The Pirate's Wish

Naji and me didn’t say a word to each other. I got flashes of his thoughts: wonder, confusion, a little bit of fear. Or maybe it was my thoughts. They were all mingled together.

The box came to a tu

“What’s happening?” I asked.

The box lid hissed open. Air rushed in, damp and musty.

Naji looked at me and I looked at him, and then he climbed out.

“It’s fine!” he said. “There’s air, a place to stand–”

“I can see that,” I snapped, since I could spot him, a little wavy from the cut of the glass, but definitely standing. I climbed out, too, though I kept one hand on my pistol as I did so.

We stood in a hallway as big and empty as the desert. It was all made out of glass, too, except this one didn’t flood with sunlight and rainbows. It didn’t flood with anything, thank Kaol, although every time I thought about all that ocean water crushing in on us I took to shaking.

Naji and me stood on the platform and waited. Our box bobbed in the strip of water that flowed in through an opening in the wall, and I could feel the magic sparking around us.

A shark’s fin appeared in the water. Part of me wanted to grab for Naji’s hand, but I grabbed for my pistol instead.

A shark lifted his head up out of the water. It wasn’t the same one that brought us down, and he wasn’t wearing no armor, neither, just a circlet of seabone around his neck.

“Follow me,” he said. “Along the walkway.”

I couldn’t stand it no more: I took Naji’s hand in mine. Like a little kid, I know, but swords and pistols can’t save you from drowning.

Naji dipped his head politely and together we followed along with the shark, our footsteps bouncing off the glass. When we came to the end of the hallway, the shark said, “You may open the door. Preparations have been made for your arrival.”

I murmured an old invocation to the sea, one Mama’d taught me years ago, while Naji pushed open the door.

No water. Just air.

It opened up into a big round dome, the way I’d always imagined a nobleman’s ballroom to look. Only the floor opened up here, too, a ring of cold dark seawater. The shark’s head popped up.

“Our soothsayer will be here soon,” he said. He disappeared into the darkness.

“What do they need a soothsayer for?” I muttered.

Naji wrapped his arm around my waist and buried his face in my hair. I was too startled to react, so I just stood there and let him touch me. “Thank you for coming with me,” he whispered, and his gratitude rushed into my thoughts, turning all my fear into a weird sort of happiness.

“Thank you?” I laughed. “I thought this was proof that it wasn’t dangerous.”

“That too.”

It’s fu

Water spilled across our feet.

“Naji of the Jadorr’a!” The voice boomed through the big empty room. “Is this your companion?”

I pulled away from Naji. An octopus bobbed in the water, its tentacles curling around the edges of the floor, its skin a rich dark blue, bright against the water’s black. He wore a row of small white clam shells strapped to one tentacle.

“Yes,” said Naji. “This is Ana

“Of the Nadir,” I corrected.

The octopus heaved itself out of the water. “How lovely to meet you. My name is Armand II, and I saw you,” he turned to me, “in my visions as well, in the swirls and mysteries of the inks.” He looked at me expectantly.

“Uh, that’s good.”

“I’m afraid the King of Salt and Foam is not a two-way creature, like myself.” Armand lurched forward, dragging across the floor, his legs coiling and uncoiling. “But we have made preparations.”

He opened up one of the clam shells and pulled out a pair of glass vials filled with a dark, murky liquid. “It will not harm you,” he said.

I got this slow sinking of dread, but Naji took one of the vials and held it up to the light. He opened it up and sniffed. Looked at me.

“It’s water-magic,” he said.

“So? You’d expect sand-magic down here?”

Naji brushed his hand against my face, his touch gentle, almost as soft as a smile. “Forgive her,” he said, turning to Armand. “Her profession requires a certain amount of wariness.”

“As does yours, I imagine.”

Naji looked at the vial again. “Less than you might think.”

“What’s it go

“You will be able to breathe water,” Armand said.

I frowned. Of course. And Naji was right; that was old sea-magic, the sort of thing Old Ceria would know how to do. It wasn’t impossible. It was dangerous, I suppose, but then, so’s all magic. So’s cutting open your arm and giving your blood to the man you love.

“I’ll give it a shot,” I said. I took off my shoes and my coat, though I figured I shouldn’t meet the King of Salt and Foam, whoever he was, in my underwear. I left my pistol cause there was no point having it underwater. Then I took the vial from Armand, unscrewed the lid, and shot the stuff back like it was rum. Immediately my lungs started burning, and I gasped and choked and clawed at my throat. Naji pushed me in the water.

Release.

The water filled up my lungs and then pulsed out though gills that appeared on my neck. The lights from the city swirled and bled into one another, bled into the darkness of the sea.

It was beautiful. And I’d never even have to come up for air.

Another muffled splash and then Naji was beside me, barefoot and coatless, his hair drifting up in front of his eyes. I laughed, bubbles streaming silvery and long between us, and for the first time in a long time I wished I could do sea-magic myself, so I could swim through the water undeterred by breath, and Naji could come with me, and we could swim and play and entwine ourselves together.

“This way,” Armand said, graceful now that he was underwater. He propelled himself forward, toward the blur of lights, and Naji and me followed with slow easy breast strokes.

The King of Foam and Salt held court in a big curling palace that looked like more bones. Everything glowed with the light of that weird algae.

I’ve never been to court before. In Jokja Queen Saida didn’t hold court, just met with petitioners in her sun room. Court’s an Empire thing, and the Empire don’t like pirates. But I bet the Emperor’s court had nothing on the Court of the Waves.

It was full up with all ma

And then there was the King.

He wasn’t like any fish I ever saw. He reminded me of the manticore, cause he had a long curling shark’s body and the wide graceful fins of a manta ray and the spines of a saltwater crocodile, all topped up with a human face with pale green-gray skin and flat black eyes and hair like strips of dark green seaweed.

He was coiled around a hunk of coral when we swam in, and as we approached he rose up in the water, his full length taller than any human man. Naji stopped and bowed his head best he could in the water. I figured I should do the same.

“Are you Naji of the Jadorr’a?” the King asked, his voice booming through the water like the blast from a ca