The Savage Blue Page 4

  “The way things are going,” I say, “we’re going to need them.”

  Leaning against the side of the ship, we’re still surrounded on all sides by nothing but water. “I thought you said we were nearly there.”

  Arion lowers himself on his black ropes. “Take a moment, Master Tristan. Close your eyes.”

  It sounds hokey, but I do it.

  “Envision your destination.”

  “But, I’ve never been there before. How will I know what I’m envisioning?”

  “It’s a feeling, Master Tristan. Knowing you have arrived.”

  I peek from my left eye. The others are standing with their eyes shut facing the water. Arion nods encouragingly at me.

  I know I should be picturing a strip of land. Maybe a white sandy beach. Or a port? A small town where the oracle will be living. The truth is, I have no idea what I should be picturing. I keep thinking of the Coney Island skyline—the pier, the dark water pulling in with the tide, the silhouettes of the Wonder Wheel and the Parachute Jump. It warms my insides because I know when I see that, I’ve come home.

  When I open my eyes, I have to rub them shut again. A coastal town flickers in the distance.

  “Whoa.” Layla points at it. “Vanishing Cove. They weren’t just being funny when they named it.”

  “Yes, Miss Layla,” Arion says. “Humans, even some of our kind, will sail past without knowing it’s there. If you know what you’re looking for, sometimes it’s easier to find.”

  As we get closer, I can make out the ascending line of crooked homes along the jagged coast. Ships bigger than ours are docked farther out, letting down rowboats full of passengers. From a tiny strip of beach on the far side of the island, I can see a recently extinguished fire still smoking.

  Arion moves his hands skillfully, molding the air. The masts and sails bend in turn to his movements, adjusting to catch the wind from a different angle until we’re nestled in the port between a weather-beaten ship called the Golden Rose and a nameless narrow black ship with a dragon carved into the bow.

  The port market smells like the time my friend Angelo’s mom made us go down to Biddy Early’s pub to tell his dad he had to come home. Beer, men, and burning meat. Merchants argue in loud languages I don’t recognize, but the hand gestures suggest the speakers are not exactly loving each other.

  “Those guys look friendly.” I set foot on the dock. A wobbly sensation washes over me, as if the sky and the ground have switched places. I know my feet are firmly planted on the ramp, but somehow it’s like I’m floating.

  “Jelly legs,” Thalia laughs, hopping beside us and extending her arms out in hang-ten position.

  Kurt and Gwen seem unaffected.

  I head toward the bow where Arion is making his presence known. He’s hovering midair off the ship on his black ropes, arms crossed over his chest. The usually kind smile is replaced by the same face my mom wears when she’s trying to haggle with a guy at the farmers’ market—all “Five dollars for an apple? I don’t care if it’s organic!”

  “Are you going to be okay here?” I ask, not getting a particularly warm feeling from the men unloading other ships. In clothes yellowed by the sea air and with scarred faces, they mutter and point fingers at us.

  Arion nods once. “We need supplies. Rope, sails, fresh water. The hull needs a scrubbing. I can find everything we need. Sea mead goes a long way in places like this.” Arion motions back to our ship where Blue and Vi are stacking barrels on deck. “We are the only creatures who manufacture and supply it.”

  “Liquid currency,” Layla says. “Seems fitting.”

  I hold my arm out to Arion. He taught me a sweet new handshake, the way the guys at the Sea Guard do it. Gripping the forearm, like you’re feeling the other person’s strength. When Arion grips my forearm, I think he might be the strongest person I’ve ever met. “I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

  “Do not worry, Master Tristan,” he says. “We will not leave without you.”

  And with that, my team—consisting of a commander of the Sea Guard and his sister, a magical mermaid princess, and my best friend and almost girlfriend—head up the dock until it becomes a cobblestone market square. The tents form a loose semi-circle around the church. At the center is a massive cathedral with a bunch of kids kicking a ball around. The gong of a bell sends fat scarlet birds scattering into the sky. The clock marks 5 p.m. The sun is sinking, but the sky is still a gradient of blues.

  Layla points at the church. “Doesn’t it remind you of something?”

  Tall winding turrets, tiny winged gargoyles and cherubs, high arched windows—yeah. It looks just like our high school. “Thorne Hill.”

