Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
SIXTEEN: DEEPER COILS
Pirate Code, Article 21: The monarch may only retain their position with the backing of a majority of their subjects.
Mackenzie.
That's what we've decided on, for the murkrow. (We've also decided it's a she. She doesn't mind: she's a bird, she has no idea what gender means.) I went and asked Maxie, who suggested Dennis, but I don't think he put any thought into it, because honestly he doesn't seem to like Mackenzie much. I asked Archie, who suggested Caitlin. That didn't quite fit either. I asked … well, you get the idea.
I bring all this up because the naming of things is important. It's why I was concerned yesterday about titles for chapters and such. You've got to take care with that kind of thing. Names are significant. Avice. Maxie. Archie. Zinnia. Ulixa. Berenice. These mean things. I know they do – I have that dictionary, remember? And I have others, too.
Berenice, for instance. That's from another kind of Oldspeak: 'bringer of victory'. And that's a knack of hers – bringing victory, I mean. She wins, every time. Some people have all the luck, as they say, although some of them manufacture it for themselves with a mismagius that specialises in lucky chants.
Anyway, so Mackenzie was Edie's idea. And I like it. It's a spiky kind of name. That K, that Z. It's the right shape for a murkrow; matches all those daggerlike feathers. But perhaps you're just surprised that Edie could suggest a name. She can do that, these days, and a lot more than that. The changes began at Jonah's Respite, actually, although not until some time after we stole the key stone. That was what I can safely say was the less fun part of our stay there. The first bit, where Berenice thought I was a hero – well, that was pretty good, I guess. Everyone likes attention, especially from someone as cool as her.
I suppose I should get down to business. I've had a walk out on deck (without the crutch! It feels like the first time in forever), fed Mackenzie, and now I'm just wasting time, burbling on before I get back to the story. I can't blame myself, really. For one thing, I'm feeling restless today, and for another, I find myself cringing quite a bit whenever I think of Berenice. Or, more specifically, of my younger self thinking about Berenice. I want to reach out across the years and shake myself by the collar: she's not Moll! You're just homesick!
At least there was no harm done. I didn't say anything to her, anyway.
Right. Coffee close at hand. Mackenzie perched on the lamp. A blank page, just a few words away.
Let's get started, shall we?
You can imagine my surprise when Berenice said that.
“What?”
Her grin broadened.
“Put it this way,” she told me. “You're gonna save the world, right? That's something I can get on board with. And you're also gonna steal from the King. Now that's a bit harder, but hear me out. You just want the stone. Which means that I could – after a gruelling battle against you, naturally – retrieve the necklace and bring it back to him.”
“And be welcomed as a hero?” I asked, catching on.
“And be welcomed as a hero,” she confirmed. “You catch on quick. I like that.”
“Oh, man,” muttered Zinnia, shaking her head. “What kind of luck do you have, Avice? Of all the guards in the city … Well, I'm just saying, you should see if you can keep her.”
Zzz, hummed Lillian, eyes sparking with orange light, and Berenice scowled at her.
“You,” she said, “are no fun at all, Lil. And also, I'm not listening to you.”
Lillian made a sound like a child babbling. Zinnia raised her eyebrows.
“Haven't heard that in a while,” she said. “I think they do that when they're mad.”
“Whatever.” Berenice wrinkled her nose. “Are you scared or something?”
Lillian narrowed her eyes.
“'Cause, you know, if we could pull this off, we'd be pretty set,” she went on. “Put us in a good position for when Avice brings the land back and all. But, you know, if you think you're not up to taking the risk …”
Rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, Lillian sighed, and nodded her assent.
“Awesome.” Berenice grinned. “So. First things first, we gotta figure out how to get you close enough to snag the necklace.”
“Yeah,” said Zinnia, “and also how to let Archie and Maxie know what we're up to.” She paused. “Assuming they ever actually find us. You know, they've probably found out that we're not at that pub by now. We might have to head back to the Museum if we're going to meet up.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “The ship …”
“What about your ship?” asked Berenice, oblivious. You would think that I'd have got used to covering my conversations with the ghosts by then, dear reader, but unfortunately not. “Something the matter with … wait a minute.”
“What?”
“Your ship,” she said slowly. “A ship you stole from Tethys that they keep old stuff in. You said it's old, right?”
“Yeah …?”
“Pre-making-over old?”
“Yeah …?”
“Does it maybe have a drill on the front?”
I blinked.
“How did you know that?”
“Because that's our ship,” Berenice said grimly. “At least, that's what they always say. That's the ship that the Prophet took to the bottom of the sea in the stories. I wasn't sure if it was real, but the monarchs have always said they'd get it back if they could.”
I imagine that what I felt just then was something similar to what my father felt when he was called to the Administrator's office and saw the baby in the corner. Or what the noted thief Colm Sebastian dol' Tethys felt when he popped his head out of a maintenance hatch to see where he'd got to and saw a shuttle barrelling down the tunnel towards him. It's a kind of feeling that starts with some considerable impact in your stomach and takes a little while to reach the more conscious areas of your brain.
“Oh,” I managed. “Uh. We should go.”
“Yeah,” agreed Berenice, jumping to her feet. “You're drowned right we should.”
As we started to run, Zinnia and I trailing Berenice through the labyrinth, Lillian began to call out something that sounded like it might have been magic; certainly it felt like magic, because after she did it, whichever part of the passage we moved through always turned out to be the emptiest.
“Keep it up, Lil!” cried Berenice over her shoulder. “We're gonna need all the luck we can get!”
“Luck?” I asked, ducking under a pipe with more than usual presence of mind. “What?”
“It's a pokémon thing,” replied Zinnia, gliding effortlessly along beside me, moving straight through any pirates in her way. “Some of them can manipulate luck. Pay day, lucky chant, that kind of thing.” She glanced at Lillian with renewed respect. “It didn't get used much in the, uh, old days. Everyone thought it was too unreliable. But she seems pretty good at it.”
She was: we made it back to the docks faster than I thought possible. Given how long we'd been wandering, I thought we must have been pretty deep in the Respite – and maybe we were, but with Lillian's luck and Berenice's navigational skills, we were there in less than ten minutes, pedestrians stepping unconsciously out of the way as we approached and connecting corridors always just where we needed them. I was hardly even out of breath when we burst back into the cavern – which is just as well, because Berenice didn't slow down; she took in the vast chaos of the docks at a glance, picked out the Museum, and was halfway there before I'd even remembered where it was.
“I think we're OK,” she said, when I caught up. “If we can just like get on board and move it somewhere – I know the access codes to Kate the Carvanha's private dock, don't ask how, we could stash it there for a couple days till she's back from – oh, gods below.”
That last part she said when we were heading out down the jetty towards the Museum, and saw at the other end the harbourmaster deep in discussion with a couple of men whose zangoose and linoone had the wary eyes of guard pokémon.
“You think we can sneak by?” wondered Zinnia. “If you just walked casually …”
“I think we can maybe get by them,” said Berenice, at the same time. “Act casual.”
“'Sflukes,” I muttered, head spinning. “Sure. Yeah, I guess.”
