouth—Jane Austen probably would have called those lips “full” or “generous.” Sophie, on the other hand, would have gone with “edible.” Everything about that mouth suggested sweet, ripe fruit.

  She shot a sidelong glance at her brother and was gratified to see that he looked a little stunned.

  Poor guy—people must stare at him all the time. I wonder if someone did this for him … or to him? With magic?

  “Hi,” she managed. It came out a little breathy.

  Parrish cleared his throat, looking inexplicably stricken. “Verena, Gale has been asking for you.”

  “How is she?”

  “Improving.” He stood aside to let them in. “Who are your friends?”

  “Sophie Hansa, Bramwell Hansa, this is Captain Garland Parrish of the sailing vessel Nightjar,” Verena said. “Give me the pouch.”

  Sophie blinked … this last had been to her. “Open or closed?”

  “Closed,” Verena said, scandalized.

  She handed it over and her half sister stomped off, vanishing down the hall.

  Bram drifted past them, across the polished floor of dark rock and out to a balcony at the far end of the wide parlor. There was a guard out there, a uniformed shape visible through gauzy orange curtains, but Bram was oblivious to him. He gazed out at the mountains, groping in his pack for his laser range finder. He wore the sort of absorbed expression that meant he’d be tuning out everyone around him for hours, possibly days. His lips moved ever so slightly—math was happening.

  Leaving Sophie, for all intents and purposes, alone with Captain Gorgeous.

  “Um … don’t mind Bram,” she said.

  “No, of course,” Parrish said. His voice was a resonant baritone. He was examining her closely. “You are Gale’s niece?”

  “Not if she has anything to say about it.” She spied a shelf of books—books!

  “I thought you’d been sent home.”

  “Verena fetched us back.” She pulled down one of the books, trying to avoid thinking about his gaze, heavy as the weight of a hand, on her back. Silly, she told herself. There’s a whole world to explore here; you can ogle pretty men back home. “Did Gale tell you how we met?”

  “An attack in … your home city.”

  “I think you all call it Erstwhile. Hey, is that the term for the whole world? All of Earth, I mean, or just San Francisco?”

  He seemed to be considering his response. “Kir Hansa…”

  “Sophie, please.”

  “The fact that Erstwhile exists—that it isn’t a myth, or a remote island in the East—is a government secret.”

  “Seriously? Classified info? And me with no security clearance.”

  He didn’t return her smile. “You’ll have to be circumspect.”

  “Why? You’re in the know, obviously, and Verena grew up there—”

  He put up a hand, and—as if on cue—a teenaged girl came into the room, carrying a tray of anise-scented cookies and four black glasses filled with steaming fluid.

  “Discretion is important,” he said, looking from the servant to the guard on the balcony.

  Sophie opened the book. It was typeset in curlicued Roman lettering—another argument that this was Earth, in some sense. The words were Fleetspeak.

  Oh, this was interesting! It turned out the spell that had taught her the language had made her fluent, but not precisely literate: She had to sound out each word, like a first grader, before it made sense: “Blossoms Majesta of Redcap Island are daughters and sisters of the reigning king; they
run the government, and one should never visit the island without first finding out which princess is currently in charge of foreign affairs.” Diplomatic protocol. Boring.

  Parrish coughed, probably hoping for some kind of acknowledgment that he’d told her to be secretive.

  She closed the book. “I’m no good at fibbing, Captain.”

  “Discretion is a skill you would need, were you to remain here.”

  He’s so sure I’m going. Why are the cute ones always so arrogant? “Okay, then. Have you been to … our home city?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Once or twice. Kir, what are you doing?”

  “Call me Sophie.” She had opened a second book, a massive tome full of diagrams of family trees, and shut it just as fast. “I have until Verena disinherits me, right? I’m picking up what I can.”

  The next book was called Writs of Exception, and read like law. Small print, and dry, wordy statutes.

  “So, Captain, you’ve been you-know-where? Have you met my mother?”

  “Of course.”

  It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “Wow. You know Beatrice? What’s she like when she’s not freaking out?”

  “Freaking … I couldn’t say.”

  Arrogant, maybe, but he is adorable when he’s rattled.

  “Kir—”

  “Sophie.”

  “If you explained what it is you’re seeking among Gale’s books…”

  “Answers. Anything useful,” she said, and he stiffened, cooling so fast she might as well have slapped him.

  Damn! What’ve I said now?

  “Inheritance law?” Parrish said, voice thin.

  “What? No! If Gale and Verena can’t sort out the heir thing by themselves, what possible chance would there be that I could help? I was hoping more for a field guide. Plants and insects?”

  The faint hint of a smile formed. It was a nice smile … she nearly dropped the book. “You’re curious.”

  That’s right, she remembered, these people seem to think curiosity is a disease or something. But Parrish didn’t look offended. She said: “What about some geology? The continents on this—”

  Parrish’s eyes flicked to the guard on the balcony.

  Right, the big secret. “I’m interested how the land masses formed.”