  We pass an Indian woman standing at a booth, her hair braided to the ground. Her eyes are big as an owl’s with a fringe of white feathers for eyelashes. She weighs beans in her hand and yells at the man trying to sell them to her. When they see us, they stop and fire away with poisonous scowls. The owl woman hoots at me.

  “What did I do?” I ask.

  “Just keep walking,” Kurt says.

  A horse-drawn carriage passes us, stopping in front of the church. The driver hops off to let out a couple. The man takes her arm, and she lifts layers and layers of puffy skirts so they don’t trail on the ground. They walk past us, nodding in our direction but not really looking at us.

  “Uhh—” Layla’s eyes follow the couple as they weave through the shops. “Is that carriage a time machine? They look like they just hopped out of 1869. That corset cannot be comfortable.”

  Kurt shrugs. “You’ll find many extraordinary people in places like these.”

  “What exactly is this place?” I ask Kurt.

  “A world away to you two, I suppose.” Kurt picks up an apple from the fruit vendor beside us. He reaches into his pocket and hands the beefy man a shiny copper coin. I’m guessing they don’t take American down here. Kurt gives the apple to Thalia, who gobbles it in quick bites.

  The kids playing ball kick it to my feet. I raise my leg to kick it back to them, but one of them runs over in a heartbeat. He has long, pointy ears and sharp green eyes. He sticks out a tongue that’s forked like a snake’s, cackling when I jump back from the shock of it.

  “A world away,” Kurt repeats. “There are many more, all over the world. As human numbers grew and pushed anything remotely unnatural farther and farther into the fringes, villages like this were created. Others left with the fey court on floating islands, similar to our Toliss. Then there are those who leave the sanctuary of places like this for the anonymity of cities, like your Coney Island.”

  Layla still watches the couple from 1869. “You mean everyone in this town is supernatural?”

  “Not at all. There are humans who are more—” His eyes fall on Layla. “…enlightened, that have found themselves here one way or another.”

  The marketplace is starting to feel cramped. I’m picking up something in the air. It’s hidden beneath the mounds of smoke and spices. I decide it’s the perfume tent and the throngs of people we pass. “How do we find the way to the oracle?”

  Kurt, who’s rarely at a loss for words, stands with his mouth open. “Uh—”

  “Look at these!” Layla runs over to a stand with pots and tubes full of colorful smoke called Fazya’s Wish Come True.

  Kurt calls out after her—all “Stay together”—but the woman has Layla hooked. The vendor is tall with a wild mane of curls. Her eyes are rimmed black against rich coffee skin.

  “Come, my darling,” she says. Her voice is as soft as the smoke in one of those jars. “Come to Fazya.”

  I pick one up and give it a shake. The smoke spins in a coil of blood red.

  “Tut, tut.” The vendor pries it from my hands. “Mustn’t touch.”

  “What in the seas are these?” Kurt demands, not hiding his disgust.

  “They’re wishes, of course. What your heart desires.” She sweeps her long, elegant hands over her display—every color of the rainbow a
nd jars in all shapes and sizes. “True love granted. Hair longer than Rapunzel herself. Sight in the darkness. Flight to the heavens. Power in the palm of your hands. Loved ones returned from the dead—”

  Thalia’s hand reaches out toward the jar, the vendor’s eyes becoming dark saucers as she does so. She has a hunger that reminds me of Nieve—taunting, searching, waiting.

  I take Thalia’s hand and jerk it back, breaking whatever trance was beginning. The jar topples over and cracks with a steam-engine hiss. Fazya’s eyes become red as embers. When she opens her full mouth to hiss at me, a black tongue slithers out, while her hips sashay from side to side. Her sultry voice is replaced by a very flat Brooklyn accent. “Ya break it. Ya bought it.”

  Gwen claps. “Good show, Tristan.”

  Kurt throws Fazya a gold coin and leads us farther into the market. He gives me a look that screams, “You should know better.” The thing is, I don’t. I’ve never been in a place like this. I might as well be at my dad’s office being reminded not to touch anything.

  “We shouldn’t engage with those people. Our goal is to get underground,” Kurt says.