It was the Museum, after all. Lose that, and I'd lose everything: progress, transport, the whole lot. That would be the end of my journey, and by extension, of any hope that I might be able to recover the old world. Perhaps I could find another vessel, but not another two key stones.
So: off we went. Casually. We almost sauntered down that jetty, but of course, it didn't actually work. I'd been seen coming out of this ship, and as soon as we were close enough to be distinguished from the crowd the harbourmaster looked up and pointed. Four sets of eyes – two human, two pokémon – followed his finger.
I swallowed.
“OK,” said Berenice under her breath. “So, you got a Plan B?”
I opened my mouth to say no, and realised halfway through that I did.
“Yeah,” I said. “Arrest me.”
She looked confused – for all of perhaps half a second, and then she grinned.
“Got it,” she said, and grabbed my arm. Zinnia raised her eyebrows.
“I guess it's worth a shot,” she said. “Your guns, though.”
“Ah,” I muttered. “Berenice. Guns.”
“Huh? Oh. Uh – I'll handle it. Hey!” she called out, as the guards advanced. “Is this her ship?”
“Berenice,” replied the one with the zangoose. “I might've known you'd be mixed up in this.”
“You wound me, man,” she said. “Is this the kind of reward you get for apprehending a Tethys spy?”
Both guards and the harbourmaster looked at me.
“She's a Tethys spy?”
Berenice nudged me.
“Of course not,” I said. “Do I look like one?”
“She was asking after the Three Anchors,” Berenice said. “Trying to get in touch with Garrick, I guess. Agitating to weaken the war preparations.”
“If you've arrested her,” said the guard with the linoone, “why does she still have her weapons?”
“Because they're unloaded,” replied Berenice, without missing a beat. “There's only so much I can carry, you know? So I just had her take the bullets out. I'll get 'em off her back at the station. Besides, I got Lil.”
The two guards exchanged glances.
“That does make sense,” said the one with the zangoose. “For Berenice, anyway.”
“She does have the accent,” said the one with the linoone.
“And she does have the ship,” added the harbourmaster, and both of them shushed him violently. I suppose they wanted to claim the Museum as their own discovery.
“The ship?” asked Berenice, looking up at it as if noticing for the first time that it was there. “So this is her ship, then?” No one answered. “Is it your ship?” she asked, shaking my arm a bit.
“Uh. Yeah,” I admitted. “I'm just here to sell salvage, though. Look – the ship itself is salvage, OK? You can see that. The front bit's all rusty.”
Zinnia smothered a laugh.
“I cannot believe this is working,” she said. “Seriously. If you two were anyone else, this would definitely have failed.”
“I'm gonna have to search it,” said Berenice authoritatively. “Could you two get out of the way? I'm betting there's like evidence on board.”
I sighed.
“You're not going to find anything,” I warned her. “Seriously. I'm just a trader―”
“A trader who's what – eighteen? Who owns her own ship?” She shook her head. “Nah, kid―”
“Oh, come on, you look about twelve yourself―”
“I have a mismagius,” she announced, and Lillian burbled on cue. “So. Shut up.”
I made what I hoped was a suitably frustrated face and fell silent.
“Better.” Berenice looked back at the guards. “So, could you two get out of the way so I can search the ship?”
“This ship?” asked the one with the zangoose.
“No, that freighter over there. Yes, this ship, muk-for-brains. You. Lenny, right? Yeah, Lenny. Is this her ship or not?”
The harbourmaster nodded reluctantly.
“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “But …”
Berenice blinked.
“But what?” she said. “Are you obstructing my investigation?”
“Come on, Lady B―”
“Lady B yourself. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a guard now. I've got, like, duties and stuff.”
There was a long, tense pause.
“Well,” said Lenny, looking at the guards. “I had better – um – I have a lot of work―”
“Hang on a minute,” sighed the guard with the linoone. “Berenice. How about we search the ship and you take her down to the station?”
“I need to do it,” she said. “How am I gonna search that whole massive ship without her to guide me?”
“She doesn't sound very cooperative,” pointed out the guard with the zangoose.
“She might be, if we could make a deal,” suggested Berenice, but I had a feeling that we were out of room to manoeuvre. She was smart. But she was also a lot of other things that the unspoken rules of the world rank beneath the things that the other guards were, and quick wits, as you and I know well enough, dear reader, can only go so far towards redressing the balance.
“It'll be easier for both of us to search it,” said the guard with the linoone. “We'll cover more ground that way.”
“But I―”
“Have done very well,” said the guard with the zangoose. “I'm sure you'll be commended.”
Zinnia took an automatic half-step forwards, frowning, but stopped herself. There was nothing she could do.
“Don't patronise me,” growled Berenice, a dark anger clouding her eyes. “You know me.”
“Yes, we do,” said the guard with the linoone. “Go back to the station, Lady B. We'll handle things here.”
Berenice stood there for a moment, motionless as a taut bowstring. Her fingers dug into my arm like stakes of iron.
“Right,” she said. “I'll see you two later, then.”
She turned, dragging me with her, and marched back into the crowd.
“Archie?” I heard behind me. “So there you are. Over here! Quickly!”
I tried to motion for Berenice to stop, but she didn't seem to see me; looking back over my shoulder, I saw the ghosts hurrying towards us, Zinnia frantically trying to explain.
“No, it's a trick, OK, she's not actually being arrested―”
“But what―?”
“Shut up a minute, would you? Jeez. Five hundred years later and still full of hot air. One of you get back in the Museum and have Edie lock it down. They're gonna board it.”
“What? What's going―?”
“I'll go. She's my ship. I'll be able to lock it down and maybe send Edie out to help―”
“I've been there several centuries, Archie. I know both Edie and the Museum quite well enough. Get back to Avice. I'll send Edie on if I can.”
“Tooth take 'em,” sighed Berenice, suddenly letting go of my arm. “Sorry, Avice. Full disclosure, I'm not actually on such good terms with the other guards. Like I'm new, and before that I was … well. Kind of a crook, really. And then … anyway.” She looked at me with eyes that asked if I understood what anyway meant, and I nodded.
“It's OK,” I assured her. “I know exactly what you mean. The Tethys sergeants never liked me much, either.” (Pirate's brat. Civic traitor. Other words too, that I refuse to allow into this history.)
She smiled, although her eyes were still not quite clear.
“You really do, huh,” she said. “That's nice.”
Behind us, Archie coughed.
“Anyone gonnae tell me what exactly is going on here?” he asked.
“Avice has found a, uh, friend,” replied Zinnia. “Come on, Archie. Are you that old? Can't you see the chemistry?”
“But we've still got a problem,” Berenice said. “Your ship―”
“Is safe,” I told her, suppressing the desire to dig an elbow into Zinnia's spectral ribs. “My porygon2, the pokémon I told you about – she's still aboard. I got a message to her; she'll lock the hatches down and seal it off.”
“You what?” Berenice blinked, then stumbled as someone bumped into her. Lillian gabbled, and she nodded. “Right, right. Let's get out of the way … OK. There's a way out onto Yanma Passage through here. It's usually not so busy.”
I could see why. It was a narrow little tunnel, the walls barely wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side – and neither of us were particularly broad. Not the sort of place through which freight can be brought, and that day, mostly abandoned.
