Page 68 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

“Come,” said Neese gently. “There are many awaiting your return on land that will be glad to see you.”

Neese brought Clara to the heart of the city, gliding through canals and dodging boats. The water level was a little higher than when she had last been here, but otherwise, nothing had changed. If the dire whale had not come, it was possible that the entire city would have been under water. And just as Neese said, the people here went about their lives as if nothing extraordinary had happened, unaware that they had been spared.

This time, Clara knew better than to ask why Neese knew where Helma would be, or why Helma was back in the city at all. Like with so many others in her life, Clara had lacked curiosity about her friend, about who she truly was. And now she had been given the gift of more time, of a second chance, and she would not squander it.

It was gray and chilly in the streets of Amsterdam. Clara emerged from the canal to see a familiar sign with a tulip onit creaking slightly in the breeze. “Is this Alida’s studio?” she asked, turning to Neese. “What are we doing here?”

Neese only jutted her chin toward the door, more of a command than an invitation to go in. Too curious to waste any more time, Clara put her hand on the door and pushed. Behind her, she heard the splash of water, and turning, saw Neese’s slender legs disappearing under the surface.

Inside, the kitchen was just as warm and welcome as she had been dreaming. It seemed that wherever Alida went, a home sprang up around her. A fire crackled in the hearth, a pot of something rich bubbling above it. From somewhere deeper in the house came the creaking of footsteps on the stairs.

And then Helma was hurrying into the room, her wide skirts swaying, arms outstretched. “Oh, my little sparrow,” she cried when she saw Clara. “You’ve come back.”

After Helma had given her an embrace that threatened to snap her ribs and steal her breath, Clara let her hold her at arm’s length for inspection. “Yes, I’ve come back. And I shall not leave again.”

Helma’s gaze sharpened as she studied Clara. “It is over, then?”

With a nod, Clara slumped heavily onto the wooden stool that Alida kept near the fire. Her clothes were still wet, crusted in salt. She felt as if she had been holding her breath for an eternity, and it was only just starting to rush out of her. “It is over for now.”

“And Maurits?”

If she was not so tired, the tears probably would have come then. But as it was, all Clara could manage was a shake of her head. “No,” she said in a whisper.

Helma looked as if she wanted to say something, but then there was more creaking and Alida came hurrying down from the studio, swiping away the paint from her hands on her apron skirt. She stopped midstep when she saw Clara.

“Clara? Is it truly you?”

Clara rose, and the force of her small friend’s hug nearly knocked her backward.

“When you didn’t return home I was convinced that you had run afoul of thieves or something more sinister,” Alida said. “I searched everywhere for you. Helma came to bring me news of your... your sacrifice,” she added, darting a glance at Helma. “She said that you had come looking for me at the old studio, but that I was already gone.”

“And it’s a good thing I came,” Helma said bluntly. “She cannot cook. I found only a rind of cheese and some cured pork, more salt than meat.” Punctuating her opinion, Helma gave the pot over the flame a good stir.

Alida rolled her eyes, but did not argue when Helma bid them all sit down at the table, and ladled out steaming bowls of rich pottage. The edge of Clara’s hunger had been dulled by her welling grief, but she forced herself to lift the spoon to her mouth.

“There have been many sightings of creatures in the city since your disappearance,” Alida continued. “I’d heard stories when I was a child, but I never thought...” She bit at her lip. “Well, the job of the artist is to see what is truly there, and I suppose I was doing my job poorly that I never saw the world for what it was before.”

Helma gave a snort and muttered something under her breath.

“But there is news since you left, not just of the creatures,” Alida said. “I have been accepted into Saint Luke’s Guild.”

Clara dropped her spoon. “Truly?” Saint Luke’s was the most prestigious artists’ guild in the city, and for Alida to be accepted, not just as a woman, but a young woman, was no small feat.

“Truly. And do you know the painting that did it? It was the Hooft family, monkey and all. It also helped fund thesenew lodgings and studio. You must see the light upstairs later, it is divine.”

Clara smiled. “You deserve the recognition, and it is time that the world knew your talent.”

“Yes, but that is not all. Now that I am in the guild, my apprentice will be taking over more of my commissions in the studio. What do you think of that?”

Only a day ago, Clara had forfeited any hope for her future, and now bright new possibilities were being laid at her feet. She could be a painter, a true painter, earning money for her art.

“It will be mostly portraits,” Alida continued. “Setting up the study and blocking the groupings. Perhaps not the most exciting, but it would be good practice, and as I rise in the guild, so too would my apprentice.”

Clara pushed the cabbage in her bowl about with her spoon. She thought of Neese’s words, about the nature of human memory and how it was too short to learn from the mistakes of the past. That was why she painted, she supposed; her art would outlast her, its messaged carried down for generations. The paintings that her father had hung with pride on his wall had all shown a dominated and subverted natural world. Canals hacked out of the earth, trees planted and spliced into precise rows to yield a pleasing pattern to the human eye. But Clara did not want to paint such things. She would show the beauty of nature’s truth, the twisted branches, the unruly waves. The creatures that called them home. If the same mistakes were to be made again, at least this time let there be a reminder. Let there be a lesson so that it had not been for naught.

“I will have to think on it,” Clara told Alida, forcing a small smile. “The offer is most generous.”

“I do not make it to be generous,” Alida told her. “I make it because you possess a rare talent, and I should like to see it flourish. But I think I understand. I have seen your work, and I know your temperament. As much as you endeavoredto hide from me your inclinations, I don’t think you are well suited to serving the caprices of clients.”

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