  Gwen stops walking. The traffic of people weaves around her. Her head is cocked to the side, waiting for an explanation. “Those people?”

  Kurt huffs and puffs. “Dark magic. Sorcery. You know very well what I mean, Lady Gwenivere. It’s dangerous. It consumes the soul, the magic. That’s what happened to the silver witch. Her power grew bigger than herself. That woman,” he points a finger at a still fuming Fazya, “uses false wishes to take advantage of others. Those are the people I mean.”

  “How would you know any of it?” Gwen asks. “Read it in a book? When you get to be my age, you’ll learn to tell the difference, Kurtomathetis of the Guard.”

  “And just how old are you?” Kurt crosses his arms, puffing out his chest until he towers over her. “Other than being promised to the former herald of the East, we knew so very little about you at court.”

  Gwen raises her hands slowly. Maybe she’ll try to choke him. Maybe she’ll blast him with her magic fingers. As much as I’d love to watch, I know I can’t.

  “Guys, come on. That’s enough.” I step directly between them, facing Gwen. I take her slender wrists in my hands and she brings down her guard. I can feel Kurt’s hot breath on my back so I turn to face him. “Are you forgetting that you’re on the same side?”

  Deep in my heart, I know that’s not true. Gwen made it clear to me the night we were on our way to Shelly. She considers herself to be her own team, like a lone wolf. The way Kurt’s been treating her, I can see why. They step away from each other, and Gwen takes a step behind me to be shielded from them.

  “I apologize,” he says dismissively. “Let’s resume our search.”

  “Not that I’m doubting you, Kurt,” Layla says, “but do we even know what we’re looking for? A magic cupboard? Enchanted armoire? Fancy-looking glass?”

  “Whatever would we do with that?” He looks down at the ground and the smooth cobblestone steps beneath his feet. “We have to get beneath. The underwater entrance is sealed. There has to be a passage somewhere here.”

  “Is there a sewer?” Layla suggests. “Maybe if we find a manhole.”

  “As much as I love the idea of wading through muck—” My attention snaps to a man closing down his tent. His sign reads Felix’s Oölogy Emporium. Crates are piled with eggs in different sizes and colors. One egg looks more like a football with its ribbed brown shell and white stripes. A set of small furry hands creep up from beneath the table. They belong to a young boy. He’s shirtless, skinny as a wire. He smiles with the wet nose of a fox and tiny teeth to match, closing his hands firmly on a golden egg.

  “Leave it alone, Tristan,” Kurt warns.

  But then I look at the squat, fat vendor, sweating to reach the back awning of his shop. His face is red and oblivious, and I know that I just can’t leave it alone.

  Fox Boy sees me approaching and starts, losing his grip on the egg. It falls back into the crate with a thud. The vendor whips around and, realizing what’s happening, trips off his stool and onto his knees. Fox Face flips over, scrambling to his feet, but not before turning around to spit at me. I grab him, but he whines and sinks his teeth into my arm. I cry out and let Fox Boy go.

  I clamp a hand down on the bloody beads sprouting from the round marks of his teeth.

  “That’s what you get for sticking your nose in the foxhole, dude,” Layla says.

  I shake my arm, as if that’ll get rid of the pain. I don’t make a face, though, because I know I was right.

  The vendor comes around, fussing over me with a glass bottle and a rag. He’s gracious, but he can’t seem to form a proper sentence because his face is so red. I’m about to tell him, “No worries. It’s no big deal,” when he tilts the bottle right over my wound.

  I don’t recognize the scream coming from me. The liquid burns. It freezes. It numbs. I want to pull my hand away, but my brain isn’t connecting to my limbs. I can’t move.

  “You must burn away the saliva,” he says. “It’s paralyzing.”

  For a moment, I feel as if I’ve just stepped off the ship again. My legs want to give out and my head spins. Then he holds the rancid, clear liquid over my nose and the dizziness goes away. I bite down on my other hand as the vendor wraps the cloth around my forearm and pulls it tight.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Much.” I don’t realize I’ve started to fall down until I notice Kurt’s arms holding me up.

  “Come,” the vendor says. “Come and sit. The venom takes a few minutes to wear off.”