“OK,” I said, “so, um, I guess it's my turn for full disclosure.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the ghosts. Zinnia shrugged; Archie was doing something that I recognised from long experience as trying politely not to stare.
“Yeah?” asked Berenice.
I took a deep breath.
“I'm not doing this all by myself,” I told her. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
I have to wonder whether Maxie really did know Edie. Or no, not that – whether Edie knew Maxie, rather, since he clearly did know her. I've turned the sequence of events surrounding the impounding of the Museum at Jonah's Respite over and over in my head, and still haven't been able to decide whether or not Maxie and Edie actually ever communicated during the period when they were alone together on board. When Edie sprang to my defence in the court, was it at Maxie's signal or because she was watching and waiting for me? It's hard to say. I've asked Maxie, and even he's not sure. Sometimes, I worry that I give the impression that I remember everything perfectly correctly, that all these conversations are written down here exactly as they occurred. Certainly some of the more memorable lines are – what Aranea said when she burst into the Administrator's office to rescue my father, for instance, or what Maxie said when he pleaded with me not to give up after his betrayal. But, like all archaeology, most of this is educated guesswork. I've spoken to the ghosts, but they don't remember everything. And when it comes right down to it, dear reader, there's still no proof that the ghosts are anything more than figments of my imagination, created from the history books to fill the gaps in my life.
As I say, though, it's probably best not to wonder too much about it. I don't want to wonder about it. There's enough fiction in life and history without it spilling over into my family. It's just that I can't seem to stop myself worrying.
Well, enough about that. You've listened to me trying to absolve myself of my sins as a historian too many times to want to hear it all over again, I'm sure.
Whether or not you believe in ghosts, Berenice did – at least after some persuasion. It actually made my story more believable, she said, if someone had guided me, and clearly there was no one alive who was qualified to do so.
“Wish you'd told me before,” she said. “We could've used some help with that plan. Like if they'd gone aboard your ship and worked the controls, we could've made it look like it would only unlock for the two of us.”
Lillian shot her a sceptical look, and Berenice sighed.
“All right, it en't one of my best plans.” She paused. “Are your ghosts here? Like, right now?”
I hesitated. Have you ever tried to introduce someone invisible, dear reader? It's incredibly awkward.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Um, this is Zinnia, and this is Archie.” I gestured in their direction; they, uncertain of how exactly to respond, just stared. “And this is Berenice, Archie,” I added. “Zinnia was there when we met,” I told her.
“Right,” he said slowly, scratching his head. “Uh – pleased to meet you. I guess.”
“Um. Yeah, I guess,” said Zinnia. “OK, this … this is really weird.”
“They say hail,” I told Berenice, trying hard to believe I didn't sound like a child introducing her imaginary friends. “This is a bit weird for them, I think.”
“You're telling me,” muttered Archie.
“Oh.” Berenice waved uncertainly in the wrong direction. “Um. Hail.”
I decided not to tell her that the ghosts were actually behind us, and instead reminded her that we needed to come up with a plan.
“I mean, they have the Museum now,” I said. “That makes things complicated.”
“Right.” She tugged on a coil of her hair, thinking. “Right, but if … OK. First we need to know where they're gonna take the Museum. By the time they move it, everyone at the guard station will know, so I can get that from them – but I think they'll probably move it to the court, where they used to keep it before the making over.”
Archie nodded.
“Aye. We were just there. The channel's still in place; looks like they still have the original sea access.”
I nodded, and Berenice paused.
“Are they speaking?” she asked diffidently. “What … what are they saying?”
“Oh. Um, Archie said he was just there in the court. He and Maxie were going to see if the key stone was there,” I explained, “and they saw that there was still sea access in the dock.”
“Ah,” said Berenice. “Right. That's right. There is. Separate to the main mouth.”
“Yeah, we've … sort of established that.”
The four of us stood there uncomfortably for a moment, until Lillian coughed pointedly.
“Right, so yeah,” said Berenice hurriedly. “Once they've taken the Museum there, if we can get into the throne room and get you that necklace, you can signal to your pokémon―”
“―and have her open up the Museum for us to get on board,” I finished. “Where we seal the doors, bang on the walls to make it sound like we're fighting―”
“―and then, as the ship starts to submerge, I stagger out of the hatch, clutching the pendant in my bloodied fingers―”
“―which they will only discover has had the key stone taken out of it once we've escaped through the back exit,” I said, and Berenice grinned wildly.
“Yeah!” she cried, holding up a hand for me to high-five. “Now that's what I call a plan!”
“They're so cute, aren't they?” said Zinnia to Archie. “Look!”
“Er – why don't you leave me out of this,” he said hurriedly, going a deeper shade of blue. “I'll just, ah. Watch.”
Zinnia looked back at me, grinning.
“He's old,” she said, in a whisper so loud Archie couldn't help but hear. “He gets embarrassed about that kind of thing.”
“So do I, when you keep commentating,” I muttered.
“… so, we've probably got some time before word gets to the station to confirm what's to be done with the Museum,” Beatrice concluded, oblivious. “I'm guessing we need to waste thirty minutes to an hour, something like that. Then I'll show up, panting, and say you got away and I was chasing you, and then … OK, got it.” She snapped her fingers. “Right now, then, you're gonna buy me another coffee.”
I'd had a lot of practice at maintaining two conversations at once by that point, but Beatrice's mind was racing ahead at a speed that I couldn't quite match while I kept looking at the ghosts.
“What?” I asked, hopelessly confused. “What's that about― didn't we just have coffee?”
“Avice,” she said, laying a hand upon my shoulder, “we're gonna steal the crown jewel. That's kind of big. Normally, maybe, too big. But with coffee … well. Let's just say there is no limit, none whatsoever, to what I can achieve with a cup of hot black coffee in my hand.”
Lillian rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath; I just stared.
“Is that a prepared speech?” I asked.
“I mighta been saving it for a special occasion,” she admitted. “C'mon! We'll go back to Clem's.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “What if the guards―?”
“We'll give him a few extra kites,” she said dismissively. “En't gonna take much, he likes me more than he likes them anyway, even if he does keep complaining about my tab.” She beckoned. “Now c'mon! We're supposed to be wasting time here, and you can waste it a drowned sight faster in a coffeehouse.”
So I followed. That's another way in which Berenice was like Moll: I never really had all that much choice in the matter. But that's all right; I never was much of a leader. Not until I had to be, and even then, not by choice. Some of us are born to be sidekicks, I think, although apparently in my case the gods (or fate, or whatever's in charge these days) disagree.
I sort of miss it, really. Being second in command is much easier than being the boss. I have to wonder how the corsair-king manages it, with all those hundreds and thousands of pirates under his command. If I was queen, I'd probably go to pieces in less than a week.
If I ever managed to get anything done, that is. More likely, I'd just get distracted before I ever got round to passing any laws or whatever it is that monarchs do. Look, I'm distracted right now! One minute I'm diligently working away at my history, and the next I'm about four seconds away from writing a thousand-word inquiry into what exactly the duties of a monarch consist of.
There's only one cure for this. I'm going to have to get some lunch.
