Page 27 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

Outside the rain pelted down in vicious sheets, the wind its erstwhile accomplice. For the first time since they had embarked that morning, real unease pricked at Clara. Guests were beginning to rise to leave, so as soon as she could reasonably excuse herself, she ran to the window. Pressing her face to the cold glass, she tried to see out into the thick gray. She sucked in a breath, her blood going cold. Where fields had stretched as far as the eye could see, water now roiled and churned, with no indication where it ended and the ocean began.

She raced back to her parents who were preparing to leave. “I think you ought to stay,” Clara said to her father.

He raised a brow in irritation. “I’ll not intrude on Mr. Edema’s hospitality, not when my own bed is not ten miles from here.” Proud and sure as ever that nature would submit to his whims just because it suited him.

Clara was just about to try her mother, when a servant, drenched to the bone, stumbled into the hall. “The dikes,” hemanaged to gasp out. “The dikes have given way and the sea is at our door.”

There was an uproar as guests scrambled to peer out the dark windows. Hendrik shouldered his way past them to see for himself. “It’s impossible,” he murmured. “The dikes are strong, and we are nearly a mile yet from the sea.”

But even as he spoke, water was seeping in through the door, rising with alarming speed. Women screamed, grabbing their skirts, and scrambling atop chairs. Ignoring Hendrik’s protests, Clara ran upstairs and found Pim stalking back and forth in the chamber. “There is water coming into the house,” she told him. “You must stay here for now, where it is dry yet.” Satisfied that Pim would be safe, she quickly shut the chamber door behind her so that he could not follow. As she hurried downstairs, she could hear him piteously howling and throwing his small body against the door.

Clara had to elbow her way past guests pushing and shoving their way up the stairs. The water was up to her knees now, her gown heavy and cumbersome as it gathered between her legs. In the space of five minutes it had risen to an incredible level, and already the house had the feel of an abandoned ship. She found her father sitting atop the dinner table, his face drawn and pale. Her mother was nowhere to be seen.

“Papa, what are you doing? We must find high ground, or a boat. We must do something.”

But he made no indication that he’d heard Clara. “She’s come back,” he whispered.

A silver platter that only an hour before had held grapes and cheese drifted by, empty. They had little time if they were going to escape the house. “Who has come back?” she asked.

Theodor turned a vacant look on her, took a long, dragging breath, and discarded his wig. He ran a shaking hand through his balding hair. “You have to understand, Clara, there were orphanages full of poor children who would neverhave a home or a family. The cities took care of their street children as best they could, but...” His words trailed off.

She threw a harried glance at the door where a few brave souls were making an attempt at reaching the stables. “What are you talking about? Papa, we must leave, now.”

“What does it matter? Here or there, she will take me regardless. You, at least, might have a chance, if you flee now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I won’t leave you.” The despondence in his voice gave her pause. “Papa, are you well?” He did not look feverish or sick. Indeed, he looked remarkably calm, resigned almost.

But he didn’t answer her. He wasn’t going to try to escape, she realized as she watched him mutter to himself. Clara would come back, try to persuade him again, but first she needed to find her husband.

Tearing herself away, she began wading through the waist-deep water. “Hendrik?” The house had gone eerily silent, the only sound the rushing of water. Where was everyone? She tried to make her way to the stairs, but it was dark, the lamps having all gone out, and indistinct shapes in the water slowed her progress.

Silver streaks ran through the water, glistening like pearl threads despite the lack of a moon. Voices, soft and slippery as fish scales, whispered through the dark air. Her neck prickled, certain that someone was watching her even though there was not a living soul left downstairs.

Clara.The voice was haunting and rang clearer than church bells, soft as petals falling on water.Clara, your time is come. Come with me, child. Come join your brother. Come join your little friend Fenna.

A twinkling laugh, closer but still faraway and dreamy. Then there was a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, and Clara could have sworn she saw the pale face of a child peering out from behind an upturned chair. But whenshe looked closer, she found it was simply a white table linen, balled and caught in the arm of the chair.

Water swirled around her waist, pulling at her. Some deep-rooted instinct told Clara that she must not succumb to the lovely voice, but she swayed all the same. Her brother, who she had never met. Fenna. Were they somewhere just out of reach, waiting for her? She put her hands over her ears, desperate to block out the singsong voice.

Her skin puckered with cold, her toes grew numb. Seaweed pulled at her legs. How odd that there should be seaweed in the house.

From somewhere deeper in the house she thought she could hear the frenzied barking of a dog. It pulled her out of her daze and she freed herself from the seaweed. “Pim,” she called, her voice shaky. “Stay where you are, I’m coming.”

Trudging through the ghostly shapes of bobbing furniture, her outstretched hands touched against something soft and cold. Recoiling, she was met with the bloated face of Hendrik, his eyes rolled back, his mouth frozen in a grotesque howl. He couldn’t have been dead more than a matter of minutes, but he looked as if he had been in the water for days, if not longer. He looked like Fenna.

Clara opened her mouth to scream, but water rushed in, gagging her. It was no use. This had always been her fate, hadn’t it? Ever since the water had called to her and Fenna that day. She could fight it all she wanted, but eventually, it would come for her. Even as she came to this realization, her body fought for air, and she struggled to keep her head above the surface.

But in the end, the water won. The water always won.

Interstitial

There is one creature older than the rest, more powerful, more dreaded than any other. The dire whale is the true king of the deep, so rarely seen that even in the old days it was only known from tales. Their song is mournful and chilling, and it is said that to hear the song of the dire whale is to receive an omen of a great catastrophe coming. Merfolk may sit on the throne of the Water Kingdom, but the dire whales are stewards of everything beneath the waves, and their powers transcend those of any other creature on land or water.

Chapter Sixteen

Maurits could feel his mother in the current, her gleeful vindication in every hungry lap of the water as he swam against her.

The once grand house was dark, deathly quiet. Bodies in voluminous dresses and lace ruffs floated past him, collateral damage of his mother’s bargain. Each time a limb brushed against him he forced himself to check if the body they were attached to had pale blond hair, or soft brown eyes.

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