  •••

  Felix, the vendor, ushers us into his tent. Stacks of crates marked BEWARE and FRAGILE form a wall between the front of the tent and a closet-sized living room. They sit me on the lone chair while the others sit on the bales of hay.

  When I look up, Felix is gone and my friends are staring at me with incredulous faces.

  Layla places her hand on my bandage. The bite mark throbs under the pressure of her hand, but I don’t pull away. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

  “Really, Tristan,” Gwen whispers. “You’ve got enough problems to deal with.”

  “Leave him alone,” Thalia hisses.

  As promised by the vendor, I feel much better. I give my arm a good stretch. Considering I’ve spent all day abusing my body, I’m no worse than a full day of swim practice. Whoever said high school prepares you for real life might’ve actually been on to something.

  “Here we have it,” Felix shouts merrily, emerging from the front of the tent with a fancy-looking teapot and tiny cups like the kind my neighbor Mrs. Horbachevsky brings out when she has my dad fixing her computer.

  “It is my lucky day,” he pops a squat on a large crate and starts pouring, “when such a brave youth graces my doorstep. You’ve done me a great kindness. The fox boys have been nicking my stand all summer. Think they’re getting close to a dragon egg.” He leans in close, brandishing a secretive smile. “They don’t know where I keep the real stuff!”

  The tea is a burst of cold licorice on my tongue. I decide I like it.

  Gwen sets her teacup down without drinking from it. “You mean to say our friend got poisoned for nothing?”

  “Gwen,” I warn.

  “Of course not!” The vendor’s cheeks flood red. “In fact, I am rather moved. Now those boys will know others are watching. Someone has to do the right thing. Though what the right thing is around these parts is hard to tell. I apologize for your trouble—?”

  “Tristan,” I say, standing. “It’s cool. Really. I feel great. Thanks for the tea, Mr. Felix.”

  “It’s simply Felix.” He shakes my hand. “Now, now. Sit. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate your kindness. A reward?”

  “That’s not necessary. I wasn’t trying to—” Then I realize that this is exactly what I need. Someone who knows their way around here. Everyone else seems to shoo us away. I
sit back down, confusing my friends who are between standing and sitting. “But perhaps you could do something for me.”

  Suddenly his eyes squint at me. I’m afraid I’ve said the wrong thing. Then a daunting smile widens his face. He slaps his knee and booms with laughter. Something about him reminds me of Coach Bellini, and that alone makes me like Felix.

  “Treasure hunters, are you? Searching for the Infinite Abyss? I did my share of traveling in my day. That’s how I ended up here.” His eyes fall on a rigid Kurt, staring in that intent way of his that makes you want to run for the hills. Felix’s face blooms with curiosity. “What an interesting sword. May I?”

  Surprisingly, Kurt hands it over. Felix turns it in his hands, bounces the weight on his open palms, even brings his nose right against the blade and inhales deeply. “Haven’t seen this kind of craftsmanship in many years. I should’ve realized. Sea folk, are you?”

  We all nod, even Layla. I can’t help but think of what a beautiful mermaid she would make.

  “Seems funny,” Felix says, returning Kurt’s sword. “I’d seen one mermaid in my whole life during my days fishing up in Maine. Now, you’re everywhere! Drinking merrily about town. Saving my own shop from thieves. I tell you, crime rate’s been going up since I moved here twenty years ago. Mayor Alvarez and his wife have been having a hard time keeping things in order the last few weeks.”

  “This place has a mayor?” Layla asks.

  Felix smiles at her. “Certainly. You might’ve seen them. Been here since the 1600s, I hear. Haven’t changed a bit neither, like the cove itself.”

  “Why has your crime rate been going up?” I ask.

  He shrugs his meaty shoulders. “Things are changing, as they must. ’Sides, tourism’s gone down an awful lot since the oracle closed her doors to us. That’s why people come here in the first place.”

  Kurt nearly drops his teacup. “She’s closed her doors? What do you mean?”

  “Folk search far and wide for this oracle. Say she can talk to the gods and predict the future. I’m not one for that stuff, despite all the things I’ve seen. I wouldn’t want to know, would you?” Then the realization comes to him. “That’s why you’re here, is it?”