I'm tempted to jump ahead an hour or so, to our dramatic assault on the throne room of Jonah's Respite. You know me and my tastes, dear reader, and you must by this point understand that I love a good action story, and also that I have a lot of issues with my chronology. All of this adds up to a great temptation for me to skip ahead an hour or so, to our dramatic assault on the throne room of Jonah's Respite – because after all, we know Berenice now; we don't need pages and pages more of description of her. And besides, that conversation, like those afternoons with Moll back in Tethys, is something I want to hold onto for myself. Part of being a historian, I'm figuring out, is knowing what not to say. Not everyone can know everything about everybody, and while I'm happy to lay most of my life bare to you, dear reader, some moments are so delicate that, if shared, they might be torn and lost forever.
So I won't talk about that, but I won't skip ahead either – indeed, I can't, because something else significant happened before we got to the throne room. As I keep saying, it's not all about me – and in this case, while I was busy cementing my newfound friendship with Berenice over more coffee, Archie and Zinnia were involved in a conversation of their own at the next table.
“So,” Archie said, when it became clear that I had left them to their own devices. “What do you think?”
“Of what?” Zinnia asked, tracing circles on the tabletop with one finger. “Of this place? Of the situation?”
“Of her.” Archie nodded in Berenice's direction.
Zinnia grinned slyly.
“I think that Avice has found a friend,” she replied. “I mean, we can probably trust her, if that's what you're asking.” The grin flickered a little, as if an old scar had suddenly started to ache. “There's something between them that we can't have. And I think that probably means she'll look out for Avice. Don't you?”
“I hope so.” Secure in the knowledge that I had my back to him, he shot one of those thunderbolt glares at Berenice. “But a proper alliance takes longer than an hour or so to forge, you know? We're taking a real risk here.”
“Well, obviously. But you're already taking risks, right? Because you don't trust me, either.” Zinnia gave him one of those ironic smiles. “You're kinda transparent, Archie. Both literally and figuratively.”
Archie snorted.
“Right. Listen, I'm doing what we're all doing, following Avice―”
“Sure, sure, and that's admirable and all, but we're guiding as much as following.” Her finger was still moving in slow circles across the table, a green light revolving like a lanturn's lure twitching in the dark. “C'mon, Archie, don't take me for an idiot. It's been weeks and weeks now – months, even – and still, you keep muttering about me to Maxie when you think I'm not listening.” She sighed. “You're a pretty remarkable guy, but you gotta admit, 'subtle' isn't really your strong suit.”
“I can be―”
“Your response to oceanic pollution was, and I quote, to 'return everything to its unspoiled beginnings'.”
Archie paused.
“It wasn't the most balanced reaction,” he said, “and you bloody well know that I know that now―”
“But you see my point,” said Zinnia. “When you're cross, you don't exactly hide it.” She shook her head. “Look. I've been here ages. I haven't done anything wrong, have I? We've both demonstrated we care a lot about Avice and her mission, right? So what is it, Archie – what is it about me that means you can't trust me, even now?”
For a long time, he said nothing, and the space between them filled with the kind of silence made up of other sounds: of the clink of crockery and the chatter of patrons, the low roar of footsteps and voices in the corridor outside, the hiss of stale air, the glug of a bottle, Berenice's joke, my laughter.
“You were just there,” said Archie at last, and Zinnia's eyes narrowed very slightly. “D'you expect us to believe that? You were just there in Meteor Falls, and you just happened to know what to do, and you just happened to meet the only person in the world who could see and talk to you. That ain't how life works, Zinnia. That ain't a coincidence. That's a bloody plan.”
Another un-silent silence. Zinnia leaned back in her chair, hand falling from the tabletop.
“Well, it wasn't,” she said evenly. “I know what it looks like, Archie, but I told you the truth. No agenda, no nothing. I just bumped into Avice and decided hers was a quest I could get behind, same as you.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Really.” She gave him an exasperated look. “God, Archie, what would it take for me to prove that to you? Rayquaza descending to call the wind and lay Kyogre to rest?”
“It'd be a start,” said Archie, which was, I think, one of those things that pop out of your mouth in a fit of anger and are instantly regretted, and Zinnia shook her head slowly.
“Hasn't it occurred to you,” she said quietly, “that you turning up when you did was just as unlikely? Or that pirate – what's her name – Ulixa? Look, Archie, I'm not saying you shouldn't be suspicious, but c'mon. If you're gonna start questioning how things have worked out, you've got to question more than just me.”
“I came to Tethys because I had a hunch―”
“And boy, does that sound plausible,” said Zinnia, one eyebrow rising upwards into an ironic arch, and the two of them fell back into the un-silent silence.
What might Archie have said next? What could anyone actually have said in response to that? I do think about it, dear reader – the virtual impossibility of events and people lining up for me as they did, propelling me gently from one point of interest to the next. I think about it a lot. Perhaps the way I've structured it here, laying it all out as a narrative and giving it a shape and form, has made this strangeness less obvious to you. After all, you expect that sort of thing from a story; if a hero is marooned on a deserted island, there's going to be treasure or salvage or something waiting for them there. But in life – who on earth bumps into so many ghosts when they are so few in number and she just happens to be the one person who can see them? Who accidentally draws the attention of her long-lost mother's protégé in a bar, and later happens to be in the right place at the right time to be rescued by her? The more I write of this, the more it seems to me that the story of my life is my life. I've been worrying about how turning the world into narrative removes its nuances and makes it unreliable – but I wonder now if the world is narrative, if it might be impossible to look at the world without unconsciously connecting the dots, drawing conclusions, imposing structure on the randomness.
Maybe that's what coincidence is: me looking at these unlikely events and thinking there must be reason behind it. Do all effects need to have causes, or does thinking only make it so?
I suppose that's a digression, and anyway it's a bit early in the day to be getting philosophical. (My father always said that he treated philosophy like rum: best not indulged in until after five o'clock, and never while working.) But at the same time, it's a question that keeps coming back, more insistent every time. Aranea. Ulixa. The ghosts. The three days of birds. Mackenzie the murkrow. All of this has the ring of myth about it. And yet it happens to be true – or at least, it happened, which may not be the same thing.
Anyway, this isn't the right place for me to be having an epistemological crisis. I should probably leave it for now and go have a brisk debate about it with Maxie in a minute. He'll at least give me some new ideas on the topic, even if he doesn't have any answers.
So: what might Archie have said next? Tide only knows – or no, it doesn't. Not any more. Tempest is still around, of that I'm sure – I think it will last for as long as there are oceans – and Tooth is, well, Tooth, but Tide's time is over. Some new god will rise to take its place, and it will just be Kyogre again, sleeping away the millennia in some seafloor cavern. But that's me getting off-topic: the point is that no one knows what Archie might have said in response to that, not even Archie himself (I've asked him), and the un-silent silence grew and grew between him and Zinnia, until at last Berenice and Lillian left for the guard station and I turned around to see what the ghosts were up to.
“So,” said Zinnia, instantly switching conversational track, “what's up with Berenice? You two are getting along pretty well, from what we saw. Right, Archie?”
“Oh, aye,” he agreed, nodding genially. “Lucky to have met her.”
“Yeah,” said Zinnia, with a little glint in her eye. “Lucky.”
Pirate Code, Article 21: The monarch may only retain their position with the backing of a majority of their subjects.
Mackenzie.
That's what we've decided on, for the murkrow. (We've also decided it's a she. She doesn't mind: she's a bird, she has no idea what gender means.) I went and asked Maxie, who suggested Dennis, but I don't think he put any thought into it, because honestly he doesn't seem to like Mackenzie much. I asked Archie, who suggested Caitlin. That didn't quite fit either. I asked … well, you get the idea.
I bring all this up because the naming of things is important. It's why I was concerned yesterday about titles for chapters and such. You've got to take care with that kind of thing. Names are significant. Avice. Maxie. Archie. Zinnia. Ulixa. Berenice. These mean things. I know they do – I have that dictionary, remember? And I have others, too.
Berenice, for instance. That's from another kind of Oldspeak: 'bringer of victory'. And that's a knack of hers – bringing victory, I mean. She wins, every time. Some people have all the luck, as they say, although some of them manufacture it for themselves with a mismagius that specialises in lucky chants.
Anyway, so Mackenzie was Edie's idea. And I like it. It's a spiky kind of name. That K, that Z. It's the right shape for a murkrow; matches all those daggerlike feathers. But perhaps you're just surprised that Edie could suggest a name. She can do that, these days, and a lot more than that. The changes began at Jonah's Respite, actually, although not until some time after we stole the key stone. That was what I can safely say was the less fun part of our stay there. The first bit, where Berenice thought I was a hero – well, that was pretty good, I guess. Everyone likes attention, especially from someone as cool as her.
I suppose I should get down to business. I've had a walk out on deck (without the crutch! It feels like the first time in forever), fed Mackenzie, and now I'm just wasting time, burbling on before I get back to the story. I can't blame myself, really. For one thing, I'm feeling restless today, and for another, I find myself cringing quite a bit whenever I think of Berenice. Or, more specifically, of my younger self thinking about Berenice. I want to reach out across the years and shake myself by the collar: she's not Moll! You're just homesick!
At least there was no harm done. I didn't say anything to her, anyway.
Right. Coffee close at hand. Mackenzie perched on the lamp. A blank page, just a few words away.
Let's get started, shall we?
You can imagine my surprise when Berenice said that.
“What?”
Her grin broadened.
“Put it this way,” she told me. “You're gonna save the world, right? That's something I can get on board with. And you're also gonna steal from the King. Now that's a bit harder, but hear me out. You just want the stone. Which means that I could – after a gruelling battle against you, naturally – retrieve the necklace and bring it back to him.”
“And be welcomed as a hero?” I asked, catching on.
“And be welcomed as a hero,” she confirmed. “You catch on quick. I like that.”
“Oh, man,” muttered Zinnia, shaking her head. “What kind of luck do you have, Avice? Of all the guards in the city … Well, I'm just saying, you should see if you can keep her.”
Zzz, hummed Lillian, eyes sparking with orange light, and Berenice scowled at her.
“You,” she said, “are no fun at all, Lil. And also, I'm not listening to you.”
Lillian made a sound like a child babbling. Zinnia raised her eyebrows.
“Haven't heard that in a while,” she said. “I think they do that when they're mad.”
“Whatever.” Berenice wrinkled her nose. “Are you scared or something?”
Lillian narrowed her eyes.
“'Cause, you know, if we could pull this off, we'd be pretty set,” she went on. “Put us in a good position for when Avice brings the land back and all. But, you know, if you think you're not up to taking the risk …”
Rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, Lillian sighed, and nodded her assent.
“Awesome.” Berenice grinned. “So. First things first, we gotta figure out how to get you close enough to snag the necklace.”
“Yeah,” said Zinnia, “and also how to let Archie and Maxie know what we're up to.” She paused. “Assuming they ever actually find us. You know, they've probably found out that we're not at that pub by now. We might have to head back to the Museum if we're going to meet up.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “The ship …”
“What about your ship?” asked Berenice, oblivious. You would think that I'd have got used to covering my conversations with the ghosts by then, dear reader, but unfortunately not. “Something the matter with … wait a minute.”
“What?”
“Your ship,” she said slowly. “A ship you stole from Tethys that they keep old stuff in. You said it's old, right?”
“Yeah …?”
“Pre-making-over old?”
“Yeah …?”
“Does it maybe have a drill on the front?”
I blinked.
“How did you know that?”
“Because that's our ship,” Berenice said grimly. “At least, that's what they always say. That's the ship that the Prophet took to the bottom of the sea in the stories. I wasn't sure if it was real, but the monarchs have always said they'd get it back if they could.”
I imagine that what I felt just then was something similar to what my father felt when he was called to the Administrator's office and saw the baby in the corner. Or what the noted thief Colm Sebastian dol' Tethys felt when he popped his head out of a maintenance hatch to see where he'd got to and saw a shuttle barrelling down the tunnel towards him. It's a kind of feeling that starts with some considerable impact in your stomach and takes a little while to reach the more conscious areas of your brain.
“Oh,” I managed. “Uh. We should go.”
“Yeah,” agreed Berenice, jumping to her feet. “You're drowned right we should.”
As we started to run, Zinnia and I trailing Berenice through the labyrinth, Lillian began to call out something that sounded like it might have been magic; certainly it felt like magic, because after she did it, whichever part of the passage we moved through always turned out to be the emptiest.
“Keep it up, Lil!” cried Berenice over her shoulder. “We're gonna need all the luck we can get!”
“Luck?” I asked, ducking under a pipe with more than usual presence of mind. “What?”
“It's a pokémon thing,” replied Zinnia, gliding effortlessly along beside me, moving straight through any pirates in her way. “Some of them can manipulate luck. Pay day, lucky chant, that kind of thing.” She glanced at Lillian with renewed respect. “It didn't get used much in the, uh, old days. Everyone thought it was too unreliable. But she seems pretty good at it.”
She was: we made it back to the docks faster than I thought possible. Given how long we'd been wandering, I thought we must have been pretty deep in the Respite – and maybe we were, but with Lillian's luck and Berenice's navigational skills, we were there in less than ten minutes, pedestrians stepping unconsciously out of the way as we approached and connecting corridors always just where we needed them. I was hardly even out of breath when we burst back into the cavern – which is just as well, because Berenice didn't slow down; she took in the vast chaos of the docks at a glance, picked out the Museum, and was halfway there before I'd even remembered where it was.
“I think we're OK,” she said, when I caught up. “If we can just like get on board and move it somewhere – I know the access codes to Kate the Carvanha's private dock, don't ask how, we could stash it there for a couple days till she's back from – oh, gods below.”
That last part she said when we were heading out down the jetty towards the Museum, and saw at the other end the harbourmaster deep in discussion with a couple of men whose zangoose and linoone had the wary eyes of guard pokémon.
“You think we can sneak by?” wondered Zinnia. “If you just walked casually …”
“I think we can maybe get by them,” said Berenice, at the same time. “Act casual.”
“'Sflukes,” I muttered, head spinning. “Sure. Yeah, I guess.”
It was the Museum, after all. Lose that, and I'd lose everything: progress, transport, the whole lot. That would be the end of my journey, and by extension, of any hope that I might be able to recover the old world. Perhaps I could find another vessel, but not another two key stones.
So: off we went. Casually. We almost sauntered down that jetty, but of course, it didn't actually work. I'd been seen coming out of this ship, and as soon as we were close enough to be distinguished from the crowd the harbourmaster looked up and pointed. Four sets of eyes – two human, two pokémon – followed his finger.
I swallowed.
“OK,” said Berenice under her breath. “So, you got a Plan B?”
I opened my mouth to say no, and realised halfway through that I did.
“Yeah,” I said. “Arrest me.”
She looked confused – for all of perhaps half a second, and then she grinned.
“Got it,” she said, and grabbed my arm. Zinnia raised her eyebrows.
“I guess it's worth a shot,” she said. “Your guns, though.”
“Ah,” I muttered. “Berenice. Guns.”
“Huh? Oh. Uh – I'll handle it. Hey!” she called out, as the guards advanced. “Is this her ship?”
“Berenice,” replied the one with the zangoose. “I might've known you'd be mixed up in this.”
“You wound me, man,” she said. “Is this the kind of reward you get for apprehending a Tethys spy?”
Both guards and the harbourmaster looked at me.
“She's a Tethys spy?”
Berenice nudged me.
“Of course not,” I said. “Do I look like one?”
“She was asking after the Three Anchors,” Berenice said. “Trying to get in touch with Garrick, I guess. Agitating to weaken the war preparations.”
“If you've arrested her,” said the guard with the linoone, “why does she still have her weapons?”
“Because they're unloaded,” replied Berenice, without missing a beat. “There's only so much I can carry, you know? So I just had her take the bullets out. I'll get 'em off her back at the station. Besides, I got Lil.”
The two guards exchanged glances.
“That does make sense,” said the one with the zangoose. “For Berenice, anyway.”
“She does have the accent,” said the one with the linoone.
“And she does have the ship,” added the harbourmaster, and both of them shushed him violently. I suppose they wanted to claim the Museum as their own discovery.
“The ship?” asked Berenice, looking up at it as if noticing for the first time that it was there. “So this is her ship, then?” No one answered. “Is it your ship?” she asked, shaking my arm a bit.
“Uh. Yeah,” I admitted. “I'm just here to sell salvage, though. Look – the ship itself is salvage, OK? You can see that. The front bit's all rusty.”
Zinnia smothered a laugh.
“I cannot believe this is working,” she said. “Seriously. If you two were anyone else, this would definitely have failed.”
“I'm gonna have to search it,” said Berenice authoritatively. “Could you two get out of the way? I'm betting there's like evidence on board.”
I sighed.
“You're not going to find anything,” I warned her. “Seriously. I'm just a trader―”
“A trader who's what – eighteen? Who owns her own ship?” She shook her head. “Nah, kid―”
“Oh, come on, you look about twelve yourself―”
“I have a mismagius,” she announced, and Lillian burbled on cue. “So. Shut up.”
I made what I hoped was a suitably frustrated face and fell silent.
“Better.” Berenice looked back at the guards. “So, could you two get out of the way so I can search the ship?”
“This ship?” asked the one with the zangoose.
“No, that freighter over there. Yes, this ship, muk-for-brains. You. Lenny, right? Yeah, Lenny. Is this her ship or not?”
The harbourmaster nodded reluctantly.
“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “But …”
Berenice blinked.
“But what?” she said. “Are you obstructing my investigation?”
“Come on, Lady B―”
“Lady B yourself. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a guard now. I've got, like, duties and stuff.”
There was a long, tense pause.
“Well,” said Lenny, looking at the guards. “I had better – um – I have a lot of work―”
“Hang on a minute,” sighed the guard with the linoone. “Berenice. How about we search the ship and you take her down to the station?”
“I need to do it,” she said. “How am I gonna search that whole massive ship without her to guide me?”
“She doesn't sound very cooperative,” pointed out the guard with the zangoose.
“She might be, if we could make a deal,” suggested Berenice, but I had a feeling that we were out of room to manoeuvre. She was smart. But she was also a lot of other things that the unspoken rules of the world rank beneath the things that the other guards were, and quick wits, as you and I know well enough, dear reader, can only go so far towards redressing the balance.
“It'll be easier for both of us to search it,” said the guard with the linoone. “We'll cover more ground that way.”
“But I―”
“Have done very well,” said the guard with the zangoose. “I'm sure you'll be commended.”
Zinnia took an automatic half-step forwards, frowning, but stopped herself. There was nothing she could do.
“Don't patronise me,” growled Berenice, a dark anger clouding her eyes. “You know me.”
“Yes, we do,” said the guard with the linoone. “Go back to the station, Lady B. We'll handle things here.”
Berenice stood there for a moment, motionless as a taut bowstring. Her fingers dug into my arm like stakes of iron.
“Right,” she said. “I'll see you two later, then.”
She turned, dragging me with her, and marched back into the crowd.
“Archie?” I heard behind me. “So there you are. Over here! Quickly!”
I tried to motion for Berenice to stop, but she didn't seem to see me; looking back over my shoulder, I saw the ghosts hurrying towards us, Zinnia frantically trying to explain.
“No, it's a trick, OK, she's not actually being arrested―”
“But what―?”
“Shut up a minute, would you? Jeez. Five hundred years later and still full of hot air. One of you get back in the Museum and have Edie lock it down. They're gonna board it.”
“What? What's going―?”
“I'll go. She's my ship. I'll be able to lock it down and maybe send Edie out to help―”
“I've been there several centuries, Archie. I know both Edie and the Museum quite well enough. Get back to Avice. I'll send Edie on if I can.”
“Tooth take 'em,” sighed Berenice, suddenly letting go of my arm. “Sorry, Avice. Full disclosure, I'm not actually on such good terms with the other guards. Like I'm new, and before that I was … well. Kind of a crook, really. And then … anyway.” She looked at me with eyes that asked if I understood what anyway meant, and I nodded.
“It's OK,” I assured her. “I know exactly what you mean. The Tethys sergeants never liked me much, either.” (Pirate's brat. Civic traitor. Other words too, that I refuse to allow into this history.)
She smiled, although her eyes were still not quite clear.
“You really do, huh,” she said. “That's nice.”
Behind us, Archie coughed.
“Anyone gonnae tell me what exactly is going on here?” he asked.
“Avice has found a, uh, friend,” replied Zinnia. “Come on, Archie. Are you that old? Can't you see the chemistry?”
“But we've still got a problem,” Berenice said. “Your ship―”
“Is safe,” I told her, suppressing the desire to dig an elbow into Zinnia's spectral ribs. “My porygon2, the pokémon I told you about – she's still aboard. I got a message to her; she'll lock the hatches down and seal it off.”
“You what?” Berenice blinked, then stumbled as someone bumped into her. Lillian gabbled, and she nodded. “Right, right. Let's get out of the way … OK. There's a way out onto Yanma Passage through here. It's usually not so busy.”
I could see why. It was a narrow little tunnel, the walls barely wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side – and neither of us were particularly broad. Not the sort of place through which freight can be brought, and that day, mostly abandoned.
“OK,” I said, “so, um, I guess it's my turn for full disclosure.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the ghosts. Zinnia shrugged; Archie was doing something that I recognised from long experience as trying politely not to stare.
“Yeah?” asked Berenice.
I took a deep breath.
“I'm not doing this all by myself,” I told her. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
I have to wonder whether Maxie really did know Edie. Or no, not that – whether Edie knew Maxie, rather, since he clearly did know her. I've turned the sequence of events surrounding the impounding of the Museum at Jonah's Respite over and over in my head, and still haven't been able to decide whether or not Maxie and Edie actually ever communicated during the period when they were alone together on board. When Edie sprang to my defence in the court, was it at Maxie's signal or because she was watching and waiting for me? It's hard to say. I've asked Maxie, and even he's not sure. Sometimes, I worry that I give the impression that I remember everything perfectly correctly, that all these conversations are written down here exactly as they occurred. Certainly some of the more memorable lines are – what Aranea said when she burst into the Administrator's office to rescue my father, for instance, or what Maxie said when he pleaded with me not to give up after his betrayal. But, like all archaeology, most of this is educated guesswork. I've spoken to the ghosts, but they don't remember everything. And when it comes right down to it, dear reader, there's still no proof that the ghosts are anything more than figments of my imagination, created from the history books to fill the gaps in my life.
As I say, though, it's probably best not to wonder too much about it. I don't want to wonder about it. There's enough fiction in life and history without it spilling over into my family. It's just that I can't seem to stop myself worrying.
Well, enough about that. You've listened to me trying to absolve myself of my sins as a historian too many times to want to hear it all over again, I'm sure.
Whether or not you believe in ghosts, Berenice did – at least after some persuasion. It actually made my story more believable, she said, if someone had guided me, and clearly there was no one alive who was qualified to do so.
“Wish you'd told me before,” she said. “We could've used some help with that plan. Like if they'd gone aboard your ship and worked the controls, we could've made it look like it would only unlock for the two of us.”
Lillian shot her a sceptical look, and Berenice sighed.
“All right, it en't one of my best plans.” She paused. “Are your ghosts here? Like, right now?”
I hesitated. Have you ever tried to introduce someone invisible, dear reader? It's incredibly awkward.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Um, this is Zinnia, and this is Archie.” I gestured in their direction; they, uncertain of how exactly to respond, just stared. “And this is Berenice, Archie,” I added. “Zinnia was there when we met,” I told her.
“Right,” he said slowly, scratching his head. “Uh – pleased to meet you. I guess.”
“Um. Yeah, I guess,” said Zinnia. “OK, this … this is really weird.”
“They say hail,” I told Berenice, trying hard to believe I didn't sound like a child introducing her imaginary friends. “This is a bit weird for them, I think.”
“You're telling me,” muttered Archie.
“Oh.” Berenice waved uncertainly in the wrong direction. “Um. Hail.”
I decided not to tell her that the ghosts were actually behind us, and instead reminded her that we needed to come up with a plan.
“I mean, they have the Museum now,” I said. “That makes things complicated.”
“Right.” She tugged on a coil of her hair, thinking. “Right, but if … OK. First we need to know where they're gonna take the Museum. By the time they move it, everyone at the guard station will know, so I can get that from them – but I think they'll probably move it to the court, where they used to keep it before the making over.”
Archie nodded.
“Aye. We were just there. The channel's still in place; looks like they still have the original sea access.”
I nodded, and Berenice paused.
“Are they speaking?” she asked diffidently. “What … what are they saying?”
“Oh. Um, Archie said he was just there in the court. He and Maxie were going to see if the key stone was there,” I explained, “and they saw that there was still sea access in the dock.”
“Ah,” said Berenice. “Right. That's right. There is. Separate to the main mouth.”
“Yeah, we've … sort of established that.”
The four of us stood there uncomfortably for a moment, until Lillian coughed pointedly.
“Right, so yeah,” said Berenice hurriedly. “Once they've taken the Museum there, if we can get into the throne room and get you that necklace, you can signal to your pokémon―”
“―and have her open up the Museum for us to get on board,” I finished. “Where we seal the doors, bang on the walls to make it sound like we're fighting―”
“―and then, as the ship starts to submerge, I stagger out of the hatch, clutching the pendant in my bloodied fingers―”
“―which they will only discover has had the key stone taken out of it once we've escaped through the back exit,” I said, and Berenice grinned wildly.
“Yeah!” she cried, holding up a hand for me to high-five. “Now that's what I call a plan!”
“They're so cute, aren't they?” said Zinnia to Archie. “Look!”
“Er – why don't you leave me out of this,” he said hurriedly, going a deeper shade of blue. “I'll just, ah. Watch.”
Zinnia looked back at me, grinning.
“He's old,” she said, in a whisper so loud Archie couldn't help but hear. “He gets embarrassed about that kind of thing.”
“So do I, when you keep commentating,” I muttered.
“… so, we've probably got some time before word gets to the station to confirm what's to be done with the Museum,” Beatrice concluded, oblivious. “I'm guessing we need to waste thirty minutes to an hour, something like that. Then I'll show up, panting, and say you got away and I was chasing you, and then … OK, got it.” She snapped her fingers. “Right now, then, you're gonna buy me another coffee.”
I'd had a lot of practice at maintaining two conversations at once by that point, but Beatrice's mind was racing ahead at a speed that I couldn't quite match while I kept looking at the ghosts.
“What?” I asked, hopelessly confused. “What's that about― didn't we just have coffee?”
“Avice,” she said, laying a hand upon my shoulder, “we're gonna steal the crown jewel. That's kind of big. Normally, maybe, too big. But with coffee … well. Let's just say there is no limit, none whatsoever, to what I can achieve with a cup of hot black coffee in my hand.”
Lillian rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath; I just stared.
“Is that a prepared speech?” I asked.
“I mighta been saving it for a special occasion,” she admitted. “C'mon! We'll go back to Clem's.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “What if the guards―?”
“We'll give him a few extra kites,” she said dismissively. “En't gonna take much, he likes me more than he likes them anyway, even if he does keep complaining about my tab.” She beckoned. “Now c'mon! We're supposed to be wasting time here, and you can waste it a drowned sight faster in a coffeehouse.”
So I followed. That's another way in which Berenice was like Moll: I never really had all that much choice in the matter. But that's all right; I never was much of a leader. Not until I had to be, and even then, not by choice. Some of us are born to be sidekicks, I think, although apparently in my case the gods (or fate, or whatever's in charge these days) disagree.
I sort of miss it, really. Being second in command is much easier than being the boss. I have to wonder how the corsair-king manages it, with all those hundreds and thousands of pirates under his command. If I was queen, I'd probably go to pieces in less than a week.
If I ever managed to get anything done, that is. More likely, I'd just get distracted before I ever got round to passing any laws or whatever it is that monarchs do. Look, I'm distracted right now! One minute I'm diligently working away at my history, and the next I'm about four seconds away from writing a thousand-word inquiry into what exactly the duties of a monarch consist of.
There's only one cure for this. I'm going to have to get some lunch.
I'm tempted to jump ahead an hour or so, to our dramatic assault on the throne room of Jonah's Respite. You know me and my tastes, dear reader, and you must by this point understand that I love a good action story, and also that I have a lot of issues with my chronology. All of this adds up to a great temptation for me to skip ahead an hour or so, to our dramatic assault on the throne room of Jonah's Respite – because after all, we know Berenice now; we don't need pages and pages more of description of her. And besides, that conversation, like those afternoons with Moll back in Tethys, is something I want to hold onto for myself. Part of being a historian, I'm figuring out, is knowing what not to say. Not everyone can know everything about everybody, and while I'm happy to lay most of my life bare to you, dear reader, some moments are so delicate that, if shared, they might be torn and lost forever.
So I won't talk about that, but I won't skip ahead either – indeed, I can't, because something else significant happened before we got to the throne room. As I keep saying, it's not all about me – and in this case, while I was busy cementing my newfound friendship with Berenice over more coffee, Archie and Zinnia were involved in a conversation of their own at the next table.
“So,” Archie said, when it became clear that I had left them to their own devices. “What do you think?”
“Of what?” Zinnia asked, tracing circles on the tabletop with one finger. “Of this place? Of the situation?”
“Of her.” Archie nodded in Berenice's direction.
Zinnia grinned slyly.
“I think that Avice has found a friend,” she replied. “I mean, we can probably trust her, if that's what you're asking.” The grin flickered a little, as if an old scar had suddenly started to ache. “There's something between them that we can't have. And I think that probably means she'll look out for Avice. Don't you?”
“I hope so.” Secure in the knowledge that I had my back to him, he shot one of those thunderbolt glares at Berenice. “But a proper alliance takes longer than an hour or so to forge, you know? We're taking a real risk here.”
“Well, obviously. But you're already taking risks, right? Because you don't trust me, either.” Zinnia gave him one of those ironic smiles. “You're kinda transparent, Archie. Both literally and figuratively.”
Archie snorted.
“Right. Listen, I'm doing what we're all doing, following Avice―”
“Sure, sure, and that's admirable and all, but we're guiding as much as following.” Her finger was still moving in slow circles across the table, a green light revolving like a lanturn's lure twitching in the dark. “C'mon, Archie, don't take me for an idiot. It's been weeks and weeks now – months, even – and still, you keep muttering about me to Maxie when you think I'm not listening.” She sighed. “You're a pretty remarkable guy, but you gotta admit, 'subtle' isn't really your strong suit.”
“I can be―”
“Your response to oceanic pollution was, and I quote, to 'return everything to its unspoiled beginnings'.”
Archie paused.
“It wasn't the most balanced reaction,” he said, “and you bloody well know that I know that now―”
“But you see my point,” said Zinnia. “When you're cross, you don't exactly hide it.” She shook her head. “Look. I've been here ages. I haven't done anything wrong, have I? We've both demonstrated we care a lot about Avice and her mission, right? So what is it, Archie – what is it about me that means you can't trust me, even now?”
For a long time, he said nothing, and the space between them filled with the kind of silence made up of other sounds: of the clink of crockery and the chatter of patrons, the low roar of footsteps and voices in the corridor outside, the hiss of stale air, the glug of a bottle, Berenice's joke, my laughter.
“You were just there,” said Archie at last, and Zinnia's eyes narrowed very slightly. “D'you expect us to believe that? You were just there in Meteor Falls, and you just happened to know what to do, and you just happened to meet the only person in the world who could see and talk to you. That ain't how life works, Zinnia. That ain't a coincidence. That's a bloody plan.”
Another un-silent silence. Zinnia leaned back in her chair, hand falling from the tabletop.
“Well, it wasn't,” she said evenly. “I know what it looks like, Archie, but I told you the truth. No agenda, no nothing. I just bumped into Avice and decided hers was a quest I could get behind, same as you.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Really.” She gave him an exasperated look. “God, Archie, what would it take for me to prove that to you? Rayquaza descending to call the wind and lay Kyogre to rest?”
“It'd be a start,” said Archie, which was, I think, one of those things that pop out of your mouth in a fit of anger and are instantly regretted, and Zinnia shook her head slowly.
“Hasn't it occurred to you,” she said quietly, “that you turning up when you did was just as unlikely? Or that pirate – what's her name – Ulixa? Look, Archie, I'm not saying you shouldn't be suspicious, but c'mon. If you're gonna start questioning how things have worked out, you've got to question more than just me.”
“I came to Tethys because I had a hunch―”
“And boy, does that sound plausible,” said Zinnia, one eyebrow rising upwards into an ironic arch, and the two of them fell back into the un-silent silence.
What might Archie have said next? What could anyone actually have said in response to that? I do think about it, dear reader – the virtual impossibility of events and people lining up for me as they did, propelling me gently from one point of interest to the next. I think about it a lot. Perhaps the way I've structured it here, laying it all out as a narrative and giving it a shape and form, has made this strangeness less obvious to you. After all, you expect that sort of thing from a story; if a hero is marooned on a deserted island, there's going to be treasure or salvage or something waiting for them there. But in life – who on earth bumps into so many ghosts when they are so few in number and she just happens to be the one person who can see them? Who accidentally draws the attention of her long-lost mother's protégé in a bar, and later happens to be in the right place at the right time to be rescued by her? The more I write of this, the more it seems to me that the story of my life is my life. I've been worrying about how turning the world into narrative removes its nuances and makes it unreliable – but I wonder now if the world is narrative, if it might be impossible to look at the world without unconsciously connecting the dots, drawing conclusions, imposing structure on the randomness.
Maybe that's what coincidence is: me looking at these unlikely events and thinking there must be reason behind it. Do all effects need to have causes, or does thinking only make it so?
I suppose that's a digression, and anyway it's a bit early in the day to be getting philosophical. (My father always said that he treated philosophy like rum: best not indulged in until after five o'clock, and never while working.) But at the same time, it's a question that keeps coming back, more insistent every time. Aranea. Ulixa. The ghosts. The three days of birds. Mackenzie the murkrow. All of this has the ring of myth about it. And yet it happens to be true – or at least, it happened, which may not be the same thing.
Anyway, this isn't the right place for me to be having an epistemological crisis. I should probably leave it for now and go have a brisk debate about it with Maxie in a minute. He'll at least give me some new ideas on the topic, even if he doesn't have any answers.
So: what might Archie have said next? Tide only knows – or no, it doesn't. Not any more. Tempest is still around, of that I'm sure – I think it will last for as long as there are oceans – and Tooth is, well, Tooth, but Tide's time is over. Some new god will rise to take its place, and it will just be Kyogre again, sleeping away the millennia in some seafloor cavern. But that's me getting off-topic: the point is that no one knows what Archie might have said in response to that, not even Archie himself (I've asked him), and the un-silent silence grew and grew between him and Zinnia, until at last Berenice and Lillian left for the guard station and I turned around to see what the ghosts were up to.
“So,” said Zinnia, instantly switching conversational track, “what's up with Berenice? You two are getting along pretty well, from what we saw. Right, Archie?”
“Oh, aye,” he agreed, nodding genially. “Lucky to have met her.”
“Yeah,” said Zinnia, with a little glint in her eye. “Lucky.”